life's little surprises

Finding money in a pocket.

A phone call from an old friend.

Waking at 9:30 am on the weekend, and your kids are still in bed.

A card in the mail.

'I love you's' from the kids.

A penny on the ground.

Jeans that fit.

A shoe-sale.

A lemonade stand on the side of the road.

Breakfast in bed.

Catching a foul ball.

Lollipops at the bank.

The person in front of you at the drive-thru paying your tab.

A smile from a stranger.

eavesdropping on my children

7-yr-old: Wow, do you see that Hayden? See that baby spider? It's trapped between your bedroom window and the screen.

4-yr-old: Awwww, hi baby spider. You're so cuuuuuute. It's ok baby spider. He's probably scared because he can't find his family.

7-yr-old: Wow, if you look really close, you can see his face. Hi spider. Isn't that cool?

4-yr-old: Yeah, way cool. Hi baby. Hi little guy. Hi cutey spider. We'll take care of you. Don't worry. Awwww...

7-yr-old: Yeah, we could help free you. Let's lift the screen and help him get out so he's not trapped.

4-yr-old: Yeah, let's do that. We'll get you out, baby spider.

7-yr-old: Oh, but wait a minute. Then the spider might come on in your bedroom. What will we do then?

4-yr-old: Oh, then I will KILL HIM.

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

slow down

Boy if that fortune isn't the truth.

Tonight, I had been playing baseball with the kids and later rushed upstairs to fix up a bit before heading to dinner with the family. I told Greg to give me five minutes since I was sweating more than my husband sweats at Disney, and that's a lot. No pictures to prove it, just take my word for it, the guy gets hot.

So I ran some pomade through my locks, threw in a squirt or two of hairspray, a swipe of deodorant, and wondered why the lid wouldn't fit on the bottle of hairspray.

That's when I realized I was forcing the lid to my Secret over the much-smaller nozzle. Not exactly a match and a good reason to question my sanity. Same thing happened yesterday.

We made homemade pizza, with enough left over to feed the gazillion girls who cry at a Jonas Brothers concert, so I wrapped the extra slices in foil. I meant to grab my cell from the counter and take it upstairs, instead I walked into my bedroom and found myself with a handful of foil-wrapped pizza...

...and my phone chilling next to the milk.

Better get some sleep.

not too impressed

Tried brussel sprouts for the first time today in the studio. Another item to cross off my list of NEVERS. Will I have them again?

Don't think so.

I hate ants, I hate ants, I hate ants

Sorry for the repetition.

Just trying to get my point across that I really hate ants. They give me the creeps, especially when they are in droves. One or two, MAYBE, but three or more and I get the shivers. Totally makes my skin crawl. Same feeling I get when I find a hair in my food, and it's not mine.

So you can imagine my less-than-calm reaction when I saw a minimum of 14, yes I counted, crawling over a piece of candy in our garage. The boys nanny had given them suckers, and my youngest dropped a piece. So I did what any reasonable adult would do, I reached for the nearest liquid material in a bottle with a spray nozzle...Windex.

Let's just say the glass-cleaner won that battle.

When Hayden asked what I was doing, I told him cleaning up one of Momma's biggest fears, right behind restaurant booths and something else I won't mention, (Note to sisters: no need to comment), and that he needs to be careful about leaving food on the floor.

Hayden's response?

'Oh, that? I meant to. I was feeding the aunts, Mom. They were hungry.'

Kellie Pickler Did WHAT?

Came across this tonight.

Our pal Kellie Pickler ran out of gas...in a mall parking lot. I couldn't help but laugh when I saw the pic, and what looks to be two very compassionate women helping her out.

Hey, it happens.

I've been known to run a bit low, translation: come to a stop, when I let my fuel gauge get below the red. Yes, I know better, it just happened. More than once? Well, yes, but that's not important. And if Greg is reading this right now, quit rolling your eyes.

Glad to know Kellie is safe and I'm not the only one who pulls stunts like this.

Procrastination at its Best

The nightstand by my bed.

It's loaded with...according to Greg...junk. So, my first stop after posting this entry will be the trash can so I can start the cleaning process. Greg calls it junk, but it's not really. It's stuff. My stuff. You know, random things. Like six magazines that are neatly stacked, ones I've yet to finish and may take several months before I do, and in the meantime I'll just keep restacking while they collect dust.

What else?

An almost-empty jar of peanuts that I snacked on last night as I lay in bed working a crossword puzzle, and no...I still can't figure out the 5-letter word for 4 DOWN...which is 'dog-tired.'

My frozen entree tray from lunch today that still has a fork laying inside. Yes, I ate my lunch while laying in bed. That way I could nap sooner, after all 12 stairs would have been a big delay.

A rubberband to pull back my hair and an elastic band to keep that annoying strand of bangs out of my eyes, the one that is too short to tuck behind my ear.

About 4 post-its of 'Things to do' lists that, not surprisingly, I never got around to. I'm an expert at jotting them down, just not always good at following through. Now that I think about it those lists should be called 'Things I'd Like to Do.'

And finally, a pic of me and my pal Nickie at her wedding, in my pre-backfat days. Guess that's what happens when we have kids...things shift, right? RIGHT?

Better get to cleaning. Rest assured, it's not like this all of the time. But, I do have my moments.

live and die by the ice cream guy

The ice cream truck.

Does your neighborhood have one? We get sporatic visits from the guy who drives the truck full of tasty frozen treats, with photos of each item plastered on the side of the vehicle that blares 'Pop Goes the Weasel' from two neighborhoods away. Funny how as an adult, I tend to get the same treat that I bought as a child, patriotic-colored Bomb pops that turn my lips an interesting shade of Smurf-blue.

The boys go into sheer panic mode as if they'd not eaten in days over the sound of the truck's music indicating that A) if you're lucky and make a run for Dad's wallet you B) just might get the chance to buy a Drumstick. I laugh at the wails that could shatter glass in our home, 'Mom...the ice cream truck...he's in the NEIGH-BOR-HOOOOOOOOD!' I remember that excitement. There was something about buying ice cream from a complete stranger that made it seem special. Something about this ice cream tastes better than what they sell at Kroger down the street. Sure, you can buy a box of ice cream sandwiches there, but where besides the neighborhood ice cream truck can you buy just one? And not just one, but one that was handed to just you?

And so it goes in our home, the constant wondering if today's the day we'll receive a visit, or if we missed him while out at dinner, because how dare we eat. We've even hopped in the car to go searching after picking up the faint hint of his music being drowned out by lawn mowers and kids on scooters, only to come up empty-handed. Eventually, our two dejected boys return home to stare at a box of freezer-burned fudge bars in our kitchen.

Until last Saturday, when our ice cream man, who in our opinion beats out the Schwan guy in popularity, drove up and I told him the kids had been looking for him all week, and were about to sign themselves up for some sort of frozen dairy support group. 'Save yourself the stress, I only come on Saturdays.'

Now you tell me.

father's day letter to dad

Dear Dad,

I missed seeing you today. But you'd be glad to know that you were thought of from the moment I rolled out of bed and you'll be my last thought when I close my eyes.

You always made Father's Day fun in our family. Oddly enough, when I flipped through my rolodex of memories from this holiday, I kept stopping at the vision of you standing in the kitchen when I arrived for our gathering and asking, 'So what'd you bring me?' You were usually sporting your white socks pulled up over your shins and very pale bird legs, as we called them. And you were grinning. Always grinning. In between dipping a green pepper in Ranch, you would be smiling that goofy smile from ear to ear that I try to emulate, but Greg has told me 'I wouldn't recommend doing that in public.' You know the one.

At least once during the family cook-out, you would have shuffled your way in for at least two chocolate-chip peanut-butter brownies like only Mom can make, taking the second after saying the first one was small, then saying, 'Debber Doo...whatcha got going on this next week?'

And by the end of the evening, you would have noticed me packing up the kids' toys and gathering their shoes, only to say 'You leavin already?' Funny how getting up early for work now wouldn't have mattered.

You'll be glad to know that Michelle made your favorite cheese ball today in your honor, though she didn't finely chop the onions like you once did, and I hope you heard me when I visited you this evening. I smiled driving out to the cemetery when I saw an older man drinking a beer on his porch alone, and wondered if he was a dad or had gotten a visit from his children.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. I sometimes ask myself what I would give for just one more 'Debber Doo' or 'What'd you bring me?' And the answer is...

Anything.

i found my nanny on craiglist

I know what you're thinking.

Are you crazy?

No, I'm not. I, just like you, am shocked that I found a great person to make summer fun for my two little guys and she's, like, NORMAL. I'm the first to admit that I tend to be over-protective at times, yes, that was me who followed Griffin's bus to school when he began first grade, so awkward doesn't begin to describe how I feel when another mom in the neighborhood asks me where I found such a great girl, and I have to respond, 'Craiglist.'

After all, isn't that where people go to buy lawn mowers, bikes, or Archie comic books?

But, a nanny? Quality child-care? I'd never even used Craigslist, not to buy or sell an item, and then found myself on the site. The first post I clicked on was a college student studying to be a teacher and looking to watch kids for the summer. And she lived nearby. And she had experience. And what was the catch, I thought? I skeptically sent her an e-mail and several conversations later we made plans to meet. I whole-heartedly expected this girl to show up with hair dyed the color of that plastic flamingo in your neighbor's mulch, a lit cigarette hanging from her mouth and piercings in both lips.

What a nice surprise.

She was anything but, and smiled from ear to ear with references...which checked out...in one hand and a list of fun activities she hoped to do for the summer. I watched as she interacted with the boys, who hung on her every word, all the while thinking, 'I found this girl on Craigslist?'

I still can't believe it.

Anything would sound better than that. Like, I found our nanny in the produce aisle, or she put that baggie on my rear windshield wiper at the carwash, or we found her roaming our backyard and we took her in for a night. But, Craigslist?

The boys love her already. Hayden hugs Miss Kristen at least 83 times a day, and Griffin asks me an hour after she leaves when she's coming back. They swim, do crafts, play baseball, the Wii, go bowling and make treats, like the ones posted in the photo.

This week, Kristen told me 'this doesn't even feel like a job' and my oldest said, 'Mom, aren't you glad you found her? Boy, we sure lucked out.'

You got that right.

overheard in my house

Earlier today, I heard my husband attempting to negotiate with our boys.

'Now guys, if you're really good about getting along, I'll take you with me to Lowes and CVS.' Since when did that become a treat? Even worse?

It worked.

a conversation with my 7-year-old

I chatted with my son as I tucked him into bed last night:

Him: You know, Mom, when I play tackle football in the fall, I'll be wearing a cup.

Me: Really? You mean one you drink out of? (Hoping to get a laugh)

Him: (Rolling his eyes) Noooooooo, a cup. You know, that thing you wear to protect your privates.

Me: Oh, that. You sure you need one?

Him: Uhhh, YESSSSSSSSSSSSS. I don't want to get hit in the weiner.

The joys of raising little men.

i want their trainer

Take a look at Martina McBride, Leann Rimes and Julianne Hough.

Came across this a few days back, and you may recall Hazel mentioning on-air that the three country stars would be proudly posing in bikinis. All I have to say is...all look great and it took ten minutes to pry our producer's fingers off my computer screen.

I love that Martina assumed she would be posing in summery clothes, not a bathing suit, so the whole she-can-rock-a-bikini-look just happened on a whim. Here's the lowdown, according to MSN. Martina says, 'So I got there and I’m thinking, OK, you know I’ve been working out a little bit...I’ll wear a tank top maybe a pair of shorts, show a little legs, show a little arms. They whip out the bikini and I say, ‘Oh that’s cute. Who’s that for?’ And they're like, ‘Oh that’s yours…I’m like, ‘Hmm..I’ll be right back.’” She walked to the bathroom to call her hubby, who was all for it, not to mention her kids. Not bad, huh?

Either these women have waaaaaay more willpower to skip the biggie-sized fries or there's something in the water in Nashville. Kudos, ladies.

I say that as I sit at my keyboard snarfing down an ice cream bar. How sad is that?

it was different to say the least

Ok, so I kept my appointment and showed up for my massage yesterday.

The one I'd been fretting over because they booked me with a male masseuse. I was fairly nervous going in, so nervous that after I shook Dave's hand, he told me to lay face down, then left the room, and I completely forgot which way to lay when it was time to get on the table. Face up? Face down? WHAT DID HE TELL ME??? Where's the instruction book?

Dave was certainly qualified and all, I just couldn't get past my hangup of having a man do the massage. The entire time I was trying to relax, but instead spent the majority of the hour insulting myself. You know, with unimportant critiques, like 'Do I have backfat? Did I shave my legs well enough? Will my heels feel cracked? Will I snore if I fall asleep? Should I have skipped that bag of M&M's?' and on and on and on.

So, while I'm sure my muscles are now more relaxed...

...I left feeling like I need to sign up for a serious gym membership.

on getting pulled over

Forgot to mention that the fam got pulled over this past weekend.

Yep, Greg was driving, I was in the passenger seat, and the boys were in the back. The strange thing is...we were traveling around 35 mph, so speeding wasn't the problem. As the officer approached, Greg wondered aloud what he could have been doing wrong, and Hayden panicked as if we were criminals, then promptly looked at the cop and asked, 'Are we going to jail?'

No, he was told with a chuckle.

Instead, we apparently were following an RV too closely, which caused us to clear an intersection after the light had turned yellow. We were given a warning and sent on our way, but not without my 4-year-old needing major reassurance that we A) Would NOT need to pose for mug shots and B) Would NOT be, 'taken to joo-vee,' as he stated.

But, Daddy DOES need to quit tailgating. That we know.

on why i may cancel that massage

Less than 24 hours before I'm due for a massage.

Usually, that would be a good thing. Until I went to hang up from booking the appointment and heard the woman say, 'Ok, you're all set. 11:00 am Tuesday with Dave.'

DAVE?

A man? Oh no. Not sure about you, but getting a full-body rubdown from a man I've just met makes me a little uneasy. Not sure why, really, since a male doctor delivered both of my boys, and Dave won't even be seeing those parts. I'm not used to it, as my husband would rather watch four Hannah Montana episodes back-to-back than rub my feet. He doesn't do feet. Or necks or shoulders...or anything...for that matter. And in his defense, he's ok with not getting them in return. Not his thing, he says.

But, a man masseuse? It's just awkward. Kinda like those few moments when you're sitting in a paper gown and socks while waiting for the doctor to come in, that kind of awkward. Or when you step on the scale for the nurse and hold your breath that she doesn't repeat your weight out loud...that kind of awkward. And then there's the flip. That moment when the masseuse lifts the sheet and, hopefully, looks away while you turn over on to your stomach. I wonder if Dave has ever had a client skip the flip. That wouldn't be weird at all, would it? No different than skipping the guac at a Mexican restaurant, or leaving the whipped cream off of a sundae.

I'm hoping Dave is short for Davita. Either that, or I'm wearing sweats.

it's a love-hate thing

Summer.

There are pros and cons to summertime. Things I love, things I don't. See if you can relate to any of these.

LOVE

Not putting winter coats on the kids

The whir of a lawn mower

Burgers on the grill

The smell of suntan lotion

Smores on the fire

Lightning bugs in a jar

Flipflops

The ice-cream truck

Sidewalk chalk

Picnics

Dining at an outdoor restaurant

Ice-cream cones

State Fair

Outdoor concerts

Flowers in bloom

Baseball games

Pedicures

DON'T

Sunburns

Bikinis

Applying sunblock to squirming children

Humidity

Flies and swatting them

Telling kids to close the door to keep those flies out

Explaining to those same kids why it's not dark, but they still have to go to bed

Ants and mosquitos

Bugspray

Hearing 'I'm bored' from the kids

When it ends.

oh, the fun i'm having

I have discovered two new things today.

The first, because it's always nice to start with good news, is that rearranging furniture in your home can lift your spirits. Sort of makes things seem 'new' again. So we did just that, not to mention the new drapes I hung, and voila...a whole new house. Or something like that.

Makes coming home exciting in a new way.

The second realization? I'm not a fan of blue painter's tape. The stuff used to tape off the trim around doors and ceilings when painting. I know it serves a good purpose, but it's more annoying than trying to hear the tv when my husband decides to vaccuum. Isn't that what the commercials are for? After all, who wants to miss an episode of Dog the Bounty Hunter?

Anyway, I decided to paint our laundry room during my week off of work, and I haven't really enjoyed taping off the room. I think I'd rather wear skinny jeans, which I don't believe were made for 90% of the female population. Let's face it, unless you're Shania Twain's size zero, they aren't too comfy.

So, to recap...rearranging furniture = good. Painter's tape = not so much. I just don't have the patience. None. That, or an episode of Dog the Bounty Hunter is on.

Wish me luck.

on visiting grandma

It's just not a day at Grandma's if you don't stop by Weenee World.

Yes, the place really exists. I'm off work this week, and took the boys to visit my 85-year-old Grandmother who has more energy than a toddler gripping a bottle of Red Bull. I love Grandma. She's feisty and independent, and doesn't beat around the bush. Translation: She's opinionated, which means I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

After arriving, we dined at Pizza King, where she handed the boys money for the Jukebox, and I found myself explaining that, no...they DON'T have the Jonas Brothers, but look!...they have the Statler Brothers! Who's that? my four-year-old asked. He was about as impressed as I was when my husband suggested we get that big screen tv two days before the Superbowl.

Next, we drove to feed the ducks at the pond, where Grams hopped out of the car and just the mere sight of a bread bag resulted in an entourage of geese, not exactly the cute little white ducks I was hoping for, which began swarming her while annoyingly honking or whatever it is you call that noise. Don't those things attack? Grandma didn't seem to care, letting them eat from her hands, no less. Me and the boys? We threw chunks of bread from the car. Heck, we aren't dumb. Love ya, Granny, but it's every man for himself.

Our next stop? Weenee World. The name alone is enough to make me giggle, and the boys repeated it over and over for the next hour. I wasn't sure what to think when Grandma suggested we stop there for ice cream. I took the pic above because I knew no one would believe it. The kids were in heaven, and I was in shock. The employees wear rainbow-colored beanies on their heads and you can buy one to take home, if you dare. Note to those reading this: I didn't.

Heading home, we spotted a man hitchhiking. I pointed him out, and my youngest asked me, 'Hitchhiker, what's that mean?' So I was like, 'It's when someone needs a ride and puts their thumb in the air, but I don't want you doing that, because you shouldn't get in cars with strangers.' And my grandmother decided to take it one step further, saying 'Because when you get in cars with strangers, they could bop you on the head, steal your money, then roll you down a hill and leave you in a ditch.' Uhhhhhh...he's four. Let's not scare the kid.

We learned a lot during our visit.

Starting with...The Statler Brothers, but they weren't all really brothers, and that it's best to feed the geese from your car just to be safe, Weenee World has good ice cream and not-so-stylish beanies, and don't hitchhike or you'll get bopped on the head.

And that's it.

on putting kids in time alone

I put my 4-year-old in time alone yesterday. After a few minutes, I went to tell him he needed to apologize to his older brother and he could get up, but he didn't seem to care.

He was asleep.

oh, this isn't good

Just got home, but not without an uneventful arrival.

I've been driving Greg's car the past couple of days. Big mistake. As I attempted to pull it in to our garage, I misjudged the side wall by a good several inches only to hear a scraping noise, in what seemed to be slow-motion, down the front end of the vehicle. Let's do the math...scraping + car = BAD. Hearing that noise twice is never good, but that's what happened when I put the car in reverse and backed out, all the while trying to think of any explanation that would be better than just, 'I hit the garage door.'

How lame is that?

So, I dialed Greg's cell, explained that the boys had a good day, I like my haircut, we need milk, and I hit the garage door.

Would you believe the one thing he focused on was the car?

No asking if I wanted skim milk or 2%, how short is my hair, none of that. He was all...how bad is it...there weren't even any other cars in the garage to dodge...this would only happen to you...and something about getting my eyes checked. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? Wink, wink.

I posted the damage. Take a gander.

Where Do You Text?

Most everyone texts these days.

I can remember the first time I received a text from my father last year. I was driving my youngest, who couldn't break a high fever, to the E-R late at night and called my parents on the way. Dad asked me to send him a text with an update when I could. After a few hours, I went to the lobby, text him that Hayden was doing better, and he surprisingly wrote back, 'Gr8."

Low and behold, my non-texting Dad was more hip than I thought. Now if we could just work on Grandma.

Then yesterday, I noticed a sign while walking into a movie theatre that read, 'Please silence your cellphones. No texting please.' I even read on the wire service at work that ministers aren't happy about texting during church services.

Understandable.

What bizarre place do you text? I've been known to fire off a message in the produce aisle at the grocery, at the ballpark, etc, but nothing too out of the ordinary. Others say they text in office restrooms, drive-thrus, and corporate meetings where a leaky faucet would be more interesting than the guy at the podium.

Heck, even the guy at the Starbucks counter the other day was texting. The only problem was, he was the one wearing the green apron and was on the clock at the time. Oops.

Believe it or not, the photo above is the real deal. Yes, there really was a competition over who had the fastest thumbs at the National Texting Championship. The winner was a 13-year-old girl who walked away with the title and twenty-five grand.

Should be enough to cover her cell bill.

need a good laugh?

I'm still shaking my head.

Shaking my head over the insane day I experienced over the weekend. It wasn't one of those days where just ONE weird occurence took place. Oh no. It was one after another, kinda like dominos, or when your 4-year-old asks you 'when are we gonna be there?', and you answer, and he says, 'how much longer?', and you tell him, and he says, 'Is it close?' And you bang your head on the steering wheel.

One of THOSE Days.

And sadly, I was alone and have no one to blame. I'm often asked if these stories about my life that I share on the radio are true. The answer is yes, and I couldn't make it up if I tried. Who would?

Let's start with early in the day, when I stopped by Target with Starbucks in hand. I sipped my drink as I browsed each aisle, then suddenly realized I didn't have my beverage any longer. I checked my cart...nothin. So, I backtracked through the magazines, the rugs, the lamps, and there it was. I had laid the white cup with lipstick on its lid on a shelf to pick up a brown lamp.

After checking out, I walked toward the doors and saw what looked to be the guy who had sold our last home. Not that we keep in touch, but I see him out from time to time. He was ordering a drink at the concession counter, but I couldn't quite tell if it was him. It looked like him, but then it didn't. Does he have a son that tall? Does Keith wear glasses now? I never did find out. That's because I bounced the side of my face off the glass exit door, not realizing I had gotten that close. Forget the Starbucks, that's a good way to wake up. Slamming your cheek into an unopened door sort of jars the body to attention. And if that doesn't, the two teenaged boys laughing hysterically behind you certainly would.

Next up on my list of mishaps for the day would be my stop at the radio station. I needed to record a commercial. So I did. Then left the building, only to realize two blocks away that I recorded the wrong one. So, I returned. Then left again, and stopped at the Wal-Greens a couple of stoplights away because the boys were out of hairgel, and hey, we've got priorities. That's when I realized I didn't have my purse. It was still at work, along with my pass key to let myself in, and...oh yes, I'm not done, my cellphone, which means I couldn't call any co-workers in the building to say that I'm stranded in the parking lot and am once again banging my head on the steering wheel. Thank goodness for Onstar's phone feature.

And then I called it a day.

more

Now that school is out, we’ve had several MORES.

Not S’mores. But, a little bit more of just about everything. More fun, more sleep, more snacks, more yawns, more morning cartoons, more friends stopping by, more Crocs being left by the door, more backyard baseball games, more lemonade, more sunblock to rub in, and more squabbles. The latter, of course, usually resulting in more tears. Isn’t that what siblings do?

So, I’ll be looking at this pic...my two boys holding hands...a little MORE often. It makes me smile.

And hope for more days like this one.

love what they say

If you have kids, then you know that children say things worth writing down. It's funny how their brains work. Sometimes it's bizarre, halarious or downright odd...but they are statements that make perfectly good sense to them.

Little minds. I love them.

If you'd been a fly on the walls of my home this week...here's what you would have heard:

My 4-year-old asking me for some 'HOW ARE YOU' punch? What's that, I asked? 'Some How are you punch, Mom. Can I have some? I eventually learned he had spotted his older brother drinking Haw-aii-an Punch. He innocently blinked his feathery eyelashes, wondering why I was staring back blankley.

My 7-year-old falling during a bike stunt in the driveway, and ripping his favorite track pants with a matching jacket. He shrugged and said, 'Oh well. It looks manly.'

Shivering from the A/C, I commented that the house was cold. To that, my youngest wrapped his arms around me and said 'I'll keep you warm, Mom.' And he did.

Love it.

Awesome? Not So Much

Awkward moments. We all have them.

Those moments in life when you aren't really sure what to do or say, times when things just feel 'off.' A bit uncomfortable. Maybe even a little weird or not the usual normal, if there is such a thing.

And here they are...

When you have to place a urine sample inside that little door, and you pray that the nurse isn't opening the tiny door from the other side. Otherwise, what do ya say? Awkward.

When you're sitting at a red light, and you lock eyes with the driver of the car in front of you as they glance in their rearview mirror.

That moment at the movies when a romantic scene comes on the big screen, and you're sitting next to grandma.

When it's you and only one other person in an elevator.

Seeing your OB-GYN out in public.

Spotting a co-worker's zipper down. Waaaaaaay awkward.

Test-driving a car with a total stranger.

When you accidentally open your neighbor's bank statement that was wrongly delivered to your mailbox. And have to return it.

When the girl behind the register says she can 'help who's next,' and you and another customer stare at each other, afraid to make the first move.

At the ice cream shoppe, when you taste-test the new Rocky Ripple and the teenaged employee watches you eat from the other side of the counter. Slightly awkward, but awkward, none the less.

Do You?

Could you describe yourself in ten words?

It's not as easy as you think. I came across this the other day on the internet. The assignment also came with rules, kind of like a final exam that states you have to 'show your work' in the righthand margin. The rule was that your descriptive words could not involve other people.

No using the word mother. Or daughter. Or friend. Those are off-limits. The point of the exercise is for you to find out who you really are.

So, who are you?

This took some thinking...but here's mine. I am a sentimental, loyal, clumsy, silly, optimistic, spontaneous, daydreaming, observant, independent worrier. Can you be all those in one?

Give it a shot...then hit comment below.

I Remember These Days

Today was my son's last day of school.

I stopped by for his 'last day' pizza party and I'm pretty sure the noise decibel could have given Times Square on New Year's Eve a run for its money.

Really.

Where else would you find a class full of 2nd-graders exchanging rib-cracking hugs and counting down the clock as they awaited the school bell to ring. The magnitude on the excitement-meter was similar to the thrill I get when I awaken to peek at my alarm clock and see that I have another hour before dragging myself to the shower, or even better, realizing that neither of my children have crawled under my covers, which means my back won't hurt once I'm upright.

That kind of excitement.

I watched as my oldest devoured two slices of cheese pizza as though he'd never been fed the triangular shapes of dough, and yes...I think he chewed before swallowing, only to be followed by two chocolate-chip cookies and a round of kickball outside in oven-like weather.

But that's what you do on the last day of school.

The last day. It's like the last fudge-striped cookie in the plastic tray, or being the last to slide into a seat when you play musical chairs. You're glad to have it. On the other hand, some 'lasts' aren't so good. Like being the last to be picked for dodgeball, the last in line, or the last to learn that your cubby-mate at work is expecting, and here you thought she was just eating more. Shame on you.

So, we're off to get milkshakes. What better way to celebrate the last day of the school year than by downing a tasty drink that packs a gazillion grams of fat?

P.S. Despite the deafening screams when the bell rang, I managed to snap this pic. Griffin is in the gray shirt, hands in the air.

Probably what I will look like come August.

Baseball, Hot Dogs & Observations

There's nothing like packing up the family to take in a baseball game.

We did just that last Sunday.

The boys grabbed their gloves, my youngest slipped on his favorite sweatband, and we headed to Victory Field to see the Indianapolis Indians. Not without hearing 'When are we gonna be there' a good twenty times, and 'I hope I catch a foul ball' at least ten other. I don't know what it is, but there's something about a sunny day, baseball, and a hot dog. As I watched the action on the field, I made some observations of other things...

An elderly woman to my left filing her nails and occasionally glancing up at the scoreboard.

Bags of cotton candy should be served with handi-wipes.

Cameras showing four lucky winners on the jumbo screen being upgraded to the Coors Lights seats...drinking Bud Light.

If you put your purse at your feet, you will take home a purse full of peanut shells.

My 4-year-old responding to repeated 'Cold Beer, Cold Beer' chants from the vendor...'We don't want any cold beer!'

That same son commenting on seeing baseball fans sprawled on blankets in the lawn section: 'Oh, I see. That's where people go when they wanna take a nap.'

The guy who blasts t-shirts into the crowd might wanna avoid standing in front of the net behind home plate. Makes them hard to catch.

The elderly lady to my right taking swigs from a beer bottle and stealing a smooch from her husband.

My youngest licking blue cotton candy from his fingers and saying, 'Ahhh yes, that's good stuff.'

The couple behind me saying three weeks from now they will be married. By the way, she plans to get her hair braided on her honeymoon.

Section 109 isn't close enough to the restrooms. And too close to the concession stand. Which causes us to need a restroom.

And finally, when I told Greg that we may have parked a little too far from the field, my oldest stating, 'It's no big deal. We could all use the exercise.'

Play ball.

I'm a Serial Non-Returner

I have bags of stuff.

What that means is I often make a purchase, whether it's a local craft store or a place where beauty products are sold, then realize once I'm home that I need to return it. Maybe it's the wrong size, wrong color, wrong brand, or the sale sign convinced me that I needed that value bag of 10 pairs of white bobby socks. Whatever the reason, I will set the stuff aside to eventually return and get my refund.

Only I often forget.

The process is obviously not working for me. I buy stuff, though small items, that I don't end up using. I have quite a collection by now. There's the pair of running pants I purchased at Target four months ago but never wore because they fit tighter than my jeans on Thanksgiving Day. I made a mental note to exchange them for a bigger size, and didn't. I'm also not about to give up tortilla chips to fit into the tight pair.

Or the two bottles of edible cake-decorating glitter, in green, that I bought at Michael's, along with a tube of black icing gel, that I didn't need the last time I baked. They're still in their bag laying by my kitchen phone, constant reminders that I should be returning these products to their long-lost family in aisle 7.

Or the ballerina flats I brought home, thinking my ski-like feet would by some miracle resemble a petite size 5, but that didn't happen. Instead, they pinched my toes, but did I take 'em back? Nope.

Of course, the common problem that I always discover is my receipts are expired by the time I'm ready to get my money back. I can't exactly show up two years later, explain that I've been busy watching paint dry and just now got around to finding the customer service desk. So instead I have bags of unreturned stuff.

Garage sale, anyone?