i'll get around to it eventually

I've started today's post about 4 times, but its been one of those days.

Let's just say I recently finished cleaning peanut butter from the bottom of my youngest son's tennis shoe. The good news is, that is NOT my son in the photo. Could you imagine?

Happy Monday.

pansies need not apply

Unless you've been holded up watching episodes of Oprah that you Tivoed in April, chances are you've seen the signs for various 'boot camps' around town. I hear it's serious business. Usually anything with the word camp would be a good thing. Think about it...

Girl Scout camp.

Art camp.

Football camp.

Boot camp? Unless we're spending it trying on new foot fashions for the fall season, not interested.

So last night, I went walking with a friend of mine, a feat in itself because it was my first official workout in MONTHS. Not exactly something to brag about, but the year was not a good one, so I focused on the basics...family, work, showering, you know.

My friend in the neighborhood first suggested we 'walk' a couple of weeks ago and I agreed. How hard could it be? Left, right, left, right, you get the idea. I do that every day. But, girlfriend meant business. She began a stride that told me this was no casual walk, we were powerwalking, and this wasn't the time to admire the landscaping or gripe about the color of someone's shutters.

I'm pretty sure I was panting after the first 5 minutes, kinda like my black lab on an 90-degree day. The girl's got stamina, not to mention willpower since she awakens before her kids step on the bus to work out, meanwhile I was anticipating the ice cream bar I would devour once this walk business was over. That's not to say I didn't enjoy the conversation, the girl talk, the laughter, though my stories may have been hard to comprehend in between the gasps for what I swore would be my last breath.

Still, I owe it to Robyn for breaking me out of my forever-long workout interim where I felt walking upstairs to sort my laundry qualified as exercise. We walked almost 50 minutes, even stopping so I could tighten my laces, which was about the time I noticed I was sweating, and then Robyn dropped the bombshell: We would wrap our calorie-burning session with lunges down an entire sidewalk.

Of course we would.

I followed her move, squatting my play-doh like legs and praying I would find the strength to not hug the pavement. I can only say that the walk up my stairs once I arrived home seemed more difficult than climbing the rope in gym class and I collapsed on my bed. One day later, I'm feeling the results and figure this beats any boot camp I could have joined.

And it's certainly better than watching Oprah.

so maybe I do mind getting older

Sitting at a stoplight with my two sons in the backseat, I decided to pluck an unruly and oh so unattractive gray hair that was protruding from my scalp.

They've been peeking through my blonde strands on occasion, as much as I hate to admit it. Forget dying them, I just yank em out and call it a day, figuring it was my little secret. Until my 8-year-old mumbled this from the backseat...

'You pulling out your Granny hairs, Mom?'

Yes, son. Yes I am.

he has cute covered

We featured this little guy on the show yesterday morning. He's the son of a dear friend of mine, and I couldn't resist. You'd think he was southern, but don't let him fool you.

The ending is my fave.

Enjoy.

just call me stubborn

I know better.

I know the importance of going to the doctor but still avoid it, much like I avoid sitting in restaurant booths where the stuffing is spilling out. It doesn't sit well with me.

In simpler terms, I don't like it.

Not to say that dislike is a suitable reason. Now that I'm 37, I have accumulated a few ailments that should probably be monitored or charted by someone other than my mother. Moms are good with advice, but a phd along the way wouldn't hurt.

I'm 99.9 percent sure I am a candidate for eyeglasses, considering the floaters I often get while working with computers. My co-hosts say I squint more than I mention Starbucks, and I'm now sporting a pair of drugstore reading glasses. A trip to an eye doctor to read that infamous letter chart in the dark would quite possibly be a quick fix, but I haven't gotten around to making the appointment and its only been three years.

On an entirely different note, I've felt a good step behind the rest of you for as long as I can remember, and have come to the realization that I...serious now...likely have a concern with attention span. Let's just say the symptoms are a good match, and if asked, my family wouldn't fight me on this one. I can remember forgetting a huge project in school, and finishing the work in a bathroom stall the morning it was due. I also lose keys, cell phones, and my train of thought. Of course, I've been meaning to make an appointment with a doctor, but keep forgetting.

And then there was the appointment I did make, but forgot, only to be billed a no-show fee.

I'm making progress on my doctor avoidance, after my husband practically made me see a foot doctor for a problem I thought stemmed from running, but what do I know. Instead, the doctor told me I was the unlucky recipient of feet with no arches, and to stop wearing heels...stat. 'Save em for weddings, funerals and date night.' Well worth the co-pay, right? Hey doc, those inserts you gave me don't exactly fit into cute flip-flops around the pool. Then there's the cortisone shot I got in the ankle, a fabulous reminder of why I don't jump at the chance to sit in waiting rooms and read magazines from 2008.

But, I'm trying.

a big fat thank-you

Thank you to everyone who sent birthday wishes my way. Friends and family and listeners who tune in every morning have been more than kind, and I couldn't be more appreciative.

I'm ok with getting older.

37 doesn't seem any different than the day I turned 30, minus the gray hairs I now pluck while waiting at a stoplight. Some people don't like birthdays, but what's another year? The age never bothers me, maybe in part because I've realized over the past few years what is important in life.

Certainly not the little things.

Instead, my kids, husband, family, and friends are the reasons I smile. Being together, in good times and bad, making memories while knowing these times may not last forever, that's what makes life good. So we make the most of our days, and try our best to take it all in.

My dad once told me 'You are the company you keep.' And I think I'm surrounded by some good ones. So thank you.

A big fat thank-you, at that.

a couple of J's stop by

A quick reminder...

Jason Aldean and Jack Ingram join us on the show this week! Jack's chat will be his effort to break the Guinness record for the most interviews by an artist in 24 hours.

Stay tuned...

sleep-deprived or easily distracted

This is guaranteed to put a kink in your day.

I ran to Kroger last night to buy a gallon of milk following an evening with the girls. Fast-forward to this morning. I'm here at work, and just got a call from my husband who asked, 'Didn't you go get milk last night?' Sure did, but for some reason he couldn't find it.

It's still in my car.

Reba cliff notes

Reba was our guest today...here's what we learned:

She loves to twitter, and makes a point of doing so about four times a day. She twittered about our interview after it ended.

Reba's son recently moved to college, without Reba's help. She told us her momma didn't move her in, and she didn't move her son, nor did she help him pack.

Reba thinks Blake Shelton is 'hysterical,' and would love to see him get his own talk show. 'But not on primetime,' she joked.

Reba may know something we don't, saying that every act needs to 'reinvent themselves' when we asked for her thoughts on Brooks and Dunn calling it quits.

She told us it's hard to sing early in the morning when she performs for shows like Today or Good Morning America. But she won't skip breakfast.

We told her she's pretty down to earth, and she responded with what her sister tells others, 'Reba's just like the rest of us, just sings better.'

She's got that right.

port-o-pottys & hairless legs

Fun times during our broadcast prior to the Oak Ridge Boys concert at the Indiana State Fair.

Kevin was out sick, but my 4-year-old joined us. Some highlights:

Jim's hairless legs, or partially hairless. It stops mid-calf or so and he isn't sure why. Socks, maybe?

My mother, who apparently has no fear of security, walking ON STAGE to look for me an hour before the show. Even better? No one stopped her.

Four-year-old Hayden using the port-o-potty and yelling from inside the door, 'Where's the FLUSHER?'

Same child, saying to me as he opened the portable bathroom's door, 'Let's get out of here.' I asked him if it's because the storm was about to hit, and he replied 'No, it stinks in there.'

Hayden asking Jim if a tornado was coming, and weather-geek Jim responding, 'Well, it is favorable, but don't worry about tornadic activity, because it's certainly not imminent...blah blah blah.' Hayden stared Jim down with a look of complete disinterest. (Note to Jim: He's FOUR.)

Asking a vendor for a hotdog on a stick, not to be confused with a corndog, while explaining that my son doesn't like the breading. Then hearing Hayden tell Jim, 'Look at my weenie!' Oh boy.

After tossing a football with Jim backstage, Hayden ended the night by asking my co-host, 'Can you come over to my house and play?'

Reba stops by this week

Reba joins us on the show, Thursday!

Tune in for our visit, as we talk to Reba about her years in the business, clothing line, and thoughts on the split of her good pals Brooks and Dunn.

And we'll play the Um game with the most famous redhead in country music!

to the anonymous commenter

Here's the deal.

I was discussing what was seen, or NOT seen, behind the scenes, at the Keith Urban show.

After much speculation on whether Keith's famous wife, Nicole Kidman, would be at the show, I mentioned that we did NOT spot the Oscar winner backstage.

No Nicole sightings. In fact, I said she probably wasn't there unless she had a sudden hankering 'for a corn dog or was visiting the swine barn' while we were broadcasting. In other words, it was highly unlikely that a celeb of her status would be partaking in these common fair practices. Not that she shouldn't, but the chaos from others wanting to snap a photo would probably keep Nicole off the Tilt-A-Whirl.

That swine barn comment wasn't meant to be crude, as you stated. Or insulting. Or vicious. You see, it's what people do at the fair.

In fact, Greg and I took the boys to the fair last night and guess what? We ourselves made a visit to the swine barn, and took this very picture.

And that's the story.

Keith's bodyguard earns his pay

Here's a quick recap of the Keith Urban show, or at least what you didn't see on stage.

Keith was not wearing toenail polish, as promised.

Keith's bodyguard did a good job of blocking his view as he left the meet and greet and headed back to the bus. That's Keith just two people to the left of the chick rocking the green skirt.

Keith's wife, Nicole Kidman, was NOT spotted at the fair, unless she made a break for a corn dog or a visit to the swine barn.

Highly unlikely.

Opening act Jason Aldean, on the other hand, wore army shorts to sign autographs prior to his show, before changing into his trademark tight jeans.

Jason is the guy who recently admitted to us that he probably hasn't brushed his hair in at least ten years, not to be confused with washing. That, he has done.

After a busy day prior to the show, I found myself painting my toes in the parking lot of the fairgrounds. (Pink, not Keith Urban black.) There's nothing like the smell of acetone and manure all at the same time. Definitely a first for me...and let's hear it for multi-tasking.

Fun times.

5 new favorite things

I sometimes find myself asking out loud, 'Where've you been all my life?'

Kinda like a new friend you bond with who GETS that sometimes you just want to order dessert all for yourself and NOT split it, I've discovered an appreciation for some new favorites. Some aren't necessarily new things, but for whatever reason, I just caught on.

Now I can't get enough.

It's like finding jeans in your size, and wanting to buy 8 pair in the possible chance that you'll never again have dressing room success. So in no particular order, here are my new faves:

Baseball. America's favorite pasttime, so it's not like I just discovered that the sport exists, however I've grown to love it. I played softball when I was younger, so I've liked it enough. But, now I love it. We've had a summer of baseball, family baseball games in the backyard, many trips to the Indians games, and even a daytrip to the Cincinnati Reds. Fun times.

Cake Boss. The TLC show that follows a bakery dealing with stressful moments, dropped cakes, and mishaps. I love to bake but this takes it to a whole new level. I no longer dread Mondays. Even Greg is hooked.

The bread pudding at Kelties restaurant, in Westfield. Went there with a girlfriend recently, and went back with my mother...just for the dessert. It's that good.

My husband's visors. If he wears a hat, it's usually a baseball hat. But it was a summer of visors, and I think he looks super cute.

Watching Greg and Hayden give each other a kiss. My four-year-old came up with this a couple of months ago, starting with a big pucker, and backing way up for a running start. Usually by the time they reach each other, they're both giggling and have to start over. And over. And over again.

And that's five.

things that matter to a 4-yr-old

The morning show worked a pledge drive on local tv last night, and my sons told me they planned to tune in.

I arrived home late, only to find my 4-year-old still awake, chatting me up as I made my way into my closet to get ready for bed. The conversation was an interesting one:

Hayden: Saw you on tv, Mom.

Me: You did! So, what'd you think?

Hayden: I liked it. And Mom? Does Kevin have a mustache now? I didn't think he had a mustache.

Me: Sort of. It's called a goatee. It's a mustache plus hair on his chin. Pretty cool, huh?

Hayden: Yeah. And Jim? He has a beard.

Me: Yep, Jim has a beard.

Hayden: Well, I don't want a beard when I'm older.

Me: Then you have to shave like Daddy.

Hayden: And Mom, how old is Kevin?

Me: He's 46.

Hayden: 46? What about Jim, how old is he?

Me: Ummm, 52.

Hayden: Oh. So is 52 older than 46?

Me: Yes, 52 is older than 46. So, Jim is the oldest on the show.

Hayden: Oh, so that means Jim's in charge?

Me: In charge of what?

Hayden: In charge of your work stuff. You know, the boss.

Me: No, no, Jim's not in charge.

Hayden: Well, then who is? Are you in charge, Mom?

Me: Yep. You're right, Hayden. I'm in charge. (Laughing at my own joke.)

Hayden: (Running out of the closet) Yayyyyyy, Mommy's the boss!

It's the small things in life.

they would make great salesmen

One more minute?

That's the popular phrase in my home, spoken by two boys who are constantly trying to 'buy' more time for whatever activity going on at the moment. It could be playtime with neighbors in our backyard, watching tv, the Wii, or if it's our youngest, time in the bathtub.

He loves to line up his army men on the side of the tub, prolonging the actual use of soap and water, the entire reason he's in the tub in the first place. And so it's always the same routine, me telling Hayden it's about time to wash and get out, and Hayden asking the usual, 'One more minute?'

I could give him ten minutes, but he still wants one more.

Last night, same story, so I told my little blue-eyed negotiator that he had two minutes, hey, I was feeling generous, but expected no arguments. Not realizing it, Greg walked in and said, 'Five minutes, buddy.'

Hayden immediately went into protest mode, and here's the rest of that discussion:

Hayden: No, Dad, Mom me told I had...(then abruptly got quiet)

Greg: Mom told you WHAT?

Hayden: Ummmmmm, never mind.

how we spend our free time

Dierks needs new underwear

'Whatever you do, put on clean underwear.'

Good advice from your momma, and Dierks Bentley apparently listens. He told us backstage at Verizon Wireless Music Center that he spent his afternoon before the show shopping for new underwear, socks, and a stage shirt at JCPennys, not far from the venue.

Gotta love that.

Never shy, he later announced his clean underwear news to the crowd while performing. Other things we learned from Dierks during our chat in the green room?

His baby girl is the light of his life, and he proudly showed us a photo that was the screensaver on his smartphone.

He likes to take his green jeep around to visit tailgaters before the show, but they often don't realize it's him until he's about to take off.

He says he didn't perform a good show if he doesn't leave the stage wearing a sweat-drenched t-shirt.

He was bummed that twitter was down earlier in the day.

Dierks says he doesn't bring home mementos for his daughter while on the road, though he should. We suggested saving his sweaty t-shirts, which struck him as funny.

He's gone as long as four weeks between seeing his wife and baby, but tries to keep the distance to around four days.

He can easily go shopping without being noticed, as was the case when he purchased some new skivvies.

A big thanks to Dierks, who was humble and friendly, and happily posed for the photo above that we posted on twitter.

It's been a long 365 days

August 7th.

One year ago today, my father passed away.

A long year, yet I'm grateful for the way my family has stuck together. The one-year mark brings mixed emotions regarding the signficance of the date. It's the day I lost my dad, yet thankfully it's the end of the 'firsts,' those dreaded occasions we endured without him for the very first time. Many people told us the first year would be the hardest, and they were right. Our family still gathered, celebrated, recognized achievements, and blew out candles, but it wasn't the same. There is a missing link. It's like doing a puzzle that you can't complete, or building a tower and removing the block in the middle.

I look forward to ending what seemed like an impossible year, a year where I viewed life as before and after. The date has been etched in my brain, as in...'that was before dad died, that happened after,' and when I see August 6th on an old receipt, I can't help but think, 'That was when Dad was still here.' Maybe one day I won't do that, until then I've just grown accustomed to it, kinda like I've grown used to instant flashbacks of Dad each time I hear a certain Tim McGraw song on the radio.

It's certainly been a year of growing, questioning, wondering, reminiscing, and remembering, and with that, I wrote the following list:

I Remember

Your flat feet

Combing what little hair you had to the side with your fingers

Your call to say that Anderson got a Starbucks

Your walk to Dairy Queen for lunch, yet leaving with an ice cream

I Remember

Your special recipe for Cheeseball

Your love for tiny glass bottles of Coke

How you never looked at the buttons when using a calculator

When you stated your first and last name to answer your phone

I Remember

Those trendy brown Skechers

The way your eyes danced when we were all together

The Tootsie Rolls in your pocket

Countless games of Trivial Pursuit

I Remember

The phone call that morning

Holding my sister's hand on the way to the hospital

The world standing still

Yet somehow turning the following day. I Remember.

Remembering you always, Dad...and hoping for new beginnings.

the dreaded school supply list

It's that time of year again.

Back to school, which means that annual trip to the store for school supplies that never fail to include the most random things. The list is a far cry from the rubber cement and number-two pencils we used to show up with on the first day of school.

I sometimes think the joke's on us, that schools toy with parents by asking for items that either don't exist or send us on wild goose hunts throughout the city. After all, when did school supply shopping require a visit to three separate stores?

And so was the case in our household, as I embarked on a shopping mission to prepare my son for 3rd grade, armed with list in hand. At first it seemed easy enough. Pencils? Check. Elmer's washable glue? Check. Index cards? Check.

Then came the specifics.

A ruler? Check. A plastic ruler? Oh, better put the wooden one in my cart back. A plastic ruler? Check. A plastic ruler with holes in the center? Back to aisle 10. And the same goes for the dry-erase markers. Check. Dry-erase markers in black? Dry-erase markers in black with a chisel tip? Dry-erase makers in black with a chisel tip and 3 per package? My hair was turning gray with each item I crossed off the list, as it took me longer to buy school supplies than it does to make pottery. Tissues, anyone? Of course, our kids get the sniffles during school hours, but now they have to be unscented, hypo-allergenic, and 100 per box. Storage bags? Those rank up there with glue sticks these days, but they need to be quart-size, zipper-sealed, and 15 per box, requiring me to spend waaaaaaay too much time in the trash bag aisle.

I kept thinking I would receive some sort of prize once my final item was crossed off, kinda like a scavenger hunt for adults. I had to laugh as I exchanged glances with other moms and dads who looked just as puzzled, translation...frustrated, as I did, yet I was willing to knock them out of the way when they reached for the last one-subject wide-ruled, 70-count notebook, in the required blue and red.

Hey, a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do.

All this, and I'm still not done. 'The list' asks that we send our bright-eyed student with a pencil box, with a lid, clear of course, but requires the oddest-shape that no one seems to carry. Probably doesn't even exist, just a guess by the look of the Office Max guy that I begged, I mean, asked for help.

These are the things that drive me crazy.

I'll hold the steak

Billy Currington's injury from his show over the weekend in Canada, where the stage collapsed. Sadly, a fan at the show died.

Doctors orders will keep Billy from performing at the Indiana State Fair tomorrow, but we wish him the best.

can you come out and play?

Playdates.

We all make them for our kids, or get invites in return. No new concept there. Just a scheduled time for kids to get together. Yet, it didn't used to always be that way.

Remember the days when you just showed up and rang your friend's doorbell?

That's what we do in our neighborhood, which surprised my younger sister when she was over about a week ago. She seemed surprised by the constant chimes of the doorbell, where we would be greeted by various faces sprinkled with freckles requesting if one of my kids could play. 'That seems odd to me,' she said, 'I figured everyone schedules official playdates now and days.' Not the case, though it would be nice, since the boys run like a pack of wild beasts everytime they hear the door, inevitably screaming 'Who is it? Who is it?'

Those questions are usually followed by disappointing groans when they realize it's the lawn guy who arrived to do his monthly treatment.

During a recent visit from Hayden's favorite buddy, Tommy, I answered the door and Tommy asked the usual, 'Can Hayden play?' I told him yes and turned to inform Hayden, who was in our basement, that he had a visitor. Tommy came in, but waited at the front door. Here's a recap:

Me: Hayden, you have a visitor.

Hayden: Ok...who is it?

Me: Tommy.

Tommy: Yes?

Me: Oh, nothing, Hayden was asking who is here.

Hayden: (Playing a video game) Mom, who IS it?

Me: Tommmmmmy.

Tommy: Yes, I'm right here.

Me: I know you are, honey...but Hayden was asking something.

Hayden: Mom, you didn't answer me!

Me: I am answering, buddy...I said, 'TOMMY.'

Tommy: Yes? I didn't go anywhere.

And you get the point. Short of beating my head against the staircase banister, I wasn't going to find an end to this conversation, so I led Tommy down the stairs.

Come to think of it, scheduled playdates aren't such a bad idea.

fun with the first lady

A big thanks to Indiana's First Lady, Cheri Daniels, who joined us on the show today.

She's always fun to chat with, and you'll notice the guys wore their best button-down shirts to impress. They were almost giddy, which never goes unnoticed.

We love that Mrs. Daniels isn't afraid to laugh at herself, or Governor Daniels, whom she says got a little careless with the salt when he had friends over for dinner (she wisely dined out), and whom she says is not a big fan of fast-food drive-thrus.

As for herself?

Don't ask her about her gig in a hot-air balloon, during last year's Indiana State Fair. Not pleasant, and she is quick to remind you of the giant flames just inches from her 'very flammable' hair.

We gave the First Lady our private phone line, and hope she calls from time to time. (And no, Jim, she isn't calling for you.)

Thanks, Cheri!

they've got it bad

I guess it stands to reason that if I'm obsessed with Starbucks, then my boys are obsessed with baseball.

Really obsessed.

So much so that during our 'family baseball games' in the backyard, we now begin them by standing around a miniture American flag that my four-year-old stuck in the mulch while singing the National Anthem. Hey, it's the little things. The kid has memorized every detail of the game, including driving his motorized Gator tractor up and down the back yard to 'prepare the field.'

Their obsession led us to a Cincinnati Reds game over the weekend, where they handed free jerseys to the first 10,000 kids inside the gates. Despite leaving early, we found ourselves stuck in traffic just outside the stadium, and I worried that we wouldn't get that jersey I had my kids dreaming of the night before.

So, Momma was on a mission.

I told Greg to go on and park the car, grabbed the boys hands, and we ditched the vehicle at a stoplight, dodging traffic and making a beeline for the gates, knowing full well that we did not come all this way to be the 10,001 fan to walk through the turnstile.

We made it.

Translation...trip to the gift shop AVOIDED.

It was a fun time, the stuff memories are made of, and with that, here's my top 10 list of things overheard at the ballpark:

4-year-old: 'Why is there a girl mascot? Ewwww...I do NOT like girl mascots.'

Husband during the Kiss the Cam feature: 'If it lands on us, I'm totally sticking my finger in my nose.'

4-year-old: 'Mom, why is the pitcher a girl? Me: It's a man, Hayden. He has long hair. Hayden: Oh.'

Oldest son, chanting: 'We need a pitcher! Youngest: Not a broken ladder!' (A little confused, obviously.)

4-year-old's response when I asked him about his favorite part of the day: 'Singing the National Phantom.'

4-year-old: 'Mom, I decided I don't wanna be a trash man for Halloween. I wanna be a baseball player instead.'

8-year-old, after seeing Greg lean over to kiss me: 'Dad, that's disgusting.'

8-year-old, leaving the ballpark: 'That was the best day, EVER.'

Walking back to the car, a man asking us if the Reds won. (They lost.) Once he heard the news, he shouted ***k, in front of our kids, no less. I told the kids to keep moving and not to use that language. That only prompted my 4-year-old to ask over and over for the next five minutes what bad word I was upset about. 'Stupid? Did he say that? Shut up? What was the word, Mom?' I should have kept my mouth shut.

And finally, my favorite. Once home, I ran to the grocery with Hayden. Leaving the store, I heard 'I love you Mom...a whole lot,' from the back seat. I reached for his hand and he grabbed mine, when I realized he was still wearing his Reds batting glove.

Batter up.