Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Neither AT nor ON the Pole

To say that my life has become "busy" is a bit of an understatement.  Unless "busy" for you is finding that you need to be at least three places at the same time on a daily basis.  Which is where I am finding myself right now.  I have actually had to hire someone to do part of the pick up of my children for me. 

Life is a little (read A LOT) INSANE at the moment. 

And it is getting me down.

For those of you who know me well, you know this is not how I like to live me life.  Busyness is overrated and will definitely kill youI mean as in lying face down in a gutter kill you.  I have no choice in this busyness right now though, so I'm going to do my best to gut it out until the end of the fall baseball season and the end of marching band season.  Then, I am calling a moratorium on busyness for a few months. 

For this moment though, something's gotta give.  Someone is going to be disappointed about it.  This time I'm afraid it's going to be me.  And roller derby.  Sigh. 

When insanity is the ruling dictator in your life and you are juggling all these times and dates in your head (and I can't juggle with more than one ball--oh yeah, that's called "catch"), BAD (and yet hilarious) things happen. 

Just hang on a minute while we wade through an another tedious explanation that you need to get the most of this experience I had.

This brings me to "See You at the Pole." For those of you who are unfamiliar with "See You at the Pole," it is a tradition where Christian students, parents, and educators meet at the flagpole before school on a designated day in Spetember to pray together and identify to each other and the community that they are Christians.

I haven't ever been to the pole, but I have offered the option to my children when I knew it was coming up.  It's not that I am against the event, it's that it would mean that I would actually have to put on real clothes and brush my teeth beforehand because I would be in the company of people.  And that, people, is just a little too unrealistic. I absolutely drive my children to school in my pjs and pray that there is no reason for me to have to get out of the car.  Or be pulled over (which *may* have happened once when I was pregnant with Bonus). 

I'm overtaxed.  And exhausted.  And clearly not in my right mind.  So, it is no surprise that when my friend sent me a text last night asking if I would be meeting her and others at the pole today, that I quickly thought, "Tomorrow is See You at the Pole." and then said to my kids, "Hey.  Tomorrow is See You at the Pole if you want to go." 

I wondered why my friend thought I would meet her at the pole because she works at the enemy high school, and there is NO way I would meet her at their flagpole. I also wouldn't go to Miss Noteworthy's flag pole either because she would surely die a thousand deaths if I did.  If I were going to go to any flag pole it would be the one at RNR and Bonus' school.  If it is a good day they are still not too embarrassed by the woman who gave birth to them.

This little text exchange followed....


In case you can't read where I scratched out my friend's name, it says Hot Derby Mama. 
I know, I am soooo proud of my awesome graphics.


This one says Pole Princess. 
Which she is. 
Totally.
Fish shoes and all. 


In derbyville, our league had been invited by a local company to do either a derby yoga class and/or a pole exercizing class.  But, clearly, I had forgotten all about that invitation, and my derby friends had not and wanted me to join them.  Which would have been fun if I had not had to be three places--oh make that four if you include the pole--at the same time.


So, I need to work on the calendar to make sure I don't get my poles crossed.  It could result in lots of awkward if I can't get my dates straight.  This current insanity might just find me ghetto blaster on shoulder swinging on the pole in these shoes on 9/26 (which I just found out is actually September 25 thanks to a facebook comment on this post.  Sigh. Thanks, Tina, for saving my children from looking extra strange on September 26th). 


Look at these babies!  See You at Which Pole for What?  Ooops! 

Do you think the elementary school students would buy that I bring my pets with me so I remember to feed them?  Yeah, the principal is SOOOO running another background check on me right now....

Here's to life settling down to a dull roar.

Questions... (I have lots)
Anyone else have an embarrassing encounter because of their crazy calendar?
Does the start of school always throw you for the first few weeks?
Other than a calendar, what helps you keep it all straight?
If I bought those shoes would you still be my friend?  Because I want those shoes to add to my hooker collection.

Happy Monday Tuesday ah crap, Happy Day!

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

iPhone Adjustments

About a month ago, I became a minion, joined the evil empire, and got an iPhone.  Almost entirely out of pure desperation.

My friends had long scoffed at me for not being an Apple-ette.  They chided me when I said I couldn't see the emoji they sent me or the photos they attached.  I was left out of the group texting. 

Our platforms were simply not compatible, and I was the one who was expected to change. 

Fast forward...  the weekend before RollerCon 2013, my Android started doing some strange things.  Locking up, not holding a charge, and such.  Mr. Incredible thought I might need a new battery, so we located one and replaced my battery.  If it could only have been as easy as a $40.00 fix, but, alas, it still wouldn't hold a charge.  The day before I was to leave for Vegas, my phone would barely stay on.  Something had to be done because only a crazy person would go to Vegas to stay ALONE in a hotel room with no means of communication.  Oh, right, I am a little crazy, but I am not that crazy!  Even most of the tunnel people have operable cell phones.  Not that I would know from first hand experience....

I headed down to my carrier's store and listened to all the options available to me.  The main issue was that I am still under contract until Miss Noteworthy's birthday because I added her to my plan.  I decided that breaking my contract and switching to Mr. Incredible's carrier was not in the best interest of my pocketbook.  I looked at the latest, giant Galaxy and tried to put it in my back pocket.

Ummm, no. 

It didn't fit in my back pocket and even if it had, it would have made my butt look ridiculous (my butt doesn't need that kind of attention, ya know?).  And if it didn't fit in the back pocket, it was really going to have problems fitting my bra purse.  Because sometimes I don't have a back pocket or a front pocket or an actual purse.

I looked at some other brands and found the same problem.

I consulted with Mr. Incredible who is a recent, reluctant Apple convert himself.  He said I needed to go with the iPhone because it didn't seem to have the 2-year-built-in-obsolescence that all the Android phones we have purchased have had.  I got a white one.  I wish it came in green like the iPod Touch, but it doesn't.

And so, I flew off to the land of casinos armed with a phone that fully functioned.  Yet, I didn't know how to use it.  You see, I had barely even touched an iPhone until I got my own.

I know you are wondering what rock I live under.  It's a big one with lots of lovely green moss in a field where fairies frolic freely.

Seriously.  I didn't even know how to answer a call on an iPhone before I got my own (and asked the guy at the cell phone store to show me...).  Mr. Incredible keeps telling me that it is intuitive.  Apparently, I don't do intuitive.  Or at least Apple's version of intuitive.

I am struggling with my iPhone. 

Trying to adjust to this new platform has not been easy.  I am unable to find a ringtone that I respond to and am still unsure which sound is a text, email, or phone call.  I have been butt dialing, taking unintentional screen captures, erasing my entire calendar, and sending texts to the wrong people (awkward!). 

Why this capture?  I have no freakin' idea.  It just appeared in my gallery out of nowhere.

Taking really nice pictures of my fingers, too. 



Don't ask me yet if I love my iPhone.  I need more time to know.  It has it good points (easy access to my iTunes, faster connection to the web, wide selection of apps), but after a lifetime of PC and Droid usage, I do not yet speak the Apple language.  I am a stranger in a strange land.  You can call me Gershom if you like. 

Monday, September 9, 2013

Because You Loved It the First Time...

I Don't Like Mondays Blog Hop

Hopping on at the linky party over at at elleroywashere.com.  Which is something I have never done before. And because she did not require the post to be brand spankin' new, I bring you a little blast from the past that many of you have previously enjoyed.... 

Laser Hair Removal: The Musical


I told you back at my birthday that I had purchased six sessions of laser hair removal as one of my gifts, and I promised you I would let you know about the experience.

So, I am keeping my word and giving you the downlow on the whole thing. And when I say "DL", I mean "DL" because it was bikini line hair removal.

Don't worry. There are no pictures. I wouldn't want you to have to gouge your eyes out or anything.

I have to tell you I was nervous about this. First off, I don't like being NAKED in front of complete strangers. Second, "people" told me that it is painful. And third, NAKED, NAKED, NAKED.

Sometimes I think I should be over the naked thing because of all the people who saw me birth children, but I am not. You will not see me running around naked at the spa. Ever. It's just not necessary. By all means, if you like it, go for it. For me, a bikini is naked enough.

At any rate, I found the joint and went inside not entirely sure what to expect.


And I was greeted by a man.

Crap. This was going downhill quickly.

He asked me to have a seat in the waiting area out front. And momentarily, he escorted me to another room with chairs and a computer. He asked me to sit down again and handed me some paperwork to fill out.

And then a beautiful woman came in and started talking to me about the procedure.

Phew!

Crisis averted. And now I didn't have to worry about how I was going to get my money back because I was not taking my pants off for a man that did not have M.D. behind his name.

I was taken to a small procedure room where I was handed a small square plastic package and some baby wipes.

I puzzled at the little square, and the beautiful woman must have read my face. She told me I was going to need to take my panties off and put those panties on. The baby wipes were for wiping the areas that would be lasered in case I had applied any medication or lotion.

After she exited, I opened up the package, changed into its contents, and climbed onto the table. And felt the breeze. Which was chilly.

Lying on an examination table sans pants waiting for the beautiful woman to enter, the thought that enters my mind is how exactly do I get comfortable lying here in paper panties.

I feel stiff and awkward lying there with my hands by my side. But it seems TOO comfortable to reach back and put my hands behind my head. Like, "Hi! I'm just chillin' in my new panties. You wanna hang for awhile."

Yeah, weird awkward turtle-type stuff like that goes through my head all the time. It's a problem.

So, I settle on folding my hands over my stomach and focus on trying to relax my shoulders. They are always so tense lately. I probably need to go see my friend Fluffy for a massage, but I have massage neurosis as well. Someday...

I'm lying there as comfortable as I am going to get without pants, and then, I stupidly decided to turn my head and look toward the window.

Big mistake. HUGE mistake.

The blinds are turned so that one standing on the street could look up and into the room. And I'm lying on a table that is higher than the bottom of the window.

Oh. My. Quad. (translation for non roller derby types: Oh my super cool, non-inline, four-wheeled skate!)

So, of course, I'm instantly uncomfortable again. I wonder how to proceed. It's been a few minutes since the beautiful lady left the room. If I jump up and run across the room to turn the blinds, will I be standing there by the window with my paper-covered backside at full exposure when she enters the room OR will I be attempting to scramble back onto the table with one leg up as she returns OR do I have enough time to complete the task, return to the table, and look like I never got up?

It takes me about .0001 seconds to decide that the risk of having a complete stranger on the ground floor peer up and into the room while I am lying there in disposable undergarments is far less humiliating than the risk of having the beautiful woman return just as I am hiking my paper-clad bottom back onto the table.

So, I lie there in all my glory until she returns SECONDS later. I had made a VERY good call.

She briefly explains the basics of what she is about to do and turns some dials. I'm handed some doltish looking goggles to complete my supermodel look and protect my eyes from being blinded for life. Then, she begins.

Zap, zap, zap. Pause. Wipe. Zap, zap, zap. Pause. Wipe.

And so it goes for the next few minutes.

As she finishes, I tell her how relieved I am that there was no pain. Much less pain than waxing. I hand her the rockstar goggles, and she tells me that she is glad that I am able to tolerate the laser so well. We smile. It's all quite touching.

Then, she hands me a tube of Desitin and tells me to apply it to the areas that have just received treatment. I take the tube from her hand, squeeze a dab into my hand, and look at her. She tells me to just daub it on. She stands there.

I realize that she is not going to leave the room. More awkwardness. I begin to dot the Desitin on myself and she praises me like a puppy. "That's right! All over!"

She tells me to get dressed and come out of the room when I am ready.

I immediately toss those disposable unmentionables into the trash can and gratefully pull on my jeans.

I schedule my second appointment, leave, and head over to the mall. After that much stress, a girl can stand to unwind by checking out the latest spring fashions at Nordstrom.

Results? For me, the pain at the first appointment was negligible. I won't see actual results for around three weeks. The laser strength will be increased at the next appointment. We'll see. 



 



Thursday, September 5, 2013

RNR Explains It All

During a recent car ride....

RNR:  Sometimes when I am in church, I look at the heads of old people, and I want to go up and touch their fluffy, white hair.  It looks like it is so soft and fluffy, ya know?  [Pause.] But then, I think they would think I'm an idiot.

Me:  I don't think they would think you are an idiot, but I do think they would wonder why you are running your hands through their hair.

RNR:  Yeah. [Sigh.] I still want to try it though.

We are pretty sure she is gonna give us some real trouble in a couple of years.  But isn't she so cute?  Sometimes when I am in church,  I want to touch her silky, blond hair.  I usually do it.


 


And later the same day...

RNR:   That candy looks pretty, but it tastes like rainbows.

Me:  I would think rainbows would taste good.

RNR:  Are you crazy?  All those colors mixed together are BLECH.  You would not like the taste of rainbows.




Thursday, August 29, 2013

From the Mouth of Bonus

To the dentist who had just discovered 8 cavities in his little mouth and asked him if he eats a lot of waffles with syrup:

"I don't eat them anymore because now I play baseball."

Non sequitur much?

And BTW, there were no cavities six months ago.  We pulled up the x-rays to be sure.  Sigh.  I'm supposed to take him to the dentist because the dentist suspects something called silent reflux. 

If it's not one mouth, it's another.  Fortunately, RNR was finally able to be a member of the no cavity club.  For once.  Bonus and I both have additional dental appointments in our near futures.

Three at bats.  Three hits.  One run.  Not bad for a little guy who doesn't eat waffles and syrup anymore.

I know the picture is not that stellar with the lighting and the fence links, but, thankfully, Mr. Incredible snapped some in my absence. Awfully cute.


Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Proof

Sometimes I wonder if I am doing the whole parenting thing right or not.

Just at that moment, as I am driving my oldest daughter to her last summer band practice, "My First, My Last, My Everything" by Barry White comes on the 70's channel.

Miss Noteworthy is a NOTORIOUS channel flipper (she learned this from her father).  There have been many times when a great tune was playing on the radio and just as I started to belt out the first line, she has pressed a button shutting down my superior rendition of Kenny Roger's "You Decorated My Life."  Hmphf!

Source. You wish you were this smooth.



BUT...

This time, she does not touch any buttons.  Instead, she says, "Oooo, I like this song!"

As I begin to sing along with the words, I look over at her and see that SHE KNOWS EVERY WORD. 

#doinitright

(that hashtag will cause Mr. Incredible much chagrin...)


Thursday, August 15, 2013

Opening up the whole can of worms....

Well, yesterday was fun. 

Not.

Well, sort of.

Let me explain.

Yesterday, I posted what was supposed to be a humorous and informative piece about a derby injury.  I knew it was a little provocative.  I had kept it sitting in my drafts since March because I didn't want to offend my actual friends who regularly read my blog and who go out to lunch with me in real life.  Sometimes they tell me I go a little too far in my descriptions of things like laser hair removal and derby or being accidentally braless in Vegas.  Sigh.  I am who I am.

In the end, I decided to post about the injury and take the jabs because in recent days a derby girl in my area had to seek medical treatment when her swelling became profuse and unbearable. It needed to be drained. :( 

I thought that sharing my experience with this injury might help another derby girl.  Especially a young one who didn't know how to treat her injury and might be too embarrassed to ask.  And might be uninsured and not need to be saddled with an expensive medical bill.  Ice is pretty cheap and could have prevented her need for a doctor. 

My bad.

I had no idea how upset this post would make some people in the derby community.

They were upset because of a word I have since removed from the post.  I expected some backlash from non-derby people, but I did not expect it from inside the derby community.  Who knew?  Not me.  That's for darn sure. 

It's not the "c" word or the "eff" word that most of my non-derby friends know I dislike.  It was the "r" word. 

I spent much of yesterday responding to comments on Facebook and writing apologies to offended derby people all over the world for my use of the "r" word on my blog.  I apologized between dishes and laundry.  Between six trips to the high school for summer band camp sessions.  Between sorting cans of PlayDoh to toss out the ones that had dried out and cooking dinner and changing the light bulb in the ancient LiteBrite.  Between breaking up fights between Bonus and RNR. Between making guitar-shaped popsicles, dinosaur-shaped sandwiches, and chocolate milk.  The guitar-shaped popsicles were pretty cool. :)

All that to say that I am a real life housewife who happens to play derby.  And that's what I write about.

Here's the thing...

I didn't learn the term I used in a vacuum.  And I didn't learn it in suburbia or even on the internet or through Urban Dictionary.  I learned it in the derby community.  And not solely in my league.  Which is only three years old; we obviously learned the term from elsewhere in the derby world.  I've heard it at training camps with world-class skaters.  I've heard it at RollerCon for the past three years.  I did not create the term; I did repeat it though.

So, if you want to take it out on me and up with me, fine.  I put it out there.  I wear big girl panties.  I apologized and edited my content to reflect many of your wishes.  I'll listen to anything you hurl at me.  Warranted or not. 

But if you want something different and better to be perpetuated by the greater derby community in the future, you need to take it up with the greater derby community.  You need to make your voice louder in your own league and in your own social media circles because not everyone has time to prowl Facebook or my blog.  Sending me a nasty message attacking my character isn't going to further your cause or stop people from using the language that bothers you.  Starting a meaningful dialogue will, and it's the moments of meaningful dialogue that made me decide to revise my post and change my terminology.   

BTW, I'm just small potatoes.  On a REALLY, rilly, unusually good day where I tell a story about something like my preschooler pantsing me at the community pool I will have 200 readers.  My voice is pretty small on the blogosphere.  I'm just me.  A housewife who plays derby.  Who gets upset when she unintentionally upsets people.

I so appreciate the support of my league mates when the Facebook comments started to get a little heated. The fact that one of my league mates said "that anyone who knows Reckless knows what a good heart she has" actually made tears well up in my eyes.  And the rest of you who backed me up in our private forum.  Your loyalty made me smile.  Smooches to all of you. 

For the rest of you who showed support.... Thank you.  You flooded my inbox with kind words.  You got that the focus was supposed to be on helping someone who found themselves with the same injury I had NOT on what I called the injury.  You laughed with me.  And at me (which is more than fine).  You liked my post.  You passed it on to friends.  Lots of friends.  In fourteen countries. On tumblr and twitter.  In your own league forums.  Hugs all around.

Whichever opinion you formed yesterday, derby love to all of y'all.



Wednesday, August 14, 2013

I Survived a Shiner on my 'Giner, and You Can, Too

WARNING: There are no photos of this.  Just inappropriate words and descriptions.  If you are my dad or pastor, you probably want to close this page now.

'Giner Shiners.

They happen.

Pretty much every week on a derby track near you.

It has happened to me.

More than once.

Because I have no shame or dignity left I'm going to speak candidly in order to help others who find themselves in this unexpected (and painful) predicament.

When you play a full contact sport and fall down as much as I do, you may get hurt by the very wheels you skate on.  Sometimes, you find a donut shaped bruise on your calf and remember you got kicked a little during scrimmage.  Or other times, you get a giraffe kick to the face while you are lying on the track. 

Then, there are those times where you fall on your own skate.  And it makes contact with your crotch.  And you are sure glad you decided to wear pants because otherwise there might have been penetration.

And THAT would be BAD. Very bad.

Falling on your own skate or that of another player has several colorful names. 'Giner Shiner. C__ Punt (not my favorite, but I've heard it used). Wheel bang. Baby Maker Violation.  Many others, I am sure.

It hurts like the dickens.  You may see stars.  Sometimes there is blood. 

You may hear someone scream, "I hurt my labia!"

or "That's gonna interfere with my evening activities."  Or maybe just a LONG string of words you can't say on television.

You may lie on the floor with your hands between your legs and tears streaming down your face remembering the time you rode Kenneth Wetzel's bike and slipped off the seat.  Or the time you didn't quite make it when you jumped over a fence.  Or the time you accidentally landed with the beam between your legs in gymnastics....

Ahem... moving right along....

It might take you an extra moment or two to get up.  And when your very MALE coach is asking what happened, you might squeak out, "Collateral damage."  And when he looks at you like you are a little nuts, you might slowly get up off the floor and skate straight for the bathrooms to grab your crotch and cry in the privacy of the ladies room.

It's going to swell.  So, get some ice on that sucker as soon as you can.  Shove it right down your pants.  If you get an ice pack from your league or the rink, for the love of St. Peter, please don't give it back.  Bring a couple of fresh ones to replace it the next time you are up there.

It may swell despite the swift application of ice.  You may be shocked at the enormity of the swelling the first morning. Especially if you injured yourself at night, fell asleep with an ice pack between your legs, and woke up thinking you peed in your bed thanks to the pinprick leak in the ice pack. If you wake up in the middle of the night, get more ice.  Maybe even set an alarm.  Just trust me on this one. 

And other than a nurse or doctor, you may just want to keep the viewing of that all to yourself. Just a tip. The whole area may blow up like a balloon that hangs halfway down your thigh. A huge, misshapen, bruised, bleeding balloon that you might accidentally try to sit on. 

Yeah, don't. 

Don't plan on sitting on a bench or a wooden chair for a few days either.  Just go get in your bed or on the couch; it makes life easier.  If you have to sit on something hard, employ the I'm-casually-leaning-to-one-side-so-as-to-rest-on-one-cheek method.  It will do in a pinch.  A Boppy pillow is not a bad thing either, although any preschooler in your life my give you grief over why you are sitting on their pillow.  You may decide it's not worth the possibility that they will push you off said pillow.  Not that my child would do that....

Also, you may want to forego pants.  I know they saved you from wheel penetration, but this is not the time for pants.  Dresses, skirts, gowns, and robes are the only way to go.  If you must leave the house because you need to go to work or the grocery store or possibly the cosmetic surgeon to have your lady parts reconstructed, carefully consider your undergarments.  The big, not cute ones in the back of the drawer from when you were two sizes bigger than you are now, pull those granny panties out.  They have room to accomodate the ice pack that you MUST continue to use.  Save the sexy, little things from VS for later.  This is no time for lace or thongs.

Liberal amounts of ibuprofen are good.  When I say liberal, I mean eight follow the directions for taking a higher dosage on the bottle.  Remember, I'm not a doctor.  I'm also not a great patient. 

If you have lacerations (cuts) from your private battle with a wheel or two, you need to make sure to keep it all clean, too.  If you have had a baby, you know what to do.  If you haven't, you need to get a clean squirt bottle and fill it with warm (I like hot) water.  Don't drink the water; squirt it on the swollen areas.  Use this to clean yourself each time you have to "powder your nose."  It might sting a little.  The hotter the water is, the better.  Drip for a bit.  And no wiping.  Pat dry.  Gently.  Then, apply witch hazel pads. Change the witch hazel pads several times a day.  You will thank me for that tip on the witch hazel pads.  And apply more ice.

You might also want to try a sitz bath.  That's where you run a couple of inches of hot water in the bathtub, and you sits in it.

Well, I thought it was funny....

During your sitz bath as you are sitting naked in the equivalent of a small puddle,  your kid comes in and asks if you want some more water.  And if you want some toys.  And can he have some candy.  The answer to all three is no.

You do not want to sit in the sitz bath all day.  Just a few minutes.  Maybe 10.  Then, get out, gently pat dry, and get some more ice.

In case you hadn't noticed, the magic ingredient throughout is ice.  One solid day of ice.  After one full day of ice, you can wean yourself off the frozen stuff, although you may want an ice pack in the morning and at the end of the day.  You should be nearly good as new in three days. It might take a week or two for the bruising to completely subside, and you may be sore for a while, too.   And a little skittish when anyone gets a little close to your crotch. 

After this experience, you might find yourself being extremely thankful that it didn't happen in a bout where 400 strangers would stare at you as you writhed in pain and then would clap as you got up holding your vagina.  Seriously, they would clap. And hold their hands up to make a special vagina symbol. And you would have to make the symbol back followed by a thumbs up. I'm sure that has played out on a track out there somewhere. Somewhere other than my mind. If not, I want ALL the royalties when they put that in the next derby movie.

Ice, ice, baby.  Peace out.


Monday, August 12, 2013

15% Lesbian is Nothing to Apologize for

I haven't told a derby story in a long while....

On Saturday night at HOQ, I watched a men's mashup and a WFTDA bout between our travel team (Fighting Unicorns) and the Cen-Tex Roller Girls.  In case you are wondering, white won the men's bout, and WE won the match-up over Cen-Tex.  Unexpectedly. By over 200 points.  Look out when we become full WFTDA members!  Whoot! Whoot!

My volunteer job that evening was to be a "Derby Girl in the Crowd."  This means I dressed a little bit derby spectacular (platform glitter gold heels, black and gold derby skins, and black House of Quad tee with a silver sequinned belt I snagged from RNR, and black and white stripped tights).  Plus, I wore a purple button that says "Ask Me".  My job was to mingle with the crowd and explain the game to people who were new to derby or had questions. 

I haven't done this job since we were in our old facility, but I used to do it fairly frequently.  I used to get assigned this job because I am apparently friendly and approachable.  Ha.  These people still haven't met me. 

It was a perfect job for me this time since my Derby Delinquent (basically my derby son), Side of Sausage was playing in the mashup, and his brother and some friends had come to watch derby for the first time.  They needed me to 'splain the rules to them.  So, I sat on the Sausage sofa and 'splained away to Rowdy and company.  I enjoyed getting to meet and chat with the family of part of my derby family.  :)

Late in my evening as I stood talking to Sausage, someone came up and smacked me on the butt.  I don't think I even flinched because that actually happens to me fairly frequently in derby.  Ya know, it's like what happens in football.  Only it is usually from someone I know.  And I probably wouldn't have even noticed if Sausage hadn't asked, "Do you know her?"

I didn't know her. But, you know, whatever.... 

Sausage and I continued our conversation about his injury to his hand, and then it was time for me to go home.

I started making my goodbyes.  Round about the merch table, up pops the butt smacker.  Turns out she is a friend of Sausage's brother who I hadn't met.  She felt the need to apologize and explain her gesture.  She didn't mean to offend me (I wasn't offended; I hardly noticed).  She wasn't hitting on me.  She just thought I looked great and wanted me to know (Thank you.  I appreciate the compliment.).  She told me she had seen me standing there all night and that she had thought to herself,  "That girl is sexy, and she knows it." (Huh.  Not really anywhere in my thought process. And I think she was really just picking up on my feeling comfortable in my surroundings).  She just thought someone should tell me.  And she decided it would have to be her. 

At this point she acknowledged that the whole conversation we were having was a little weird, "maybe 15% weird". 

I laughed and told her I thought she might be about 15% lesbian, too.  Which is not very politically correct of me, but it was really funny considering she kept saying how hot I was. 

Hysterically funny.  We both laughed. 

Then, she told me that she was going to go back and tell Sausage that she and I had decided to go on a date.   Not sure if she told him or not.  But that would have been extra hilarious.  I'll have to ask him.

Here's the thing.  15% lesbian should be okay. 

And don't go all nuts on me here. Listen to what I have to say first.  Then, you can go nuts if you like.

I'm not talking about sexuality here.  I'm talking about women expressing kind words to other women. Which was what the strange exchange between me and the butt-smacker was really all about.  We should be liberal with kind words about appearance.  About child rearing.  About careers.  About anything.

As women, we shouldn't feel like we need to explain to one another when we are offering a compliment, but we frequently do.  We often feel like we have to set the compliment up to avoid looking strange or odd (which actually makes it more strange and odd).

The 15% weird girl (I'm totally kidding) made me think about women and the way we talk to one another.    If we as women walking down the street or through the mall or across campus or through the aisles of the Krogert, would approach one another and simply say,

"I love your haircut."

or

"I saw you struggling with your kid, and I know it's hard and embarrassing for your kid to lose it in WalMart, but you really handled that well."

or

"You know.  You carry yourself very gracefully."

Whatever it is that you see in her.  Lifting each other up.  Not falling into the trap of comparison.  Really looking at each person as someone God made, loves, and thinks is beautiful.

If we as women all did that regularly, instead of the meowing that women sometimes do... it wouldn't be 15% weird. It would be 100% wonderful.

But if it is outside derby and comes with a smack on the butt, it might be 15% lesbian. And I can accept that compliment, too. 

Question:  Is this 15% offensive?  Do compliments make you uncomfortable?  Are you comfortable giving compliments?




Friday, August 9, 2013

From the Mouth of Bonus

A few conversations from the week...

"Mama, I can spell pernicious."

"Okay, let's hear it."

"P-U-R-N-I-S-H-U-S, I think."

"That's not quite right, but that's a big word. It's spelled like this [offers correct spelling]."

"Yeah, the E sounds like it shoud be an U."

pause in conversation.

"Ummm, [Bonus], do you know what pernicious means?

"Yeah, ancient, wicked damage."

"Ummm, pretty close, dude."



I walk away a little stunned at the vocabulary of my 7 year old.  How perfect that I have a son who delights in words in the same way I do.


A little later in the day...

I hand Bonus a bag of hot dog buns that are a little moldy and ask him to throw them out for me.  My hands were wet when I passed him the bag, but he didn't know that.

As he walks over to the pantry, he shivers and says, "Ew, these are so old that they produced wetness."

Produced.  What kind of kid says things like this? 

I tell him that he has a big vocabulary, and he asks me what a vocabulary is.  I explain that it is the group of words you have in your brain from where you choose what you will say or write. 

His face lights up, and he gives me his little puppy-dog-scratching-at-the-back-door-impression.  He walks out of the room repeating the word vocabulary to himself.

And finally,

"Mama, if they are setting up a paintball course do they make sure it is in a place where there are no wolves or mountain lions?"

"I have never played paintball.  It seems like that would be a good idea though."

He has the most random thoughts that seem to come out of absolutely nowhere.  I can never guess what may come out of his mouth at any given moment, and I am so curious about the thoughts that I know are constantly rolling through his little brain.










Thursday, August 8, 2013

Naked + Fire Alarm = My Worst Nightmare Come True, Part Two

Sorry to make you wait.  That was a little mean.

I just had to get up from the computer for a bit.  I had really camped there for quite some time. 

Back to my tale....  if you missed the first half, go here.

So, the Europeans and I step out of the elevator on Floor 61.  And I immediately get a sick feeling.

Remember my first mistake?

I had just realized that I did not have a key to my room.

My key was on the dresser.  Next to the lanyard.  Not in the lanyard.  I doubled checked my wallet and purse to make sure.  Yup, no key.  I'm going to have to go down to registration to get a new key.  Which means I will have to cross the paths of at least a thousand more people.

I press the down arrow and wait for my elevator to arrive.  I towel-dry my hair a bit while I wait. 

Bing!

The doors open, I enter, and I realize the same old derby dude is in the same elevator.  AGAIN.  And he winks at me.  Haven't I been through enough already?  I pull the towel over my chest and cross my arms over it.  Fortunately, we only stop twice before reaching the lobby floor.

I make my way past the steakhouse, tattoo parlor, childrens' shop, ABC store, and smaller casino toward registration.  See, I wasn't kidding about the thousand people.

When I arrive at the registration desk, I find a line of about 150 people.  Who all simultaneouly stare at me.  And my bralessness.  At least that's what it felt like. 

Crap.  I wasn't going to stand there like that for another hour. 

Then, I remember a wonderful little detail.  I had given my friend Baronness von Booty a key to my room, so that she could throw her skates in there between sessions.  Unfortunately, she was staying at a different hotel and had headed over there to hang out by the pool and then ready herself for our night out.

I texted Booty, briefly explained what had happened, and told her I was on my way over.

Which means I was heading out to the Strip.  Like that.  I know it's Vegas, but it's also me.  And I feel naked. And bouncy.  And wet.

I decide I will find a restroom, get my bra out of my purse, and put it on my body.  Great idea!

I head toward the large casino which leads to the doors nearest to Booty's hotel in search of the elusive restroom.

If you have ever been to Vegas, or any large hotel for that matter, you know that in the maze of the hotel floor you can easily miss things like restrooms.  Even though you know that they are coming up on the left.  Somewhere.  Was it by the pool bar or by the Wizard of Oz slot machines?

As I reach the doors that lead out of my hotel without finding the restroom, I decide it's better to keep moving forward.  Did I mention that my heart has not stopped beating a mile a minute yet?  It was still pounding.  Still adrenaline pulsing through my veins.

I step out into the bright 106 degree sunlight of the Strip.  And realize my sunglasses are on the dresser next to my keys.  Sigh.

Heading toward Booty's hotel, I start to feel a little parched.  I reach into my purse for lip balm.  Which is, of course, in my backpack that I left in the hotel room because there was a possible fire and you should just grab the minimum (like your ID and key) as you exit. 

So, I'm strolling down the Strip squinting, braless, with chapped lips, wet hair, holding a hotel towel....  In other words, I pretty much fit right in.

I pass a CVS and duck in to buy lip balm and deodorant.  Because the stress of the situation is really starting to show, or should I say smell, in my armpits. 

I finally arrive at Booty's hotel room where I put on the bra, deodorant, and balm.  Booty says I look like I could use a drink, and I let her lead me to the pool where Styx and Whip are lounging on chaises.  Booty wanders off to buy me a pina colada, and I sit at the end of Styx's chair, allow my heart to (finally) slow down, and sip its cool sweetness in. 

After about an hour of chillin' by the pool, we decide it is time to get ready.  Booty double checks to make sure she has given me my key and that I know where it is.  I head back. 

And you better believe as soon as I get in my room, I put one key in the lanyard and one key in my purse.  Who knows what I might be doing the next time there is a fire alarm?



Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Because we need a laugh today...Naked + Fire Alarm = My Worst Nightmare Come True

After yesterday's serious post, some of you need a little levity. I know I do. 

I endeavor to bring it before this post is over.  Hang in there. 

First, you need a little backstory though.

On the Friday afternoon of RollerCon 2013 after watching some fantastic high level derby on the main track, I headed back to my hotel room to shower and have a power nap before we embarked on another evening of fun on the Strip.  Once safely triple-locked in the privacy of my room, I threw my hotel key on the dresser instead of putting it back in the pouch on my lanyard as I had since Wednesday.

First mistake.

I procrastinated for a few minutes. I had a drink of water.  I looked at GroupMe on my phone and caught up with my derby peeps back home and in Vegas.  I might have read a few updates on Facebook.  Checked my email.  I looked through my RollerCon guide to see what classes and bouts were scheduled for Saturday.  I read a few ads and then picked up the book I was reading (Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford) and quickly got caught up in the story of Henry and Keiko during the Japanese internment.  

Big mistake.  Huge.

After several engaging chapters I started to nod off a little and finally decided I needed to clean up or get to napping.  I decided I would rest better if I was clean. 

Usually if I am in a hotel, I will figure out what I am going to wear before I get in the shower.  I'll lay it out on the bed.  Bra, panties, outfit all waiting for me when I get out.  But since I was focused on getting clean and tired, I didn't.

Number three.

I hopped in the shower.  I started by washing my face.  Then, I moved on to washing my hair, which was recently dyed a fabulous royal blue by my amazingly talented teammate, Dynamo Yo.

If you have never had your hair dyed with vibrant color, you might not know that the first couple of times you wash your hair, the color can get all over you and all over the shower.  Yeah, I was a quickly turning into a smurf.  I turned my attention to my back and chest, so I wouldn't be blue.  Literally.

I had just finished returning my skin to its normal flesh color when I thought heard something.

I turned off the water, and then I was sure.

Yep, it was an alarm.  A fire alarm.  And I was naked.  And dripping wet.  With unshaved legs.

I wrapped my head in a towel to prevent the blue dye from redepositing itself on my skin. 

The alarm continued, and it seemed to get louder. And more frequent.

I towelled off my body--sorta.  Reached in the closet and tore the tags off the new red dress I was going to wear that evening and pulled it over my head.  Of course, it stuck to me.  Then, I rummaged through my suitcase for a pair of clean panties.  I had packed too much (as usual), and it took me a minute to locate a pair.  I stepped into them and tried to pull them up against my still moist skin.  I looked like Bonus trying to put his pajamas on after a bath without drying first.  Yeah, it was a wrestling match with jumping and bunching, etc.  I'm so glad there was no one there to witness the ridiculousness. 

The panty wrestling had taken longer than it should have, and the fire alarm continued sounding.  I had hoped for an announcement that it was a false alarm, but it hadn't come.  The fire could be close.  It could be huge.  I knew I needed to get out of there and fast.  My heart was pounding.  I located my strapless bra and shoved it in my purse along with my phone. 

Mistake cuatro.  Treinta y cuatro DD. 

Slipped my feet into my flipflops.  On my way out the door I hung my lanyard around my neck.  I turned left and headed for the stairs.  I always check for the location of the exits as soon as I locate my room, and I was thankful for my OCD in this area because I was prepared in an emergency.  Scoffers keep scoffing... 

It was fairly quiet when I entered the stairwell, but I could hear a few people making their way to the ground floor.  When I was about half a flight down, a European couple entered from the same doorway I had.  They told me that they were glad I knew where to go because they had blindly followed me down the hall and into the stairwell.  They said they had been napping when the alarm went off.  They asked me what the alarm was for, and we began to make our way down...

NINETEEN STORIES

Or somewhere along those lines.  I was on floor sixty-one (which has nothing to do with the actual floor you are on--it has to do with which tower you are in).  I think the ground floor was 42, but I can't be certain.  No matter the number of floors, it was a long way down with my hair in a towel, my panties off center, and my boobs bra-lessly bouncing.  I'm sure I was a real spectacle.

The Europeans and I chatted about this being their first trip to Vegas and I told them I was visiting for roller derby. Which they were unfamiliar with.  So I schooled them a little.  And admitted that it was most likely the shenanigans of one of the RollerCon attendees that had caused us to be traipsing (at a moderate clip) half-dressed down so many flights of stairs.  I apologized profusely for derby people everywhere.

About nine stories down, the alarm ceased.  A voice came through the speakers and told us that the tower had been checked, that there was no danger, and we could return to our previous activities.

Whew!  Crisis averted!

The Europeans and I decided we would take the elevator back up to floor 61.  We had a good bit of company.  Who noticed right off the bat that I had been in the shower when the alarm sounded.  Some disagreed with my need to don clothing before leaving my room.  One particularly forward elderly derby geezer posited that it would have made his day had I left my room sans clothing.   

Step off, dude.  And in your dreams.  But thanks for thinking I'm attractive, I think?

Anyway, the Europeans and I finally return to floor 61.

You think this story is over, but you are wrong...

Come back tomorrow to find out what happens when I get off the elevator.

Don't you just hate it when people do that?  Me, too!





Tuesday, August 6, 2013

When your circle gets a little smaller

I had just finished up a long, hot shower.  I was freshly dressed.  My hair was still in a towel when I heard the phone ringing. 

Five minutes earlier I would have missed the call.  I nearly did anyway, as I have a new phone and don't yet recognize its ring.  I caught it seconds before it would have gone to voicemail.

It was 8:12 am Vegas time on Sunday, August 4.  When I looked at the name of the caller, I already knew.

I said, "Hey" and she said hello and asked if I had already spoken with another of our friends.  Then, I asked her if Jennifer had died.  My friend told me she had died just a little earlier that morning. 

We sat in silent shock for a moment.

A lump rose in my throat. I choked it down with a few tears.  I wanted to cry, but I couldn't because this moment wasn't really for me. This moment was for the friend on the phone who was closer to Jennifer.  She needed a moment where she could cry and talk about how she had seen Jennifer just the day before.  Jennifer had trouble speaking that day, and while I think my friend knew it was just a matter of time, we all thought the time would be longer.  We always think it will be longer.  People were making calendars to sit with her on different days when the kids went back to school.  Friends from her high school and college days were trying in earnest to get here to see her one more time.  It just didn't work out that way.

I'm not going to tell you that Jennifer and I were great friends. We weren't.  We were neighborhood moms in the same support circle.  Our oldest children are in the same class and starting high school together in a few short weeks. We survived the early years of elementary school together. We went out to dinner with the same friends. We sat in friends' homes and chatted. We attended birthday parties and direct sell parties together.  We offered and received advice on marriage and child rearing.  We worried about our childrens' choices in friends.  We lamented the overload of homework in 4th grade.  When we chatted, Jennifer and I frequently had dissenting opinions, and right now I can see her bewildered face when I disagreed with her on something.  Trying to figure out how I could believe so differently from her.  Even though we didn't always agree, it was okay.  We just picked up from there and gave each other a warm hello the next time we passed one another in the hallways at school or in a friend's kitchen or living room or in the grocery store.  Jennifer had a huge smile, a large laugh, a knockout thin body, a large appreciation for good margaritas, and a passion for fitness.  Everyone in our neighborhood at least knew of her because she had taught water aerobics, yoga, and pilates in our community center before she went back to work at Mary Kay.  If you passed her on the trails in our community, she would give you great encouragement to finish your workout strong.          

This had been Jennifer's second battle with breast cancer, and it was cut unbelievably, unceremoniously short.  She was just rediagnosed at the tail end of June.  However, when the second diagnosis was received, her body was already riddled with cancer.  In her bones. In her liver.  In the lining of her lung.  Last summer following the double mastectomy, she had been pronounced cancer free.  Her reconstruction surgery was just last fall.  When the cancer decided to come back, it came back with a fiery vengeance.

It feels like we had just learned that the cancer was back, and now, she is gone.  I had just asked my Sunday School class to pray for her and her family a few Sundays ago because she said she didn't need meals or anything.  She just needed prayer. 

Now, she needs nothing.  She believed in Jesus Christ and followed Him.  I am certain she sits in glory.   I am so thankful to know that as we go on to celebrate her life in its final ceremonies on Wednesday and Thursday.

Her husband and boys, however, need comfort, love, and prayers, and they will continue in that need for a long time. I know the boys will also need rides to school and football practice. Help with homework.  Understanding when the oldest loses his cool in his first few days of high school.  Acceptance at the middle school where awkward preteens don't know what to do or say and teachers don't know the family.  Patience at the elementary school where teachers have a classroom full of young children.

And I know my circle of moms will be there to step in.  Like they have so many times for me.  Like they did when my friend on the phone was going through her own battle with breast cancer.  Just like they did when another neighborhood mom died of breast cancer, another mom suffered a severe stroke, when one was lost to melanoma, when divorces happened, when miscarriages devastated, when children were ill, and on and on.  It's our responsibilty and our privilege.  As moms we may not always see eye-to-eye, but we do see heart-to-heart. 




Monday, July 29, 2013

Little Bit Country, Little Bit Hot Mess

As I was getting ready for church this morning, Bonus came into my bathroom looking for some help with his hair. We recently cut it into a fauxhawk again, and sometimes he is able to get it to standup with his Gorilla Snot and other times he isn't.

Today he wanted my assistance (and my hair was finished), so I said I would help him.  I just loved it that he said,

Mama, I brought the jail for you.

For those of you not from the South, when an adorable, seven year old, true Texan says gel, it always comes out as jail.

Makes me happy.  :)  



Saturday, July 27, 2013

Did That Just Happen?

Oh yes.  It did.

Miss Noteworthy and I had a conversation where we actually tried to rank which Ace of Base song was the best (NONE, btw).

I love this kid.




 


Friday, July 26, 2013

This Is Just To Say

William Carlos William's poem "This Is Just To Say" is possibly my favorite.  However, I'm not talking about that right now.

I'm talking about this...
Source: RollerCon
In 4 days.  For the third time.  Looking to do some "Laverne & Shirley Blocking", "Wax On, Wax Off" with Dirty Deborah Harry, and "Block Like A Boss." Oh, and win all the prizes at the Riedell Safari party. 

Maybe this year I will be able to get a picture of Phenol... she is a little sneaky when the camera comes out. ;)





Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Desperate Times.... Or Not

Normally, I would be telling you that we somehow managed to survive the seventh circle of hell camp in Wichita Falls.

However...

There was very little "normal" about this year's summer camp.

To start, it wasn't 147 degrees.  And that is an incredibly strange start.

It rained.  Monday, Tuesday, and parts of Wednesday.  And stayed in the seventies for the first two days!

We were actually cold.  I was thankful that I threw a jacket in my suitcase and made the last minute trip to Target for new umbrellas. Because we were wet.  To the bone. For days.  But we weren't being burned to death like we normally are, so there were very few complaints.  When it finally dried up, it was gorgeous.  No one complained about the heat because it was comfortably warm, and we were finally dry.  You wouldn't have known we were in Texas in the middle of July if the map had not said so.



the "must-do"

Another non-normal part of camp this year is that I had repeat customers.  Six of the girls in my cabin were in my cabin two years ago.  So I knew them, and they knew me.  They already knew that my main rules are: 1). Respect. Which includes others, yourself, and property.  Particularly property that is not your own..., AND  2).  No panties on the floor. 

Having repeat customers was lovely.  Because I saw nary a pantie all week.  Neither on the floor nor on a body.  Can I get a WHOOP!?!

I'm pretty easy to live with at camp.  Plus, I had gummy bears, smarties, and tootsie pops (an oddly popular choice) for the moments when I wasn't easy to live with.  Contrast this with my last trip to camp where I forgot all my toiletries.  I may not have been the best cabin mate that year.

 

Miss Noteworthy and her "friend" for "Friend Night" She looked gorgeous.  And isn't he just adorable?

Those little third graders I bunked with two years ago, boy, have they grown up!  Everyone of them had DEODORANT!  (Including me.)  And they showered EVERY DAY.  Without me bugging them.  In fact, there was so much showering I had to leave our cabin to find a place to pee more than once.  And once I showered after midnight because it was the first stall opening.

But, they had matured in plenty of other ways, too.  They were sooooo easy to get along with. I never once broke up any unkind or catty talk.  I was really proud of them.  Best. Cabin. Ever.

RNR and her camp posse
 
 
And, to my delight, I lost 3 POUNDS. In the past, I have always gained a few pounds at camp.  When chicken-fried steak is dinner, you eat it or you go hungry.  And if they ask you if you want gravy, you say "yes" because that might be the only way to disguise your meal enough for you to swallow it down.  
 
I did the gravy and the chicken-fried steak, and I still lost more weight than I had in the previous month of trying to watch what I was eating. Which is irksome, but whatever, I'll take the three pounds.   
 
My cabin and few stragglers


sixth graders always insist on the photobomb...

But, before you think camp was all wine and roses, there were a few moments we all could have lived without.  One adult leader did have to go to urgent care and then be sent to the ER.  And one wee girl child broke a bone in her leg. 

There was also the lack of sleep.  Which is completely typical.  I learned that having a temperpedic mattress at camp is not a bonus.  Lots of people love them, but I like a hard bed. I don't like climbing out of the goo of memory foam each time I turn over in the night. I also chose to forego sleep on the last night at camp in order to spend some time bonding with a couple of the other ladies.  So worth it.  I got Kernsie to laugh so hard she squealed.  It. Was. Amazing.


Photo stolen from and taken by J.O. 
Licking a coffee spill off your shirt after a night of little sleep...
Desperate times = Desperate Measures
 



All in all, I'd say departure from normal was a huge hit.  Going back next year if they will have me!



Saturday, July 13, 2013

Plot Summary



Summer is like the blink of an eye this year.  Apparently, when you are about to have a high schooler, life is no longer your own.  Including summers.

Too much busy.  Not enough nothing.  I need more nothing for balance. To have a chance to breathe and think.  And be quiet.

Bonus cracks me up.  But I'm feeling a little like this right now, too....  


Today I wish I could sit here for hours and write, but I have to finish getting everyone ready for church camp and baseball camp and a trip to Wyoming. 

Why Wyoming you ask?  That's the same question I asked Mr. Incredible, so we must think alike.  Apparently, one of the Colorado organizations Mr. Incredible deals with decided to hold their meeting in Wyoming instead of Colorado.  Whatever.  I have uneducated visions of sparseness.  Bathing in a bucket if you are lucky.  Not really my idea of fun.

If you love Wyoming, fantastic.  I'm not sure they have Starbucks there.  I'm gonna go google that.  Wait right here.

Source   Ok.  This is kinda gorgeous. 

I'm back.  It appears that there are between eight and fifteen stores in the whole state of Wyoming.  I don't have time to enter all the possible city locations in Wyoming into the Starbuck store locator to verify.   And I lied.  I would like to visit because I'd love to see an old friend who lives there in Laramie. 

Anywho, I digress majorly.

Back to my point, which is the summer has been and will continue to be busy.

I just finished the laundry and unpacking from our July 4th expedition to Lake Conroe.  Where we won the GRAND PRIZE for the golf cart parade!!!!

Tape everything we have left over from previous years to the golf cart for the win! 


We have no idea how we pulled this off.  It must have been "the ribbon attachment and a tape" that put us over the top.  Or the fact that it looks like the children decorated it.  They helped, but it was mainly decorated by my mother and sister.   We were the last entry the judges saw, and we did have a trailer hooked to our golf cart.  And we had a gang of thirteen people.

No, that's not Ellie Mae, it's RNR!

Uncle Mike supervising fishing with the kididdles 

Girl cousins catching a little bite together



While at the lake, we also had a great time fishing with Uncle Mike, or Muka Muk, as we like to call him.

Bonus was so proud of his catch.  Not proud enough to touch it though.


Currently, camp is the main thing on my mind.  The last time I went to camp, a friend broke her nose, and I nearly knocked myself out trying to douse Kernsie the Cheater with colored water.  That's what I get for seeking revenge on a neighbor.  Even though she totally deserved it.  I love camp.

In my cabin it will be me and another much younger, cooler, swag-wearing counselor in a cabin of fifth and sixth graders.  I have packed a great deal of candy hoping I will be able to bribe them to like me better.  You think I'm kidding.

Minus theme night costumes and sunscreen, I think my girls are packed.  Finally.  After many trips to WalMart, Target, and any store that might possibly have shorts that fit me. Derby and cake do not play nice together.

Bonus will be attending baseball camp while the girls and I are at church camp.  Many thanks to my wonderful parents who will be staying with and taxi-ing him around. 

Mind you, Bonus has never really played baseball before.  But, like most seven year old boys, he is pretty sure he is an expert.  And needs to tell everyone.  Mr. Incredible and I gave him a little speech about not schooling the baseball coach on the game.  I'm sure Bonus will give him some tips nonetheless.


I have everyone taken care of, except me.  And now, I'm going to go do that so I don't show up at camp without deodorant or pants.  Because that has NEVER happened to me before....  
      
   
    




Friday, June 14, 2013

Summer Survival

My children have been out of school for five days.  So far, so good.

Kinda.

RNR has been grounded for being unkind to her brother.  She has missed out on many a playdate already.  Good thing she got her "Triangular Sleepover" in before she couldn't stop herself from calling him a baby (and other things). Again. 

RNR is also in the middle of basketball camp. Nevermind that she did not know how to dribble or throw prior to camp.  Or know the rules.  She says basketball is awesome, and she thinks she is an awesome player.  I was very proud of her for trying something new and for walking into that very full gynasium all by herself.   What I think is most awesome is that she doesn't seem to be comparing herself to the other girls.  I watched for a few moments at the end of the day, and there are girls who quite obviously know what they are doing on the court.  RNR didn't let that bother her.  Or the fact that she couldn't do a lay-up; instead, she was totally stoked that she made a basket.  She is very appropriately measuring her progress against her own previous performance.

Bonus has taken most of the skin off his knee.  Again.  I'm not even kidding when I tell you that I have emptied two boxes of Band-Aids in the past month on this child's knees. When seven year olds get a little daring on their (finally) training wheel-free bikes, it's never pretty. You can thank me for not posting pictures of the knee carnage.  It's quite oozy. Which means we haven't been to the pool. 

"Look, Ma!  Two wheels!"


The good news is that Bonus has learned to tie his shoes.  I know it seems like we should have been able to teach him to do so eons ago, but Mr. Incredible and I are both left-handed. Bonus is right-handed (no, that does not mean he is the milkman's kid. as far as you know.).  Plus, Bonus doesn't like to sit still for too long. I know his second grade teacher, Mrs. Wheeler, will be thrilled with his new ability.  No, I don't really know who his teacher for next year will be yet.  I'm just hoping that by putting it in writing it will magically be true.  Both the girls had Mrs. Wheeler and LOVED her.  I did, too.  If we don't get Mrs. Wheeler, we will also be delighted with Mrs. Blair or Mrs. Siske. 

Miss Noteworthy has entered week two of band camp.  She affectionately calls it "Standing Camp, Part Two."   The schedule is horrendous.  The expectations are unrealistic.  The teacher she liked left to go back to school.  This program may just suck the love of band right out of my kid.  Which is a real shame.  However, she did learn to play the first line of "Sweet Caroline" on the bass clarinet, which is a totally new instrument to her.  And she is enjoying tormeting her section leader.  She may write a book about this experience; we have titled it Irking Ben Miller.  Chapter One may be titled "Invoking the Wrath of Ben Miller and Living to Tell about It." You will be riveted.   

The house is in shambles, and I had a 7am Skype call this week with international strangers who will be coming to my home to film in two weeks.  I strategically placed my very tired butt at the dining room table in the dining room that is rarely used, so that they were not subjected to our sty.  That was a needless concern; they immediately asked me to lose the video because it was too slow.  Bummer.  I could have been in my pajamas in my bed and not brushed my teeth.  I am all dolled up with nowhere to go but childrens' camps and the Krogert. 

Speaking of the Krogert...  I was there with my kids the night of the rolling blackouts.  We were unaware that there had been blackouts because we had been running errands in a nearby town that was not affected.  Did you know that it is REALLY, REALLY dark in a grocery store when the power goes out, and that EVERYONE simultaneously SCREAMS?  You do now. Except me and Miss Noteworthy (who is yet again petitioning for a new name).  I couldn't scream.  I had to keep cool for Bonus who lost his mind all three times it went down.  It really was pitch dark in there. You should also know that the fancy debit/credit machines work on the generator.  Thank goodness because I had one actual dollar bill in my purse and no checkbook. And we needed hair color and Band-Aids.  Again. On both.  Miss Noteworthy is now a shade of dark reddish brown.

We have been to the library twice already.  Captain Underpants is apparently so hilarious that Bonus is on his second volume in two days.  Miss Noteworthy is on her third novel and hopes to read 25 before the summer is through.  RNR has actually read most of a book.  It's called Glory Be, and she says I need to read it, too. I think it is calling me now.

Right before the first bloodshedding...


Here's to the lazy days ahead.  One can dream.


Tuesday, June 4, 2013

T minus 72 hours (or something like that. i'm too tired to do the actual math.)

Two and half more days of school.

Three more days of packing lunches and backpacks.

Which is really unfortunate because I am currently out of bread, out of fruit, and out of drink mix packs for water bottles. 

Oh, and one kid lost her lunch box with 3 days of lunches left in the school year.  Really?

This school year needs to be OVER.  Yesterday.  Or even before that.

If I ruled the world, school would be out by Memorial Day.   



Tuesday, April 30, 2013

April had a lack of showers. I guess there won't be many May flowers.

Where did April go?

*I went to California with a friend.  We played at Universal Studios and Disneyland.  We had an amazing time and finished most of our sentences with the word "ladies."  It makes the most innocuous sentence suddenly become creepy.  Try it.  It's addictive.  I would post a picture of the amazing martini I had at Disney's California Adventure, but Picasa is being a real problem.

*I had surgery.  I was fairly quiet about this here and in my real life.  My right non-identical twin has a new scar and weighs less than it did at the beginning of the month.  My bill of health is now clean.  I could not shower for too many days.  Thank you for not commenting on my aroma when you came over to bring me dinner or flowers.   

*I took narcotics for one day.  It was the day Annette Funicello and Margaret Thatcher died.  Bye, bye central nervous system altering drugs.  Me no likey. 

*I was on medical leave from roller derby because of the aforementioned surgery.  My leave expires tomorrow.  I haven't exerted myself at all in a month, so practice tomorrow should be interesting.  I will be in great pain Thursday morning.  I'm pretty sure it will be like starting over....

*Mad Men came back on.  Now you know what I've been up to on Sunday evenings.

*Just like you, I was deeply saddened by the events that occurred in Boston and in West, Texas.

*A friend called me to meet her at 9:30 am for a pedicure.  The place had wine, and when they offered I said, "Sure."  I drank about three sips.  A).  It was 9:30 am for pete's sake.  B). I had to drive home. C). It was sweet.  I hate sweet reds.  Ick.     

*I went to the afterparty after last Saturday's bout.  This was the first afterparty I have attended this season.  I would tell you all about it, but what happens at the afterparty stays at the afterparty.  Except I will say that the fact that the DJ played Hall & Oates should be a BIG tip-off.  Really? Hall & Oates?  Who requested that?  And do you want me to kick your butt now or later?

*Bonus got his orange and black belt in jiu jitsu and thanked me for being so good to him but only because he coach said he had to.  We haven't been seeing eye-to-eye much lately.  Especially after he hid so successfully following an argument with his sister that I had to call a neighbor to come help me find him.  I nearly called the police.  I was completely hysterical.  We have new rules about hiding places.  Although Bonus argued that he never left the house, I told him that my home owner's insurance policy says that the garage is a separate dwelling.  
  
*RNR is now fully apprised on the birds and the bees.  It was a rather impromptu but necessary speech on my part.  The gross out factor for her was a twelve on a scale of ten.  Good.  Let's keep it that way for at least the next 8 years. Preferably longer.

RNR looking at her parents and other parents in a whole new way 

*My laptop is leading a revolt against me.  It won't charge, and it's not the battery.  It's the fact that 2 of my children can't seem to walk in my room without ripping the powercord out of the back of the computer. Nothing is sacred around here. 

* The children are convinced that we are getting a dog.  They even informed my parents of this.  We are not getting a dog.  I love dogs.  I just don't want to take care of one right now.  Because we all know if we don't want the poor thing to starve to death, I will have to feed it.  I offered a hermit crab compromise but so far I have no takers.

*My roller derby team started group texting.  And now you know why the blog has been a little ignored....

*The water heater died a slow death while I was in California.  I'm so glad I missed the cold showers.  New water heater is SUPAH!

*My nephew went live.  Visit him here to see his cuteness and ninja football skills.  I'm one proud aunt.

*We had a break-up.  Which means we went out for a special dinner and had a proper dessert at Ben & Jerry's.  Miss Noteworthy and the boyfriend are off right now.  There is a big dance this Saturday, and tickets were purchased.  Thankfully, she did not order a boutonniere.   

*Lunch duty at the elementary school got momentarily sketchy when a table of adorable and innocent first grade girls asked me if babies came out here (pointing to stomach) or here (pointing to crotch). I told them to talk to their mothers when they got home. And then told the child who started the conversation that she needed to leave that conversation at home.

*I'm not going to apologize for ignoring my blog.  I'm not even going to say that I'll try harder.  I'll just say that I'll try to let you know when something interesting happens.