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.