Kick It Up A Notch

Tonight we decided to kick it up a notch at the soccer game.  David and I sat in the car and ate our picnic lunch...chicken salad sandwiches and chips...with....wait for it...cocktails.  Did you know that you can buy these frozen pouches of alcoholic drinks at Walmart???

David just reached in the freezer, grabbed a frozen pouch, ripped the top open and consumed his adult Margarita flavored freezer pop.

Did the 5% alcohol help our game banter?  No, but the kid on the other team with the craziest bowl haircut, think Moe, I've ever seen is now dubbed "George" after our favorite Mario Cart course, Mushroom Gorge.

An Oldy, But A Goody

I was talking with my brother today and he mentioned that his daughter got her hair cut.  It's not  like this is any major milestone, but you should know my niece has long white blond hair (like mine when I was a kid) and hasn't had her hair drastically cut in a LONG time, so it was a bit of a big deal in their family.  With two older sons, my brother was a little worried about their reaction at the big reveal.


Matt and I were reliving the famous family story of my sister and her haircut some 25 or so years ago.  My brother and sister worked for our Dad at the time.  My sister worked in the front office, and had left the plant to go and get her hair cut at lunch.  


An hour or so later my Dad called an impromptu emergency crew meeting.  My Dad walks into the room with all his employees and says, "If any one of you says anything about Laura's hair...your fired," then turns and walks out of the room.


Aww...fatherly love.

My Idol Boy

Today was the finale for the American Idol contest at Bubba's school.  Bubba and his buddy made it to the final 6...but we won't know the "winner" until the end of school.  I love my boy, and think he is the sun, the moon, the stars, but seriously?  I'm not holding my breath.


I'm stunned and impressed that he sang A cappella AND danced in front of the whole freaking school.  We had a few rough spots, like when Bubba came home and told us that for the final he was going to sing "It's Raining Men."  


Crickets chirping.  


Delicate conversation rehearsal going through my head...David butting in and bluntly telling Bubba that the song is gay.  


I jump in and delicately tell Bubba that as a finishing 5th grader he would be potentially committing social suicide (as an incoming middle schooler) and would forever be labeled as the kid who sung "It's Raining Men."


Today, after the end of the American Idol drama, Bubba announced that he was going to be singing "Eye of the Tiger" at the upcoming talent show.  


Do I need to stop letting my child watch Glee?

Peanut Gallery

My husband and I are freaks.  We have been sitting (too lazy to get out) in the car to watch Bubba's soccer games lately.  Even when it's sunny and nice!  One of the reasons why we sit in the car is because my husband's mouth cannot be trusted.


To entertain ourselves we make fun of people.  I know it's wrong, oh well.


We make up names for kids on the opposing teams.  It all started last year when this boy with long reddish hair was trying to keep up with the big dogs on the field, making us feel sorry for him.  We started calling him "Cinnamon."  Go cinnamon!  Go cinnamon, go, go cinnamon!  


There has also been "nut sack" named by David because he took one in the nuts during a run in with another player.  "Look, nut sack just scored!  Way to go Nutsack! Way to rebound Nutsack!"


"Transitions" is the kids with the self darkening glasses that was trying to score on the Bubb-ster.  Did I tell you that Bubba has been playing goalie for half a game these days?


These pet names (even when the kid has his name written on the back of his jersey) are the brain child of David, because he always purposefully screws up names just to make us crazy.


Last weekend (during our 3 consecutive games) we had the windows down and were sitting in the car when my darling husband decides to start talking about one of the kids on OUR team.  I give him the "DO NOT TALK" crazy eyes and whisper through gritted teeth that the kid's Mom is sitting in the car next to us with her windows down.  David catches on and  rebounds by finishing his talk about this kid with a "he's doing such a great job and is making progress" mumbo-jumbo.  This woman HAD to know that he was full of crap after listening to our snarkey name calling.

MIA

I know.  I am a looser.  I am going to be/do better again.  Promise.

Cry Like A Baby

So I am sitting here watching my weekly does of Glee when all the sudden it goes to an ad and I start BAWLING like a baby over a commercial.  B A W L I N G.  Not my hormonal, girley, Hallmark commercial tear up, but an all out bawl.

The commercial?  An organizational called ItGetsBetter.org

Have you seen the commercial?  It is YouTube-like videos, notes, posts, that gay adults have posted on the above site.  The videos are so sweet.  Encouraging.  Lovely.  Showing teens (and adults) that sometimes people don't understand your life and how you feel, but soon LIFE WILL GET BETTER.    

Do you need to be gay to visit the site?  I would think not.  I applaud this site that tells people that although the stranger in the video does not know you, they love you and care about you.

Who on this planet couldn't use a little support and encouragement?  Who would have thought that technology could be used for good?

My American President

One of my favorite movies ever is American President.  I LOVE Michael Douglas's president, and I am a sucker for Michael J. Fox.  There is a classic scene in the movie, one of many, that comes at the end when Michael Douglas interrupts a press conference and finally stands up for himself.  He answers all the false allegations and declares the opponent a dolt.

When I read the news article on MSNBC today about Obama and his monologue/bit at the White House Correspondence Dinner I thought "yeah baby, Obama's SO American President."  Obama RIPPED Donald Trump up and spit him out.  BRAVO Obama.  Bravo.

You Can Dress Me Up, But You Can't Take Me Anywhere

TMI alert.  Frankly I don't think it's that bad, but some of you are wimps and can't talk about feminine stuff.  Get over yourself.  Read on.

Today after church I *mentioned* that I was hungry and needed some BBQ.  We haven't eaten in a restaurant in a long time, and we hadn't been to City BBQ in ages, so EVERYONE jumped at the chance.

City BBQ, or "Shitty" as we loving call it, is a picnic table, paper towel rolls on the table, down home BBQ establishment.

We walked in the door right at 11 a.m. and ordered some Carolina sandwiches and corn pudding...mmmmm.  My mouth is watering just thinking about it.  The four of us sat down and dug right in.

During the meal I got up to get some more sauce to drown my BBQ sandwich in and a refill on my diet coke, and turned around to see David and Hannah staring at me, mouths open.  I immediately knew something was up and hazarded a wild guess that I had either sat in something, or let's face it I had an "accident".  Rather than helping me out, the two of them sat there and stared, mouths open.  (I talked to Hannah later about how she could have been a tad more helpful).

I made my way back to the table, surrounded by other filled tables, and confirmed that I did in fact have a spot on the back of my skirt.   I turned my skirt around (the beauty of the elastic waist skirt), grabbed my giant purse (another plus) and excused myself to the bathroom.  It was a one bun bathroom.  Great.  I locked the door and got to work.  I washed my skirt out, looked around and saw there was no air dryer and started to dry the skirt off with paper towels.  At this point someone was knocking on the door so she could use the restroom.  Great.  So I left the restroom with a wet spot on the front of my skirt, which was better than on the back.

As I am leaving the restroom, passing the waiting women, oblivious Bubba (across the room) says in the loudest stage whisper EVER, "You took a LONG time Mom, WERE YOU POOPING?"