Reckless Housewife

Who loves ya, Baby?

2012-02-23T12:41:00.000-06:00

I'm snuggled in bed with Bonus watching Indiana Jones try to find the ark. We haven't gotten to the snake part yet. When we get there, we will have to hide our eyes.

Bonus has had a hard week. Mommy and Daddy have had a hard week, so this quiet downtime is welcome. Even if we are having downtime because Bonus is a little sick in his belly.

Every few minutes, Bonus leans over and says, "Who needs a hug?" And, of course, I will always answer that with a yes. Mommy will always love her baby.

The Five Pound Dress

2012-02-15T09:36:00.001-06:00

Two weeks ago when I accidentally arrived an hour and a half early for derby practice (don't ask...), I had, well, an hour and a half to spare, so I decided to do a little shopping.

I bought a variety of items including a rug, a shirt, a medicine cabinet organizer, two dresses for me and one dress for Miss Noteworthy.

Miss Noteworthy did not like the neckline of her dress and the dress I loved was enormous on me (a good problem, I realize). Those were going back.

I tried on my other dress which was a form-fitting red number. It was what I call a five pound dress. If I lost five pounds it would fit perfectly, but at that particular moment, it was too tight in my butt.

I quickly decided I would take it back, laid it on my bed, and walked out of the bedroom.

Later that day...

I walked into my bedroom to discover that Bonus had "helped" me by taking the tags off of my new dress for me.

So...

I'm now trying to lose five pounds to be able to wear the red dress I wasn't wanting to keep. I have dusted off Brazil Butt Lift and am starting today. Last time I did it I lost four pounds in the first week, so it might be possible. I hope I stay on track enough to be able to wear it out to dinner in Vegas next week. I'll be meeting Mr. Incredible's boss and many of his co-workers for the first time. Yikes!

P.S. Mr. Incredible said no to my idea for a Valentine's sofa. Sniff, sniff. We settled on a fish and seafood lunch out and a scallop dinner in followed by a movie on vudu. Have you watched a movie on vudu? The streaming speed and picture quality was fantastic!

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

2012-02-14T08:45:00.001-06:00

Yes, I could call it Valentine's Day, but I actually prefer Miss Noteworthy's observation of this day:

"Happy Singles Awareness Day!"

and she followed this with "Valentine's Day is overrated."

I agree.

I'm pretty sure this "holiday" does a lot more to remind people who want a special someone but do not have one that they are not coupled than it does to promote romance for anyone.

We need a holiday for this?

Can you tell I'm not a fan?

Yeah, yeah, Mr. Incredible and I are going out for lunch anyway. He tried to buy me a blouse and a dress yesterday, but I decided against them. Wonder if I could get a new sofa out of this...

We did get the kids little gifties (nothing like a Monster High doll to say "I love you"). We've succumbed to cultural pressures. The shame.

Offense and Defense

2012-02-02T13:18:00.001-06:00

This week the blogosphere and the media in general broke two stories (Birth Control Recall and Susan G. Komen/Planned Parenthood) that have been weighing on my mind and heart. Everyone seems to have his or her opinion on the matters, and I am not any different in that. I have my opinion regarding what is true and what is right when it comes to women and their bodies.

But this post is not about my personal opinion, even though it very well could be as this is my blog, and my blog is an appropriate forum for me to rant and rave about whatever I choose. However, I find many of the comments I am reading on Facebook and around the blogosphere to be divisive and disparaging. When I read the comments and posts, my initial reaction is to blast back and defend my own position which may stand in stark contrast to yours. Which makes it no less valid, FYI.  But my opinion is not important today. If you want to know where I stand, ask me. I'm just not going to throw my opinion around right now because I think all the petitions and comments are causing us to lose focus and miss the main point.

Although I know a few gentlemen do regularly read my blog, I know the bulk of you are women. Women at my church, women in my neighborhood, women with children who go to school with my children, women in my derby league, women in Australia who play derby, women who were my dear friends in high school and college. Women I have never met. Women I hope to meet someday. Women, women, women.

Ladies, let's not lose our heads. Let's not be distracted by our own opinions as to what is right and wrong.  You are free to hop on whatever bandwagon you choose.  In America, the Declaration of Independence asserts the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; I would not be one who would challenge those particular freedoms.

PlannedParenthood is not the only provider of free breast exams for low income women. Underinsured and low-income women needing breast screenings can still receive these crucial screenings in other locations. The money from Susan G. Komen is still being used to provide breast screenings; the grants are just being given to different people. It's still being used to check boobies with no monies. This giant crusade against Susan G.Komen is over $600,000 that is still being used to help women. Just not at PlannedParenthood. Is this really worth a war between women on different sides of the reproductive/birth control argument?

Isn't that the money is still being used to help underserved women what is really important? Or is your own political agenda and political expediency more important? You choose.

Look, how I feel or how you feel about birth control or Planned Parenthood, even the procedure of abortion, is largely irrelevant when we are talking about breast screening for uninsured, underinsured,and low-income women.

And that's what we are really talking about, right?

It shouldn't really matter what your political or spiritual convictions are when we are talking about saving women's lives or catching breast cancer in its earliest and most curable stages.

So, before you get all up in arms and pledge to never wear a pink ribbon again or wear more pink ribbons than before, think about the real issue.

If you are a woman, you need to check your breasts. Every month. You never know what you might find. And if you don't check, you won't know what "normal" is for your breasts. And guys, although less talked about, you can actually develop breast cancer, so give your chest a rub from time to time, too.

You need to get your boobs, tatas, fun bags,"lungs", golden winnebagos, mammary glands--whatever you like to call them--checked by a doctor. Early detection is crucial.

If you fall into the 40+ category, you need to have a mammogram. And if finances are an obstacle, don't let one organization's change in grant funding prevent you from availing yourself of needed care and follow-up elsewhere. Don't let the fear of a "bad" mammogram prevent you from scheduling one. Ask me. I've had a slew of "bad" mammograms since 2008. I got "bad" results last week. I even had a biopsy last Saturday (yes, I bouted on the night I had a biopsy... my doctor allowed it). I still go for these appointments because if I wind up developing breast cancer, I want to catch it early--for myself, my family, and all the people who love me.  And, p.s. the biopsy showed the lump I found in my own regular self-breast exam was a benign tumor.

Derby girls love to show off their bruises. This is 4 days post-biopsy. You should have seen it on Monday.

YOUR BREAST HEALTH.

That's the underlying issue.

Don't get sidelined. Get checked.

Laser Hair Removal, The Musical

2012-01-27T09:59:00.001-06:00

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 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.

Have You Ever Seen Four Cuter Eyes?

2012-01-26T08:52:00.001-06:00

Bonus had asked to go to the eye doctor for...well, it's been awhile. Pretty much since he went to Kindergarten.

But, he passed the vision screening at school, so I wasn't in any hurry to get him there.

I thought he just wanted glasses because he has a couple of buddies at school who wear glasses. I even made that comment to a couple of my friends.

I took him to the eye doctor on Monday, and guess what?

He actually needs glasses for reading and schoolwork. He is farsighted, which surprised me because both Mr. Incredible and I are nearsighted. Turns out my dad was farsighted, too, but I never realized that because he always talked about his severe astigmatism instead of the farsightedness. I'm going to have to check with my mother-in-law regarding the far or nearsightedness of Mr. Incredible's side of the family.

Of couse, I sat in the room while Bonus had his exam, and I felt guilty for putting off his appointment when I heard him try to read the line that was three lines above 20/20. He was mixing up "o" with "c" and "c" with "o."

No wonder he has been struggling so much with his school work.

So, now my little man is a four eyed cutie. He picked out his own frames, and I think they look very handsome on him. In the frame-picking process, I learned that my son has impeccable (read: expensive) taste just like his mama.

He is taking pretty good care of his specs, too! Five days later he has only lost them in the house four times... :)

His teacher said she noticed an improvement the very first day he wore them. Poor little buddy. I'm sorry I didn't run straight to the eye doctor.

Unfortunately, he still hates school and begged not to go every morning this week. Do they have a doctor for that?

"Mom, you have to stop taking pictures of me so I can do my work. I already know I have cute eyes."

RNR Explains It All

2012-01-18T12:26:00.000-06:00

My little Rock N Roll Princess pops out with some great thoughts and words all the time.

But these were especially precious...

When sitting at the kitchen table talking about the close of a large business and the state of the economy,

"Then it went out of business and crashed a bunch of rich people's dreams."

I couldn't have explained it better myself.

And just because she could after a comment Mr. Incredible made,

" A sigh of evaporation."

glance from me...

"I know it's not right, I just wanted to say evaporation."

She can't stand not using her new vocab.

Both of these made me smile and giggle. I love this kid.

Only at Derby Practice...

2012-01-13T09:48:00.000-06:00

would you hear snickers when someone said,

"If you see a hole anywhere, go jump in it." (regarding a jammer making her way through a pack)

or

"We are going to go outside to eat tuna." (when people are really going outside to eat their lunches)

or

"That doesn't look like it's deep enough for a helmet." (a skate bag)

You know those innocent comments were all followed by a whisper of, "That's what she said."

And only in derby would one girl ask another girl about short sizing...

and the other girl immediately drop her shorts to her ankles, step out of them and hand them to the other girl. And casually stand there in a pair of tights.

And the injury comparisons were like fishing stories last night... You know, the big one that got away.

It continues to be a real eye-opener.

Oh, the things I see and hear in the places we roll...

Doing You A Favor

2012-01-12T09:32:00.000-06:00

Some of you can't seem to remember the blogspot part of the url, and some of you haven't learned how to bookmark. My typical suggestion for you has been to follow my blog or sign up to get it on your email.

I realize some of you do not want to publically follow me and have your sweet little face show up on my blog. I don't blame you. Your mom might see that you are following me, and that would be awkward (What's your mom doing at my website? That's my question...).

BUT...

You can remember my name.

SO...

I'm making it easier on you.

You can now get to me more easily.

That doesn't mean I've suddenly become too sensitive (I already am too sensitive, but let's not quibble over this.). It means I'm considerate of a couple of you who are apparently a little on the lazy side.

You can still get to me the same old way you used to. I'm not asking you to change your ways. Heaven forbid you move forward or grow or anything of the sort. However, you can now also get to me with just

www.recklesshousewife.com !!!

Isn't that convenient?

It's taken nearly three years for the old owners to release the url, but they released it.

I'll probably get all kinds of additional hits from people looking for porn in addition to the hits I already get for people looking for porn.

Goody.

I'm Your Pusher. I Got Something Special. Golden Crack.

2012-01-04T09:39:00.000-06:00

I've created a few addicts out there... Just like my father created addicts out of me and my family.

I even had someone else's derby wife saying she *might* be coerced into leaving her wife for me if I would hook her up with a supply of my Golden Crack.

Miss Noteworthy keeps telling me it's inappropriate to call it Golden Crack, but it's hard for almost anyone to walk by the bowl without getting another handful. I think it's funny, and we already know I'm not appropriate, so...

Here's your fix:

GOLDEN CRACK

6 cups graham cereal (like Golden Grahams)
1 cup honey roasted peanuts
1 cup pecan pieces
2 cups pretzels (whatever shape you like)
1 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
1/2 cup butter
1/4 cup light corn syrup (yeah,yeah... find your own substitute. It's a 1/4 cup to 10 cups of dry stuff.)
1 cup M&Ms (whatever variety you like... I've used both pretzel and peanut)

Preheat oven to 350. Cover large cookie pan with aluminum foil, and spray with non-stick spray.

Mix first four ingredients together in a huge bowl.

Melt the butter over medium-low heat. Stir in the brown sugar & corn syrup. Bring to a boil over medium heat, and boil for two minutes.

Pour sugary, buttery goodness over cereal mixture. Stir to coat. Spread mixture in a single layer into prepared pan and bake for 10 minutes. Cool for ten minutes, and then break into small chunks. Mix in candy.

Store in an airtight container. Best in first five days, but actually keeps longer.

I wouldn't worry about it being around for more than five days unless you are making vast quantities.

You've been warned!

If You Let It Snow Again, Mommy's Going to Jail

2012-01-03T08:45:00.001-06:00

Tuesday, December 6, 2011.

A bad day.

A day I hope to forget in the near future.

It was the day that Bonus almost did not make it to his next birthday.

I was feeling a little down already for reasons I'm not going to get into. Plus, Mr. Incredible was in Denver for business, so I was feeling a little lonely. It was overcast all day, and the sun never poked its head through the clouds. I think the high was around 23.

In addition, the explosion called Christmas decorating was strewn all over my house. I wanted and needed to complete the decorating madness and get all the bins and boxes put back in the attic, but I knew that even if I did finish covering our world with tinsel, the boxes and bins would have to sit there until Mr. Incredible returned home and delivered them into the attic. After I finished unloading each bin or box, I would place the empty container up in the kids' playroom.

Mr. Incredible's father started sending us nutcrackers for Christmas many moons ago, and last Christmas he sent an extra large one. It was packed in a huge box with seven hundred million packing peanuts, and when it came time to put Mr. Nutcracker up in the attic, I put him back in the peanuts he came in.

And that was my first mistake...

Yes, in fact, my forehead and my sign do say STUPID.  It also says RUN FOR YOUR LIFE, I'M A WALKING DISASTER and varied other messages of doom.

Packing peanuts. Styrofoam. The bane of mothers everywhere. Only second in horror to the dreaded plastic Easter grass.

I hate packing peanuts. I made do with them last year because I was OVER the Christmas decorations, we didn't have any more newspaper, and the Christmas decorations had to be put away THAT day (I know I'm not the only one who gets like this.). I could not wait for a trip to Lowes for an extra large bin and some bubble wrap. Mr. Nutcracker had to go in the attic that very minute, and up he went bathed in styrofoam nuts.

When I pulled Mr. Nutcracker from his resting place, Bonus, of course, immediately noticed the styrofoam and scooped out a handful to investigate it.

"Mama, what is this stuff?"

"It's packing material."

"It's cool."

And that should have been my clue to not walk directly into Mistake #2.  The distraction of Christmas decorations were screaming too loudly. I did not hear the little voice in my head saying, "Get that box and those packing peanuts into the recycling bin immediately or pay the price for your ignorant mistake." You don't hear voices? Hmpf. Moving along.

I put the box in the playroom and forgot about it.

Until two days later...

I was down in the kitchen decorating and making a test batch of Golden Crack (more on this to later), when I heard Bonus' excited voice from upstairs.

"It's snowing!"

And I thought nothing about it at first because it was cold enough, it had looked like a snowy sky earlier, and I was stirring a caramel sauce that I did not want to burn. Then, when my attention could be moved from the pot of sugary, buttery goodness to the window, I saw no snowflakes.

Uh oh.

I moved from the kitchen toward the stairs. As I emerged from the kitchen, I looked at the foyer and nearly cried.  Apparently, the "snow" was Bonus dropping packing peanuts from the overlook to the foyer. When I got to the top of the stairs, I named the foyer small potatoes.
I couldn't quite capture the blizzard.   You can't see the full scope of the storm, but, trust me, we will be talking about this particular round of frozen precipitate for a long time around these parts.

Christmas decorating?

Page Me 2011

2011-12-31T09:08:00.001-06:00

My reads for 2011:

A Fine Balance, Rohinton Mistry
The Good Husband, Gail Godwin
The Paper Men, William Golding
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
Teacher Man, Frank McCourt
The Five Love Languages, Gary Chapman
The Book of Ruth, Jane Hamilton
Crazy Love, Francis Chan
The Wedding, Nicholas Sparks
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J.K. Rowling
Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, J.K. Rowling
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, J.K. Rowling
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, J.K. Rowling
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, J.K. Rowling
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, J.K. Rowling
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, J.K. Rowling
The Lacuna, Barbara Kingsolver
Heaven is For Real, Todd Burpo with Lynn Vincent
The Orchid Thief, Susan Orlean
Redeeming Love, Francine Rivers

I loved reading the Harry Potter series. So much fun. And now I can participate in all those conversations. Are you Slytherin or Ravenclaw?  Who wants some butter beer?
The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver has one of the most unexpected endings EVER. It took me a LONG time to read this book, but that was because my schedule was been crazy. Authentic, lovable characters... some actually real people... Thank you, Katie, for the recommendation!

My friend Sandi insisted I read Heaven Is For Real and loaned it to me. Thanks, Sandi! I read it in one afternoon. Lots of tears for me.

I thought finishing The Orchid Thief would kill me. Which would have made an interesting obit. Laborious. Possibly the worst book ever. Yes, there might be some exaggeration in that statement. The research in the book was thorough...

J.O. loaned me Redeeming Love.  Thank you for providing a fabulous day of reading. Perfectly coincided with my reading of the account of Hosea and Gomer.  A "bad" woman being pursued by a man of amazing character. What's not to love?

The Paper Men. Golding has a way of investigating the nature of man that is both disturbing and accurate. A different voice than that of Lord of the Flies.  His take on the disintingration of relationships in the absense of societal rules is similar though.

Looking forward to finishing up the books I'm halfway through... I failed to complete three that I wanted to finish. Here's to good reading in 2012!

It Was THAT Kind of Christmas

2011-12-26T10:36:00.000-06:00

You know the kind where you hear comments like this:

"I don't want to hear anything else about the Holy Grail; I want you to eat your lunch."

Yep, that about sums it up.

If Forty-One Is As Good As Forty, I'll Take Two

2011-12-22T23:59:00.003-06:00

Yes, it's my birthday. I'm 41.

The birthday fun and surprises have already been far more than I was expecting. I threw a surprise baby shower at my home on Monday night. Was I ever surprised! My friends brought party hats, cake, wine, and cards that totally cracked me up for my birthday.  I wish you could read these cards. My friends know me and my sense of humor so well. Yes, you can be jealous; I have wonderful friends.

Oh, and I'm currently tucked under the covers! Mr. Incredible got me a fancy, new netbook for my birthday. He couldn't stand keeping the surprise any longer. He gave it to me on Saturday.

About a month ago Mr.Incredible asked me what I wanted to do for my birthday. Three words: Laser Hair Removal. Not the ones you were expecting? Well, I've asked for this for eight years. It's what I really wanted, and I bought myself a package of 6 treatments. I'm over the moon with just the thought of throwing away that bottle of Nair. So much hair we have to worry about.   At least it's not growing on my back or in my ears.  But, I did not make an appointment for hair removal for today. I don't want to be in agony on my birthday. I'll be sure to give you a review of the process when I do go though.

Instead, we went to Six Flags for Christmas in the Park with one of our favorite families. Fun!

It was all I could do to shake off this creeper who kept getting in line behind me.

Not afraid to wear girl hats in public. Most manly.

This trip around the sun has been amazing. Quite possibly my favorite yet.

The surprise parties! Both of them! Nothing beats William walking into my kitchen as I sat braless at the table. Thank you to Mr. Incredible for making my 40th year less about hitting a cetain age and more about having fun and celebrating.

My sister all weekend.

PandaMom and I bravely rode the train into New York City and almost came to fisticuffs in Madison Square Garden. "WE ARE NOT DOING THIS RIGHT NOW." We learned that a pedicab ride was as close to death as we wanted to come.

Oh, Hail! I hailed a cab. Myself. I was irrationally afraid to do this.

The sheer bliss of the Met. Sorry for dragging you around all day, Pandamom.

Derby. Derby. Derby. Where have you been all my life?

RollerCon. That's all you're getting out of me.

Bonus goes to school and gets smileys almost every day!

NOG gatherings.

Tears and laughter at Starbucks or Corner Bakery or our living rooms or kitchen tables.

Those are just a couple of my favorite things from forty. Too many fantastic memories to list. Good thing I blog.

Who knew last December 22 what unexpected adventure this year would hold? Certainly not I. Forty was a wonderful year. It's a shame it had to end. I'd do it all again!

Yeah, Yeah, I'm talking about myself again

2011-12-16T09:39:00.001-06:00

Recently, (okay, day before yesterday) I started reading a blog called Musings of a Shiny Penny. Alana made a list of 25 things she loves about herself and encouraged her readers to do the same. I've made lists of 50 reasons why I love my husband and why I love my dear friend PandaMom, but I haven't made the same type of list about myself. I've been thinking about the things I love about myself in the days following the writing of my post Mirror, Mirror, and I've decided to take Alana's encouragement and do something about it.

25 Things I Love About Me

1.   I can laugh at myself... most of the time.

2.   I am genuinely concerned about the people in my life. I really do want the best for you even if we don't agree on what "best" is.

3.   I can take my feelings, put them in a poem or a post, and have people say, "That's exactly how I feel."

4.   I wear sequins to the grocery store because it's Tuesday. It's fun. Try it!

5.   I'm always willing to give people a second chance or a third or a fourth or more.  Probably because I need all the chances you can spare.

6.   I consistently rock the high heels.  The higher the better. And when I say rock, I do mean ROCK. What's not to love about hot pink patent leather peep toes?

7.   I see my children as real, imperfect, flawed people like myself. I'm not a "super mom" (banish the very idea), but I am a good parent.

8.   I can find at least one beautiful, attractive, or redeeming thing about anyone.

9.   I can see both sides. I may not agree with you or believe in it, but I can generally understand how it is possible for you to believe as you do. At the same time, if you want to know what I really think, ask me. I will tell you my position. I'm not afraid to stand up for what I believe in. I own my opinion.

10. I will quietly tell you if you have spinach in your teeth, toliet paper on your shoe, or if your fly is unzipped.  I'm protective of the people in my life.

11. I have nice eyes. They look golden in the sunlight. Someone once told me it's because they reflect my heart. Wasn't that a fantastic thing to say?

12. I listen. I love to hear people's stories. My favorite way to get to know someone is to say something like, "You are 14 years old. Go!" and then just listen.  Of course, sometimes I HAVE to interject, give a hug, or agree in the middle of the story!

13. I make people feel safe when they talk to me. People are not afraid to tell me really personal things about themselves. Sometimes they are complete strangers at Taco Bueno. Or my doctor. The doctor thing is a little awkward.

14. I rarely give up on my dreams. I finally cashed in on my dream of playing roller derby. It took me about 32 years to get to a place where it fit into my life, but I'm doing it. Derby rocks the socks. And our socks rock, too. Especially my glow-in-the-dark socks.

15. I have a fabulous memory. I'm grateful. It helped me pass many courses.

16. I give lots of hugs. I'll touch you when we are talking.

17. I'm still learning. Fortunately, I love to learn. Sometimes I learn that I'm wrong. I'll come back and tell you later if I learn that I was wrong. It might be ten or twenty years before I get the chance, but I'll hunt you down to tell you.

18. At times I laugh so hard that I pee in my pants. In public. And that's why my nephews lovingly refer to me as Aunt P.P. And sometimes, I snort, too. It's good to laugh that hard.

19. I'm not very squeamish. In other words, I can do head wounds or splint the bone that is sticking out of your arm. I'm decent in medical emergencies. I'm fascinated by the human body and all it's wonderfully, fearfully made parts. Actually, now that I think about it, I'm just fascinated by people in general. People intrigue me.

20. I can still do the splits. Left and right leg. It's a great party trick.

21. I don't always do, say, or think the right things, but I want to. I think wanting to is half the battle.

22.  I want to be alive when I die. I don't want to be complacent. I don't want to shift into neutral and coast. The race counts for just as much as the finish line.

23. I'm generous with my time and money. I will make time for you if you need me. I love to surprise people with little gifts when it isn't a birthday or a holiday. I especially love symbolic gifts.

24. I show up.

25.  I think words are important. I can be snarky and sarcastic when we are kidding around and having fun, but when we are truly talking to one another, I want my words to be a gift to you. I try to be encouraging.

I'm different from you.  We don't have the same number of hairs on our heads. No one has irises or fingerprints just like mine. I am me, and being me is fine. It's more than fine; it's perfect.

World Premiere

2011-12-13T09:30:00.000-06:00

For those of you in far off places who have wanted to see me skating, here's a small chance. A group of students from a local university made a short documentary about roller derby starring our league.

My interview was after a hard, sweaty practice. It's hard to make sense or look glamorous after you have been hit for two hours.

My favorite part is when Little Annie Orphan Maker kisses my helmet.

Gold Medal!

2011-12-09T11:17:00.000-06:00

I recently attended an art reception honoring children whose artwork would continue on to the regional level of the National PTA's annual Reflections Program. Miss Noteworthy received an Award of Excellence (the highest award at the school level) for her artistic interpretation of the theme "Diversity Means...". And, yes, I am one proud mama. Of course, hers was the best!!!

Miss Noteworthy's piece Two Worlds

I love her piece, and as soon as I walked into the gallery, I knew it was hers (she had completed this piece at school, and I had never seen it.). It took my breath away to see her interpretation of the theme. Her mind is a beautiful, creative place, and I am so proud of her.

Pardon the Dust

2011-12-06T10:42:00.000-06:00

I'm refurbishing (who furbishes? look it up, it's a word.) my blog to bring you a whole new look. Code-diving can wreak some serious havoc, so if things look crazy... well, consider the source. And then, please stay tuned and be patient because like myself, the blog is a work in progress.

Mirror, Mirror

2011-12-05T15:37:00.003-06:00

Last Thursday after derby practice, a most gorgeous and wonderful derby sister (you know who you are) said, "Reckless, I wanted to ask you a question."

Well, I, of course, immediately thought we were about to venture into a conversation about all things derby. You know--wheels, plates, pads, hits, chips, dips, chains, whips. Average derby repartee.

Instead, she told me that I'm radiant. And I was stunned. She said that she loved me but that she hated me because I glow (I knew what she meant about the hating part.). She wanted to know what I use on my face to get that look. She wondered if I use sake' (which I might try now that I know about it...). I told her that I really don't use anything special. I occasionally get a facial.

She went on to say that I can pass for someone in my twenties when I get all dolled up.

::Blush.::

I thanked her but told her I thought she must need a new prescription because I'm not kidding myself thinking I might pass for a girl my twenties (I cannot remember the last time I got carded and I do go places where one would be carded, so....).

She continued insisting that I am radiant. And each time she paid me a compliment, I killed it. I'm a compliment killer. I slaughter them. I'd like to say I graciously accept compliments about my appearance, but I don't. I appreciate the words, but I don't know how to deal with them from most people. And in general, it's because I don't agree. I just don't see it this way. I don't think I'm especially ugly; I just think I'm extremely average. So, if people say otherwise, I get an urge to argue with them and get them to restate their words in a way that is more inline with my view of myself. Usually, I am able to suppress this urge and simply say, "Thank you" (and then do an internal eye roll), but at times I verbally disagree with the praise.   The only compliment she gave me that I readily agreed with was that my husband is smokin' hot. He's totally eye candy.  I can agree with that because that is really a compliment about him (And, yeah, he gets them all the time. Ask him about the woman who stalked him and gushed over his eyes in The Krogert yesterday. In front of the children.).

This whole exchange with my derby sister caught me completely off guard, and leaving the rink I literally felt off-kilter. I stumbled through the doorway of the rink, knocked my bag over twice in the parking lot, and about fell over when I hoisted my bag up into the truck. I thought about her comments the whole drive home and then relayed them to Mr. Incredible when I arrived there.

And, of course, Mr. Incredible told me that her words were spot on. But, he's my husband, and he gets paid piles of cash to say that. And there I go again.

I continue to work on the impulse to talk my way out of a good word.

So, I've spent the last couple of days pondering about and ruminating on my penchant for murdering kind utterances about my appearance and my abilities and things people like or admire about me.

You see, I still have to try very hard to ignore and turn off all the little tape reels that have constantly played in my head since I was a teenager. The mixed tapes that say I'm not good enough or pretty enough or smart enough. Because I'm very quick to agree with anyone who is critical of me (especially me), even if the criticism is only perceived in a tone or a look or is entirely untrue or undeserved. And if I agree with the mixed tapes, then they were right all along, and that's a lie.

Now, at the same time I'm not going to jump all the way over to the other extreme of overly confident and having an inflated view of myself either. That's not me. That's not the answer either.

I'm trying to pinpoint the balancing point between being proud of one's self and joining the ranks of the ascetics.

Does anyone know where that location is and how to live there consistently? Five dollars cash money for the first of you who produces a map.

That's One Way To Freeze Your Butt Off

2011-12-01T11:21:00.001-06:00

The other morning after the children had been delivered to their schools, I decided to take one of my famous bubble baths. I headed upstairs to start the water and add the bubbles. As the tub was filling, I undressed and then I thought I would like to read in the tub, which is not an uncommon activity for me.

I'm reading A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry, and while it took me several attempts to get past the first chapter, once I did, I'm hooked. I'm loving this story that takes place in India.

At any rate, I checked my nightstand, checked the counters in my bathroom, and then, I remembered that I had taken the book in the car with me the day before to read during a time I would be sitting and waiting.

I grabbed my towel and headed down to the garage.

Now, I have frequently stated that if my neighbors haven't seen me naked, they haven't much tried. I'm just like you. I make dashes to the laundry room to fetch the shirt I want to wear that was hanging up to dry.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention that Mr. Incredible, who would normally be tucked safely away in his office, was sitting at my desk using my computer because of the untimely and most unfortunate demise of his work laptop (his new laptop made it's way from Shanghai to Ankorage to Louisville, KY in the last 24 hours...keep your fingers crossed that it crosses our threshold this very day!).

Heading out the door that leads from my home to the garage, I think nothing about the fact that I have no clothes on. I'd grab my book and be in the deliciously steaming tub in no time.

Enter the funny guy.

When I reached into my van to retrieve my book, I heard the lock turn and the chain being put on the door.

Uh-oh.

I knocked on the door.

No answer.

I knocked and yelled, "Very funny. Let me in."

Mr. Incredible unlocked the door, opened it as far as the chain would allow, and said, "Who is it?"

"Ha. Ha. Very funny. Let me in. I'm naked out here."

To which Mr. Incredible replied, "I'm not sure it's a good idea to open my door to naked people in my garage."

And shuts the door.

Did I mention that it was below freezing outside? And I was standing in nothing but a towel.

So, I knocked again.

He cautiously opened the door and peeked out from behind it.

"Oh, it's you again. Put your clothes on, and I'll let you in."

"Let me in. I have no clothes on."

"You should have thought about that before you went out into the garage naked."

He looked over toward the garage door opener buttons that are right outside the door. I thought we were about to have a throw-down. Because I wasn't about to allow that door to go up. He must have seen the sheer horror on my face and thought better off it.

The door slid shut. And I heard his feet pad along on the tile floor. He was headed back over to the computer.

You know, it was funny that first two times, but at this point I was freezing my cojones off. Not that I have cojones, but you know what I mean. I was cold. I had no shoes. I wasn't dressed for the wintery morning.

And I had a flashback to an event circa 1987. My sister had just gotten out of the shower, and for some reason, she was downstairs in her towel. We started squabbling, and I opened the front door, shoved her outside, GRABBED her towel, and locked the door. I left her standing naked on the front porch while our neighbor, the beautiful senior in high school Kurt Sine, pumped iron on the balcony across the street. I didn't leave her out there but for a minute. And trust me, I got the crap beat out of me when I did open the door. And I got grounded for the millionth time when my parents heard of the torture I had subjected my little sister to, too.

I knocked a third time. He did not answer.

And I started to think he might really let me stay out there.

Apparently, I deserved to be standing naked in my garage. I knew that somehow my sister, all the way in southern California, was hearing ringing bells and having people congratulate her that justice was finally served while my feet were turning into popcicles in my garage.

I backed away from the door and started toward the van. I knew that at least one child basically disrobes in it everyday, so I could probably find something warm in there with which to cover myself. I could get in and sit there, and I could read because I had my book in my hand. It was looking like it was going to be a stellar day.

Just as I reached the van, the chain rattled, and the door swung open wide.

Make no mistake about it; I RAN into that house. Then, I punched Mr. Incredible in the arm and told him he was mean and that his little joke wasn't cute or funny.

And then I started laughing hysterically because it was funny.

I think next time I will remember my robe AND slippers before I venture out into the garage. I make no promises about changing my naked ways when I sprint to the laundry room.

Copycat: "I'm thankful for..."

2011-11-30T13:34:00.001-06:00

It's been all over Facebook and the Blogosphere, but I'm always a little slow to hop on the band wagon...

Plus, we went out of town for the week of Thanksgiving, and Mr. Incredible's laptop for work died a most spectacular death the week before Thanksgiving which has meant I have shared my computer with him and will share with him until his fancy new laptop arrives from Shanghai next week. Just not having the usual uninterrupted time at my desk.

But, I have a small moment now, and instead of doing it just like everyone else, I will do a post-Thanksgiving thankfulness list with my own spin.

The list of things I'm thankful for could go on and on until this entry would never load, but I'll limit it to thirty because there are that many days in November.

I'm thankful for...

1.  Grace. Forgiveness. Sacrifice. Hope. Love. Faith. The applied impact of salvation on my life. Jesus, God, Holy Spirit, Bible. (Yeah, that's the Sunday School answer, but it works.) And now several of the atheists, agnostics, pagans and wiccans who read my blog have tuned me out and won't read on to learn that I am also thankful for nachos.

2. My family. Of course, that includes my husband, children, parents, sister, grandmothers, in-laws and other extended family members. Bringers of joy. And at times exasperation. I'll keep all of them. Ok, if I'm honest there are one or two I would trade in or even give away, but I won't name names. Now they are all in a tizzy wondering if I'm talking about them...

3. My other "family". Not related by biology or marriage. I get to choose these people, and they get to choose me. Some are in my daily life. Some I don't get to see. I have a unique connection to these people for myriad reasons. You people know who you are. Or you should. I don't know why you people who know so much about me still like me.

4. My derby family. I pay to belong to this family.  You should, too. Disgustingly acrid pad stench and all.

5. My grandfathers. They have been gone for more than five years. Still miss them.

6. Having everything I need. If you know me even a little, you know that I make a great distinction between wants and needs. I'm not preaching at you. I'm just clarifying. Maybe you have a medical need for chocolate.

7. My friend's clear scans after two rounds of cancer.

8. A year free from major illness or injury for myself, my husband, and my kids.

9. Books.  I'm not sure what I would do with myself if we ever got to the place of Fahrenheit 451. Go to jail, I guess.

10. My bed. Sleep is my dear friend.

11. My bathtub. With loads of bubbles. And water so hot that Mr. Incredible is afraid I'll be cooked alive like a lobster. The convenience of indoor plumbing.

12. Opportunities. For growth. For resolution. For failure.

13. The color green. I surround myself with it as much as possible. It relaxes me and makes me smile.

14. Dreams. Several of my dreams have turned into realities this year. I've got several others lined up right behind them though. Don't worry about me having a lack of dreams.

15.  Roller skates. Awesome roller skates that don't give me blisters.

16. The smell of clean sheets. The convenience of washers and dryers. Tide Febreeze Sport (see number 4...).

17. Central heat and air. Gas fireplaces. Electricity. A closet full of coats.

18. Mr. Incredible's job.

19. Vacations. Even vacations to Waco.

20.  Humor and laughter.

21. Nachos. I love nachos. Hard to pass up nachos or any incarnation of nachos. Or cheese. I just love cheese. It's that item I list when we play "If you were stranded on a desert isle and could bring just one thing..." You don't play that game? Moving right along...

22. Miss Noteworthy's dry sense of humor and the comments which come forth. On Monday morning, I put her water, drink mix, apple and chips in her lunch sack. Then, I went to another counter and made her pb&j. And then I got distracted. A little bit later she walked past the counter and said, "Were you going to put that sandwich in a baggy or just leave it on the counter?" We laughed because I was so scatterbrained that morning. So, I said, "Yeah, but just for that you don't get a baggy. I'm going to wrap it in foil instead. You know, when I was a kid, most people's sandwiches were wrapped in foil, Saran Wrap, or wax paper." She came back with, "Well, by now we have invented the Ziploc." I should change her name to Miss Smarty Pants, but she would probably have something to say about that, too.

23. Gorgeous smiles. When you see one you almost can't help but give one back. Even if you are in a foul mood. And then, the foul mood starts to dissipate.

24. Friends, family members, and strangers who serve our country in the military. Thank you Melanie, G.I. Joel, Chris, Michael, and Nathan. Veterans, too.

25. America. It's not a utopia, but only heaven is. We may not have everything right, but I don't think I could find a better place.

26. My church. The lot of the imperfect people there who can admit that they don't have it all together and need a savior.

27. Online pizza ordering. You have to know me for this one. The thought of having to call a pizza place and speak to live person induces great anxiety for me.  I realize this is a completely irrational fear, but also a completely avoidable one because I can order online and not speak to a soul about my large black olive and mushroom.

28.   Music.  And singing and dancing in the car. Especially dancing with your hands over your head or the Brady Bunch groove.

29. The quietness of the house when everyone else has gone to sleep or after everyone has left for the day.

30. The roar of the house before everyone goes to bed and after everyone comes home for the day.

I hope your Thanksgiving was absolutely wonderful and filled with gratitude and love.

P.S. I'm also thankful to have this venue to chat away and people who actually show up and read me everyday. You all rock!

P.P.S. I'm thankful that Mr. Incredible is not in the hospital after I sent him up in the attic to fetch the Christmas tree and decorations this morning. The attic ladder fell down on his head. He is going to have one fierce scar.  Could have been so much worse.

Are You Going to Take Me to the Doctor or What?

2011-11-28T10:18:00.000-06:00

A couple of weeks ago as Bonus and I were waiting for RNR to race out of the school building (kindergartners get out a few minutes before the other grades), Bonus was doing something he is not supposed to do. Yes, I know, you are all shocked.  Bonus was climbing on the concrete planters by the stairs to the school. I asked him to stop and reminded him that he needs to follow the rules of his school, and he needs to obey me.
Bonus and I have had this talk, well, nearly daily since the first day of school.

I don't think we are going to have to have it again.

You see, Bonus ignored me when I told him to stop climbing on the planters, and he fell. Big time.

Don't worry. He's fine. No concussions or broken bones. Just a lot less skin on the back of his knee and the back of his calf. And like he says, "I lost some of my blood out of my body." The moaning and wailing was earsplitting. A copious harvest of tears washed down his sweaty, dirty cheeks, trailed onto his favorite football t-shirt, and eventually, left spots of wet on my shoulders, hands, and blouse.

As the older kids emerged from the school his cries of pain seemed to get louder, and the kids would look at him and then quickly turn their heads as though to preserve his privacy or dignity. Or maybe they just weren't all that interested in his injury. Or thought he was a big crybaby. It's hard to know.

His tears didn't stop until we reached the van and I used the last, odd components in the car first aid kit to fashion a rudimentary bandage, which I promised him would only have to suffice until we reached home (a short mile). The piercing screams exchanged for soft whimpers, we loaded up and made the short drive successfully.

Piling out of the van and into the kitchen, Bonus seated himself at the kitchen table to await his treatment.  As I removed the gauze square taped to his skin with tiny band-aids one might use on a paper cut and lifted a wet paper towel to his wound, he asked, "Mommy, is it going to hurt?"

I answered, "Yes, son, it is."

"Wait, then."

"No, we need to get this cleaned off and get the bleeding to stop."

"Okay."

I washed the scrapes and blotted blood. Then, he spied the bottle of antiseptic wash I had pulled out of the cabinet.

"Mommy, that's going to hurt!"

"Yes, it probably will, but we need to clean it."

He winced.

I hated to make him cry again (makes me sad AND I had a splitting headache), but I poured the blue liquid over his ripped flesh.

He screamed that it was stinging, so I pressed on it and blew on it. I applied the bandages hoping that my efforts would help him to feel some small comfort.

Not so much comfort.

He splayed himself across two of the kitchen chairs and writhed in pain, all the while telling me it was my fault for putting the medicine on the cuts. And yelling that I needed to take him to the doctor and what kind of a mother was I anyway? Ahem... At this point, I'm about to lose my cool.

I looked him directly in the eyes and told him I was sorry he was hurting but that I was not going to pay a doctor $30 to put a bandaid on his leg, and then I went to tend to his sister for a moment.

From the living room, I almost immediately hear "I'm dying in here. Are you going to take me to the doctor or what?"

Sigh.

Apparently, I only think I'm speaking in plain English, or I need to clean the wax out of the kid's ears. Or maybe both.

The "Eff" Word

2011-11-16T16:02:00.004-06:00

Yeah, it's the one you think it is.

And I really don't like it.

Yes, I'm expecting a backlash from some of you who use the word liberally. Bring it.

I think use of the "eff" word shows a lack of creativity. And vocabulary. And, sometimes, it just doesn't even make sense.

Like when people say, "Eff that sh**!" Really? Let's flesh out that exclamation.

___(you) |___"eff"   |   "sh**"
                             \that

(Forgive the limitations of my keyboard in this diagram. I can't extend the line between the subject and predicate, and I don't know how to tilt the text "that" in Blogger.)

This sentence is a command or directive. "Eff" is the verb or the action word in the sentence. The understood subject, "You," is implied in the command. "Sh**" is a direct object in the predicate of the sentence. "That" is an adjective.

Okay, now that we know the parts of speech, let's look at definitions. "Eff", in the most widely used definition, means to copulate or to have intercourse. "Sh..." is poop, excrement, human waste, crap.

Now, let's put all the information we have gathered together.

"You go have sex with that fecal matter."

Ummm....exsqueeze me? I think I'd rather not. Apple pie? Maybe (kidding!). Poop?  No.

Or let's look at another common expression. WTF?

Technically, it's a question and an incomplete one at that. The missing verb is "is". And "eff" is used as a direct object.

So the question asks...

"What the intercourse?"

My answer: "Huh? What are you talking about?"

And I won't even touch "effin' A"...

It's crazy talk that has become culturally permissible or even lauded as empowering language.

I'm just stating my position on the "eff" word and its preponderant usage in our society. If you are an adult, I realize you have a right to choose your own way of expressing yourself (when not in the presence of children).   We all make choices, and some of mine have been questionable, to say the least.

However, I suppose I'm a bit old-fashioned when it comes to this word. I really don't expect you to use it in my presence the first time I meet you (or the twentieth) or if we haven't seen each other in twenty years or in a business meeting or if I'm standing behind you in line at The Krogert. with. my. kids.   I'm talking about grown men glancing back at me and my children and then still choosing to utter the word with nothing but a plastic bar between our groceries.

Hello!!?!!?  That plastic bar divides our groceries. It does not provide sound-proofing.

It's as though it has ceased to be an obscenity in their minds.

Are people really that desensitized? Have we really lost all semblance of common courtesy in public?

It's still an obscenity to me. It still makes me flinch when people say it around me. I still think there are better and more creative word choices that are equally, if not more, effective in expressing disgust, distaste, or dislike.

And now, please don't tell me to go have sex with myself.

The View

2011-11-15T13:01:00.000-06:00

Walking home from school one day, Bonus tangoed with a patch of cacti.

It wasn't pretty. His hand was covered in about 100 spines. Fortunately, I had pulled the wagon up to the school for backpack hauling. He was able to moan and writhe in the wagon, which allowed us to get home and take care of his impaled hand that much faster.

The needles on this cacti were the furry, red kind that jump right off the plant and into your skin if you even think about approaching the plant. I know about these needles from my Uncle Steven's apartment. I was about 8 or 9, and I'm sure I howled like Bonus did.

When we reached our home, I slowly and carefully pulled the needles out of Bonus' skin one by one over a sink with tweezers so that they wouldn't wind up in anyone else's skin. It took about fifteen minutes to remove most of the needles. Fifteen minutes with wailing in my ear. And his talk about being worried if he would ever be able to play again. And comparisons of cacti needles to the bullets of a gun. Mr. Incredible and I don't call him Drama King behind his back for nothin'.

When he was finally as needle-free as he was going to be and the histrionics had appeared to die down, I bandaged him up, cleaned up our little mess and washed my own hands. Yes, I did manage to get a couple of the needles in my own hand.
As Bonus started in on his cheer-up lollipop, he tearfully asked RNR, "Now how will I cut my steak?"

And, yes, I turned my back and giggled. It's me. Of course, I laughed at my child.

Isn't it interesting that even though he had been rescued, cleaned, bandaged, and ployed with a cloyingly sweet treat he still found something to grumble about?

And isn't that just like us?

We can get all we ever wanted or needed and still find a reason to complain.

I realize this is not "rock science" (that's a special joke for someone I love), but isn't it really all about perspective? Just thinking today about the view from here.

That's Gonna Hurt...

2011-11-14T18:40:00.001-06:00

Ever wondered what I might look like after you kicked me in the face?

Hey!

You're supposed to say "No!"

No matter.

This is what I look like after I have been kicked in the nose with a skate:

You asked for it. I got it.

I know. I know. I look like I'm about to pass out. You can see that the swelling was already starting on the bridge of my nose. Yes, the blood is real, and it didn't stop completely until about midnight. I vaguely remember the moment caught in the photo. Doesn't my teammate Brutal Bliss look beautiful and intense? Her face brings back those slo-mo scenes from Charlie's Angels. I love that I got knocked in the face, and the two of us are still trying to hold a wall. The jam got called off seconds later. Or so I thought. I'm still trying to figure out how it is at all possible that Dick Diamond, Manicorn, and a little sliver of Kitten Spit are in the picture. I fell and got kicked between turns two and three. The jam got called off right before turn four. The bench for Jack Skellington was at turn one for the first half. Did I actually skate a whole lap and not know? Scary!!!!

I contacted photographer Thorpe Griner regarding usage of this shot of my bloody nose, and he graciously gave me permission to post. For free! Thanks, Thorpe! I'm glad someone had a quick shutter handy!
In an update on the schnoz... miraculously, it was not broken! Much to the chagrin of my baby sister who thought it would be nice to have a new, improved me by Christmas... Sisters. Hmph!
Two weeks out it still feels a little stiff and sore, and I find myself flinching whenever Bonus gets a little too close to my smeller (or anyone else, for that matter... but most people are not wielding light sabers...). And fortunately, it's not any more crooked than it was before the skate-face incident. After the swelling went down, I still look like me.

Me on a normal day. Nose looks pretty straight. Not sure if that crooked smile can be helped. ;)

The Rare Domestic Jag

2011-11-11T09:19:00.041-06:00

I'm on one. A domestic jag. It's kinda like a jig, but you get your house in some semblance of order.
And it's been a good long while, so my family keeps looking at me like I'm the unabomber or something. I used to do things like make homemade cream cheese pastries for my Sunday School class or bake dozens of iced sugar cookies for my Death and Dying class (seems weird to me now, too, but made perfect sense in the middle of writing my thesis). I quilted (what?). I even crafted (gasp! I know you are shocked.).
The short version of the story is after I had two kids I was exhausted. I was trying to do too much all the time. I stopped. Why did I need to be the one to make braided pastries for my Sunday School class when everyone else bought a dozen doughnuts? People love doughnuts, right?
But right now, I'm going the extra mile for these people I live with. And it's taking some getting used to.

It means I get up ~~while sensible people are still blissfully slumbering~~ earlier than usual to make things like monkey bread for the kids to eat before they leave for school. This morning when Bonus and RNR came down and asked, "What's for breakfast?" I replied, "It's a suprise." Bonus was sure to inform me that there could not be a surprise because it was not anyone's birthday, and silly me, I didn't know that one could not surprise one's children with a special baked good on a day other than a day commemorating the birth of a loved one who lives in the same household.

Who knew?

I told Bonus to go into his father's office to run that "surprise" theory of his past Mr. Incredible. However, as he galloped out of the kitchen, I realized that this past year I have only made special breakfasts or meals on birthdays or holidays, so what else is a five year old to believe? Not that I beat myself up about that or anything. Cringe.

Being on a domestic jag also means I have cooked recipes that are new to my children. When I made gumbo, Bonus thanked me for making foods he had not tried before. And then he told me he really wasn't hungry. Gotta give the kid points for figuring out something nice to say when he did not like dinner. Miss Noteworthy enjoyed it, and her expanding palate surprised me once again. She didn't even complain about eating the okra. She liked it! RNR... well, my once adventurous little eater has traveled to the land of EEEWWW and made herself a new home there. At least she is still eating asparagus... for the moment.

And last Thursday I pulled out a recipe from my childhood... Sherried Beef. In the crockpot. So easy. Everyone loved it. Mr. Incredible called us bums because he was getting home that night and, we had eaten up every last drop of it (don't worry he had dinner before he got home).

2 lbs. beef, cubed (brown sides in a skillet if you like)
1 can cream of mushroom soup
3/4 c. of dry sherry (this is what makes it delicious, of course)
1/2 packet of onion soup mix (i know. it has onions in it, and i still eat it.)

Place all ingredients in the crockpot and cook on low for 8 hours. Serve over egg noodles or rice.

Easy peasy! I would cook in my crockpot for every meal if I could get away with it. I love having dinner all prepped and cooking by 9am. It absolves any guilt I have about that afternoon nap that I still need at nearly forty-one.

A Breath of Fresh Air

2011-11-11T08:41:00.000-06:00

Forget about what’s happened; don’t keep going over old history. Be alert, be present. I’m about to do something brand-new. It’s bursting out! Don’t you see it? There it is! I’m making a road through the desert, rivers in the badlands.” Isaiah 43:18 – 19

Roll with the Punchlines

2011-11-08T05:00:00.000-06:00

Mr. Incredible to me: "You know I'm still going to love you when you are an old woman."

I look over at him and wait for the punchline.

Mr. Incredible: "What's that... about three years from now?"

Very funny, sir.

Meet George Jetson...

2011-11-07T10:30:00.003-06:00

Daughter Judy

Jane his wife... How fun for me & Miss Noteworthy to be the Jetson girls together. Unfortunately, we NEVER got a picture together. Maybe next year.

The spoils of RNR ala Daphne

Save me Obi Wan. I need Reese's peanut butter cups.

I hope my dad has some better pictures...

Maybe not the world's best combo of orange and green.

Our Halloween fun. Mr. Incredible (not pictured) was dressed as a dad or a surfer. Just like every year.

Bout Broken

2011-11-02T13:30:00.001-05:00

The Corpse Brides, Monster Mash-Up 2011

The Jam I Could Live Without

Mr. Incredible reminding me that we have insurance for a reason.

Our Halloween bout was last Sunday night. Four jams in I fell and then I got a skate to the face when I was down. I got up from the floor and felt something roll down my face. At first I just thought it was a bunch of snot. You know, when your eyes fill with those pesky tears, your nose fills with an inordinate amount of snot. I caught up to the pack and asked a teammate if I was bleeding. When she said yes, I looked to a ref, but the jam had already been called off by the jammer. I headed back to the bench, took a seat, got some ice, and started assessing the damage.

Of course, no one saw me get a wheel to my nose. I don't know whose skate, and it really doesn't matter. It was an accident.

Is my nose broken? Well, it's leaning a little more to the right than it did before. And there was blood. And swelling. And, oh yes, there is pain. I wish I could post one of the pictures with blood running down my face, but they are all copyright protected. Boo.

I'll find out if it is broken tomorrow at the ENT.

The Wisdom of RNR

2011-10-28T09:13:00.000-05:00

Said by RNR to Bonus while he was lamenting the fact that he wasn't going to get to bring pizza in his lunch that day...

"Life is full of ups and downs, kid. You should just know that now."

Giggle. You would not believe how seriously she said this to him. Looking in his eyes and shaking her head back and forth. It was a pretty priceless moment to witness.

You would not believe how many times I have had people telling me the same thing in the past couple of weeks. And it's true. There are no promises that life will be easy or smooth. The promise is that for believers life is eternal through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

xo,

When It's Difficult to Focus on the Main Things

2011-10-21T12:14:00.007-05:00

I had somewhere to be on Tuesday night, and after picking up the children from school, I needed to bathe and get ready. The need to be somewhere always presents the most unusual roadblocks for me...

I explain to Miss Noteworthy that I needed to get ready for my evening out and could she help me out with RNR and Bonus. And, of course, she says yes. Then, she goes up to her room and shuts the door. I've yet to discover what is so amusing in her room. Actually, I know she is drawing, writing or reading with intermittent texting to and from friends. I guess I'm on my own without anyone to run interference.

I tell Bonus I am about to go take a bath and ask him if he needs anything. Holding the clamshell box in his hand, he tells me that TODAY is THE day that he MUST watch the Barney Halloween video. And he has it in his precious little hand, so I can't tell him that I don't know where the video is. Foiled again! Why didn't I remember to throw out those Barney tapes? And, of course, the video needs to rewind, so I sit there and wait. And wait. And wait. How long is this video? But, finally, the numbers on the counter start slow, so I know it is nearly finished. Bonus will be occupied for the entire time I am bathing and dressing, so his video idea is actually a good thing. And, yes, thanks for pointing out to me that in this moment I am blissfully happy to be using the television as a babysitter.

My home phone rings. When I look at the caller ID, it is a real person and not a telemarketer. I think about letting it roll to voice mail, but I know this friend is having a hard time right now and probably has a real need. I answer. "Reckless, can you please... ?" "Sure, but can you send me an email with the details because I'm running a little late this afternoon." In my mind, this literally translates to "Too much talking. Just let me get off the phone right now because I haven't even figured out what I am wearing tonight yet." Ugh.

What am I going to wear? Because nothing is fitting right now, and I keep recycling the same three outfits. They have become my uniform And I haven't done laundry yet this week. This may be a real problem....

Next obstacle....

Oh my goodness. I just remembered that I am actually supposed to BRING something to this dinner party. Food. I talked about it last night with Mr. Incredible and asked him for suggestions, but then I apparently lost consciousness. And totally spaced on this most important detail. And my cupboards are pretty bare. I have come up with some pretty creative concoctions in the past, but even my friend Julie over at Mommie Cooks probably could not do much with Stove Top, canned mushrooms, and what was once fresh broccoli but now is waving its white flag and begging me to find the time to move it from veggie drawer to the trashcan. This is just not going to work.

I'll call Pei Wei. I will buy a huge salad which will mean I need to leave my house fifteen minutes earlier than I had planned. Hurry, hurry, hurry!

Click, pop, WOW! Click, pop, WOW! WOW! WOW! WOW! That's the sound of my text box going crazy. Mr. Incredible picked this text alert sound that at first I thought was obnoxious but has since grown on me.  Again, I think of ignoring the messages. But, five in a row? Someone might really be having an emergency. I go to my purse and pull out the phone, and thankfully, none of these require my immediate attention.    I wonder what is going to hold me up next.

Except for the sounds of a creepy purple dinosaur in the background, everything stays quiet. It's my chance to make a break for it and jet up to the tub! I head for my bathroom.

Mr. Incredible left town on Tuesday. This inevitably means the house and/or my van will decide to revolt. I got undressed and turned on the water to begin my bathing process.  As the water reaches about six inches deep, I stick my toe in.

ICE. COLD.

The day was blustery, so the pilot light on the water heater had gone out. Air seems to come down the roof vent for the water heater and then blow out the pilot light on exceptionally windy days. I don't know if this would happen in other parts of the country. Most other regions seem to understand that if you put your water heater in the attic and then said water heater explodes on you that your house will sustain water damage. But, not in Texas, buddy. We put 'em in our attics. We spit in the face of logic. Why is this?

Well, the cold water in my tub meant I was going to have to go upstairs in the attic and re-light the pilot light. And that means pulling down the ten foot wood ladder from the ceiling. It's an extra heavy duty ladder, which means it weighs extra, too. And I have to reach up over my head to pull it down.  You can imagine the injury potential.

I really had no desire to combine a lighter, gas, tall ladders, and my naked body. I had flashes of me trying to cover my singed body while explaining to an EMT why I was up in the attic sans clothing. Not a pretty picture. I went to my drawers and fished out an old t-shirt and workout shorts I have owned for more years than I care to share (ok... at least 20) and got dressed.

I had not had to get up in the attic in quite some time. And that attic access ladder weight seemed to have multiplied exponentially since the last time I had to pull it down. I summoned Miss Noteworthy and asked her to pull back as hard as she could on the ceiling access panel while I wrestled with getting the folded ladder down through the space without hitting the woodwork or my head. I got the first hinge unfolded, and then I got stuck for a minute. I just plain wasn't tall enough or strong enough to make the darned thing come on down. So I had to stand there holding a wooden ladder until RNR could get a chair over to me. Y'all, that ladder was HEAVY. And I had done Kenpo from p90x for the first time in over a year the day before. My thighs were on fire. Why can't Mr. Incredible have a clone who I keep in a closet for such type of emergencies?

Well, RNR brings the chair and I climb up, but it's too close to where I'm pulling the ladder down. No go. RNR helps me adjust the chair. I climb back up, and this time it's too far away. I have no leverage. Finally, she gets it in just the right spot for me. I finally wrangled it down, and I start up the ladder with the grill lighter.

Now, I know how to light the pilot light, but it always makes me nervous. So, I re-read the instructions printed on the tank a couple of times so that I won't do anything to put myself, my kids, or my home at risk for being blown up. Turn everything to off. Check. Wait five minutes for any residual gas to clear.

Wait five minutes! I don't have five minutes. I'm already twenty minutes deep into this completely unplanned chore, and I have to leave in under forty. I wanted to straighten my hair and look glamorous for the evening. I guess I will choose safety and wear curls this evening.

Turn the gas cock to Pilot. Check. Follow gas pipe into bottom of water tank and ready lighter over pilot light. Push gas cock in and click lighter. Click lighter again. And again.

Nothing. No tiny flame. No hiss of burning gas.

Pull lighter out. Look it over. Shake it to make sure it has fuel. Panic a little because you are now running way behind, and there is still no hot water in the house. Consider calling a neighbor to ask if you can hop in her shower. Decide it would take too much time. Repeat all pilot-light-lighting steps above. Still nothing.

Third try. Decide to throw caution to the wind and turn up the gas ever so slighty with the lighter flame clicked to on. Bingo. Now, we're cooking with gas. Or bathing. Or...whatever.

I know that I need a good fifteen minutes before I will have any chance at hot water. This is a perfect time for figuring out what to wear. Derby has increased the size of my thighs and my already ample butt. I really have vey few choices in my closet that are 1) cute, 2) comfortable, & 3) actually will zip. In the end, I decide that the jeans in the dirty laundry will have to do. And then I grab a tube top and layer it with a sweater from the bowels of my closet and a gold suede jacket. I fish out a pair of green suede wedges that had not seen the outside of my closet for years. Dark green and silver accessories.

All clothing decided upon and placed on the bed, I test the water and thankfully enough of the icy edge has been taken off that I can actually get in and relax for a short moment.

And in this short moment, it hits me that I have been scurrying around and worrying about all the wrong things. I mean, sure I needed a bath, I needed to wear something, and I said I would bring food.

But, these are my NOGs I'm going to spend the evening with. And I desperately need to see these women to take my mind off other things. Or maybe to help me put my thoughts on the right things. These are the ladies who remind me that it's not about me. These are the ladies who know the bulk of my mistakes and still love me. These are the ladies I would call at four in the morning if I needed them. And they don't care if I'm dressed in my 20 year old workout shorts. Or if I throw my dirty hair up in a clip. Or if I show up empty-handed. They just want to be with me.

I take a breath and offer a prayer for these women and the place they have in my heart and my life. I rinse my hair and emerge from the tub knowing that my focus has been shifted. This hurried, harried, difficult moment will pass if I remember to breathe and allow the Lord and the people He has placed in my life to help me change my focus and change my heart.

I didn't wear the 20 year old workout shorts, but I know I could have.
The NOGs. No Other God. Thank you for your presence and love when I am at my worst, when I am at my best, and all the in-between times.

Is it Real Or Is It Memorex?

2011-10-20T15:32:00.001-05:00

Texting pictures to Picasa never seems to go quite right... Throw me a bone and tilt your head to the right.

You might have thought you were looking at a famous Renoir. And you would be right. However, you are looking at Miss Noteworthy's replication of it. Her first time to draw with oil pastels. I'm so impressed by her many talents.

I'm Behind... What Else Is New?

2011-10-18T05:00:00.000-05:00

Pandamom & I ala Eighties Throwback Evening. Our fabulous friend Dave in the background. Trying to read something that apparently needed his complete attention and two pairs of glasses. We think we are young, but we fit in just fine with all the other 19,997 forty and fifty years olds in attendance.

I promised I would fill you in on the amazing concert. Meh...

We had a great time. Night Ranger was Night Ranger. Never a favorite of mine, but I was surprised at how many songs I knew.

Foreigner was the best. I did know every song and sang along, too. And the performance was fabulous until Mr. Lead Singer tried to be ultra-sexy during "Dirty White Boy" and rubbed his butt. I probably could have lived forever without seeing that. It might have blinded me for life if I had not been able to immediately laugh at the ridiculousness of seeing a sixty year old man projected on a jumbotron rubbing his backside while middle-aged women screamed like teenagers. People really do this. Only now there is evidence on YouTube.

Journey was disturbing. The songs were the same. They sounded the same. Only the lead singer is now Asian. I found the best way to experience this was to rest back on our blanket, close my eyes, and occasionally open them to take sips of the glass of $1.50 merlot that cost me $8 dollars a glass. It was much more convincing to play Journey videos in my head than to look at the stage.

There was a great deal of laughter and loads of story swapping which you know is my favorite. The weather was absolutely perfect for sitting on the lawn. The music we knew by heart from our preteen and teenage years brought back memories we relished and some memories of heartache that we would rather let go. The stars were out. The wine was fine. And as much as we all enjoyed the company and the reminiscing, we will not be returning for the Guns N Roses concert.

Do You Think the Tooth Fairy Could Draw Unemployment?

2011-10-17T09:33:00.002-05:00

Last night as I cuddled with Bonus in his Star Wars bed, he ever so quietly asked me, "Mommy, is the tooth fairy small?"

To this I replied, "Well, I'm not sure. I've never seen her."
I'm not finished yet:

Tired Boys and Girls

2011-10-11T10:10:00.002-05:00

The conversation Bonus and I had when I went in his bedroom to wake him up this morning...

Me: Good morning, little boy! Wakey, wakey!

Bonus: I can't get up. I'm absent today.

At which point I left the room to gain my composure in order not to laugh in the face of my child and encourage him any further... All I can say is that this kid is funny. He consistently cracks me up.

Eventually, he decided to get up and not be absent.

Next, I went to wake up RNR, and she made a crazy noise. When I told her that I believed that noise indicated that a small, furry animal had just been killed in her bedroom, she laughed so hard that she had to run to the bathroom.

Two kids up; one to go.

And when I went into Miss Noteworthy's room to check her progress, she told me she had a nightmare within a dream last night. In this nightmare, she had nine days of ISS (in-school suspension) for PDA (public display of affection). I think this nightmare was a direct result of the teenage couple that insisted on mauling one another right in front of Miss Noteworthy and Mr. Incredible as they waited in line to ride Mr. Freeze at Six Flags yesterday.

And that is what a Tuesday that feels like a Monday looks like at our house.

Derby Don'ts

2011-09-29T11:07:00.001-05:00

A couple of things I picked up during practice last night...

Don't forget to eat for the most of the day and then go to derby practice. Especially on a night when you are doing an endless jammer drill followed by nearly an hour and a half of scrimmaging. A breakfast bar and sushi simply will not suffice. A calorie deficit for the day means your legs will be in pain before you even get to warm-ups. And the burn does not go away for the entire practice.  You may feel like you are going to die right there on the track, and then, people will just skate around your cold, dead body. And you may get a major for tripping if they fall over your corpse. Hard to get to the penalty box when you are dead.

Don't take it personally when another girl pushes you out of bounds and then uses excessive force to knock you to the ground when you are already off the track (where you bruise your backside for the nine hundredth time). You should see the bruise. This baby is quite a derby injury trophy, and I would totally post pictures if they didn't involve crack. Crack is whack. I still wonder what the refs were doing when this was happening and why she did not get a penalty. A major penalty.  And I still think it was unnecessary roughness which I am not a fan of. Hold girls off, but don't kill them. And I may or may not have yelled all the way back to my bench about the whole incident being a problem. Not that I was bitter or anything.

Don't look away when the bench manager is handing out helmet panties. It's the same dynamic as avoiding eye contact with the teacher when you don't know the answer. If you look away, inevitably, you will be handed the panty. And then you will have to pivot when you completely suck at being the pivot. And then you will get the ever-loving snot unexpectedly knocked out of you by John Wayne Stacy. When she hit me, I heard something crack. I still haven't figured out what it was, but, needless to say, EVERYTHING hurts today. E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. Well, everything except my feet.  My feet were unscathed.

In the same vein, do not let your captain see you try to pass the star panty (worn by the jammer) off to someone else on your team. She *might* decide that she needs to keep a closer eye on you, and who wants that, right? And then she might tell you that you are not going to get out of jamming. Even if you tell her that you have no legs that night. However, when you jam miserably after telling her that you have no legs that night, she will let you off the hook and not ask you to jam anymore. It's kinda like when you break a dish while doing the dishes, and your mom tells you she will finish up for you.

Don't session skate. This means you need to remember to skate low and in your derby posture. I think I may have been "session skating" last night. I spent an awful lot of time on my butt. Either that or the other team could tell I was exhausted and not having my best night and decided to pick on me. Or maybe a little bit of both.

Don't talk to a ref about what your penalty was in the middle of a jam. I can call victory here because this one wasn't me. However, it was a good reminder of what I should not do.

Don't skate past your own penalty box and get in the box for the other team.  Again, not me, but a good reminder. This lengthens the amount of time your team has to skate without you.

When you are jamming do not grab on to your teammate without yelling out to her who you are. She will not skate you through the pack like you want her to if you don't communicate with her. But, because she is Rosie and has obvious derby super powers, I think she should be able to read my mind. :)   Rosie Rocks!

Do not threaten a derby wife relationship. Last night I got a burning spank to my already bruised backside for helping out someone else's derby wife. The skater I was helping was injured, and I was taking off her skates and socks so that she could avoid being in further pain. I got called a home wrecker, and my butt really smarted. For quite a few minutes. And then the derby wife apologized for besmirching my name. I haven't talked about "derby wives" on here yet, but there is such a thing. Some of them even have derby weddings. It sounds strange and even a little salacious, but really a derby wife is the girl who always has your back even when you are wrong. Really, it's basically a derby BFF. At this point in my derby life, I have decided to not seek out a derby wife. I may just be a perpetual derby bachelorette. I'm not sure I'm cut out for derby marriage. I may just play the field. Maybe I'm just a big derby flirt and not willing to put all my eggs in one derby girl's basket. And maybe I just haven't met the "one" yet. Mr. Incredible is getting very uncomfortable reading this if he is reading it, so I will stop talking about this derby peculiarity now.

Don't let a bad practice hold you back. In two weeks when you have a fantastic practice, no one will remember that you skated like Bambi last night unless you remind them.

Don't remind them!

That's What HE said...

2011-09-23T10:44:00.000-05:00

Part of a conversation I overheard....

Male: "I have a raging headache, but I'll just take a Vagisil and I'll be fine."

Nearly peed my pants.

And be jealous, very jealous... tomorrow night I am going to be rocking the night away to the tunes of Journey, Foreigner, and Night Ranger. My black eyeliner and crimping iron are all set....

I'll be sure to let you know all about the 80's fun.

That's How the Cookie Crumbles

2011-09-20T18:23:00.001-05:00

If you will recall, in this post from May I was a little bleary, teary-eyed and all over the end of preschool and the end of the baby years in my household.

Well, I've adjusted rather famously after a trying summer with my adorable son. However, last week Mr. Incredible and I went shopping at Grapevine Mills during the middle of the school day. And I couldn't remember the last time I had been there without my little Bonus. Without my shopping buddy (who admittedly drives me straight to crazy in malls).

Mr. Incredible and I powered through about ten stores looking for a replacement for his TWENTY PLUS year old Rainbow sandals (twenty years... that's some quality... and they are still wearable). It was nice to be able to move in and out of the stores quickly. I was able to look at anything I wanted to for as long as I wanted to.

After shopping for a couple of hours, Mr. Incredible and I stopped by Mrs. Field's for some chocolate milk and cookies. While it was nice to have a day to spend with my husband, I couldn't help but miss my little buddy and wish he was there to share my chocolate milk and cookies for just one brief second. Chocolate milk and cookies just cry out for sweet, sweaty, little boys...

Are you bout it? I'm bout it, bout it.

2011-09-13T11:43:00.002-05:00

Well, our first bout was A. Ma. Zing. I played for the Fighting Unicorns, and we won! Actually, we creamed them. It would have been fantastic even if they had won, and those Battling Mermaids played a super game, too. We just got lucky.

I took a few hard hits, fell a few times, gave a couple hits, made some nice contact, and SCORED A FEW POINTS!!!! Yeah, we were so far ahead that I actually got to jam. Our bench manger and coach wanted us to cycle through the positions we don't normally play. Anyway, I jammed, and after I called it off and skated back to the bench, my bench manager said, "Who knew you could jam?" Actually, I guess no one knew. I jammed aqainst a player I really admire, Texsin Grrl, and she hit me right off the line. But, hey, at least I was expecting it since her coach yelled out to her, "Texsin, hit her right off the line." I leaned into the hit and chased her into the pack. She fell. I got through, skated back around, got through again, made Lead Jammer, scored some points, and after I finally heard my coach and bench manager yelling at me to call off the jam, I tapped my hips and called it off.

To sum up the evening, I think the word of the bout was EXHILARATING.

I have worked hard since February, and it paid off. This night was more fun and more rewarding than I could have hoped for. Four of my most special friends came to watch and really made the experience extra-wonderful as I could see their smiling, cheering faces each time I got up to the line. Thanks for coming, NOGs! I could go on and on, but you know you really just want to see the pictures...

Happy at halftime

Jam on it... Or something like that... I think this was my initial pass, but who knows really. It's all a blur thanks to the adrenaline.

I got your block right here.

The fabulous Fighting Unicorns

Me, getting hit right off the line. I still got Lead Jammer though.

See ya at Lone Star on October 30

Have We Met?

2011-09-02T05:00:00.000-05:00

I told you all about my embarrassing visit to the community pool. If you didn't catch the Naked Discipline post in June because you were on vacation... read it lest the rest of this make no sense.

Back in June I thought the pool monitor was just a college kid and didn't sweat too much over the fact that some college kid had seen my freshly waxed full frontal (and don't forget the backal). I mean, at least everything had been all pretty and shiny if it had to be revealed to strangers in BROAD DAYLIGHT. I only had to awkwardly sign in and avoid eye contact with him for the next couple of months, right? Plus, I could wear a different bathing suit and huge sunglasses when I went to that pool, so that he wouldn't be reminded of my nude streak (never brought the polka dots back to that pool...). I could also avoid that pool and visit the other two pools in my community instead (which I did when possible).

I figured he would roll off the community payroll during September, go back to school, and we would never have to meet again. Isn't that the perfect ending?

I could not have been more wrong.

He is a college student, and he is back to classes.

However, he is a also a DAD who has kids at the same school as my kids. And I have run into him almost daily these first nine days of school.

And everytime I see him, I can see that he is trying to figure out how he knows me. Let's hope he never figures out the connection. But just to make sure, I have PURGED my closet of all things in black and white polka dots.

I wouldn't want to do anything to jog his memory.

Cringe.

I Pick Scabs

2011-09-01T10:12:00.000-05:00

Gee, that post title sounds extra disgusting...

My new knee protection came in yesterday, and I got to try it out at our little Fighting Unicorns team practice last night.

The Smith Scabs are a bit bulkier than the Triple 8 pros, but they are also like landing on leopard print pillows when I fall (which I do ALL the time). I have added gaskets to my protective gear to help my knee pads stay in place. The gaskets also add an additional layer of padded protection around the knee cap. Protection is good, and I can already tell that the gaskets are a good addition.

When I first put them on, I was concerned that I would have to adjust my skating and crossovers because they cover more of my leg than the Triple 8's, and they do stick out further from my legs. However, I had pretty much forgotten about them by the end of the hour.

Aren't they purdy?

I will tell you that the sizing on the Scabs is crazy. I had a small in the Triple 8's. I needed a L/XL in the Scabs. They only come in S/M and L/XL. I think Smith thinks we all have toothpick legs like the skater boys I grew up around. However, my legs have never resembled a toothpick. If you can, try a friend's before you order.

Boutfit Shopping!

2011-08-29T09:30:00.001-05:00

September 10 is the first public appearance of our league during the halftime of the Dallas Deception vs. Phoenix Rattlesnakes bout. They invited us, and we accepted (of course we did!). We love our boys! They are fabulous coaches and amazing people. The support and guidance they have given us over the past six months has been invaluable. And, now we get to skate during their own bout. Exciting! And nervewracking, but I'll leave that part for another day...
We aren't playing on our "real" teams. We have special teams for this particular battle; we were drafted onto either the Fighting Unicorns or the Battling Mermaids. All but three of my Muertas team mates are on the Fighting Unicorns with me. I'm not a trash talker, or I would say that the Battling Mermaids had better watch their backs...

With a bout coming up, what does a derby girl do?

Well, if possible she visits the arena where she will be skating to check out the skate floor. Different floors=different wheels and skating conditions. You need to know if it's sticky or dirty or slick or has cracks in it or any other pecularities. I'm checking out the floor for the first time today. I'll let you know if I am good with the wheels, but I think my B'Zerk Madman 91A's are going to be just the ticket. If not, I can try out my Labeda crap wheels. I know they are stickier. My Atom Jukes (95A's) will certainly be too slick. At any rate, I think I have a set that should work. I would have a difficult time explaining to Mr. Incredible why I need yet another set of wheels... (duh... I need a set to match my boutfit. I can't think of a more rational reason.). So, skating surface and wheels should be all worked out by the end of today.

Next, a derby girl takes a look at her safety equipment to make sure she will be all safe for the bout. We know injury is a risk, even an eventuality, but we guard against it with good equipment as best we can. I'd love a shiny new black helmet, but they are hard to come by in extra small. My green helmet is going to have to suffice for now. My elbow pads (187 Killer) and my wristguards (Triple 8 three strap) are still in good condition, so I don't need to worry about those. However, my current knee pads (Triple 8 Pro) have seen better days. Last Monday, I got a small tear right next to the buckle and by Wednesday, the small tear had turned into a large hole. They absolutely HAD to be replaced. Yay! I have loved my Triple 8 Pro pads, and I would buy them again. However, I have been online window shopping the Smith Scabs knee pads in leopard print for months. Then, Rosie the Inhibitor got some and I knew I was in love for sure. So, I ordered them on Friday and they should arrive by Wednesday! I also ordered the knee gaskets to go with them because If I spent the extra $27, I got free shipping (you understand this rationale, right?). I'll post a pic when they get in. Safety equipment, check!

My skates are in awesome condition (Antik AR-1's in custom colors with PowerDyne Revenge plates) as they are still practically brand new. I'll turn them over and have a gander at the trucks and plates before the bout to be sure everything looks bout worthy. And I may buy some fancy leopard duck tape for my laces as tripping on my laces was an issue for the first time last practice. Totally tripped myself and then did it again immediately because I didn't realize why I was tripping. Thanks to Haterade for alerting me to the issue and saving me from blowing out my knee!

Once all the boring stuff is in order (not boring to me, but unless you skate derby, too, you might be snoozing a little right now), a derby girl has to consider the all important BOUTFIT. Boutfit shopping!!!!!

Yes, it's called a "boutfit." Now, the Fighting Unicorns (some of you need to cover your eyes for the typing of this acronym... the FU's... I know... I know...) will be baby blue and gold for this bout. And since my home team, the Muertas, are nasty neons, and my league colors are purple and black, I had absolutely nothing to wear. I absolutely had to go shopping. Shirts are to be baby blue. Shorts can be whatever we desire, but our captain did say for us to try to get some glitter gold on our bodies. Do you think these will work?

Go Fighting Unicorns!!!!

In case you can't read it, my shirt says "LOVE thy neighbor." Don't you just love it? I thought it was perfect for me. I dropped it off at the embroidery shop on Friday to get my name and number printed on the back and numbers printed on the sleeves. I'm pretty sure it's going to become a favorite Monday & Thursday night practice shirt once the bout is over. You can never have too many practice shirts...

And now I just need to get as many on-skate hours in as I can before September 10.

I'm all set!

From the Mouth of Bonus

2011-08-25T20:58:00.000-05:00

Bonus: "Mama, if you want everyone in the house to listen to you, you should have treasure box right there."

[points at the counter next to the kitchen sink]

Me: "Oh, really. Is that what it would take?"

Bonus: "I always listen at school. Well, sometimes."

I haven't decided if "sometimes" is often enough to warrant a treasure box...

Tales from the First Day

2011-08-23T07:34:00.000-05:00

The first thing Bonus said when I asked him how the first day was,

"Well, I didn't get detention! Do they even have detention in this place?"

When I asked him what he did the first day,

"I went to the bathroom three times..."

The important things and all...

Return to Splendor

2011-08-22T12:06:00.000-05:00

It finally arrived.
The five words that spell absolute bliss to mothers everywhere.

The first day of school.

Yay!

It was been a long, hot, hard summer, and you know I was counting down for the last couple of weeks.

We all made it (barely).

All three were up early thanks to their brand new alarm clocks. They dressed in their new duds, made their beds (!), brushed their teeth, ate their hot cinnamon rolls and turkey bacon, grabbed the new backpacks, and skipped out the door.

Of course there are pictures; however, I'm not sure where Mr. Incredible put his camera... I'll have to add those later. Here are a couple from my phone.

RNR looking smart in third grade.

Bonus made it to Kindergarten! No tears for either one of us. Just sweet hugs and kisses.

Miss Noteworthy, the supermodel, ready to rock 7th grade.

What have I been doing with myself on this fine first day? I spent a little time in Proverbs 4, washed, dried and folded all the laundry, cleaned up from breakfast, cooked ground beef for five meals, put dinner in the crockpot, scoured the kitchen counters, and got caught up on all your blogs! And it's only noon.

I think I might go take a nap before I put the laundry away.

I could get used to this.

Last Kid Picked

2011-08-18T01:29:00.000-05:00

Tonight was my second least favorite derby practice ever.  It barely inched by the one where I cried at practice and then for forty-five minutes after practice. And got a hug from my seventeen year old babysitter.

The drills were fine. I didn't even mind monkey sprawls. Or five minutes of sprinting.

I showed up in a good mood, excited for practice and ready to skate.

Then I got picked last for scrimmage.

And really they almost didn't pick the last two of us at all. Just two of us were left, already humiliated by being the last ones standing there, and then we just stood there for what seemed like an eternity while the captains were talking back and forth. I honestly think they forgot about us.

Now, I'd like to say I faced this with a good attitude and let it roll off. However, I didn't.

It ticked me off.

So, while they were whispering and giggling and ignoring us, I yelled at them,

"Hey! We're still here. We are already humiliated enough. Put us on a team."

And as we skated over to our teams, someone trying to be nice said, "They were fighting over you."

Yeah, right.

Not.

Now, I understand that someone has to be picked last every week. I have never been picked last before tonight, although I have been picked close to last. I have even been picked first. Normally, I'm somewhere in the middle.

Being picked last brings up every last insecurity I have about my athletic abilities. It doesn't make me want to try harder, so that I don't get picked last next time. I know it might motivate some people; it makes me want to go home. And that's what I wanted to do, but I didn't. I stayed and had a lousy scrimmage because, in reality, isn't that what I was set up for?

Yeah, yeah... rise above. Show them they are wrong. Blah. Blah. Blah. This isn't a scene from a Lifetime movie.

It hurts our feelings to be picked last. There is nothing nice or kind or redeeming about this process of team selection. And I am not going to pretend that I'm fine with being picked last. I'm not. I don't care if you are forty or twelve or six or eighty-two, it still stings.

All I know is that there has got to be a better method.

Every woman standing on that rink has earned the right to be at bouting practice. We have all had off practices and off weeks. And being picked last only serves to kick us while we are down.

Roller Con 2011

2011-08-09T05:00:00.000-05:00

In a word, WORD. If you are a derby girl (or guy) and weren't there, you missed out. I'm buying my MVP pass for 2012 in January. And I will be skating next year for sure.

Watching Team SeXY trounce Team Awesome for the first time ever was a highlight. We rooted fairly quietly though as we didn't want the 2,997 other derby girls to gang up and dogpile us for not rooting for the girls. Even with a "broken" ankle and injured arm, Matomic and Just the Tip rocked it. You did all the Revolutionaries proud.

Victory looks good on everyone.

A very SeXY score.

Not your typical Vegas hookers.

I Have Not Fallen Off the Face of the Earth... Yet...

2011-08-08T14:46:00.000-05:00

But I know some of you think I have.

It's hot. I'm hibernating. The record temperatures and drought have driven me inside. And I'm not coming out until it's over. I'm taking this opportunity to catch up on my reading. I don't even venture outside to check the mail until after dark.

School starts two weeks from today. If it had started today, it couldn't have been soon enough.  By the calendar, this was a short summer. However, it feels like the longest summer of my life. My kids can't get along for two minutes.

I'm not kidding. It's been that bad.

My patience is long gone.

Any sadness I had at my youngest going off to kindergarten has vanished. This summer has cured me of any sentimentalities I may have had.

I've got their backpacks full of school supplies sitting by the door. I'm ready. It's beyond time.

I've Got A Brand New Pair of Roller Skates...

2011-08-07T15:53:00.000-05:00

...and a bloody sock to prove it.

Pretty peas and carrots

The bad part of new skates

Call Me Buck Rogers

2011-07-27T05:00:00.000-05:00

'Cuz I just joined the 21st Century.

Mr. Incredible had apparently grown tired of hearing me say that I was the last person in the world without a smartphone. And the terrible reception my phone had at camp this last week and the prior year probably helped my cause a little, too.

But if you call me or if you text me, don't expect me to answer for at least the next week. I haven't figured out how to turn it on yet. I might have to break down and ask my twelve year old.

Countdown

2011-07-26T10:00:00.036-05:00

Two sleeps 'til Roller Con. In Vegas.

Where I can breathe nothing but roller derby for four days and three nights (and maybe a little casino smoke). Yes, that is a good thing. For me, anyway.

Unlike last week's camp adventure, I will not forget my toothbrush this week. Or deodorant. Or a razor. I already put them in the suitcase. With panties. And socks. And the hooker-ish dress I bought to wear to the Black and Blue Ball (it's perfect for a derby ball). I should be all set.

For a Small Taste of Hell, Go to Wichita Falls in July. I Dare You.

2011-07-26T01:27:00.000-05:00

I got back from a week of summer camp last Friday. It's now Monday, and I have finally begun to recover.

I say "begun" because the long-term effects of summer camp can't always be fully seen in the week following camp.

So... camp. It was hot. And we actually did make a comparison or two between the weather at camp and H to the E with the double hockey sticks bringing up the back. We knew it was beyond bad when it was 99 as we walked to breakfast at 7:45 AM. To say we sweltered just doesn't seem to cover it. The girliest third grade girl (yes, I had third graders and lived to tell about it) in my cabin came in from free time drenched with sweat and proclaimed, "I was sweating like a man out there." And she was. Beads on her upper lip. Armpit circles. Crotch blotch. NO DEODORANT.

We were in the same boat. Not just with the sweat. With the NO DEODORANT.

Yes, I left my entire bag of toiletries sitting next to my bathtub and went to camp for a week. Splendid.

How did this happen you might ask? Well, I packed two children for camp and one child for a week at his grandparents. Which means I was packing for myself the morning of camp... and some of you know I am not a particularly good packer to begin with. I did remember socks though. And that little comment is for a special lady. Who also always remembers her socks now.

If you think I didn't have a complete freak out when I went looking for my face wash right before dinner on Monday and discovered I had NONE of my niceties from home, you have never met me.

I'm flexible, but I'm not that flexible. Leaving that bag out of my suitcase meant I had no toothbrush, no toothpaste, no razor, no face cleanser, no shower gel, no CONTACTS, no deodorant... You name it. I had left it at home. And there was a moment when I thought I might actually cry.

And then, I got over myself, and decided that I could steal most of that stuff from my own two girls without them even noticing. Except the toothbrush. Ick. (J.O. hooked me up with that because she loves me and because we had a bunch to give away as zonk prizes in "Let's Make a Deal". She even snaked me a green one.). Thank goodness I double-checked that I packed my panties.

And this oversight on my part is how I came to wear Degree Girl "Just Dance" deodorant for a week. Really, I think I would have been equally protected if I had worn none. But maybe if I had been just dancing, it might have worked beautifully... Maybe I should sue them for false advertising.

The lack of toiletry bag is also how I came to wear my sunglasses OVER my glasses. In the pool. At the zipline. On the low ropes. It's a look. Not a good one. But, it's a look. A look I don't recommend ~~for anyone under the age of 65~~ for anyone.

And then, in the process of getting revenge on my favorite neighbor Kernsie for her cheaterpants ways during Mission Impossible at camp last summer, I battled with a golf cart. And I lost. My forehead is still quite sore. And there is a small period of time I may have blacked out. But, no worries. I got Kernsie back. That's what really matters, right? And now we are even--we both own bras that were not blue when we bought them. We drew up an armistice, and both parties signed. Since there are two of us, we decided to have a club instead of a war. Don't even ask to join unless you can prove that you, too, have been unfairly doused with blue food coloring.

Oh... and I gained SIX pounds. SIX POUNDS. SIX POUNDS. SIX POUNDS.

(I don't know how to make the font any larger or I would keep repeating myself.)

Lest I forget, I did not sleep alone at camp. RNR decided that she was freezing in the middle of this record heat and climbed into bed with me to get warm all but one night. Ask me if I can turn my head to the left.

And I would show you pictures from camp, but my sunscreen exploded in my backpack and leaked into my camera. SD cards don't really like Coppertone. Neither do LCD screens. And this is why I don't buy expensive cameras... This one lasted for ten months, so that may be a record...

So, it wasn't the most comfortable week I have ever had at camp. And while I am certainly glad I was there and would not have missed it for the world, I can wait until next July to go again.

Let them eat cake and lots of frosting...

2011-07-13T16:44:00.043-05:00

It seemed like it had been too long since we had any cake around here, so the kids and I planned a day dedicated to cake making.

We headed over to the Walmart the night before and got our supplies--new 6" pans, sprinkles, mixes, a couple of cans of frosting, butter, disposable piping bags, a few new piping tips, food coloring, cake boards and something I had never tried before Wilton Cake Release. You. Should. Get. Some. Now. It's amazing stuff. Not one of my cakes stuck.

In the morning we set to baking and mixing and creating.
And believe it or not, we baked eight cakes and a dozen cupcakes without a major incident. For the most part, everyone got along. They even broke out into random dancing while they were waiting for the cakes to come out of the oven.

If I had only realized a couple of years ago that cake could unify these two even momentarily...

We also made homemade buttercream. I had not done that in ages. It really is so much better than anything you can buy at the store or get at your warehouse club bakery. And then I impressed my children with my rusty piping skills.

FYI... I worked in a bakery while I was in high school. If you looked at my butt, you knew. Ham and cheese croissants, fudge rings, and chocolate cookie dough... But... I did learn how to level, frost, and decorate cakes. I can even do a basket weave and make roses. If the frosting is the right consistency, anyway...

Rachel Ray better watch out!

Peace. Always with the peace signs. I gotta watch this kid.

Bonus got a little crazy with the sprinkles. You can't even tell that it said STAR WARS before he dumped the galaxy on it.

My rusty skills

Hurray! Pencils and stickers and crap

2011-07-09T05:00:00.000-05:00

If you haven't been to Walmart or Target because you been too busy soaking up the rays at the pool, it's that time people. The school supplies are fully stocked and in da' houz. You best get to walmarting before the manilla paper is forever gone. Don't wait for falling prices. Get it while the getting is good and before the Sharpies are in the same box as the colored pencils.

I'm not sure what it is about buying paper, pencils, and a bijillion boxes of crayons that makes me smile, but it has been known to make me extremely happy. And on Thursday I was grinning like a fool.

I found green pens!

Because emeralds are this girl's best friend...

I got Bonus and RNR all taken care of, too, minus Kleenex boxes and Ziploc bags. And we are still looking for the perfect backpacks (which means I am encouraging them to keep looking rather than purchase a backpack with a picture of that Bieber boy on it or a plastic Darth Vader pack that will not last the year).

Miss Noteworthy is taking inventory of her goods still. A few spirals and she should be all good for seventh grade.

I see huge amounts of writing for RNR in third grade.

May the force be with the teacher who requested I send SIX bottles of glue and scissors into school with Bonus. Shudder!

48 days. Yes, I am counting.

I probably shouldn't be telling you this...

2011-07-08T20:56:00.000-05:00

But I am telling you because that's what I do. I talk about my shortcomings. I'm so far from perfect that I don't even try to pretend.

Let's face it... I'm a terrible housekeeper. I just am. I have tried to reform myself using the methods of superior housekeepers to no avail. Interventions have been staged. Professionals have cringed. I set up goals for myself and offer myself fabulous rewards for the accomplishment of said tasks, but I fail miserably. Even the lure of full priced shoes has not been enough to get me to change my mediocre ways. I make a list of "To Dos" and find it in a stack of paper seven months later. Even then I'm still only able to cross off a couple of items.

Now, I know that some of you who love me are saying that you have no idea what I am talking about because the house always looks fine to you. Well, you're wrong. You haven't opened the doors, closets, and cabinets that I strategically close when you come over. And I wouldn't if I were you. Similar to the hooptie, if you open the wrong door, you never know what might fall out into the elementary school parking lot (umm... I might be willing to tell you about this in person, but it would require far too much explanation and embarrassment on here...). Please don't open the door to the laundry room during a party. You have been warned.

And then there are a couple of you who are just like me, and you are my favorites because you get it. We are outnumbered by the children in our families. We are exhausted beyond belief. And we frequently feel judged by those who only have one or two children and who are able to have a spotless home at all times. Let me tell you, one child was a breeze. I could clean my house from top to bottom, clean the carpets, paint a bathroom, and have twenty-five people over for the appetizer portion of a progressive dinner all in the same day. All while looking like a goddess. But those days are gone, baby, G-O-N-E. And rather than feel constantly defeated, I have lowered my standards significantly. And now, I just focus on the looking like a goddess part.

Fortunately for me, Mr. Incredible realizes I have other talents that are far more important than a sparkling house.

Housekeeping is an area where I struggle. Perhaps because I find an immaculate house unattainable when Bonus pulls out the same stinking box of band aids and leaves them on the kitchen counter SEVEN times in the same day. And drops the wrappers and the weird little static backings all over the floor because I'm not in the kitchen telling him to use the trash can. It's a losing battle. I waved the white flag when that last child was added. I can't win. And I usually just don't care that I have lost the battle, the war, and my coral tank top.

I do not believe in living in a museum. Children should be allowed to pull out all the Barbie paraphernalia in the house and leave it strewn across the playroom until the current season of Barbie 90210 has been played out. Even if that season has eighteen episodes. Unless company is coming and then that drama must be stopped and return to its assigned bins immediately. Ken and Barbie can pick up where they left off next time. And why wasn't Ken wearing any pants?

I guess the long and short of it is... it's no longer uber important to me, my husband, or my children. I know it's shocking, but we live in our house.

However, enough is enough. And here it turns to the confessional.... I had been looking at some red goo at the bottom of my freezer for quite some time (read: longer than I am willing to share...). And it had been taunting me. It was sticky and frozen (melted popsicle or toxic science experiment from my little potion makers?) and seemed like more than I was willing to bite off every morning I opened the freezer door. After all, I had band aid wrappers to deal with, and they are far more public. I can police who enters the fridge...

This morning the guilt of having goo in my freezer finally kicked in. I unloaded the freezer of all of its contents--food, shelves, door bins, ice compartment, unidentified pack of tan stuff--and wiped and washed until all traces of goo were gone. It took all of thirty minutes to clean, reassemble and restock the freezer. Plus, now I know for sure what is in there. For inquiring minds, I did not put the tan stuff back in the freezer.

Does anyone know what this is?

This little expedition into the freezer got me kick started. After that task was completed, I felt the need to disassemble the entire cooktop and tackle the downdraft vent. I *generally* only explore this area of my home once or twice a year. Evidently, it was past time. The handful of crisped food I pulled out of the grease trap was shameful. I will say that I have small hands...

During all this, I also completed the laundry. All three giant baskets worth. Even the reds and delicates. If anyone so much as changes their underwear, I cannot be held responsible for my actions...

Because I was on a roll I made coq au vin for dinner much to the disappointment of both Mr. Incredible and the children. Because they wanted chili cheese fries. And candy. I don't even know why I bother...

All three bathrooms are now open for business to the general public. At the same time. I know. I know.

But I also know that tomorrow morning I will walk into one of them and think, "I just cleaned this toliet yesterday. How does this happen?" I mean, I know how it happens. I guess my real question is:

Why, oh why hasn't someone invented a toliet that will automatically clean itself after each and every use?

Riddle me that. And get to work on those blueprints because I'm buying. You are going to be richer than you ever imagined. I want a cut because I gave you the idea. I need a new pair of kicks that have a high price tag, and I still have seventeen items on my housekeeping list. Make it snappy.

A Little Humiliation Goes a Long Way

2011-07-04T21:56:00.000-05:00

I know, I know. I've been away. A little vacay was much needed. We enjoyed an extra long Fourth of July weekend on the lake at my parents house. I'm sad to report that my most favorite giant sunglasses are now resting somewhere on the bottom on Lake Conroe.

As to the humiliation... I skated in a a Fourth of July parade. It was a long parade, and it was hot outside. I was soaked to the bone by the time we were finished. All I can say about my outfit and headpiece is that I should have made a point to look in a mirror before going before the hoards... Enjoy at my expense.

You would think by looking at the picture that RNR and Bonus actually get along. Wrong. In the end we had to strap Bonus on the back of the golf cart to keep them from beating the tar out of one another. They have both been banished from the golf cart parade for the foreseeable future.

Proof that I skated even though I missed practice.

That's enough. We shall never speak of the flag I wore on my head again.

Hope you and yours had a fabulous Fourth. Happy 235th America!

2011-07-01T17:29:00.004-05:00

After a week teaching 5th graders in Vacation Bible School, I am completely and utterly exhausted. There were some exceptionally precious kids in my class, and there were a few ~~I wanted to feed to a lion~~ who challenged my patience. No, I'm not naming any names, so don't go looking to see if your kid made the good list or the bad list.

Today I had a conversation with a child that made the whole experience worth being exposed to and catching what feels like the plague. Yes, I'm sick with what is probably a summer cold, and I don't like it. It has derailed my Fourth of July plans. And I can't breathe. Which makes me a little grumpy. Would someone please bring me the largest bottle of NyQuil legally sold? I. Need. Sleep.

Back to the conversation with this child... The entire conversation was pretty long and complicated, and I won't share it here. The short story is that I was able to offer the child some reassurance that God still loves him no matter what. He needed to hear it, and, honestly, it never hurts me to hear it either.

People will always disappoint us. Our feelings get hurt. Things don't go as planned. The Lord still moves and still loves.

Father's Day from the Mouth of Bonus

2011-06-27T14:24:00.000-05:00

I'm a little behind on this, but I thought it was only fair to share the answers Bonus gave for Mr. Incredible...

"My Dad"

My dad's name is [Mr. Incredible]. Good job, baby boy. You also know Daddy has a name other than Daddy (or "Sir" if you are in trouble).

He is 39 Correct, again!

and weighs a million pounds. Perhaps a little on the high side, but he probably seems that big to you. And it does feel like a million pounds if he sits on you. I would know.

His eyes are blue

and his hair is brown. Daddy still likes to think of himself as a blond, so ix-nay on the rown-bay.

His favorite color is dark blue. Close enough.

He loves to clean and play Wii. Once again, it is Bonus who loves to play Wii. Mr. Incredible might like things to be clean, but I would not go so far as to say that he loves to clean....

While I'm at school, he works. Yes. And then some...

and he just loves to eat macaroni. Kid, what's with the macaroni?

I hope all the dads out there had a wonderful day. Maybe you were as "lucky" as Mr. Incredible and got taken to Chuck E. Cheese (by Bonus) because you love to play the basketball game with your son. ;)

Hair-Rah!

2011-06-24T05:00:00.001-05:00

Love.
And you didn't think I would do it.

Rats. You can't see my neon green feather. You can see that my hair is now ponytail length (that's an inside joke for my mom and sister). One step closer to rock star hair.

Win Win

2011-06-23T05:00:00.000-05:00

Totally late on the congratulations to Miss Noteworthy and the Mustangs... She is leaving softball on the top. League champions and tournament winners.

Now, she can move on to other endeavors like makeup and boyfriends...

Blah, blah, blah. Show us the trophies.

You should have seen the other girl...

2011-06-22T14:19:00.000-05:00

You can't move a wall, but you can try...

Yup, that's a wheel alright...

Cankle. Word.

Walking Up in the Middle of a Conversation...

2011-06-15T05:00:00.002-05:00

You never know what you will hear at practice that is completely inappropriate if you take it out of context. Quotes that I unintentionally set myself up for this week:

Me: "I'm inside of you." (communicating that I'm passing someone on the inside of the track.)
Teamate: "That's what he said."

Oh dear.

And then,

Me: "When we get around the corner, I'll do you." (meaning that I would give her a push after the turn)

Teamate: raised eyebrow, follwed by giggle

We are supposed to communicate when we are playing, but I think I'm going to keep my mouth shut until I can refrain from saying things that can be misconstrued.
Favorite quote from Saturday's practice:

"I only have, like, a hundred sets of wheels, so I can match all my outfits."

I heart my trainer.

Practice Makes Progress

2011-06-14T13:37:00.001-05:00

Practice totally rawked last night. Off da hook. Or chain. Or whatev young whippersnappers say these days. In my day we would have said, "Practice was SOOOO RAD. Tubular. Awesome. To the max, dude."

I think 99% of us were in agreement about this. New girls, new coach, new merchandise, new news!!!! Sorry can't share details yet, but I will as soon as I get security clearance. Just keep your fall calendar open until I can blurt without fear.

Last night was a workout fer shur, but it was also a blazing inferno in the rink. I was dripping with sweat to the point that sweat literally dripped off the end of my ponytail. I was soaked to the skin. I'm not generally much of a sweat-er. I'm usually that girl who glistens. But, I sweated my butt off last night (wouldn't it be awesome if it really worked that way? "Excuse me, I need to wipe my butt off the floor for you so you don't slip.").

I'm actually starting to like jumps. I'm still not getting more than a couple of inches off the ground, but I'm getting more clearance than I used to. And it's not scaring me anymore. I just do it. I didn't even teeter on my landings last night.

Two games of Queen of the Track were played; in one we skated in the regular direction and the other in the opposite direction. No, I didn't win last night, but I hung in there for a long time both rounds. I used to be one of the first to get knocked out. I even voluntarily hit Ella Vader, which is really saying something since she wins pretty much every. single. time. we play. She was kind to my little self and didn't hit back; thanks for not sending me to the ER! Can I say that hitting Ella Vader is like smacking into a concrete wall at top speed? You know it won't be pretty, but sometimes you just can't stop yourself in time. I didn't fall or trip or trip her (I also didn't move her an inch, but you gotta start somewhere).

Plus, I got an ultra sweet compliment about my endurance. I don't feel like I have improved that much in that area, but it made my heart smile anyway. Perhaps I can improve my twenty lap time this Wednesday. I'll be sure to let you know. Our trainers are fantastically encouraging. Props, props, and more props to these wonderful people.

When I was in college, I cut this very add out of a magazine and hung it on my dorm room door and later on a bulletin board in my room in my apartment; this ad was part of a Nike campaign aimed at women. Regardless of how you feel about Nike, I think most women can relate to these words. I have saved it all these years because it nicely sums up the way I feel about being categorized by my size or shape or age.

Word.

Statistic do lie. I'm not a 36-24-36 (and chances are I never will be and I have been extremely honest about my measurements on my "Taking It Off" page ).

I am more than inches, an age, and a list of numbers. I AM trying to be the best person I can and along the way I am simply loving me some roller derby. After nearly forty years of walking, sometimes I still can't walk up the stairs without tripping, but I am slowly gaining new skills and improving with each roller derby practice. I may not be a rawk stah skay-tah, but I am proud of myself and my teammates and my league. I'm amazed at how far we have come since February. I'm certainly nowhere close to perfect and never will be, but it's a start. A fine start. Who needs statistics if I have heart. I would always rather be defined by my heart and by the way I love and treat people. Let me be measured by my progress.

... And possibly my attendance record. Showing up always counts for something.

Naked Discipline

2011-06-13T05:00:00.002-05:00

Summer's here, and I have started it in the most embarrassing way possible.

Yes, you guessed it.

I was accidentally bottomless at the community pool.

[Deep breath.]

On Saturday after a good workout at roller derby practice I took Bonus, RNR, and Miss Noteworthy up to the pool in our neighborhood just as I do practically everyday for the first month of summer. We were meeting my most fabulous neighbor Kernsie and a couple of her kids. We had also invited another family to join us, but, thankfully, they were running a little late and did not show up at exactly noon. Or that dad would have gotten an eyeful.

Bonus was swimming inside two tubes and wanted additional flotation. And, of course, he asked his mama to get him the blow-up snake. Well, I had fetched plenty for him already, and I had just sat back down. I told him that if he wanted more toys that he could get them himself.

I'm going to spare you all the gory details that followed. Long story short, Bonus had a complete meltdown that required me to get into the pool and retrieve his kicking and screaming body.

It was quite a wrestling match, but I managed to ~~yank~~ extract him from the pool and sit him on my chaise lounge.

I told him he was going to have to sit out of the pool for a bit because he needed to get control of himself and choose nicer words. He didn't really like my idea and started screaming at me at the top of his lungs. I decided that we needed to take our little sideshow to the restroom to give us a chance to talk and him a chance to get control.

This is where things started to turn a bit ugly.

I started toward the restroom with Bonus in full tirade.

In an attempt to get back in the pool and escape the talking-to he was about to receive in the restroom, Bonus grabbed the tie on my super cute, super small string bikini bottoms...

...and pulled.

Let's just say that I showed a little more at the pool that day than I had intended.

Bonus tried to make a fast get away. With both the ties on the left side of my bottoms in hand, I gave full chase.

Yes, I ran at top speed across the pool deck in my state of undress after Mr. Incredible's son. I'm sure it was quite a sight to behold, and I am most thankful that the event was not digitally recorded. As far as I know.

That little stunt cut the pool day short for Bonus. I called Mr. Incredible and had him pick up his child and take him home.

After Bonus' tearful departure, Kernsie taught me a couple of mad ninja skills to use on Bonus in case he decides to disrobe me in public again. You never know when a little jujitsu might come in handy. And now I could break your arm if I really wanted to, so back off!

As if the broad sunlight display of my nether regions was not quite enough, I then had a pair of dragonflies that insisted on mating on my shoulder. Of course, RNR noticed the insect copulation immediately and wanted me to explain why the two dragonflies were connected. Fabulous. Round two of sex-ed for the day.

Then, we caught a female child we know enjoying the pool's water jet a little bit inappropriately and had to rip her away from her fun as she explained rather loudly that she liked it. Ahem...

I finally decided that we should probably pack it up for the day before "the twins (not identical)" made an unexpected appearance. I have to leave some mystery for my neighbors...

And the Crowd Goes Wild...

2011-06-09T00:08:00.002-05:00

Okay, not really, but we did end practice by shouting "Reckless!" as we broke the huddle (Thanks for throwing that out there, Louie!).

Can I just say that:

1). Derby people are fabulous. These peeps are some of the most encouraging and accepting people I know. It's nice that we can all celebrate each other's successes.

2). Derby is more fun than should be legal. Really, if you've ever even slightly thought about trying out for a derby league, you should.

3). I'm not super competitive, but, like everyone else, if I get to win a game, it truly rocks.

4). I can't believe I actually won the game!!!! I may have been the most shocked person in the whole rink. And yeah, I did kinda high five myself and yell, "Yes!" when I knew I had won. Which is not something I would normally do. But, me winning Queen of the Track is not even close to normal...

In this game, all the skaters get on the track and start skating. When the whistle is blown, we start skating and hitting each other. If you skate outside the track or fall, you're out.

There were a couple of supa' rawk stah skay-tahs who were not in da' house tonight, and that greatly improved my chances. Plus, none of the men were skating tonight, so that helped as well. When it was down to just five of us on the track, three went down in a single collision (I was nowhere near them, so no one can blame me this time...). So, I hit the last girl, and she went outside the lines.

Which meant I was the last girl on the track. Which means that I won a DVD of Blood on the Flat Track.

For this one night I get to be Queen of the Track. It may have been a fluke, and it may never happen again.

But tonight it happened, and I feel like a bonafide derby girl. Whoot!

Indoor Swimming Only?

2011-06-07T05:00:00.001-05:00

Dear Betsey Johnson,

After summers of coveting your suits in Nordstrom, I finally broke down and plunked down the copious amounts of hard, cold cash you require for ownership of your swimwear.

Worth. Every. Penny. I may not actually look like a pin up girl in my suit, but I am comfortable in it and do indeed feel glamorous. I bought the red one piece with a bow on top and ruffles on the bottom. Modest but flirty. Cute but still sophisticated. Since I know it is a sample and I haven't seen this particular suit in any store, I am fairly certain you designed it with me in mind. Thanks for that, Betsey. It fits perfectly. I already have my eye on another of your suits and will be looking for it to go on sale.

This morning I took a moment to read the care label inside my suit. I have spent some time at the pool in the past week, and I want to make sure I am properly caring for my investment. No Bleach--makes perfect sense. Do Not Iron. I'm not much of an ironer, so no worries on that one, Betsey. Hand wash in cold water. Okay, I can handle that. However, I'm a little perplexed at this final little piece of instruction:

LINE DRY IN SHADE

Is my new suit afraid of the sun?

Really, Betsey? Really?

Summer Lovin'

2011-06-06T09:52:00.000-05:00

Since last week, we have a boyfriend. Which means we have been giggling and smiling from ear-to-ear nonstop. And we are Boyfriend's first girlfriend. So it is extra cute and extra sweet. And the texts are a little extra hilarious for me to read.

As there are only four more days of school, I asked Miss Noteworthy if she thought she and Boyfriend would be able to make it until the last day of school without meeting the usual middle school relationship fate of a breakup after one week. She thinks they will make it well into the summer. Maybe longer.

Her previous middle school attempt at romance lasted for about fifteen minutes. They both admitted they liked each other, and then it got weird. They quickly decided they would just be friends without ever entering into a boyfriend-girlfriend contract.

Boyfriend asked in person if she would go out with him. There were no go-betweens and no notes asking her to check "yes", "no", or "maybe". There was no hemming and hawing or beating around the bush. Most impressive. I think we may have a man in the making here.

An Eight Wheeled Butt Kicking

2011-06-03T09:55:00.002-05:00

Signs that roller derby practice was a beating...

...Deciding to forego shaving your legs in the shower the next morning because you would have to lift your leg and bend over.  Which is pretty serious because you were going to the pool and knew people would actually see that the hairs on your legs need braiding.

...Having to think about the best way to put on panties. Normally, this is an almost unconscious act.  I just grab some out of the drawer, and presto! they are magically on my body. This morning I started to bend in the middle and thought "this isn't going to work." I had to do the put-the-panties-on-the-floor-and-fish-for-the-leg-hole-with-your-foot-and-wiggle-them-up-your-leg maneuver. It takes longer. It takes effort and thought. It takes skills. Thank goodness I have skills, or I might have had to throw on a dress and go commando.

...Considering if it is possible to refrain from going to the bathroom for an entire day. Because sitting down on the seat makes you wince like a big baby. And hovering is not any better (before you make that suggestion). Wait until the last possible second and nearly pee all over yourself. More than once. Wonder if the Chinese don't have something with their stand over a hole method...

...Reaching for the Advil before you hit snooze. Seriously.

...Standing up and turning around with your whole body instead of quickly twisting your body to reach for something behind you.

...Unable to remember how many times you fell during practice. You just know that after you fell on your stomach and were unable to breathe in Last Man Out that the rest of the practice is largely a blur. Your guess is as good as mine when and where the bruises on my hand and arm happened.

...Getting an elbow to the face and just being relieved that you didn't break your leg. Or get your nose broken. Or break your wrist. Or have your hand rolled over.

...Having someone else's Sharpie marks on your clothes. My neon pink Reckless shirt will forever bear the smudges of Six Foot Thunder's number 73. Unless one of you has a cool laundry tip for getting out Sharpie. Let me hear from you domestic goddesses. Blood removal tips might come in handy, too. Let's just get me prepared in advance for this little eventuality.

...Thinking that doing countless sit-ups and push-ups was a break or a breather. Even strangely relaxing.

...Not even caring that the wet sponges under your armpits were just under someone else's armpits. You just care that they don't fall out of your armpits.

North Texas Ladies... Wanna learn more about roller derby?  Wondering if you have what it takes?  Want to see what a practice looks like before you commit yourself? Send me an email at recklesshousewifeblog(at)gmail(dot)com, and I will get you hooked up with the right people.

Fortune-ately One of These Was Mine

2011-05-31T22:19:00.001-05:00

Mad skills?

I hope I have shaved...

You know my favorite Chinese food game (hint: add "in bed" to the end of your fortune). Now, get to laughing! These two may be some of my favorites EVER next to Mr. Incredible's that said "You are your own best friend."

Reckless of the Derbyvilles

2011-05-24T05:00:00.000-05:00

In the past week I have purchased new wheels and new toe stops, learned to change my own wheels and install my own bearings, received my first dose of outdoor rink rash (I was properly attired, fyi. and, ahem... no, you cannot see the pictures), iced my swollen ankles repeatedly, cried at practice, cried the ENTIRE drive home from practice, skated FIFTEEN hours in six days, and smiled when I knocked the crud out of a member of the opposing team.

I also had an epic fail when I *tried* to MacGuyver an outdoor skate wheel with an indoor bearing.

Note: Do not try this at home. Indoor bearings on outdoor wheels will not "do in a pinch."

Along with all my other derby shenanigans, I have been participating in a little contest in our league called Leaner, Faster, Stronger. It's about improving and promoting our athleticism performance, and general health and fitness as individuals. Well, I haven't improved my 20 lap time, I haven't lost any weight (in fact I have gained four pounds in the last four weeks), and my butt and thighs are bigger. So much for skating my butt off.

However, I passed the pencil test this morning! I can no longer hold a pencil underneath my butt cheek. Why I know this... well, it's a long story but one that JMom can appreciate. I hope it's a sign that things are moving up!

Thanks to the sweet derby sisters who checked on me after the practice that made me think I might not be able to do it.

Thanks to the pre-derby friends who are cheering me on and continuing to offer their love and support unconditionally. Even when they don't get the new fascination.

I Need Your Final Answer....

2011-05-16T10:38:00.000-05:00

Considering his first impulse was to grab the duct tape, I'd say the MIGHT is no longer in question.

Happy Monday to ya! I've got a preschool graduation to attend...

The Fat Lady Only Has a Few Short Bars Left...

2011-05-14T06:00:00.000-05:00

I'm taking it down about fourteen notches today. I haven't been particularly serious on here in... oh, let's see... a good year...

But, today, I'm doing it. Even though you stinkin' readers don't like it, don't respond to it, and, honestly, don't read it. However, when I started this blog, I started it as a forum for me to reflect, document, and editorialize. For me. To write it out and see where I was, to take inventory of me.

So, I'm going through some "things" in my life. Aren't we all? And they have me in a quiet place. I'm not going to bring them all out here, but one hit me in a new and real way on Tuesday when I took Bonus to a classmate's birthday party. And I need to talk about it a little.

Nearly a month ago, I took Bonus up to the elementary school where RNR attends. It was for Kindergarten registration, and I wasn't going to miss that. I have had a preschooler wrapped around my legs for the last twelve years. It's time for me to get my legs back! I keep saying that I'm so ready for this part of my life to come to an end. And a large part of me is.

But I discovered on Tuesday that there is a part of me that is not ready to let go of this stage in my life.

You see, I've got three smart, beautiful, talented kids, but I wanted four.

And I can't have four because:

1). I'm forty, and really, I don't have the energy to do the pregnancy and newborn and preschool thing all over again. I'll already be 54 when Bonus graduates high school.

2). My doctors would kill me (if I didn't just go ahead and die on my own on them this time).

3). Babies are freaking expensive, and I am going to have to buy a bassoon in a few years (google a fox bassoon; you might pass out. a "nice" instrument can be $20,000).

4). I don't have a bedroom for another child, and I don't really want to move to another house.

5). Oh yeah, and there was the little snip-snip... So, unless it really is a miracle, it isn't going to happen.

So, I'm not going to have four. I'm not going to have anymore of my own babies. Bonus is my last preschooler, and he only has two more days of preschool.

I stood at this birthday party for a precious little girl in his preschool class and watched these little people who have attended preschool together for the last couple of years. I watched my little person running around not needing my help.

As I spoke to another mom I know, it all hit me, and I actually started tearing up in Chuck E. Cheese. And she and I talked about it for a moment. She was kind and gracious and let me talk. And then, she somehow knew that I needed to make sure we changed the topic because I was about to lose it and have a big ugly cry right in the middle of the party room.

In just a few short months, I'm not going to have my little buddy with me at the Krogert begging me for candy bars, chips, fruit snacks, or even something healthy. "Mama, can I have some of this yogurt. Yogurt's healthy for me. Right, Mama?"

I won't have a little person asking if we could listen to Justin Bieber "Eeny Meeny" one more time as we drive around town doing errands.

I won't be a mother of a preschooler.

And I'm not really sure I know what that looks like.

I'm not altogether sure I know what I look like without a little person wrapped around my legs.

From the Mouth of Bonus: Mother's Day Edition

2011-05-09T17:27:00.001-05:00

"My Mom"

My mom's name is [Reckless]. Good job, Buddyroe. You know I have a name other than Mommy.

She is 40 years old. I wish you would stop telling everyone this information, but, again, correct, Young Skywalker.

and weighs 82 pounds. You will go far with the ladies, L.L. Cool J.

Her eyes are blue, They are brown hazel. When I took of my sunglasses in the parking lot and asked him what color my eyes were, he said, "Orange." Hmpf! I prefer golden, but he might be right.

and her hair is darkish. He gets this one right because I don't know what color ombre is either.

Her favorite color is pink & green and orange. Keep listing them, little man, you are bound to get some right. Green and orange are correct. I don't hate pink...

She loves to play Wii. Ummm. Right. He loves to play Wii.

While I'm at school, she plays roller derby. Bonus gets the bonus points. Apparently one of the teachers thought he might have an overactive imagination on this one.

and she just loves to eat macaroni. As long as it is covered with cheese.

I hope your Mother's Day was as special as mine.

Breakfast in bed. Mr. Incredible even thought to snap a picture with his phone and emailed it to me so I would be all ready for the blog.

Adding Insult to Injury

2011-05-05T10:44:00.002-05:00

I haven't checked in with you on my new favorite thing in a little while. Sorry I left you hanging. Quick recap... I made the team. Go Reckless! And I think my team name and my teammates are exceptionally fannypacktastic (to refamiliarize you with the poetic license of Miss Noteworthy). Who wouldn't want to wear glitter gold as part of their team uniform? You know me--I love the sparkles.

My team may even be even the bomb diggity (Oh my word. Did I really type that and leave it for people to actually view with their eyes? Yes. I did it. The malfunctions of last night have overflowed onto the fresh new day. Dang...).

I love derby practice and count down the days and minutes until it arrives. However...

...last night's derby practice brought a strong dose of reality. In the form of a deep muscle bruise. On the inside business edge of my left buttock.

Which leaves me wincing every time I sit, stand, shift, bend, or generally let my heart beat. I keep telling my brain stem to shut down my heart, but it won't listen to me. Drat!

It gets worse.

Since the swelling is protruding into my butt cleavage, it continually makes me feel like I need to go "powder my nose" (ummm... who do you think you are fooling, proper ladies? such a ridiculous expression). But when I get in there, I realize my "nose" is just fine. TMI for some of you (and I have one particular face in mind right now....), I am sure.

Let me tell you, there is nothing quite like continuously massaging your left butt cheek in a roomful of people. And not even caring. Because your butt is having a seizure all of its own, and it really MUST be stopped. Rub, rub. rub. "Oh hi, so-and-so's husband, Don't mind me, I'm having butt problems." Rub, rub, rub. Knead, knead, knead.

Additionally, I felt like a complete roller spaz last night. First, my wheels felt slick, so I felt like I was fighting to stay upright ALL. NIGHT. LONG. I felt like I resembled Bambi when he stepped out on the ice with Thumper. And Thumper laughed uproariously in Bambi's face. Not my favorite.

Next, halfway through a drill where we voluntarily flung ourselves to the ground, I looked at my hands and noticed I was NOT wearing my wrist guards. Uh... hello. One of my best friends on the planet broke both bones in her right arm while skating, and I even wear my wrist guards when I session skate. Wrist guards are essential for safety. Where was my brain? It must be with that coral tank top I can't find. Completely MIA.

I skated off the floor and fetched my guards post haste. And was thankful that I had not broken a bone in the first part of practice.

I returned just in time for the next round of the body flinging exercise. And when I threw myself to the ground and rolled over, my toe stop came off. And that makes me panic a LITTLE because now I have lost both my brain and my toe stop. And if you can't find your brain, you have great difficulty screwing your toe stop back in.

I hate my left toe stop. I must rely on it heavily, or it wouldn't keep coming out. After last night, we are no longer on speaking terms. I feel a strong need to end that relationship. "You know, I can't trust you to be there when I need you, so I'm going to have to replace you...."

I stood there expecting my bra strap to break or my pants to spilt right up the middle because that's what kind of a night it was. And I'm not really a Janet Jackson Halftime Spectacle kind of girl.

During scrimmage time (when my gluteal injury occurred), all the rules of the game that I had just read were rolling around in my head. Every time I read them, a little more sticks, but, honestly, I'm on a little bit of information overload right now. I'm trying to keep all the rules straight in my brain. And, you know, I tend to be a strict adherer to the rules in *most* areas of my life. So, when I break a rule or think I have, I will do what I can to correct myself or the situation. It's an almost automatic response.

Except, when a derby player *thinks* she has stepped out on the inside edge and removes herself from play in the middle of a jam to *correct* her actions, it *might* let the opposing jammer score unnecessary points. And it did. And the ref looked at me like I was nuts because she knew I had not even stepped outside the line.

There was video of the whole scrimmage. Awesome.

When I got bumped, I apparently DANGLED my skate over the line. Which you can do all day long if you want. And when I put the dangling skate back on the ground, I crossed over my right skate. So, I was fine the whole time.

And there were no whistles blown, so I don't know why I removed myself from play. A normal person would just keep skating if they didn't hear the whistle. I guess the drills to teach us to not cut the track sunk in a little too deep.

I tend to be an overthinker and overanalyzer, so all the things the trainers and coaches have said are in my head swirling around simultaneously. And they keep coming out in the weirdest ways...

At least I knew the reason why you need to skate fast to the penalty box (because your time in the box doesn't start until you get in the box)... That's one point for me for the night. And eighty-nine for the rink. It was almost a shutout.

Body, equipment, brain... Apparently, it was a night for all-around Reckless malfunction.

P.S. I'm not giving up. We all have off days. I'm sure next practice will be better. It couldn't get much worse...

P.P.S. Yes, I know I'm a little whiny. Sue me. I'll win. My lawyer is amazing.
P.P.S.S. Favorite derby quotes from last week and this week...

"I think I hurt my labia."

"I smell like Fritos." "Yeah, you do."

"Not bad for a hoochie." And yes, I was the hoochie.

P.P.P...oh, screw the post-script nonsense, I still love derby and can't wait for the next practice. I hope I can walk by then...

That's What She Said...

2011-04-30T05:00:00.003-05:00

The other night when I asked RNR to help her brother pick up his toys, she came completely unhinged and threw a fit like I have not seen (from her) in quite some time. Apparently, she had some pent up frustration surrounding her brother.

After she produced a litany of reasons why she should not have to help and how she absolutely would not do it, she yelled,

"You hate everyone in this house except me!"

And Miss Noteworthy and I laughed so hard that there may or may not have been two distinct puddles on the kitchen floor.

When we explained to RNR why we were snorting and unable to breathe, she got a good laugh, too, and then actually went straight upstairs and picked up the toys. More than needing to let off steam, she needed a good laugh. And I'm glad she provided that for all of us.

MMMNo!

2011-04-29T05:00:00.003-05:00

While I was driving RNR to school, Radio Disney decided to pull something out of the Vault of Great Irritation.

It was even worse than what Sirius pulls out of the Vault of Cheese. Worse than Color Me Bad. Can you really get worse than Color Me Bad you might ask? I mean they sang a song that said "we can do it til we both wake up." Makes me wonder if they had a poor instructor or if they just didn't pay one bit of attention to their lyrics.

But this wasn't just a stupid song. This was the mutha of songs that get stuck in your head and make you want to shove an icepick in your ear to make it stop.

MMMBop by Hanson

I struggled not to change the channel as RNR bopped along to the song. Radio Disney may just be the death of me.

Do I really have to say anything else?

Hit or Miss

2011-04-28T09:17:00.000-05:00

Can someone please read my forehead and tell me what it says?

I'm pretty sure it doesn't say, "Mr. Produce Worker with Whom I Am on an Unfortunate First Name Basis, please ogle me while offering to cut me a piece of apple with a knife that resembles a MACHETE or while I'm loading up the hooptie with groceries."

If my forehead does indeed say these things, can somebody PLEASE run over here post-haste and assist my face washing because, apparently, I continually miss the same spot.

But what is it with produce guys and the produce section? You don't have to hit on me and tell me that you notice me here all the time to sell me fresh fruits and vegetables. I'm going to buy them anyway because they are good for my family. It is C to the Reepy, and this doesn't happen to me in the Meat Department where one might actually expect it and be prepared for the onslaught. The butcher is just friendly. I prefer friendly. However, I prefer you to go into the bowels of The Krogert and stay there until I leave the store.

Produce guy rant over.

I'm done. I promise.

Third Times A Charm?

2011-04-28T08:54:00.018-05:00

Picture this:

The garage door is open, the back of the hooptie is up, and I'm unloading groceries. I only leave the garage door open when I am either unloading something or going out to get the mail. I have my hands full of bags as a white SUV driven by a a well-dressed, gray-haired man puts it in reverse and rolls back in front of my driveway.

This makes me nervous. And I will admit, that I get a little jumpier than most in these kind of situations. It *might* have a little something to do with a gun in my face and my purse getting stolen from me by a crackhead in Birmingham. Or maybe I'm just twitchy like that.

But then he puts the window down and speaks. And he wants to know about my next door neighbors. The ones we refer to as the swingers. And all this is for "banking" purposes.

Shut my eyes and feed me a bullfrog.

This same stinkin' house has already been foreclosed on TWO times in the seven years we have lived in this house. And investigators have been by before asking questions about the previous owners.

I only confirm to him that someone does indeed live there. I don't specify who that someone is. And then, when he leaves, I walk over in front of their house to be sure because I haven't seen them since last Thursday. They could have stolen away in the dead of the night. I hear the dog barking, and I know they are still occupying the house.
Seriously people. If that house goes vacant again, I am going to scream. Not nice words either. I'm also going to send Mr. Incredible over there to cut down the cypress tree that drops crap all over my patio year round.

The Great Egg Debacle

2011-04-24T21:00:00.066-05:00

I learned several valuable lessons this Easter Sunday.

The first is don't expect to all get along on Sunday afternoon if you get up at 5:30 am to go to a sunrise service. If there are ten people involved and five are children, expect to banish one adult person for excessive crabbiness and break up multiple verbal... ahem... how do I put this nicely?... altercations between the children. Everyone needs a nap. E.V.E.R.Y.O.N.E. The one who protests the nap probably needs two. You may have to actually push one adult into the bedroom and hold the door until that adult falls asleep.

The second is that the only proper way to dye Easter eggs is ONE CHILD AT A TIME. While coloring a mere fifteen eggs, two out of five children were banished. One of them was the twelve year old. Apparently, at age twelve eggs are still a precious commodity not to be handed over to a five year old who is tired and crying... It's clearly better to yell at the five year old than hand over an egg.

The other tip on egg dying is that if you have one of those magic wax crayons where the writing shows up after you dip the egg, guard it with your life. If it gets out of your sight, one child may make his or her mark on just about every egg to the great dismay of all the other children. On the other hand, you may find out that one child is getting there in his understanding of the reason why we celebrate Easter by thanking Jesus. And that was a sweet, post-color surprise, even if the other egg he wrote on proclaimed his own personal greatness and rawk star status to all...

And on the whole egg thing, it seems as I discuss this year's coloring party with my mommy friends that many of us had similar eggs-plosions at our kitchen tables. Last year I had eight children coloring four dozen eggs at my table and only broke up two minor squabbles over who got what sticker (guess what... I anticipated this and had an eggstra sheet tucked away...). This year I couldn't begin to count the major penalties. The penalty box was out of seats. So, I have concluded that... dude, something was in the air... or that the key to egg dying happiness is vast quantities of chicken ovums. And said dying should preferably occur at least the day before Easter (but in defense of the "grome-ups", the interest level was beyond low on Saturday due to cousins arriving and the draw of an 83 degree swimming pool).

The third thing is that some people actually remain in their golf carts at outdoor church serivces. Because they might need to make a quick 15 mph getaway? This was a completely new idea to me. Who knew? Apparently, I need to get with it.

Finally, when taking a little Easter boat ride, under no circumstances should you listen to your mother. You were perfectly fine in your seat. And relatively dry. Switching to the other side of the boat because the children were not getting splashed... well, that instantly throws the entire universe out of whack. We. Got. Drenched. And that water was stinking cold. Thanks, Mom. (Just kidding, Mom. Well, mostly. I'm not trusting your boat-seating-intuition any longer.)

And all this swirled around in my head and made me ask myself the question of why is Easter my favorite holiday?

Oh yeah...

the small things may not go the way you planned, but

the Lord is risen.

The tomb is empty.

Egg debacle and all...

I'm not budging until every square inch of this sheet is colored. And you can't make me...

We really do love each other. In moments...

My baby sister looking rather glamorous and thoughtful. Or is that just bored and tired.

Bonus, this wasn't last year's haul... what happened to our plan and the diagram I drew illustrating how to own the 5 and 6 year old hunt? Maybe next year.

Oh Captain, my Captain. C is for cloudy, cold, and choppy lake conditions.

No, I want to ride with so-and-so... Mini-boating is always a good time.

No. you can't have my seat. I'm not stupid. I'm dry.

Before the wave...

However you spent the day, I hope it was filled with love. Happy Easter!

A Boy's Dream

2011-04-19T05:00:00.002-05:00

Do you like the fake sleeping?

After five years of sleeping with us, sleeping with Miss Noteworthy (fka Miss Proper), sleeping with RNR, and sleeping in a sleeping bag in the playroom, Bonus has finally slept in his OWN room for three nights in a row. This is a major event. And it's all because we finally got around to buying the bunkbeds he has dreamed about for the past two years. The StarWars bedding may or may not have had something to do with it, too...

Sleep well, young Skywalker. Or I'll use the force...

The Adventures of Lucy and Ethel, Part 4

2011-04-18T12:49:00.001-05:00

The final installment, I promise...

FAQ Schwartz. Too fun. We made puzzles with our pictures on them to bring home. Mine was Star Wars for Bonus.

We took in a little Broadway show

My delicious sprinkle cone. Mid chew.

Grand Central Station

Brooklyn Bridge

Glad to have gone. Even more glad to come home. Except for the unpacking and the laundry.

The Adventures of Lucy and Ethel, Part 3

2011-04-18T12:40:00.001-05:00

For your viewing pleasure...

See the hooker boot. It caught my eye because if I know anything I know my hooker shoes.

Times Square.

Rockefeller Center in Legos

Live from Rockefeller Center

Me in the pedicab, rickshaw or accident waiting to happen, whichever label you prefer most

What it takes two girls in NYC to get ready to go down to listen to a lounge singer...

The final result of all that stuff. I'd say worth it because we "look mahvelous, dahling."

The Park Avenue entrance to the Waldorf

Are you getting bored? I'll stop soon.

The Adventures of Lucy & Ethel, Part Two

2011-04-18T12:15:00.002-05:00

Breaking it up so it won't take forever to load, and so you'll have to keep coming back...

Our little birthday party in Central Park. Cupcakes from Crumbs Bakery. Mine was Cherry Cobbler. Pandamom's was cookie dough. Yum!

Matzo ball soup at Carnegie Deli. Trust me--split everything at that joint. You cannot eat it all yourself unless you are an eating competition champion.

Our rather enjoyable dining companions. A rather chipper family from Great Britain and a couple who had just arrived on American soil from France for the first time. We tried to explain pastrami to them, but...

For a new derby friend. Fluffy rocks. Even if she is a part of the Main St. Mafia...

Don't go away. There's more....

xo,

Reckless

The Adventures of Lucy and Ethel

2011-04-18T11:50:00.001-05:00

Well, Lucy and I returned home a little over a week ago, and I am just now beginning to get a handle on my life and my laundry. It was a blur of a week, and I had limited use of my arm (still hurts to put on and take off a shirt or jacket and can't sleep with my left arm under my head). Sorry for the delay.

We had a great adventure, and the best way to show you is to simply post oodles of pictures.

Here ya go!

Oh Hail! We need a cab. The first cab ride. From Penn Station to the hotel. Some of you know I had fretted about hailing a cab. That was needless worry. I quickly became a pro.

Pandamom snapping pics of the frozen hot chocolate at Seredipity III. Delicious! Drank every last drop.

Our matching New York jammies.

Pandamom taking a picture of her camera with my camera because of our FB troubles...

Another picture of a picture for posting. Isn't Lucy cute?

A strange statue about a block from our hotel. It was being auctioned off, so it was being guarded. That's Pandamom asking the guards why they were spending all day guarding a bear.

Me in Central Park. Which I absolutely adored. Pandamom loves to take pictures of me doing weird stuff.

Ethel and Lucy

A painting I had wanted to see in person since high school.

The obligatory hot dog from the street vendor

To be continued....

Excuse Me... I Was Out Living My Life

2011-04-15T15:55:00.003-05:00

Well, apparently, I have offended some of you by not posting my pictures quickly enough. What can I say? I just finished unpacking my suitcase yesterday, was EXHAUSTED from walking ten hours straight in a single day, took in two skating sessions, took care of three children, cooked dinner, packed lunches, nearly ripped my arm from its socket...

Yes, I got my first real skating injury doing a baseball slide for fun. And I feel the pain. I couldn't lift my purse with my left arm on Monday or Tuesday. Wednesday I could only lift my arm up even with my shoulder without wincing. On Thursday I still couldn't pull a shirt over my head without a stabbing pain. And today... well, it's getting better everyday, but it's just not quite right.

Don't worry. I'll live.

I Guess You People Really Are Taking Over the World

2011-04-13T18:08:00.001-05:00

For the first time EVER, the Apple-based operating systems and browsers won the usage war on my blog.

The iPads, iTouches, iPhones, and Macs comprised 51% of the traffic that stopped by to say hello last week.

It makes me wonder just WHO you people are though.

I guess I better save my coins because it looks like if I don't get in the game, I'll be left behind.

I can't believe it. Just goes to show that you should never say never.

Central Park Pics

2011-04-12T16:58:00.000-05:00

Thank goodness for Pandamom. I have band competition tonight or else I might get a chance to tell you a little story.

Until I can get a moment where my kids aren't hurling themselves off of brick walls (no, I'm not kidding...), you'll have to visit my likeness over here.

Soon, I promise...

I HEART NY

2011-04-11T22:29:00.000-05:00

Well, I'm back, and I would sleep until Wednesday if I were not a mom to three. Until I get a chance to sit down and write about the adventures of Reckless and PandaMom (aka Ethel & Lucy) and post my own pictures of NYC, check out the photo of me on Park Avenue. I so needed that coffee. Ask PandaMom; I was a little surly until I had my Starbucks...

Ooooh, I have such great stories to tell and some really big news that I received while having a pizza in NYC. However, I have to go to bed now or else I might die. Or at least collapse onto the tile floor. I really don't feel like having a ride in an ambulance tonight, so I'm choosing king size.

You'll have to wait until the weekend to hear that big news though. Sorry to leave you hanging like that, but if I tell you some zombies might come for me. You'll understand soon.

"I'm Going to Wake Up in the City that Never Sleeps..."

2011-04-07T05:00:00.001-05:00

That's NYC for those of you unfamiliar with my pal Frank.

Pandamom and I boarded a plane before daylight on Thursday and headed out of Texas toward the Big Apple. Right now, we should be snug in our beds at the Waldorf Astoria. I'm sure we are beyond exhausted already.

I'll let you know all about the adventures we had when I get back to the ranch.

My Little Lyrical Genius, You Take After MamaRocks

2011-04-06T17:53:00.003-05:00

Bonus and I were driving around town the other day when Katy Perry's "Fireworks" came on the radio. Imagine me trying not to snort Coke Zero out my nostrils and all over the dashboard of the hooptie when I heard this little tune coming from the backseat.

"Baby, I'm a pay you work. Come on let your color horse."

Now, unfortunately, I can identify with this type of slaughtering of songs. I was in college before I clued in that the song says "My eyes adored you."

I grew up singing "My eyes of Georgia."

Ummm, yeah. That's embarrassing...

Yes, I realize it didn't make any sense, but neither does "I am the eggman, I am the eggman, I am a walrus, Googoobajoob."

And when we were dating, I had to cautiously inform Mr. Incredible that Bryan Adam's "Summer of '69" does not say "Standing on your mama's bush." He doesn't like to be wrong, you know, but I couldn't let him walk around singing that version another day.

Apparently, that kind of thing runs in the family...

And Baby, Talk Derby to Me

2011-04-05T05:00:00.000-05:00

My shirts came in!!!! There is another one with gold letters. I wore that last Wednesday. I find out which team I made on April 22. Passed my sit ups, pushups, 5 laps in under a minute, and five minute endurance sprint. I can't wait to see which of these fabulous derby girls will be on the same team.

Practice helmet all stickered up

Are these me or what?

I Got a Raise

2011-04-04T12:41:00.000-05:00

Now, don't you worry your pretty little heads. I have not done anything silly like secure employment. Although, I am getting rather tired of the constant comment from Mr. Incredible. You know, the one that goes a little something like this...

"There's not a lot that $50,000 wouldn't do around here."

To that, I say, two words that are followed by "Sherlock". Okay, I don't really say that, but it has flown through my head once or twice in the past couple of months.

No job for me.

But, I did get a little raise when I paid the last preschool tuition for Bonus. That may not sound that earth-shattering to some of you, but consider that I have paid for preschool since 2001. Ten freaking years worth of preschool registration fees, monthly tuition, and supply fees. Not to mention the other expenses that come with preschool.

And it feels good to know that this chapter of my life is about to end. I mean, there is a little bit of bittersweet there. There will not be anymore Reckless babies, and I always wanted four. Chubby little faces saying "I wub you, Mama" are growing into thinner faces that say "I can do many things by myself now."

In just a few short weeks, I will no longer be a preschool mom at all. I will step down from the coordinator postion in my preschool moms' group and pass that torch on to the next group of women.

In two weeks, I will take Bonus to register for Kindergarten. And pray that he behaves for the fifteen minutes he is being evaluated. Not that the whole front office of that school hasn't seen him at his WORST. Multiple times. On the same day.

Twelve years of having a little one at home with me... What will I do with myself? Don't worry, I think I've got that covered...

Utter delight, I tell you. Utter delight. And awkward pose. I guess that's what happens when the preschool director offers to take a picture of you AFTER she catches you trying to take a picture of your own hand dropping the check into the slot. And I really have to stop thinking I can throw my hair in a ponytail and head out the door...

The Reckless Guide to Slumber Party Survival

2011-03-30T12:37:00.007-05:00

I have hosted two slumber parties at my home in so many weeks. With two girls, I have held many, many more slumber parties over the years and could not begin to count the sleepovers with one or two friends. And then, I have taken fifteen girls camping in tents. Slept in a museum with another bunch. Counseled a group of ten for a week at summer camp. I have survived. Thus far. Barely. You can to.

As I have related our slumber party stories to friends over the past few weeks, several of you have commented in person that you are concerned for that moment when your little darling asks if she can have a slumber party.

Fear not, young mommies. Reckless to the rescue! While I would not consider myself an expert, I do have some words of wisdom and knowledge I can offer you on this subject. Learn from my pitfalls, avoid my mistakes, and use the lessons I have had to learn the hard way to host the slumber party that makes and keeps everyone happy.

The Rules
1. Never, and I do mean never, over-invite for a slumber party. You may think that if you invite fifteen kids over that surely at least four of them will decline your invite outright and that an additional six will only come for a late-over because you don't know the parents.

WRONG.

All fifteen will say yes. Parents you have never seen before will be dropping their daughters at the curb and booking it out of there at break-neck speed. You will completely understand why they didn't not hesitate to leave their eight year old daughter at a COMPLETE STRANGER'S HOME when you you discover this child wide awake playing loudly with Fisher Price Little People. In the dark. By herself. At four in the morning.

Invite only the ideal number of children. If you listen to nothing else, obey this rule. It is crucial. It will preserve your sanity.

2. Under no circumstances should you think it a fun idea to serve nachos, Dr. Pepper and gummy bears in the same evening. This combination apparently equates to vomit at 1:30 in the morning. I just learned this last Friday night.

However, should you choose to serve this combination of foods or a similar smorgasbord of gastronomical delights, be prepared to be awakened to the sounds of retching, the stench of puke, and a precious little child in tears wanting to go home. All kidding aside, I was so upset that this particular child was not feeling well in my home. She is a doll, and we would have her any time.

My advice here is to not be afraid to call the parents if the child wants to go home to her own mom and her own bed. And ix-nay on the second Dr. Pepper. Even if they are twelve and thirteen.

3. No caffeine. None. No hot chocolate. No colas. And don't forget to read the labels on Sunkist, Sun Drop, Cheerwine, and Barq's root beer. Read all labels.

Eight year olds will literally bounce off the wall and each other until two in the morning if you serve Coke. And since they hear their parents saying that caffeine gets them all hopped up, at your home they will pull out all the stops on this. Some of you may be saying that this is common sense. My kids don't really act like maniacs when they have a Coke because I have allowed them to drink Coke. However, if the children at your home for this slumber party are rarely, if ever, allowed to have a caffeinated beverage, they will be throwing the Cokes back like there is no tomorrow. Trust me. Serve lemonade, Sprite and sneak in some milk and water if you can.

As your child gets older, you can choose to deviate from this rule. However, you must follow it until the majority of the party guests are eleven. Even then, try to monitor the consumption.

4. Do not be naive and think you will actually get some sleep. Be prepared to be up for most of the night. There are some evil parents out there who will tell their children, "You can stay up as late as you want" before they bring them to your home. Ahem... Not at my house, ~~you little disrespectful imp~~ sweetie.

Until they hit ten, you have to warn them that everyone will be expected to stay in her sleeping bag after a certain time. I like midnight, but I do start a movie around 11:30. Midnight is a magic number that eight year olds think ushers them in as big kids. Generally, you will lose one or two as soon as you turn off the lights.

5. And while we are talking about movies... Do not show the movie they are all dying to see. They will stay awake for the whole movie. Choose wisely. Show nothing with even a tinge of scary or creepy. One kid will cry and ask to turn every light in the house on. For the younger set, my personal favorites are the Mary Kate and Ashley "You're Invited" Party series. Order early because these are getting harder and harder to find. Check Amazon and eBay. Or you can borrow from me if you plan in advance. If the kids are exceptionally ~~bad~~ challenging, pull out all the stops and put in Bambi II. It is guaranteed to make them beg to go to sleep.

6. Prepare to have a child who is afraid of the dark and wants all the lights on while the rest of the party is grumbling that they can't go to sleep because so-and-so is a big baby and needs to have all the lights on. Wiggle on down to Walmart or the Dollar Tree and purchase a small flashlight for each party guest. Let them take them to bed with them. They can make cool hand shadows on the wall, and the one kid who is afraid of the dark will feel secure in your home and not be called out by the ~~one little monster you should have known not to invite~~ child who is exceptionally outspoken. The novelty of the flashlight wears off fairly quickly. Make sure to remind the kids not to shine them in one another's eyes.

7. For goodness sake, don't put them to bed without a drink of water. You will get every kid visiting your bedroom threshold one at a time for the next hour and a half telling you that they are thirsty. It's a ploy to stay up later. Don't fall prey to this rookie mistake.

Send each kid to bed with a water bottle with her name on it. If you need a short activity earlier in the evening, you can have them decorate their water bottles with Sharpies and stickers. Be watching for the one child who wants to use the Sharpies to draw herself a mustache and color the entire bottle. I assure you, there will be one.

8. Don't be afraid to send them outside if it is nice. Actually, don't be afraid to send them outside even if it is not so nice... For the younger crew, flashlight tag around 9:00 pm is a really exciting adventure. Or a flashlight walk around the block or neighborhood. They are able to get some energy out, and you are able to save your home from an hour or two of destruction.  Making giant sidewalk chalk birthday greetings for the birthday girl is an activity we recently enjoyed. Treasure hunts with many clues hidden throughout the neighborhood are especially popular. Have the last clue take them full circle back to your home.

Scavenger hunts are great for the older set, but be sure to give them specific rules about the number of items they can get from each home and a list that is both lengthy and difficult. Otherwise, they will be back in fifteen minutes...

9. Before bedtime and before breakfast, have the kids do a "round up" of personal belongings. I have never had a slumber party or camp out where something did not get left behind, but helping them straighten up and contain their stuff at least twice does prevent you from having to call every mom asking who is missing a pair of black shoes, Gap panties, a purple hairbrush, DS stylus, and navy soccer shorts.

10. Get your striped shirt and whistle out because you are going to have to play referee several times throughout the evening. Slumber parties are replete with drama. You may have to encourage two or more parties to agree to an armistice for the sake of the birthday girl. If one of the parties is resisting your well-intentioned mediation attempts, do not be afraid to threaten to call her parents for a pick-up. The threat is generally all you need to secure peace.

11. Sometimes you have a group of children who want to go to sleep earlier than the rest of the crowd.  Establish a quiet room. This room is for the sole purpose of sleeping. Explain to the girls that the people who enter that room are choosing to go to sleep and do not need to be checked on or visited.

When my twelve year old had a rowdy group of fifteen girls over for her eighth birthday, by the end of the night, we ended up having three different rooms: a ten o'clock quiet room, a midnight quiet room, and the true party animals room.

For camping trips, if you can have a quiet cabin and a not-so-quiet cabin (or tents), this works beautifully. Make sure all your campers know in advance that they can't complain about noise if they choose the loud cabin nor can they complain about people asking them to be quiet if they choose the quiet cabin. When they begin to tattle on each other, remind them of the choice they made.

12. Send them home early. Don't delude yourself into thinking they will sleep in after they have stayed up until 4:00 am. They will be up at 6:00. Do doughnuts, juice, and milk, and get them to packing. Have them out the door with flashlights and goodie bags in hand by 9:00 am.

Once the children reach 5th grade, you can extend the party until 11:00 am. The older girls will generally sleep in if they have stayed up all night. I give you no guarantees on this though. Last weekend, two twelve year olds who stayed up until 1:30 am were wide awake at 7:30. They didn't really get moving until 10, but they were awake.

There's your basics. You can do it. One sleepless, chaos-filled night is worth it for all the smiles and giggles!

Officially Five

2011-03-29T15:00:00.002-05:00

I don't know about your kids, but as preschoolers all of my slightly irregular children have had a difficult time with the concept of the actual birthday versus the birthday party. Bonus was the latest child to grapple with the difference between the day he was born and the day we had his party. His actual birthday is March 20. However, because of Spring Break, the fact that his sisters both have their birthdays in March, too, the beginning of the softball season, the addition of a roller derby practice schedule to the Reckless calendar, and his mother's general life principle of flying by the seat of her pants, we were unable to have the party until now.

And because he has felt like he could not be officially five until the party had occurred, I was unable to bring you all the fun of turning five until today. Without further ado, my precious FIVE year old...

I'm not sure if he is supposed to look excited or what...

The one moment where everyone was getting along...

The birthday dessert at the restaurant he requested. It's a girls night out or date night type restaurant. I guess he's getting in the game early. He did bring a date. It was her birthday, too. That's her elbow because she would kill me if I posted her picture. She's nearly 30 years older than he is.

I was so proud that he actually said, "You have to open the card first."

Clothes. He did insist on wearing it to school the next day though.

The giant three layer whoopie pie birthday cake I made per his instructions

The birthday crew. I want you to notice that Bonus is completely sandwiched by the ladies. His buddies are shoved off to the side. The adorable one in the hot pink sweater kissed him as she left the party. He later denied this to his sisters...

The event he talked about for months

They rode this at least five times in a row. Apparenly, the girls got in and added the tokens. He got right up there and slipped under the seatbeat right as the ride started. Way to make your own tokens last, Bonus!

Bonus with two of his girlfriends. Currently, he has three girlfriends, one ex-wife (the "marriage" to Kernsie's daughter and the "breakup" is a hilarious story), and one ex-girlfriend that Ryan stole in the Frogs class. But he's not bitter. Can anyone say Big Love? I am going to have to watch this kid like a hawk...