Ever done...THIS?

We think we've lost our minds.

But, who hasn't, right? That, or maybe we're just figuring out something most of you have already assumed about my family for some time now.

We've lost it.

Here's the short version: Said family was set to head downtown to High Velocity inside the new JW Marriott for a WFMS pre-party prior to the Colts game. Said family's husband was running errands, and rather than come all the way home, he suggested we meet somewhere half-way and drop off his car, so said family could ride in one vehicle. Said husband's wife agreed this was a reasonable, though they aren't always, idea. Following the party, said family buckles up for a safe ride home, commenting on how A)tired they are B)the onion rings rocked and C)they shouldn't have eaten the onion rings. Said family's home, a good 35 minutes from downtown Indy, is a welcome sight to two tired and cranky boys who needed to be tucked in to bed, well, yesterday.

That's when said family realized they forgot to pick up said husband's car where they had parked it 3 hours earlier. And there they sat, mouths open, staring at an empty garage.

Said family agreed they are dorks.

And so it goes.

why I dread bedtime routines

Well, here I am.

Sadly, I couldn't recall my password when I tried to log in to my blog, it's been that long since I've written. Rather than go in to some Charlie Sheen rant about why I haven't had time to write, I'll just say life has been full of hurdles.

As I tucked my youngest in to bed last night, I made a mental note to share one of the many conversations in my home that make me smile. And sometimes bang my head against a wall, but mostly smile.

I'm talking about bedtime routines.

Most kids need them, we have them, but ironically, I hate them. It's usually a struggle to get the kids in bed during what I consider to be a reasonable hour. Last night was no different. Something always delays the process. And while there are many things I love about my 6-year-old, like his Elvis impersonations, his Beatles t-shirt, and how he tries to be helpful by collecting the mail, only to drop random pieces all the way up the drive, he is also very stubborn.

That trait makes picking out his school clothes during bedtime routine a bit challenging. I blame athletic clothing for that, since Hayden believes they should be part of his school uniform every day. And, for the record, he's not fond of budging on this policy. I would like his teacher to think he spends at least an occasional day OFF of a basketball court. So, there we were last night, with his refusal to wear anything that doesn't make him look like an NBA or NFL star making the unpopular bedtime routine a dreaded task.

Me: Hayden, you don't have gym tomorrow, so we are wearing khaki shorts.

Hayden: No, Mom. Athletic!

Me: C'mon, buddy...just one day...you wore them over the summer. You can wear these, Choice A, or these, Choice B. They are just a bit different. Your call.

Hayden: Hmmmm...

Me: One more time, Choice A with the cool pockets, or these, Choice B, the darker ones.

Hayden: Ummm...I'll pick...Choice C...ATHLETIC.

Night, Mom.

I'm doing okay, really

No need to order flowers.

Save those condolence cards. I'm doing just fine.

I say that because my clever little 6-year-old who will one day be voted 'Most likely to say something unlikely' told some classmates last week that his mom, well, kicked the bucket.

Not just died, but died THAT MORNING. How impressive that he still managed to show up for class. That's my boy, always thinking of his education.

Unfortunately, his attempt at some not-so-funny humor resulted in a couple of girls going home and telling their parents, who then called the teacher with worry and condolences. Hayden told on himself, only to warn me that his teacher would be calling me to discuss it, and the phone rang before he finished his sentence. My first phone call of the year.

Hey, we didn't want to end the school year without some fanfare. I mean, no phone call all year long? Boooooooooring.

When I explained that we won't be falsifying family deaths anytime soon, translation...ever again, Hayden apologized and tried glossing over the situation by saying with a grin, 'But, didn't you break your arm while roller-skating as a kid?'

That, I did. And by the way, you're grounded.

blame it on the salad dressing

Girl time.

Should be a national holiday if you ask me. Girl time is a necessity, a dose of sanity that doesn’t come in a pill bottle. If you’re a guy who is reading this, you may not understand, but keep reading. It will benefit you to know why we women get together over a glass of wine and talk for hours, sometimes about you, but not always. We also contemplate why haircuts cost so much, why we didn’t come up with the Skinny Girl Margarita ourselves, and how to lose the muffin top without actually doing a single sit-up.

So far, we've yet to solve the latter.

Today, I met my longtime high school friend for lunch at a restaurant near her office. It was a belated birthday for her, and we both, dangit, ordered salads while secretly hoping the other would be the first to order a steak. Never happened. So, a bowl of lettuce it was, and not a single scrap of cheese. Not sure about you, but the idea of fat-free honey mustard didn’t have me doing cart-wheels. It’s kinda like eating cake without the icing. Or pasta without the sauce. So, I kindly asked for a different dressing, and my friend did the same. No big deal. No weird requests to have our sunflower seeds sprinkled on only half the salad, or the seeds removed from our cherry tomatoes.

Long awkward pause.

Mr. Waiter had no expression on his face whatsoever, so he was either A) Confused B) Mesmerized by our beauty or C) not in the mood for two salad-eating chicks who make changes to their order, so I smiled and tried some humor, stating ’We’re high-maintenance, huh?’ And you know what?

He agreed.

cousins: pure awesomeness

Not sure how it is in your family, but in mine, we like each other.

We even enjoy spending time together, rather than dreading occasional visits and hoping our relatives lose our contact information. Both of my sisters have kids, and a mere mention to my boys that we will be seeing their cousins is similar to handing them four giant-sized Hershey bars. They have a good time together, and we can easily not hear from them for hours when they disappear upstairs to 'hang.' That's code for 'whatever they do when they get together and we don't hear from them for hours.'

After our usual Mother's Day celebration Sunday with the extended fam, it was time to call it a day and head home to tackle homework, mow perfectly straight lines in the lawn, and tuck two worn-out boys in bed.

Except they didn't want to leave.

They love their cousins. Likewise, their cousins think they're pretty cool. So they huddled together and playfully refused to separate, and I captured the moment with my camera. They eventually formed a kickline and giggled as my sister and I watched with grins on our faces.

Here's to cousins. And to the hope that they will always have each other's back.

Note: We missed 3-year-old Jackson, my nephew, in these photos. Little guy left to take a nap.

a chat with a future comedian

Him: Hey Mom, this 2nd-grade girl at school was totally checking me out today.

Me: Oh yeah? How do you know?

Him: Mom. Really? She was doing this _______. (Insert a 6-year-old's imitation of a girl making googly eyes.)

Me: I see.

Him: It was on the playground. So, I hung upside down on the monkey bars for another minute just so she could get a longer look.

Me: Smart move.

Him: Lookin' good for the ladies!

Me: (Trying to contain my laughter) Hayden, I don't know where you get it.

Him: (As he runs off) I'm tellin' you, Mom. I am sooooooo gettin' a girlfriend.

Clearly, I'm in trouble.

loving their dad

There's nothing more satisfying than seeing your children interact with their father.

It's the same as being entertained at a movie theatre, minus the sticky floors and rear-widening buttery popcorn. I love to observe from afar, like a fly on the wall that goes unnoticed. To them, they are just being. Boys being boys. Wrestling. Secret handshakes. And huge claps of noisiness.

It makes my heart grin.

Like when my husband jokingly grabs our youngest son's muscular thighs, saying 'I'm gonna get those hams. Gimme those hams!' And our son breaks out into laughter so genuine that he has to catch his breath and I can't help but laugh as well.

Or the secret trips to McDonald's drive-thru for a McFlurry after lacrosse practice, where my oldest son is told by his father with a grin, 'This is our little secret. Don't tell Mom.' And every time, I'm told.

Or the time Greg returned home from work and sat on the couch, only to be met by a bouncing 6-year-old, who sprang into his father's lap and squealed, 'It's snuggle time!'

Or last week, when I mentioned to our youngest that his father had a surprise for him, and he told me, 'I'll bet he wants to snuggle with me at bedtime. I just know it!' And to him, time with dad beat any store-bought gift that ever existed.

I love that.

I love that they will remember these moments years from now, as they raise their own miniature versions of themselves. Just like I remember my dad, the Necco wafers, footrubs for a pack of grape Bubble Yum, and 'Debber-Doo' nickname that still echoes in my mind.

All forever etched in my heart.

it's how we roll

Shouldn't we all wear this to get donuts?

9 things that bug me...well, make it 10

We all have things that drive us nuts. Pet peeves. Annoying habits observed from afar. Occurences that leave you unsettled. Just enough to cause you to roll your eyes, or perhaps make the day's lunch slightly rumble in your stomach. Here's some that made the list:

Public dental hygiene. Seeing the person next to me at the stoplight flossing on my way to grab a starbucks wasn't too appetizing. Same can be said for the Target employee brushing her teeth in the women's restroom.

My interest in the Real Housewives series. Sadly, I'm ashamed to say I'm a fan, yet I don't know why. Maybe it's disbelief that people live the way they do, or that they manage to cry in every episode. Yet, I watch. Every. Week.

Buying a new SUV for the very purpose of a DVD entertainment system for our trip to Florida, only to lose the remote. We're the family who turned around once we reached 465 to go home and unpack the car, only to never find said remote. It was, in a nutshell, a looooooong trip.

Telemarketers. So much for a No-Call List, cause let me tell you...They Call. Sometimes more than once in the same day, and always when I'm trying to sleep. Which means I don't.

When my husband puts me on his cellphone speaker, doesn't tell me, then pulls thru a drive-thru. Turns out, the girl at the window heard our entire conversation. And she confirmed it when I didn't believe him.

The smell of broccoli. Yet, I love the taste. So, serve me up a big bowl of the healthy green stuff, say...when I'm plagued with a sinus infection.

Dressing rooms. More specifically, the unflattering light and the depressed feeling when you leave the store. Nothing that a buttery pretzel at a mall kiosk can't repair.

Box fans. Or rather, my husband's need to place one in the path of the bathroom door at night. I've kicked it twice last week while leaving for work, which left me muttering a few choice words as I hurried down the stairs.

Places that only take cash. I hardly ever carry it, thanks to the convenience of the handy ol' debit card. Plus, it's 2011. Join the rest of us.

And finally, bathtubs. More specifically, my husband IN one. Not kidding, the man could live in there and never get out, never once phased by the shriveled-finger look. And when the water gets cold, he adds more hot. Luckily, he gets hungry every now and then.

And that's nine, er, ten.

it's the best medicine

We like to laugh in my family.

The usual stuff...the boys pulling their shorts up over their chest and walking past our windows, my husband doing the Curley Shuffle, or the time I sported the nerdy teeth and spoke with a Southern accent, it's all been done. (By the way, the neighbor kids have requested that one time and again.) I have funny kids, and I like that about them.

Of course, it's safe to say every mom thinks their offspring will one day end up on stage or in the movies, and I'm no different. And I would almost bet money on that prediction when it comes to my 6-year-old. He's more than funny in a silly way, he has impeccable timing with his one-liners and just when you think he's done, here he comes with another one. Which brings us to Saturday, when he began to change his clothes in front of me:

Me: Buddy, you need to change in your room...it's not appropriate for me to see your privates.

Him: Why NOT? You already know what they look like.

Me: Hayden!

Him: Not only that, but I've seen your boobs.

you never have to wonder

Anyone who knows my 6-year-old gets that he's honest. Some might call it frank.

No beating around the bush. If he thinks it, he says it. And these days, I find it refreshing. Except for that one time at the doctor's office when I wasn't sure how to respond to the woman he addressed while sitting in the waiting room. That was certainly a quick exit. Let's just say I won't be asking my little guy if I look fat in my jeans any time soon.

So last night, he quickly shared some unsolicited observations while watching American Idol:

Him: Mom, you know that girl judge in the middle?

Me: Yeah, Jennifer Lopez?

Him: Yeah, her. She wears too much lipstick. Waaaaay too much. I don't like it.

Me: Okay. I can see that.

Him: And you know the guy judge next to her with the long hair?

Me: Yes, Steven Tyler.

Him: That shirt he's wearing...

Me: Yes?

Him: ...makes him look like a girl.

new job jitters

I stopped to pick up a salad yesterday.

It was one of those places where you're shuffled through like 4th graders in a school cafeteria, except I was choosing sunflower seeds and edamame instead of chocolate pudding and tater tots. A place where you feel all kinds of pressure to figure out what you want in a microsecond as to not hold up the people behind you. No chance of being able to ask for a brief moment to scan the choices offered, or you risk being the cause of inevitable eye-rolling or exhales of annoyance.

So, I blurted out my choices and noticed I was STILL the cause of an abrupt line stoppage. I wasn't particulary choosy and couldn't figure out the problemo...until the guy behind the counter announced, 'Sorry for the delay...it's my first day on the job.'

Poor guy.

He was stressed and worried and in a nutshell, freaking out. He could see the line getting longer and was trying to follow a salad guide and searching for edamame while wondering what the heck edamame looks like in the first place and questioning if the salad comes with two scoops of chicken or one, and who orders asian soy dressing?

I felt for him because we've all had first day jitters.

I called myself Deborah 'Honeynut' during my first on-air break 17 years ago, and hoped no one would A) Notice B) Mention it or C) Notice, and all in that order. Yet, we get through the moments of panic and find ways to laugh at ourselves. Not sure salad-guy was laughing yesterday, as he frantically worked among buckets of croutons and candied pecans with secret hopes that his boss would run out of lettuce.

The guy eventually figured it out, (with no help from Pedro, his co-worker), and apologized for my nearly 10-minute wait. The entire scenario was so pitiful that I told him I didn't mind, and a half-hearted smile appeared on his face.

Here's wishing salad-guy well.

loving what you do

How many of us do what we love?

I do. An honest statement. I truly love radio, who I work with, being creative, and the satisfaction it brings each day. (Minus the hours.) And I love other things.

I love writing.

And somehow, five weeks of life have passed between this post and my last one, though I used to make time to write once a day. Maybe one day I will share why it seems I can't find the time to even power on my laptop. It's not because I lost my power cord, which eventually surfaced. I realized just how much I've missed putting my thoughts on 'paper' when I came across this poem last week. It read:

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, trying to be the best. You only have to let your being love what it loves.

And I love to write.

About observations. Life's quirks. And kids' innocent views of this complex world in which we live.

I love it when my son asks me if he's allergic to his bed because he only coughs at night, or how when my youngest exits the bathroom, he'll announce, 'I wouldn't go in there for five days.'

Or how dressing in the dark can result in wearing two different-colored socks to work, which happened to me this morning, but so far no one's noticed.

We all should carve out time to do what we love, whether it is ordering dessert or dancing when no one's watching. Or even when they are.

Do what you love.

an actual dinner conversation

Me: Hayden, tell me your favorite part of your day?

My 6-year-old: Oh, probably coming home and seeing my family.

Me: That's awfully nice of you to say.

Him: Yep.

Me: And did anything happen that you DIDN'T like?

Him: Not really.

Me: Even better.

Him: Yeah. That's what I said, Clark.

Me: Who is Clark?

Him: Can I be done now?

Me: Ummm, yes...you're excused.

Him: Yes! Hayden. Gone. I'm out. Peace.

*Note: I need a translator.

sort of unsettling but true

You know how it is.

You get married, have kids, and before long, babytalk takes over and nothing gets accomplished unless its's animated or stained with formula that smells so badly, you can't believe you feed it to a child. Even worse, YOUR child, the one you hope to morph into a productive citizen one day. Or at least somebody rich, so you can retire early and catch up on all those tivo'd Real Housewives episodes you never have time to watch, but somehow make you feel normal when you do.

And so I've found myself with the upside that we have a babysitter coming to our home tomorrow to do anything BUT sit with the boys. Who coined that phrase, anyway? (She's the world's best babysitter, whom I feel uber lucky to have discovered.) And with the upside, I've also run into a dilemma. Maybe it's more of a realization of just how pathetic Greg and I have become in one area of our lives: We haven't seen a movie without the kids in for, well...um...ever.

Or at least long enough that I can't remember catching a flick at the theatre without the boys in tow. Without leaving during a good part to take them to the restroom, or sitting in the front row because its fun for children, blinding for adults. I really can't. It's safe to say it's been years. Way too long, in my opinion. I'm sure we were taking the advice of Dr. Phil along the way, and purposely didn't go to a show on datenight so we could chat uninterrupted. But, years? You'd think I was talking about something really detestable, like a spinach-eating contest or a paper cut convention.

So, I'm excited.

People ask me what my plans are for the weekend, and my response is slightly giddy, and they're all like, 'Really? It's a...movie.' While I'm living on the edge, I just might get butter on my popcorn, or eat the whole box of Junior Mints. (Do they still sell those?)

I'm crazy like that.

ever wish you could take it back?

we learn something new every day

Greg and I have been married 11 years.

And for all of those eleven years, my favorite meal in our home has been taco night. I love tacos. Taco night was my favorite dinner as a child growing up, and the meal I still request for birthdays.

So last night, I did what I always do.

Thawed the meat.

Grabbed the shredded cheese, lettuce & tomatoes.

Browned the taco shells.

And like usual, the boys ate everything but their tacos, claiming they weren't 'all that hungry.' As history repeated itself, Greg ate his dinner, but didn't ask for seconds. And somehow I found myself asking if Greg had enough, and the smile that he forced told me everything.

He didn't like tacos.

How did I miss that? More importantly, how did I miss it for eleven years? E-lev-en. That's a lot of taco nights in this home. In Greg's defense, he tried to soften the blow with these words: 'It's just not my favorite.' And then he smiled with hesitation as if to say, 'Please don't be mad.'

Taco Bell, here I come.

one of these days I'll get it

A big thanks to my neighbor who gave the boys a snack after school while I attended a meeting.

Upon picking them up, they grabbed their backpacks and headed to my car, parked in the neighbor's drive, for the long and exhausting trip home...two houses down. Yet, they didn't hop in.

Me: C'mon guys...get in.

Griffin: That's okay, I'll walk.

Me: Are you sure? You don't have to.

Hayden: Yeah, I'll walk, too.

Me: Okay, whatever you wanna do.

Griffin: I mean, we're MEN, Mom. DUH.

the perfect timing of a 6-year-old

It's a new year.

New things to do, new friends to see, and new memories to make.

Funny how with each new endeavor, thoughts of my father return and I wish he was here to share it with me. To tell him about Greg's job that he loves, the kids shirtless wrestling matches, or that I found our cordless phone folded up in a blanket. And so as I watched Hayden dress in his Elvis costume, followed by a mini-performance in our living room, I wondered what Dad would have said about his grandson with the curled lip and gold sunglasses. Hayden noticed I was lost in his thought, and here's the rest:

Him: Mom, what...you're not watching!

Me: I was buddy...I just thinking about your Papaw.

Him: Yeah, I miss Papaw too. He was the best.

Me: You wanna see a photo of him? I keep it in my room. It's of me, Papaw Mike and Mamaw Charlotte on vacation.

Him: (Taking a glance) Ummm, what's up with Mamaw's hair? It looks weird.

And off he went.

weeks should start on tuesday

It's back to work today.

My first day of work in 2011 has not gone accordingly, and for no other reason than I expected it to. I'm out of sorts. Not on a routine. A bit discombobulated. And hey, how often do we get to use THAT word?

Here's the lowdown, in a nutshell, and keep in mind the day's not over:

I was awakened by one of my sons who simply couldn't sleep, about an hour before my alarm was set to blare, later arrived at work to find my keyboard and computer mouse locked up, so I scrambled to search news on my cellphone, noticed I was leaning to the left due to an uneven chair, grabbed my coffee in the drive-thru at Starbucks and was given a half-filled cup, though they certainly didn't charge me half the price, my resolution for the new year to no longer say the phrase 'Long story short' was broken during the first ten minutes of the show, as I caught myself repeating those very words to the guys, and despite the mental note at 10 pm to bring my cell phone charger to work, I forgot it.

Let's hear it for Tuesdays!

Courtesy of my 6-year-old

What every mother wants to hear: Mom, may I have a napkin, please?

What every mother doesn't: I have a booger on my finger.