Saved By The Blog

In case you're new here, or just don't remember, my anniversary is this Friday. My wedding anniversary, to be specific. And in a lucky stroke of coincidence, Friday is also Coach's wedding anniversary. We thought, just for kicks, we'd spend our anniversaries together. A novel idea, I know. But that's Coach and I; trendsetters.

With the budget being what it is this year, we've been trying to decide what to do that is inexpensive. We're ok with cheap, too. And hey! Free works even better! Unfortunately, world economy being what it is, free doesn't happen too often. So we're back to trying to decide what to do.

To start, the boys have agreed to spend the night at Grandma's. Ok, so maybe agree isn't quite the right word. It might be more along the lines of folded under the extreme torture methods we used during our persuasion session. Can't say I blame them, really. When I was their age, being told that one of the reasons my absence was requested was going to be due to parental nudity.... well, I'd have caved, too.

It's a rule, though. Married adults, more specifically those who have had children, are required to spend their wedding anniversary evening naked. I had to remind the boys that we don't always make the rules, we just have to follow them like everyone else does.

Carrying on....

When I discovered that the most recent Mummy movie was being released to DVD this week, I thought that might be a fun thing to rent and watch at home. You know, since we were going to be naked an unable to leave the house. (I considered Mama Mia, but remembered that this is his anniversary, too, so I should be willing to give in a little. If I still haven't seen it by Valentine's Day, though... all bets are off. That sucker will be in my DVD player!) But the biggest dilemma remained what to do for dinner. After all, I am NOT a good cook. There are not enough ways to emphasize this. And since I want him to live to celebrate the next anniversary I really needed to come up with a different plan to feed him.

Remember this post? Look at #59 again.

In today's mail, Coach and I received a lovely anniversary card from his dad and step mom. (side note? We love these guys just like we love mom and step dad. I personally HATE the prefix of "step" in there, but am using it to differentiate between the two moms) In this card were some awesome gift cards for use at Cracker Barrel. If I ever needed proof that family reads this, that gave it to me! Coach and I were wondering why they had selected that particular restaurant, and it occurred to me that I had mentioned that I wanted Coach to take me there for this anniversary.

Don't I have the best in-laws? Time and again, all of them keep showing me how blessed I am to have married into this family. They are also proving how much they love Coach. How do I know this, you ask? How do gift cards to Cracker Barrel prove that, you're wondering?

They've eaten my cooking.

Exactly. 'Nuff said.

My Reasons For Enjoying That Bird

This Thanksgiving, like so many before it, has me looking back at my life. It finds me giving in to the need to rediscover all that is right with my life, and possibly some things that might not be. The need to reacquaint myself with all that I've been given to be thankful for. Coach, Jock and Bug have been the most amazing gifts I could have ever been given, and there have been so many moments throughout our lives together that remind me just how thankful I am for these three remarkable souls to be in my life. I hope you'll take this chance to wander back with me as I revisit some of these moments; moments that have truly driven home how very lucky I am.

This child, no matter how frustrating he may be, can ALWAYS make me smile.

The strength of character of this boy always amazes me.

That I have the courage to talk to my children about awkward subjects.

That a rough Freshman season not only didn't make him hate the sport, but in the end pushed him to work harder for this season.

Hard as it was, I'm thankful for the lesson all three of my boys learned this year. And so incredibly thankful that they are learning the lesson and not the lesson being learned.

That I can still laugh at myself.

For one day, I was more important than football.

There are so many more moments of thankfulness. As I was going back through my archives for this, it occurred to me that if I linked them all, you'd be here all day. And I'm sure you've got other posts to read and turkeys to eat.

Besides, all of those posts in my archives will still be here tomorrow (and you should absolutely feel free to browse them!). Even if you won't be. Let me know how your Black Friday shopping trips went, ok?

A Superhero And His Sidekick

Fair warning, my friends. There is the real possibility that this particular post will contain just a smidge of TMI. Read on at your own risk. You've been warned.

Every night, Coach makes the choice to sleep the way God intended him to. In his birthday suit. After all, despite the fact that it's November, it is STILL the Arizona desert. And almost every night Bug manages to walk in the room right as Coach drops trow and sides beneath the covers. (side note... Coach is in bed about 30 minutes before the boys since he gets up so stinkin' early. Hence.... why Bug is able to come into the room to tuck his dad in instead of the other way around.) And every night, Bug pulls no punches on the melodramatic reaction. Which is where this gets so funny. See, he's created a new nickname for his dad that never ceases to crack me and Coach up every time he uses it.

Ahhhh!!!! I'm blind!!! Naked Lad!!

And then he runs out of the room.

Well, the other night as he was leaving, he decided to shut the door on his way out. (Which? Was extremely out of character for him, as the only door he is good about shutting when he leaves a room is the bathroom. Yes, he closes the bathroom door AFTER he's out of it.) As he's holding his eyes, calling his dad Naked Lad while he shuts the door, Coach calls after him Is that some kind of superhero or something? just as the door closes. After a brief, two or three second pause, the door slowly opens to reveal Bug's perplexed face while he asks this question

Did you just call me a churro??

I laughed until I cried. And then I snorted. It was great.

There Might Not Be Any Tall Building Leaping, But There's A Hero Around Here Somewhere

Have you ever really thought about who your hero is? I mean, REALLY thought about it?

I'm not talking about heroes you've never met. I'm sure we all have those. Heck, I've got a couple of them maybe reading this now. No, I'm talking about the heroes who really, truly matter in your life.

These heroes have probably never done anything to warrant a write up in the local paper, or a special awards ceremony at the town hall. The heroic things they've done will probably never be known by anyone. Probably not even known to themselves, if truth be told.

My hero has been my hero for so long, it truly feels like forever. I can't think of a single person I admire or want to emulate more. My hero is the most amazing person I know.

She's determined. Some would maybe say stubborn, but we'll go with determined. It sounds nicer. (Although stubborn fits sometimes, too!) Her determination has kept her walking for a couple of decades past when her doctors said she wouldn't. Her determination got her through a disastrous first marriage, and has kept her from throwing in the towel for the last 26 years in her current marriage. Her determination pushes her to constantly redefine her physical boundaries, and then shift them again.

She's bossy and nosy and completely devoted. Those qualities aided her in keeping her kids out of too much trouble while they were growing up, and helped her push her kids to set goals for themselves, and to push them to reach them. That nosiness allowed her to intervene when needed with those kids, when it wouldn't have been the best decision to let them make certain mistakes. That bossiness taught her kids how to take care of themselves, so that when they did finally go out into the world they would know how to cook at least three different meals, wash and dry a load of laundry, and never leave home without a couple different ways to reach help (always carry enough change for the payphone, and know at least three different people you can call to come get you); it also made sure those kids knew how to take responsibility for their own actions. Or lack of. And the devotion? Was never in question.

She's strong, she's smart, and she just never gives up. She taught me how to give everything that I am to my children, and yet still retain the most important part of me. She has taught me how to find humor in the everyday, and beauty in the everyday as well.

It's not what you look at, but how you see it that matters.

Today, my hero is having surgery on her eyes. When she wakes up, she'll be able to take a look around and finally SEE her world again. She says that's the best birthday present she could get.

Didn't I tell you? Today is her birthday. I wish I could be there, so she could look at my face when she wakes up. But it's ok. She might not be able to look at me, but I know she sees me. She always has. And that's why she's my hero.

Happy birthday, Mama. I love you!

Rocky Mountain Memories And Desert Daydreams

Our little team has lived here in the desert now for three years. Actually, three years at the end of this month. We've discovered many things to love (ok, so "love" might be too strong a word sometimes...namely anytime between oh--April and October, as those are the times when we feel like we're hanging out in Hell's back yard) about Arizona. About Arizona weather.

The sunsets here can be spectacular. We're not called the Valley of The Sun for nothing! Like fire stretching across the horizon, over the palm trees. Breathtaking.

Or rainbows after the cleansing monsoon rains. Imagine being ten years old and still trying to believe in leprechauns, and the pot o' gold at the end. And if you're fortunate enough to find it, dancing with your arms spread wide and your head thrown back through the beautiful, brilliant colors.

But as much as we've come to call the Arizona desert home, I still miss certain things about growing up in Colorado. Bundling up in layers. Mittens and ear muffs. Snowball fights with my brothers and the other kids that lived in our cul-de-sac. Getting snowed in and discovering things we liked about each other. Getting snowed in and discovering ways we liked to irritate each other.

There is nothing quite like the Colorado snow.

*Those are actually pictures of my boys and my nephew at our last winter trip home*

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Reasons I Love Parenting Boys

Every now and again, I get asked if Coach and I ever wish we had a little girl. Disregarding the part where that question kind of sounds like we should regret that we feel our little family is just perfect the way it is, and the fact that while it's not what they say but we hear OH MY GAWD--You mean you actually LIKE having just boys? anyway; we do occasionally decide to answer them.

Although, knowing Coach and I, even the vague, anonymous blog way that most of you do, you probably realize that those answers are just packed full of sarcasm.

Well, when the boys were little we thought we'd try having a little girl. That idea lasted until they realized they were wearing dresses. Plus, the ponytails gave them headaches.

Honestly, Coach and I love parenting boys. There are some amazingly awful life experiences we will get to avoid by not having daughters. An overabundance of estrogen, for one. And while testosterone can be pretty bad, you can at least control it with three simple things: sports, cars and food. Estrogen? Can get fairly pricey to work around.

With boys, even ones of the teenage variety, we seldom have "bad hair days". Those days are called Grab A Hat And Go days in my house.

When noxious odors are discovered at random points of the house, not one Ewwww!! is heard. No, what you'll hear instead is a chorus of AWESOME! Who did that? Of course, since my crew DOES have manners and respect, that phrase is always followed by Sorry, Mom (or Sorry, Honey.. if he realizes he's been found out). Excuse me.

While there is still someone in the house young enough to actually giggle, it is not the obnoxious girl-giggle that occurs at a decibel high enough to pierce a dog's ears.

We will never have to go through the horror of finding the perfect prom dress, or wedding gown. Tears over any random thing? Do not happen in this house. (Shush! We're conveniently forgetting that I'm of the estrogen persuasion and still bawl like a baby frequently.) Coach will never be knocked out cold by the fume clouds of nail polish or polish remover.

And, mercy of all mercies, the only monthly visitor we will ever experience is the exterminator. This, if no other reason existed, would be enough to convince Coach that we are perfect just the way we are. Daughter-less.

Excerpt From The Offical Rulebook of Cousinhood

You might not know it yet, but these kids are the most adorable kids since my own were this size. Trust me on this one.

I think I've mentioned that Coach's brother has a couple sets of twins. You've even seen one of the girls. (Extra bonus points if you can tell me which post it was in! No, no prizes, but you still the get bonus points!) All four of these kids adore....ADORE... Jock. Seriously adore him.

He roughhouses with them. He gives them hugs and cuddles. He goes to the girls' soccer games and dance recitals. He plays cars with the boys. Basically, he pays attention to them. And when your super cool teenage cousin pays attention to you, the rules say you have to idolize him forevermore. No, really. It's in the Official Rules of Cousinhood book.

Tonight, Grandma brought the kids to Jock's game. And they (mostly, at any rate) all watched the game and cheered him on. But one of the boys, the one who seems to be the most attached to Jock, was almost too cute to bear tonight. From the moment he spotted me in parking lot (Aunt Sports Mama! Aunt Sports Mama!) he started in with Where's my Jock? (ya know.... that sentence sounds a LOT less dirty when it's used with Jock's real life name. Honest!) And then the near-constant Where? Where is he? kept up for most of the first half of the game.

But then he found him. And managed to keep pretty good track of him. So the Where is he? changed to I want my Jock! Jo-ock.....where are you? And after the game, he came up to me, grabbed my hand, and said I go get Jock now, 'k Aunt Sports Mama?

So off we went to wait where the team comes off the field, among all the other parents. (Side note... Jock is always awesome at coming up to me while I wait there after the game and giving me a hug. Right in front of everyone. How cool is that??) I picked up the baby, and we waited. As patient as a three-year old can, with lots of Where is he? Where's my Jock?

And then, there he was. Walked right up to us, gave me a hug, and a little fist pop and a nose tweak to his cousin.

Is he not the coolest 15 year old boy you know?

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

I Know Jack. Do You?

If you've been hanging around my place here recently, you're familiar with the current financial woes. Well, apparently that sort of difficulty runs in my family.

My baby brother has a pretty friendly rent to own place he deals with. Now, I have no idea if he truly is having problems with them, or if they are just super aggressive if you're even an hour late on a payment. Seeing as how its my brother, and my mom reads my blog (Hi, Mom!), I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and just assume they really like talking to him, mm'kay?

So anyway, Jack The Rent To Own Guy calls me on what I now realize is a weekly basis looking for my brother. I've tried telling him that my relationship with my brother is so amazingly good that we go MONTHS without talking to each other simply because we can. I'm thinking that Jack doesn't believe me, since he keeps calling. I've also tried just ignoring Jack, and not answering the phone. That doesn't work either. He just calls again the next week; same day, same time.

This morning when my phone rang, after ascertaining that it wasn't one of my own creditors on the other end (Thank you, Man Who Invented Caller ID!), I realized that I recognized the phone number. Recognizing an opportunity for a bit of fun, I naturally took it. Really, wouldn't you? C'mon, be honest. Exactly! I knew you would!

Me: (before he even got to say a word) JACK!! Hi! I'm so glad you called this morning~
Jack: (after a slight hesitation, in which I'm sure he contemplated whether or not I had taken my morning medication) Hi, Sports Mama. How are you today?
Me: Good, good. So I guess you're looking for my brother again today, aren't you?
Jack: Yes ma'am, I am.
Me: Well, since I figure you have a better shot at finding where he's at and talking to him than I do, could you do me a favor, Jack? Could you please pass along a message to him to call his sister?
Jack: (laughing at this point) Sure thing.
Me: Great!! Thanks, Jack! I'll talk to you next week, then!

Honest to goodness, hand to God, that is the conversation I had with him this morning. I have to admit, though, that I think I might actually have a better relationship with Jack at this point than I do my brother. Look at the facts:

Jack calls me on a regular, weekly basis. Same day, pretty close to the same time, every week. Without fail.

Jack is always friendly, and always asks how I'm doing.

Jack doesn't have to ask what time it is here when he calls. He.Just.Knows.

I think I'm going to call Jack first next week. And maybe put him on my Christmas card list.

Photo Albums Are For Memories, Right?

Being the parent of a teenager is a job that can't always be described as easy. There are times you forget how fun it can be, and lose sight of how rewarding it truly is.

There are the struggles over homework.

There are the many, many, many requests to give in to one thing or another.

There is the steady growing older that they do, never realizing that it ages their parents as well.

There can be the endless rounds of sports practices and games, always feeling like you're getting home just to leave again.

But when you see them grin at you.....

And watch how they treat other people in their lives...

You really start to see just what it is about them that will lead to you gaining a daughter-in-law in about ten to fifteen years.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

A Furry PhotoStory Friday

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

I talk a lot about my two legged kids. Ok, so maybe more than a lot. But I know I've mentioned the four legged babies at least a couple of times. This little mutt? That's my Molly-girl.

Molly was a stray we found, although the real story is that she found us. See, Molly was wandering around a property I was managing one day. She followed me into my office, and simply wouldn't leave my side.

I sat at my desk. Molly laid at my feet.

I walked to the back room. Molly trotted along after me.

I went to the bathroom. Molly sat outside the door and cried.

Well, no one claimed her by the time we closed the office for the day. We were all actually quite amazed. I mean, this poor little dog had obviously lived with someone who cared enough to take time with her. She had been recently groomed. She knew simple commands. She was most definitely housebroken. But, no collar. No one in the office wanted to just turn her loose, and for reasons we will never know, not one of us thought to call animal control that day. So Molly went home that night with one of my maintenance techs. I needed to talk Coach around. He needed to believe it was his idea for me to bring her home the next day if she was still at the office by the time I came home.

She was. And since STILL no one came looking for her that day, she came home with me. Where my guys all fell in love with her, and she with them.

Molly became our baby. Coach used to get home from work and she would literally jump up in his arms and he'd hold her like a little baby. Jock STILL cradles her in his arms. And she still follows me everywhere.

In fact, she's laying at my feet as I type.

And that big guy in this picture with her? That's her little brother. Kenai (key-nigh) joined our little family about a year and a half ago. And like his sister, he's a mutt. Also like Molly, he's a rescued dog.

Honestly? Everyone of us in this house has a mixed pedigree. Why should our dogs be any different?

*in case anyone wonders or cares, Molly is a Corgi/Terrier mix and Kenai is a Shepherd/Dane/Unknown Canine mix*

If I Knew Then What I Know Now

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Back when I was young and mostly sane, I acquired one of these:

It was cute. It was cuddly. It smiled all the time. Everyone enjoyed having it around. Creatures with a high estrogen content loved holding it.

I would take it everywhere with me, like the perfect accessory that it seemed to be. While I had never really, truly believed I'd be fortunate enough to receive one of these, suddenly I couldn't imagine my life without it.

Almost a decade went by, and it seemed my taste in accessories was changing. I no longer was interested in toting around something that, in hindsight, was so incredibly high maintenance. No, my tastes were turning more towards a more independent version of what I once had. I wanted something that could both take care of itself on the minor things, but still needed me for the major things. So, I traded up and got myself one of these:

This model really could do so many things on its own that it now made my life a touch more convenient. No longer did I have to cart around accessories for my accessory. I was able to worry less about being solely responsible for its outward appearance, as the newer version had come equipped with at least a rudimentary sense of style and ability to coordinate itself.

What I didn't realize, either because I failed to read ahead in the owner's manual or because I conveniently skipped that chapter, was that the version I thought was so much newer would, in fact, require another upgrade. I wanted to be able to be constantly on the go. I wanted the ability to throw this accessory into situations where it would need to be able to run faster than anyone else's similar accessory. I wanted something that would constantly assert its independence and flaunt its awesomeness, seemingly always attracting the attention of others who would covet this for their own, knowing that what I was really looking at were potential candidates to take over the care and upkeep of this accessory when it became too mature for me to drag around with me everywhere I went. It took almost another decade to see just what my new lifestyle would require, but once I did, this is what I got:

Had I known in advance, all those many years ago, just what having a child would mean in the long term...... well, sometimes I wonder if I still would have done it. Would I still have set myself up for the frustration of watching girls throw themselves at my son, happy with whatever attention he deigns to give them? Would I have set myself up for the heartache that is sure to come in what I'm convinced will be a very short three years when he takes off on his own for the first time?

Yeah. I'm pretty sure I would have.

Its Not A Vacation Until The Pictures Are Forced On Friends

As I was sitting here going through my pictures (ok, really.... I just finally got around to uploading them from my camera!) from my recent mini-vacation back home, I got to thinking. I didn't really share too much of that trip with you all.

In fairness, there is a very real possibility that no one besides myself has noticed this lack. Which could lend itself to everyone tuning me out. I will warn you, though.... I'm quite used to being tuned out. I AM a mother of a teenager, and as such being tuned out is quite a normal occurrence. And since I'm used to it, you should probably realize that it doesn't stop me or shut me up. Besides, as I'm also still remarkably unemployed, what else do I have to do? (Well, if you ask Coach there are several things, but that's another post entirely.)

But I digress.....

Here's a few of my favorite, thought provoking or just plain amusing things from my trip:

Does anyone remember Tonka trucks? Not the silly plastic ones they make now, but the original metal ones? My brothers had an entire construction crew of metal Tonka trucks. We used to spend hours playing with these in the sandbox my dad built for us in the back yard. And when we got too old to play with them any longer, my mom kept them. Which was a good thing, as this same crew of trucks was hauled out to provide endless hours of fun for my boys, and my brother's kids. This tree was once part of a trio of trees. The Three Musketeers of my backyard, if you will. That tree is roughly 35 years old. It has stood firm through a lot of climbing. It provided shade for parties. It was an anchor once upon a time for a hammock that was just perfect for reading in on a summer afternoon. It now stands alone in that yard. I wonder if it ever feels lonely? I had to smile, though, when the first thing my nephew did when we walked out into the yard was to go over and climb into that tree. My nephew is 15. I guess some things you never outgrow.

This truck, while theoretically my dad's retirement project, was the instrument which spawned both my brothers' love affair with pick up trucks, and my own with the men who drive them. A 1954 Ford, this classic will be a thing of beauty if my dad ever gets it done.

Speaking of my brother, this arm hangs off the left side of the older of the two (brothers, that is. I'm going to assume--probably quite safely--that his arms are the same age). To give some background behind the tattoo, this particular arm belongs to the bull rider brother I mentioned a looooong time ago. He's an iron worker, a welder specifically; and he loves lizards. In fact, at one point he had four rather large ones. Their habitat was so stinkin' big it had its own room in his house. The purpose of this tattoo was to cover up a bull riding scar. A few years ago, he was thrown from a bull. Nothing new in that. However, his wrist got tangled in the rope and he got pulled under that stupid bull. He had to have surgery on that arm, implanting all sorts of metal, and now has a scar from shoulder to elbow. Apparently he was tired of looking at it. Hence, the Welding Lizard.

So tell me.....

Are you sorry you asked for pictures yet? :)

**And yes, in the next few posts I will be introducing you to my family's goofy and adorable faces. Promise!**

You're About to Learn More Than You Might Want to About Me

It occurs to me that subjects that are normally taboo in polite conversation frequently get discussed here. Things I don't routinely tell people... you all somehow end up knowing. You know I hate shaving my legs. You know I randomly drive up into other people's driveways. You know I get stuck in toilets. However, I think this one might be almost worse.

Coach and I occasionally play this game back and forth with each other where we point out how much like which parent the boys are. Ok, ok... we're really trying to lay blame for bad habits or disgusting quirks. Whatever. The point is that most of the really foul things can be laid at Coach's feet. After all, I'm the mama.... how could I possibly have contributed even one iota of ickiness to my precious babies?

Yeah, well......

Bug has the most atrociously rotten smelling feet of anyone I've ever known. Except for my baby brother. His can be smelled for MILES. Literally. Really... all we'd need to do to end the war right now is just have him take his shoes off at the Iraqi borders. Worse than the gas chamber, I'm tellin' ya. Anyway, Bug's are horrible. Really horrible. Especially after practice. Or a hard day at school. Or even just 20 minutes out of the shower. And I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned it or not, but with his sensory issues.... this child (up until the last couple of months---I'm so proud of him! But I digress......) has worn socks Every Second of Every Minute of Every day that wasn't spent in the shower. Since he was tiny. He simply needed to have socks on his feet ALL.THE.TIME. Which worked fantastic for his sensory issues, leaving him free to feel comfortable enough to go to sleep or whatever he wanted to do. What it did not work so fantastically for was the smell. Especially after we moved to Hell... I mean, Arizona. Where we've discovered that the high temperatures have a tendency to strengthen the more... shall we say, pungent? odors.

Its so bad that the dogs won't even spend any time in his room. And they go around sniffing each other's butts all the time!

Unfortunately, this is something my poor, afflicted baby gets from me. (Guess you already figured that out, though, huh? Since this blog is always about me, and I pointed out the genetic link with the stinky baby brother up there?) Its a good thing Coach doesn't have the greatest sense of smell (most likely from years of his own noxious gases.... which he was generous enough to pass down to Jock. *sigh* Which is worse? The raunchy feet, or the constant green cloud around those two? With any luck, the world may never know.....), or my feet could have been a deal breaker in the early days.

I fear greatly for Bug's ability to keep a mate with these feet. She's simply going to have to fall in love so completely, incredibly quickly. Before he has a chance to take off his shoes.

Random Ramblings

For the record, no matter what his other flaws might be, I married an intelligent man.

When faced with a choice between music that apparently the majority of people in the car on the way to Grandma's house felt was the best of all possible worlds, what with its steady thumping beats, electric guitar riffs, and rock-style vocals..... and a wife on the verge of break-down tears because not a single one of them wants to sing Christmas carols with her anymore, let alone hear them playing in the car on the stereo, thus sucking all the Christmas magic out of my season.......

He changed the radio station. And told the boys to sit back and shut up if they couldn't bring themselves to sing along. And dammit, Sports Mama, you wanted this Christmas music so here it is.... get singing!

Winter Wonderland took on a whole new meaning.

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I have not gotten to sleep in past 6 am on Christmas morning. EVER.

For the first 8 years or so, it was because I was too excited to sleep any longer.

For the next 10 years it was because I had younger brothers that were too excited to sleep any longer.

For the 14 years since then, its because I have had children who won't sleep any longer.

I find myself impatient for the year when both my boys sleep in before they get everyone up to open gifts. And then I get a bit melancholy, because that will be the year I no longer have little boys, but instead have young men.

However, I think that might be a decent trade off for an extra three hours of sleep.

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Root beer floats.

Super yummy. Super creamy. Super foamy. I love these! They are the best things ever invented to do with a can of root beer and a scoop (or three!) of vanilla ice cream.

Nothing has the power to make a little girl smile quite like trying to suck ice cream through a straw, and the taste of ice-creamy root beer.

And my brother-in-law has made this perfect treat every night for the last couple of nights for my six year old nieces. Are they lucky, or what?

All I can say is Coach is part of a fantastic gene pool.

I have tremendous hope for the future of my boys as husbands and fathers.

"And This Evening's Specials Are...."

Let this be a lesson to all you men out there. Heck, to all the women, too.

If it is not on the menu, and is promoted as one of the "specials", just know that it will carry with it a "special" price as well.


In Coach's defense, it was the only special he recognized any of the ingredients mentioned so he figured it was a safe bet. Oh, and it was absolutely delicious!

I've gotta admit, this waiter was good. As soon as we were seated, he came up and asked if we'd like a bottle of water. Yes, a BOTTLE. It very quickly became overwhelmingly obvious (to us, at least) that we don't get out much. We assumed a bottle of water was, you know... like a bottle of water. Not at any point did we hear "bottle" and think "Oh! That must mean its a GLASS bottle, with apparently superior water as it was BOTTLED IN ITALY!" So you can imagine our *slight* surprise when presented with a bottle of water like most waiters present a bottle of wine.

Then, this waiter ever-so-smoothly goes into his recital of the evenings specials. (People, you need to remember that our usual idea of fine dining is Applebee's with the kids. There was not a SINGLE CHILD anywhere in the restaurant! NOT ONE! Naturally that made us beyond susceptible to being swept along by a seasoned waiter.) Now, I live to spoil my man, so when he turned his chocolate brown eyes to me, looking for direction, I just told him to go ahead and get it as I knew he'd like it. Really... what's NOT to like about filet mignon wrapped in bacon, covered in a deliciously creamy mushroom sauce on a bed of steamed spinach and capers?

Me? I'm extremely unoriginal. I got spaghetti. Oh! But I added Italian sausage. Why not live a little?

Lets not forget the slick way this waiter asked what kind of salads we wanted. Not IF we wanted them. I'm tellin' ya, he was just that smooth.

We get to the end of our incredibly enjoyable meal, and the waiter suggests that a nice peach sorbet would complement my dinner beautifully. Sure, why not? Its a special night, so I go ahead with that.

I will admit, this was the best food I have had in a long time. And not just because I didn't have to cook it, either! And the atmosphere in this tiny little hole-in-the-wall restaurant was fantastic. Believe me, I look phenomenal by candlelight. The entire evening was everything I could have hoped, beginning with the fact that Coach surprised me with this restaurant. I was expecting Olive Garden or Macaroni Grill. What I got was so much better.

Bottle of fancy-schmancy Italian water: $5.00
2 small scoops of Peach Sorbet: $6.00
Special of the Day Filet: $31.00

Coach, getting down on one knee in the middle of the restaurant, asking me to marry him all over again: PRICELESS

My Miracle. My Gift.

I've always been a sucker for a guy with dimples and laugh lines around his eyes. Those are the features that first attracted me to Coach. Those are the features I still see in him and sigh over. That effect is no less potent coming from my son.

Jock is our firstborn. He is our miracle baby. Neither Coach or myself should have been able to have kids, for various medical reasons. Coach was ok with that, but I had always wanted to be a mom. More than anything. So, when we found out that we were expecting him after a fairly brief time together, you can imagine the mixed emotions. But that's another story that I'll maybe share sometime. Just know that we DID agree it was a blessing and a miracle, to be given something so wonderful.

I loved every minute of being pregnant. (Well, maybe that's just in hindsight. I'm not so sure I actually enjoyed being sick ALL DAY. EVERY DAY. FOR 9 MONTHS STRAIGHT.) I was awed and humbled every time I felt him move under my heart. I loved watching his little feet move across my stomach. I have such a small torso area, and he was such a big baby (over 8 pounds and over 21 inches long!) that I could literally count each toe as his foot made its way across. Kinda freaky, but really cool.

Jock was a perfect baby. He slept through the night after only a couple of weeks. He weaned himself to the bottle one feeding at at time, over the course of a couple of weeks as well. He was sitting up by himself by three months old. He was mobile by five. He was walking by 10. Talking in small phrases by 12, and complete sentences by 18. He was happy all the time, and rarely fussy. He never climbed out of his crib or up on the counters or tables. And his smiles...... oh, they could light up a room.

Those early years were completely for he and I. Coach was somewhere within himself that didn't include Jock and I, and while I know Coach regrets that now, at the time it helped Jock and I to forge a bond that was tighter than it otherwise would have been had I had to share him with anyone. I was his best friend, and he was going to live with me and love me forever. (He actually told me that one day when he was about three.)

When we told Jock that we were expecting another baby, he was so excited! We made sure to include him in everything: he went to all of my doctor visits with me and got to hear the heartbeat; he was at the ultrasound and got to see "his" baby moving; he even got to name the baby! (We only gave him three names to choose from.... we wanted to include him, but we weren't totally insane!) There was only one point while I was pregnant, and he was tired of the whole thing, that he asked if he could change his mind. He didn't want a baby brother, he'd rather have a puppy! After explaining that the apartments we lived in wouldn't allow dogs, but they WOULD allow babies, he was ok with it again.

Three weeks before Bug arrived, we were given yet another example of Jock being a miracle in our lives. We lived on the second floor of the apartment building, and we had windows that sat fairly close to the floors. It was a beautiful spring day, so the windows were open. Jock was almost 5 that year. He bent down to pick up a toy, lost his balance, and fell backwards out of the window. The way he landed should have snapped his neck, and all of the doctors said that he should not have survived the fall. (*This is still so hard to think about I have to keep pausing. Forgive me if it feels a bit disjointed*) Coach fell down the stairs in his haste to get out to him, and by the time he got there, Jock had gotten up and was walking towards him. We did spend a couple of days in the hospital, the three of us--with Coach and I set up on cots in his room--but all of Jock's injuries healed completely in less than a week.

That child has grown into a young man now. He smiles more than any teenager I know. He's still such a joy to have around. He's got an amazing way with small children and animals; I could put him in a closed room with either a dozen wild dogs and cats or a dozen screaming babies and toddlers, leave him alone for ten minutes, and walk back into complete serenity. As with Bug, this boy has so much athletic ability its frightening sometimes. When he sets his mind to it, there is nothing on the field he can't accomplish. I watch him play football, and am awed at his grace; and inspired by his determination and focus on the baseball diamond. This is a young man who has it in him to fully realize any dream he sets, no matter how lofty, simply because he refuses to give up when others around him walk away.

We still have a very close bond, Jock and I. I'm still the one he comes to when he wants to talk about his life and whats on his heart and mind. I'm still the one he comes to when he's got a "hurt" that needs fixing. We try to take at least one day a month, just for us, where we go out to lunch and just go hang out somewhere. No lectures from me. No whining from him. Just.Talking.

His name translates into "God's Gift", and he is most certainly that to me, and more. He is what keeps me going forward. He and his brother are what give my life a purpose, and a reason for doing anything.

I am more thankful for him today than I was yesterday, but not as much as I will be tomorrow. He's my miracle.

My Challenge. My Heart.

*Thanks go to Kidzmama for the inspiration for the next couple of posts! She did a beautiful job of dedicating an entire post to each of her children over the course of a few days. It reminded me of why I started this blog in the first place, which was as a place to brag on my kids occasionally! So I mentioned to her that I might be ~borrowing~ her idea, and she never objected... so here we go!*

See those beautiful blue eyes there? The ones with the twinkle in them? Those belong to my little Bug. My baby, although he hates to be called that. I remind him that while he may not be A baby, he is still MY baby, so he just needs to suck it up and deal with it. Of course, I then re-promise not to call him that in front of his friends, so he forgives me and life goes on.

Bug came into our lives at a point in our marriage when we needed something outside of the two of us to remind us of the kind of people we used to be. No, we weren't trying to get pregnant to save our marriage. I don't know if we even consciously knew it was in any sort of trouble at the time. I just know that when that baby got there, a lot of very important attitudes began changing. I've mentioned here a time or two that Coach and I were very young when we got married and had Jock. Until Bug came along, Coach wasn't really sure he was cut out for the whole "full time" deal. He loved us, sure, but did he really want to give up party time for us? And he was spending quite a bit of time looking at that greener (and thinner, lets be honest here) grass over the proverbial fence.

That changed almost overnight when Bug came along. See, he was born with a partial cleft lip. And that's something you don't get to see on the ultrasound pictures. Oh no. You find out about that when you deliver your baby and you hear nothing but an odd silence from your doctor, and phrases like "I don't want to alarm you" and "Its nothing that can't be fixed". And the looks of pity and slight horror (not in a gross horror way, but in a how-do-i-tell-this-woman-her-baby-is-deformed sort of way) on the attending nurses' faces. Coach and I looked at each other, he let go of me and walked immediately over to the baby. He took one look at that little (ok, maybe not so little.... over 8 pounds and 20 inches long!) bundle, and he sounded awestruck (in that wonderful-amazed way) when he said,

He's beautiful. Just perfect.

And then Coach reached out and touched Bug's tiny, little hand. Just staring down at him wonderingly. And when they wiped him off and handed him to me, I thought the same thing. Beautiful. Absolutely perfect.

And that was the exact moment when Coach grew up and stopped caring so much about outward appearances. From the minute we left the hospital, Coach took Bug out and about quite frequently. I'm not kidding. We stopped by his work on the way home from the hospital so he could show off the baby.

Jock was enamored of his baby brother. He never noticed the cleft, either, unless it affected something. Bug had surgery when he was 4 months old to fix his lip (and it turned out amazing!), so we had to change how he was fed a bit at that point. He couldn't take a bottle anymore, as the sucking would tear his stitches. So he had to be introduced to food a bit earlier than most babies. That was ok with Jock. It meant he could feed him!

Bug grew, as babies do. He threw tantrums, as toddlers do. And he started school, as young children do. Along the way, we noticed that Bug had some *quirks*. He didn't do well with change of any sort. He never had patience with himself, and expected perfection all the time. He was brilliantly smart, but had trouble focusing in classes. Extreme mood swings. Difficulty keeping friends. Patterns and routines took on enormous importance. He was eventually diagnosed with ADHD, accompanied by a mood disorder. That explained a lot, and we are going to be eternally grateful for his WONDERFUL doctor and the medication we found that helps him to even out without making him drugged out, or changing who Bug is.

And yet, through everything, he was (and still is) the most loving and affectionate child I had ever been around. He gives away smiles to everyone he meets. He considers everyone his friend, and has the most forgiving soul to anyone who hurts him. He idolizes his big brother, even though Jock is an obnoxious teenager. He drops everything he's doing to spend time with his dad. And he loves going to the grocery store with me.

He's an amazing athlete, with so much raw, natural talent that it constantly awes people on the sidelines. He's focused on being the best at what he can control, and is learning to work with the things he can't. He is my challenge in life, in more ways that one, but he is also my heart.

And every time I look at him still, all I can think is that he will always be absolutely perfect to me.



*as I was reading this, my playlist was playing Sweet Child of Mine..... do I really need to mention the tears?* :)

MY Top Mama

Today is MY mama's birthday.

I'm not going to share her age. She'd come kick my butt for that. Although..... that would get her here! :) Nah... still not gonna do that.

What I AM going to share are some of my favorite memories.

I don't remember too much about my life before I was about seven or so. But I do have a couple of memories that really stand out.

When I was two, I had to have an emergency appendectomy. I remember fighting the anesthesia, adamantly declaring that I had to wait for my doctor. Once I saw him, I was apparently out like a light. The next thing I know, I was in the recovery room. And there was my mama, with my favorite stuffed animal--a big, pink elephant I had *brilliantly* named Ellie. I think I would have been just as happy to see her if she hadn't brought Ellie with her.

On my seventh birthday (I think... could have been eight. I'm a bit fuzzy) I woke up to the most beautiful princess dress ever! And my mom had agreed to let me have my first slumber party, where we all ran around in our Underoos all night! :) And she made me a cake. I don't remember anything else about that birthday, or many others surrounding it, but I remember that dress and that cake.

My mom scrimped so that I could have piano lessons. I don't play piano anymore; but those lessons, combined with the hours I would spend just listening to my mama play so beautifully--and all by ear, since she didn't read music-- on that piano or on her guitar (and oh!... when she'd sing--- the angels would stop and listen it was so beautiful), gave me a love of music that I carry within my heart to this day.

My sophomore year in high school, I was starring in my very first stage production. My mama was there for the entire run, even when no one else from my family could come. When I would sing the National Anthem a capella-- and all by my lonesome--before all the school sporting events, my mom would talk the ticket booth into letting her come just inside the gates, so she could be right up front to hear me sing.

As I grew, my mama made sure I learned the lesson of managing my money. I used to be so jealous of my friends, when their parents would just buy them their cars, letter jackets and class rings; and give them money to go out. I had to earn my spending money. I made weekly payments to my parents for my first car. I paid half the cost of my letter jacket, and the full cost of my class ring. I had to have a job while I was in high school. While at the time I might have thought that wasn't fair, looking back I see what my mama was trying to teach me. Responsibility, and the ability to prioritize what was needed versus what was wanted.

While in a lot of ways, I'm a daddy's girl.... its always been my mama that I've admired and looked up to, and wanted to emulate. Without going into details, I'll tell you that my mom has had a life full of challenges--physical and emotional-- that have made her such a strong woman, when many others would have crumbled. She was a single parent long before the gene donor left, and she always put us before herself. When her body should have stopped on her, she'd just grit her teeth and keep moving forward. She's always been a believer in living for today, but planning for tomorrow, and promoting the idea that if you believe hard enough, you can make it happen for yourself.

When Coach and I first got married and found out we were pregnant, my mom was right there with her support. And after Jock was born, she was invaluable to me. We didn't have any money, Coach was working very long hours on the graveyard shift (and even when he was home it was difficult--our first few years of marriage really sucked. I don't think we really wanted to be there), the baby was taking everything from me that I could spare and then some, and I was tired. Just plain tired. I'd call her after a long, sleepless night, frustrated beyond what I thought I could bear. She'd come right over, hug me tight, bundle Jock and I up in the car, and take me to Taco Bell. In the state I was in most times, that was better than taking me to the best steak house in town.

As I've continued to grow, and raise my children, my mama has continued to be my biggest source of support, and my biggest fan. She is the first to celebrate with me when something goes right, and the first to cry with me when something goes wrong. She is often the only one who can pick up on the tone of my voice when something isn't working itself out right in my heart. And even though we are hundreds of miles apart, I know that with one phone call I will be able to feel her love and hug me.

There is so much more I could say about my mama. I haven't even touched on what an awesome grandma she is! But the internet only has so much space on it! :)

Mama... happy birthday today! I love you so much more than you will ever fully know, and I owe you so much more than I could ever repay. You have made me the woman I am today, and you know what? I really like that woman.

Thank you, Mama.

Reflections

For the uninformed, I have two younger brothers. Fortunately for all of you, the three of us are nothing alike. Believe me, my parents are thankful for that as well!

First, the oldest of the two. JD is not quite two years younger than me. Which was great when we were younger, and life then being what it was kept us close. However, as we grew up.... well, lets just say that its never a good idea to date your sibling's friends. Ever. Trust me, that never turns out good for anyone. Friendships don't survive that sort of battle. (Those of you with siblings who did this will totally understand what battle I'm referring to. Those of you without this knowledge, just count yourselves fortunate!) But we've grown up a bit from that point. Mostly. :) Overall, I actually think JD's a good person. He's a great dad, and is one of those rare men out there that actually WANTS a commitment. In fact, he goes looking for it. Its really too bad that he's not finding the women out there that want that as well. *sigh*

But I'll tell you more about him in another post. The purpose of this one is actually to say something about the baby brother.

And yes, he's really our baby brother. He's 10 years younger than I am, and the result of my mother's second marriage (which will also rate its own post, probably, because I totally think my step-dad ROCKS!!! He's my dad in all ways that count, and is just an awesome human being!).

**side note-- its really been more difficult than I imagined it would be to come up with anonymous names for everyone here. First my sons, and now my brothers. JD fits his name, because he's a bull-riding rodeo cowboy, and really-- don't initials fit cowboys rather well? But the baby.... he's a little harder. **

But... back to the story....

The Baby showed up when I was in 5th grade. Apparently, he brought out my future maternal instincts. I would get up with him every night when my mom got up to feed him, just to hold him while I rocked and sang him back to sleep. (Shh... I told him I was up because he was such a loud, screaming baby! It had nothing to do with loving this little baby to distraction. Really.) As he grew up, he used to go everywhere with me, and I'm afraid I was just as guilty as my parents and everyone else of spoiling him shamelessly. My mother likes to remember the story of the year I baked him cupcakes to take to daycare for his birthday. You would think that I would have baked enough for the entire class, right? Not so. I actually baked enough for the entire SCHOOL. Yep... somewhere around 200 cupcakes, I think. (Is it any wonder I hate baking now??) When I was old enough to drive, I used to take him everywhere with me. And The Baby was the first one in my family to meet Coach. (Another side story there..... I tease Coach that if only he'd been not as nice to The Baby, he never would have ended up married to me and saddled with Jock and The Bug!) As The Baby grew up, I watched him go through Jr. High and High School, treating Jock the same way I used to treat him. The Baby had girlfriends I never thought were good enough. Friends I just knew would get him into too much trouble. Shining moments in high school sports. It occurred to me that watching him was a good way to prepare (at least a little) for raising Jock. Then I watched him graduate high school, and go off to basic training for the Navy, graduating there having set some new base records and to seemingly have grown up over the course of 8 weeks or so.

And then he set off for the world on a ship. An aircraft carrier, to be exact. One that took him straight into the heart of a war that no one wanted to see anyone in. We watched The Baby become a Man. We worried over him. We sent him packages filled with love and fun stuff. And then we got to watch him come home, a better person than he'd ever been. Folks, unless you've had a soldier come home from battle, you won't really understand that. But its true. It matures them in a way that most of us will never be able to realize, and gives the lucky ones a much more tolerant view of the differences in people.

Well, the point of all of this is really just to say Happy Birthday to The Baby. He turned 24 yesterday. I've never been more proud to be his big sister than I am today. And really for no other reason that the man that he's become over the years. He hasn't done anything remarkable or newsworthy (at least, that he can talk about!). He hasn't changed the world for all of mankind. He's just changed the world for one woman, who loves him as only a sister can. From dirty diapers, through a potty mouthed teenager, to the man he is today.

I'm really going to have to come up with another name. The Baby just doesn't fit anymore. :)