Pumpkins, Cider and...Ice Cream?

I love fall.

Today was a colder day, with the boys trading their T's and shorts for long sleeves and pants. So imagine our surprise when...

...the ice cream truck made its way down our street this evening.

Seemed a little odd. I can't figure this guy out. He drove by twice all summer long...yet, he comes on the last day of September.

And no, he doesn't look like the guy in the photo. Thank goodness.

Toby Keith News

This just in...

Toby Keith will be stopping by for a visit soon! Toby will hang with us in the studio for an hour. No word on when exactly...

...but I'll keep you posted.

That Reminds Me...

Ever have a smell remind you of something or someone?

That happened to me over the weekend. I came across one of Dad's cigar ashtrays that I gave him for Father's Day, with the butts still in it. Every time I take in the scent, it reminds me of him. I used to smell the cigars when I put my arms around Dad's neck, so I have become rather fond of them.

Not sure other scents bring back the same good memories. Such as...

-Obsession cologne. I'm sure it's a great cologne, but my ex used to wear it. Nice guy, of course, but still an ex. Enough said.

-Baby formula. I love, love, love my nephew, Jackson, who is five months old. However, feeding him over the weekend reminded me of some of my own late nights of no sleep.

-Final Net hairspray. Reminds me of my big hair days in the 90's. By the way, Final Net and swimming don't mix.

-That orange sawdust-looking stuff that janitors would use to clean up a classmate's lunch. A lunch that "didn't stay down," if you know what I'm sayin'.

-Finally, burnt hair. Every once in awhile, a few strands will get caught in my hairdryer. It's not pleasant. Think Michael Jackson, if you would.

Hope you enjoyed the trip down memory lane.

Did That Really Happen?

Griffin told me over the weekend that his 3-year-old brother told him to "shut up."

Obviously I was not pleased. I reprimanded Hayden for talking that way, saying it was not kind. Hayden was quick on his feet, saying...

"Mom, it was just a DREAM."

What Will Your Kids Remember?

Family traditions.

They were a big part of my childhood that carried over into my years as an adult. Trips to see the Lighting of the Tree every Thanksgiving at Monument Circle, building snowmen with my sisters, and helping Dad clear the driveway with my tiny red shovel, I remember it all.

That doesn't mean I don't remember the bad. Grounded from the biggest party of the year for a "D" on my report card, only to find out the teacher accidentally gave me someone else's grade. Or a haircut so short that the waiter asked my mother, "And what will HE have?" Yes, that really happened. I cried myself to sleep that night.

Greg and I try to create good memories for our own children. Like putting on our pajamas, then hopping in the car with our black lab and going thru the drive-thru for ice cream.

Or asking each of the boys to tell us their "favorite part of your day" when we tuck them in at night.

Or FRIDAY FAMILY NIGHT, when they get to watch movies and eat popcorn, then sleep in our bed. Crowded, yes, but a memory, no less.

That doesn't mean I don't ever lose my patience when they tattle, argue, and then tattle some more. It also doesn't mean I don't want to bang my head against a concrete wall when one asks for cake, and I say "not till after dinner," and they whine, "But, that's not fair" and cry some more.

Life isn't fair.

But, let's hope our kids grow up to be parents of their own little ones, and pass on the good times. Let's hope they remember the pj's and ice cream, and notes in their lunchboxes. The secret handshakes, butterfly kisses, and making cookies, while eating the dough.

I can only assume that I wanted cake before dinner as a child, and their kids will, too.

After all, life's not fair.

A Pain in the Neck

I'm in pain.

I woke up this morning and couldn't turn my head to the right. The right side of my neck is killing me. I told the guys here in the studio that I must have slept on it wrong.

Our producer told me he read somewhere that sleeping the "wrong way" is a myth.

Maybe it is. All I know is I am turning my entire body to look to my right. To make matters worse, only half of my hair looks like it got styled. I couldn't see the other side.

Sure made four-way stops fun driving in to work. Looking both ways was the equivalent of an ab workout.

Gotta love it.

Look Out!

I was reading today, and came across this question...

"What's the craziest thing that ever happened to you in school?"

I am an accident waiting to happen, so I have a million. Like the time I wore a cream suit to speech class on the morning of my presentation, only to slip on a mud puddle inside the entrance doors and do a faceplant. My teacher let me go home to change.

Or the time I dumped my lunch tray, retainer and all, in the trash...then spent my recess looking for it.

And my personal favorite, the time I couldn't get my locker open. It would open at the bottom, but got jammed at the top. Finally, a guy offered to give it a huge tug. Problem was, I didn't clear the way, and the locker opened, knocking me in the forehead. Down I went. My "friend" looked at me and said, "You're bleeding."

Dad rushed to the school and took me to the hospital. Before stitching me up, they asked how it happened. Imagine my embarrassment when I had to say,

"I got hit in the head by a locker."

Hey, it happens.

"Accident on Aisle 7"

Grocery carts.

In a nutshell, I can't stand them. They are trouble, for several reasons. My 3-year-old either won't sit in one, or I get one that squeaks and can be heard three aisles away, or I get one with a bad wheel.

The latter would be what happened at the store over the weekend.

When I say bad wheel, I mean I would push the cart forward, and one of the wheels would pull me to the right.

This was a problem for several reasons:

A) My cart would veer in a direction I didn't want it to, often ramming someone else's cart. "I'm sorry," I would say.

B) My cart would veer into the displays, knocking over boxes of Stove Top Stuffing, and narrowly missing a display of bottled wine. It's probably the first time I've ever yelled at a grocery cart.

C) The cart with the bad wheel ran over my big toe on my left foot, which resulted in gritted teeth and me talking to myself.

It hurt. Imagine slamming your hand in a cardoor, times five. THAT kind of pain.

Sure enough, the next day I removed my nail polish to repaint my toes, and was shocked to see my left big toenail was...

Black.

All because of a grocery cart with a bad wheel.

Saving Time?

Bedtime routines.

It's often a struggle when it comes time to get the kids to brush their teeth before we tuck them in.

Two nights ago, 3-year-old Hayden had been eating saltine crackers for a snack when I asked him to go brush. Surprisingly, he said okay. No argument. No asking for "five more minutes?" He just got up and walked to the other room.

I came in to the bathroom to assist, and he opened his mouth. Inside, I found a mouth full of toothpaste...

...and crackers.

He was still eating and brushing all at the same time, with two more saltines in his hand.

Kinda defeats the purpose.

No Wrong Answers

Just a little something to pass the time.

Object: Answer questions with one word ONLY. It's harder than you think!

Where is your cell phone? Desk

Where is your significant other? Car

Your hair? Blonde

Your mother? Sweet

Your father? Missed

Your favorite thing? Children

Your dream last night? Dunno

Your dream/goal? Laugh

Your favorite drink? Starbucks

The room you're in? Office

Your ex? Past

Your hobby? Crosswords

Your fear? Booths

Where do you want to be in 6 years? Here

Where were you last night? Out

What you're not? Shy

Muffins? Blueberry

One of your wish list items? Vacation

Time? Naps

Where you grew up? Indiana

The last thing you did? Tripped

Favorite weather? Fall

What are you wearing? Ponytail

Your favorite book? Poetry

Your TV? Oprah

Your pet? Lab

Your computer? Works

Your mood? Ok

Missing someone? Dad

Your car? Unwashed

Something you're not wearing? Watch

Favorite store? Target

Love someone? Greg

Your favorite color/shade? Blue

Last thing you ate? Cracker

Your life? Busy

Your friends? Loved

What are you thinking right now? Food

What are you doing at this moment? Answering

Your summer: Difficult

Your relationship status: Wife

What do you do when you can't sleep? Count

When is the last time you laughed? Today

Last time you cried? Yesterday

Looking Up

I mention my Dad often because it helps me to talk about him.

Even my boys often talk about Papaw Mike. Yesterday, at football practice, 3-year-old Hayden was sitting with me on a blanket when we both laid back and stared at the sky.

Hayden asked me if Papaw was up there watching us.

I explained that we couldn't see Papaw, but he could see us. Hayden thought for a moment, waved at the blue sky with his dimpled hand, and said, "Hi Papaw! I love you!"

In this fast-paced world, it was nice to share this moment.

Fess Up

"68% of Americans admit to stealing office supplies."

That's what I read in a magazine yesterday while waiting at the doctor's office. Seems reasonable.

Pens? Toilet paper? Paper for your printer? What office supplies do you take home for personal use?

I have a WFMS notepad or two at home, and Kevin says he has pens. But, does that really count?

I've never grabbed an extra bottle of handsoap from the bathroom storage, or a box of White Out from the mailroom. Never have I taken one of the coffee mugs with a bacteria-riddled film stuck to the bottom. Tempting, I know.

So, there you have it. Pass it on.

Time Well Wasted

Want to know how to waste about 20 minutes?

Leave your house early on your way to work, and go OUT OF YOUR WAY to drive to the 24-hour Starbucks...

...only to find it CLOSED.

That was my morning in a nutshell. I made the brilliant decision to lose sleep AND waste gas, all so I could sip my favorite caffeinated drink during the show, rather than after.

In my defense, I checked the internet last night, which stated that this particular location never closes.

Oh, but it does.

Balloons...Not Just For Kids

We went to dinner last night.

The boys received a balloon from the staff as we left. Griffin had a blue one, Hayden had green.

Once we made it to our car, Griff told me he wanted to let his balloon go up in the sky. "I want to give it to Papaw Mike," he said. And up it went.

We both stood quietly for a brief moment, when Griffin looked at me and asked, "You think he has it now?"

"Yep, I think he just grabbed the string."

The vision made me smile. I pictured my Dad walking among the clouds, with a pocket full of Tootsie Rolls that he used to hand the kids...

...and a balloon tied around his wrist.

Kenny...What's For Breakfast?

Kenny Chesney.

It wasn't long ago when he stopped by the studio and we got the chance to ask him a series of questions. One of them being...

What's Your Favorite Breakfast Cereal?

Kenny paused for a moment, and answered, "Fruity Pebbles."

I love Fruity Pebbles. They remind me of my younger days, when I could eat two bowls in a row and not worry about the calories. Which got me thinking...

Remember, Super Golden Crisp? Or Sugar Smacks? They all bring back fond memories.

Griffin has been asking for Cookie Crisp on each of our last 13 consecutive trips to the grocery. I always say no, because "it's full of sugar and your teeth will fall out." (I've never been accused of putting things mildly.)

In fact, Griffin now says, "Look, Mom...Cookie Crisp. The cereal that makes your teeth fall out."

Odd Numbers

I have a sore throat this morning.

So, I purchased some Ricola throat drops and have them with me in the studio. Oddly enough, I noticed the front of the bag lists the number of drops that are included inside. It reads:

19 Drops

Nineteen? Why nineteen? Why not twenty, and make it even?

I showed Jim and Kevin. Clearly, one more could have easily fit into the bag. Kind of like a bag of potato chips that is only half-full.

Why didn't they just throw in one more?

While we're at it, why is the speed limit in my neighborhood 11 1/2 mph? No kidding, that's what the signs read. How do I drive a 1/2 a mile?

Same with our snooze button, that goes off after 9 minutes. Why not ten?

Just some things that drive me crazy.

The Unnamed Thingymajigger

I've gotta ask.

Ever wonder what those two lines are called that attach your lips to your nose? You know what I'm talking about.

The little groove that we all have. Is there a name for it? And even more importantly...

Why am I asking?

Yard Sale

We had a garage sale over the weekend. Made some extra cash and got rid of some clutter. Not to mention that I finally sold a jacket Greg has been wearing since we met 10 years ago.

During the sale, it dawned on me that my kids didn't understand the concept. Especially my 3-year-old. He struggled with it.

As women would pick up old infant toys, Hayden would say loudly, "Why's she's touching my stuff? Mom, SHE'S TOUCHING MY STUFF!"

Another would give me money and walk away with some old clothes that no longer fit Hayden, and he would say, "That's my sweatshirt. Where are you going with my sweatshirt?" This went on and on until the sale was over.

At times, I wondered if Greg was even worse. People would slowly drive by, glance out their window, then drive on. Greg would say, jokingly, "What? Is our stuff not good enough?"

It was a busy day, selling items, reassuring Hayden that people were allowed to touch our stuff, and reminding Greg that people may be looking for something specific, and they only stop if they see it.

I can only assume they were NOT looking for a 10-year-old, faded jacket. By the way, I sold it for a dollar.

More importantly, I sold it.

My Most Important Day

I got my hair cut yesterday.

I like getting my hair cut. It's the only time I can read an entire magazine article when I sit under the dryer without being interrupted.

One magazine featured an essay contest that I considered entering. The only problem is, I can't decide what to write about. The contest asks, "What is the most important day of your life?"

Geez. No pressure.

The day I got married, and changed my last name, starting a new life? The day I became a mother, realizing I'm now responsible for shaping the life of somebody else? The day I nearly missed being hit head-on by a wrong-way driver on 465? I swerved to the shoulder, and the driver hit the car behind me. Three people died.

I don't know how someone can answer that question. There are many. After some thinking, I came up with this.

I don't have one.

Not JUST one, anyway. Maybe today, right now, is the best day of my life. Because no one is guaranteed any tomorrows.

What Is It?

It's in the garage. And it's bad.

I'm talking about THE SMELL. The odor. The weird aroma, which is saying it nicely, that lingers somewhere in our garage. We don't know what it is. And worse...

We can't find it.

The best way to describe this stomach-churning scent is that it smells like curdled milk. Kind of like the odor that hits you in the face when you've left a sippy cup of milk in a car in the August heat. Mmmmm.

Greg and I have searched on separate occasions. Searched together. And we come up with nothing.

Over the past couple of days, I've noticed that it isn't as bad as it was a week ago. Which could only mean one thing...

I've just gotten used to it.

Is That Seat Taken?

Here's a weird observation.

Here at work, we have restrooms in the lobby. Both are "unisex," for men or women.

I stepped in to one this morning to wash my hands, and noticed the oddest thing. A chair sitting against the back wall of the room. I'm not sure what to think about that.

Why is it there?

No one would join someone in the bathroom while they are taking care of business. I certainly don't hang out in there after doing my thing, reading a magazine in that chair. It's not the new place where employees relax to sit and eat their lunch. I know, gross.

So, what's the chair for?

These are the things I think about.

Some Words to Live By

Got my Starbucks, as usual, today.

They are featuring clever and thought-provoking words by various authors on the side of their cups. I loved the one I received today. Thought I'd share...

The way I see it

Isn't necessarily the way you see it

Or the way it is

Or ought to be

What's more important

Is that we're all looking for it

And a way to see it.

-Desi Di Nardo

Oops...You Don't Say?

A flat tire.

I had one yesterday, and talk about an inconvenience.

You know the drill, you take your car to the tire shop, and wait for what seems like forever in a room with 4 other people who are just as anxious to get out of there. Most of us stared at each other until I couldn't take it anymore.

So, I read the paper.

I surfed the net on my phone, and "Googled" a couple of things. "What to do When You're Bored at a Tire Shop" should have been one of them.

I tried to read the tattoo on the arm of the guy seated to my right. No luck.

I drank my Starbucks and wished I'd gotten the larger size when I realized it was empty.

Next, I began calling people to pass the time.

After an hour, I was about to stand up and ask if my car was ready, when the manager approached me. He asked which car was mine. I told him. He then told me they had called my name twice over 35 minutes ago.

Oh.

I had been so busy chatting on my phone to kill time that I missed it.

Genius.

Griffin Reflects

Every kid says something funny. Those comments keep many parents laughing throughout the years.

Griffin, who is 7, is no different. Yet, he's also an old soul. Griff will sometimes say things that make him seem wise beyond his years.

The other day, he was playing at a friend's house. When he returned home, I told him that some other friends came to our front door, asking if he could play.

Joe, next door, rang the doorbell first. He wanted to play football.

Sara and Lily wanted to play soccer.

Another neighbor wanted to know when Griff would be home to show him his new set of trading cards.

Griffin sat and looked at me when I told him all of this. He then shrugged his shoulders and said...

"I must be doin something right, Mom. I sure do have a lot of friends."

Thoughts on Paper

I have been writing in a journal that a friend gave me when my Dad died. Trying to preserve all of my good memories that I have.

I knew growing up that I came from a special family. My parents were very involved in all of our activities, and I was always fond of Dad's sense of humor. Over the past several weeks, I have been remembering the various traits about Dad that made him who he was, and I never want to forget them. Hopefully one day, Griffin and Hayden can read this and tuck it away in their hearts. Here's my latest entry.

I remember many things about you, Dad. Now that you're gone, the details are so vivid.

How you would sing "Daddy's Little Girl" to me with one hand on the wheel, and the other around me as I sat on the "hump" between the two front seats of our wood-paneled station wagon. I can still hear your voice resonate against my ear.

How you stayed up several nights helping me make a lamp for my school project. Of course, you did most of the work. I sat and watched, in awe.

How every activity I had, I could look up in the bleachers and see you and Mom. You didn't miss anything. Same for your grandkids, as you sat with Mom under an umbrella in the rain to watch Griffin play baseball.

How you sometimes would laugh so hard, you cried. When something was really funny, you took your glasses off to wipe the tears from your eyes. I loved seeing you that happy.

How last year, we were in downtown Indy, and you stopped in at Starbucks to get some coffee. You bought two, and tried to recreate the drink I often order. It wasn't exactly the same, but I loved that you thought of me.

How you and Mom gave me a watch for my Sweet 16, and you wrote a clever poem inside my card. It stated that the watch was to remember my new curfew.

How you would tease me for always stealing a pair of socks out of your dresser growing up. (By the way, I grabbed a pair after the funeral to remember you.)

How you moved each of us daughters to college, then came home and sat in our bedrooms. Mom told us that it was especially hard on you, knowing we were growing up.

How you were so proud of the cornhole boards you made for each of your son-in-laws. And how you happily made more for our friends when they asked where we got them.

How every winter you would wear your black leather coat and gloves, with a cute "robber hat," as I would call it. I always thought you were so handsome.

How you couldn't wait for Griffin to arrive. I called your cell from the hospital parking lot to tell you I was in labor, but no need to come yet. You told me to look to my left, and there you were, with Mom, sitting in your car.

How you came back to see me during the long night of that delivery. I had been hurting, and I could see in your eyes that you were worried about me. I saw the same worry years later, as you paced the halls for Kristen, wondering why the nurse hadn't given you an update.

How you saved my homemade duster I created for you as a young child. It was made from a piece of wood and shag carpet, and I found it on your workbench the week after you died. It must be 30 years old, but the yarn that spells "I love you Daddy" is still there.

How you would get up on Saturday mornings to buy doughnuts at the little General store down the street, returning home with tiger-tails of chocolate and yeast twisted together. I think of you when I see them in bakeries today.

How you would stare guys down who glanced at your teenaged daughters, and embarrass us when you asked them, "What are you looking at?"

How you would stick your tongue out at your grandchildren, knowing they would tell Mom that "Papaw needs to sit in time alone." You would laugh and do it all over again.

How you ordered me a book on the internet that you thought I should read to learn more about Griffin's health problems. The next day, you called to say it was a good read. Turns out, you had ordered two, one for me and one for you.

How I always knew you were sentimental, but realized it even more when I grabbed that pair of socks from your dresser a few weeks ago. Under the socks, I discovered a picture of your late parents, my grandparents, in a frame. It was tucked away for safe keeping, just as I do with my memories of a father who always put his children first.

I love you, Dad.

Every Step of the Way

Greg hates feet.

Even worse, he hates the thought of rubbing my feet, or anyone elses. He just doesn't do it.

Last night, Mom and I were talking and I said, "Let's trade foot rubs," which proceeded to completely gross Greg out. He even looked at Mom and said, "You're gonna touch those things?"

I would never say I've been a huge fan of my feet. In fact, the word "huge" is the best way to describe them. In addition to being big, they are flat. No arches. None.

Last night, I told Mom that I certainly inherited my feet from Dad. She agreed. Dad's feet were just as flat, just as long.

Now that my Dad is gone, I'm going to appreciate my ten toes on these "stilts" of mine. Who we are is a combination of various traits from our parents. You get the good with the bad.

I'll walk a little prouder from now on.

One of 'Those' Days

Today was one of THOSE days. One of those days where just about everything didn't go as planned. Here are a few examples.

I ran into a convenience store to pick up a few things. I grabbed a ten dollar bill out of my purse, figuring I would have plenty to pay for my items. Seemed reasonable to not take my entire wallet. Until I heard the total: $10.04. And no, they didn't have one of those "Need a penny" bowls at the counter. So, I made a mad dash back to my car, making friends (NOT) with the people in line behind me.

I ran into Walgreens to buy a birthday card for a friend at work. At work, I signed the card, and for some dumb reason, put it in my purse. While driving home that day, I glanced down and noticed the card STILL IN MY PURSE on 465. I guess it's the thought that counts.

Finally, tonight I made tacos for dinner. Sounds easy, right? Done it a million times. Except, I forgot to set the timer, and...

...burnt the shells.

I'm dialing Pizza Hut now.

I'm Getting Old

I've never been one to worry about my age. I turned another year older last month. No big deal, but I don't like what goes along with it.

My body is falling apart.

I woke up this morning and couldn't hear out of my right ear. That's weird for me, being in a business where we wear headphones every day. I hear myself differently now.

Ever since I started running a few years ago, my left ankle began to swell, and it has never gone back to normal. Probably because I have flat feet. I've gotten the good running shoes and still no improvement. Now, I'm feeling needle-like pains in the same ankle, which means I'll be making a trip to the doctor.

My eyesight, which has always been good, isn't so good anymore. I often squint when looking at the computer, and there's a reason I'm sitting closer to the screen. Is it too close if I bump my nose when I look down at the keyboard?

I don't care about the number of birthdays. But, why don't we come with warranties?

Out of the Mouths of Babes

I haven't felt like eating a lot lately. Mom suggests to at least "drink a milkshake" instead of skipping meals. So, I took her advice yesterday.

With Griff in the backseat, I order my milkshake at the drive-thru. He says no thanks to getting one for himself. As we drive off, I thanked Griffin for being patient and coming with me to get my shake. He responds...

"No problem, Mom. I know how girls need their chocolate."

The Star Wars Prayer

I have a good friend in Georgia named Michelle. She seems to always have the right thing to say or do at times when I need it the most.

Her son, Jacob, and my son Griffin are quite fond of each other. In fact, Jacob is the first person Griffin ever e-mailed. At the age of 6, he wrote his first letter to Jacob on the computer.

My sisters, mother, and I are taking things a day at a time since my father passed away 5 weeks ago. Most days are tough. Other days are tougher.

Last night, I logged on to my computer and scrolled through pictures of Dad, remembering all of the good times. When I checked my e-mail, Michelle had sent me one explaining that Jacob had just said his nightly prayers, including...

"And God, please pray for Griffin...and let the force be with him."

I like it so much, I may just start putting that at the end of my own. And let the force be with you.

Otis and Einstein

My 7-year-old is very comical.

His funny remarks have kept me going over the past few weeks.

Labor Day weekend was no different. I had promised Griff I would set him up on the computer so he could play a game. He evidently thought I was taking too long, and said, "C'mon, Otis, let's go play that game."

OTIS?

I asked him where he heard that, and he told me it "just came to him." Then, he grinned from ear to ear.

Later that night, I accidentally knocked his picture off of the wall in the hallway. Griff shouted, "Moooooooooooom, you just broke my picture." Since he was stating the obvious, I said, "I can see that, Einstein." And that's how our nicknames were born.

We get a kick out of calling each other our friendly aliases. Since then, Hayden has become "Elmer" and Greg is "Elvis."

Otis, Einstein, Elmer and Elvis. Sometimes you gotta laugh.

Where Were You?

Everyone remembers where they were when they heard the news of the terrorist attacks on 9-11. It became the title of Alan Jackson's song, "Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning?" weeks later.

I remember.

I was on the air at the time. We saw the first plane, thinking it was a horrible accident. Then, during my newscast, I saw the second plane hit when I looked up at the tv monitor. We all knew then that life had forever changed.

After an extended-hour morning show broadcast, I left the station and drove to my parents home, where Mom was caring for 7-week-old Griffin. All morning, I had the urge to get to Griff and hug him. And there he was, being held in Mom's arms, with tears streaming down her cheeks. She had been watching the news footage.

I will never forget that image.

I also will never forget the voicemail a young newlywed left for her husband when she realized she was trapped in one of the Twin Towers. Or the desperate look on the faces of relatives searching for loved ones at Ground Zero.

Just as I remember my first childhood friend, my first date, and my first attempt to shave my legs (I shaved my arms, too...why?), I will always remember where I was on 9-11.

Keith Calls Jim, Deb, and Kevin!

New Daddy Keith Urban is taking a break from changing diapers to call his favorite morning show!

Tune in to WFMS Friday morning to hear Keith chat about his upcoming show at the new Lucas Oil Stadium and his CMA nominations! We also plan to ask Keith about his middle name, which is "Lionel." Who knew?

WARNING: Sexy accent could be a distraction from work.

Right Place at the Right Time

Today was a tough day. Just when I was feeling sad, I passed a truck that had a bumper sticker on the back. It read...

"Don't Tailgate Me Or I'll Flip a Booger On Your Windshield."

Enough said.

Sweet Nothings

Chocolate Necco Wafers.

My Dad loved these. He introduced me to them when I was a young child, and we've shared a love for them ever since. They are a thin, round candy wafer covered in a powder-like film.

Over the years, I would often see the wafers at the registers of convenience stores, but usually in the multi-colored pack. It was a rare treat if I found the all-chocolate packs, the ones I knew Dad loved.

Over the summer, my friend from Georgia, Michelle, sent me several of the chocolate packs that I had told her I loved so much. Just before my Dad died, he paid me a visit, and I slipped him a pack of these wafers. He grinned.

After his funeral, I went into his room and looked closely at his things. There in his coin dish was the half-eaten pack of Chocolate Necco Wafers. I placed them in my pocket and smiled.

There were only a few left in the pack, and I like to think he saved them for me.

Grillin'

I'll admit it, I'm not much of a griller.

So, tonight, I thought, "What the heck?" I mean, how hard can it be? I cook. Just usually in an oven. Greg wasn't here, so I called for a quick run-through.

I put the burgers on the grill, and continued to keep a close eye on things. As luck would have it, a friend stopped by and I got a little distracted. Then, Griffin needed help with a broken toy. And Hayden was yelling for a little assitance in the bathroom, which often happens when nature calls.

I didn't think I did too bad, until we sat down to eat, and I heard Griffin say, "Why are these hamburgers crispy on the edges? These don't taste like Dads."

Can't say I didn't try.

You've Got Mail

I told Griffin we need to work on his birthday thank-you notes. We are a little behind, okay...a lot behind, on getting those mailed with all that has happened. Griffin agreed to help, and then touched my heart when he said...

"I need to write one to Papaw Mike, since he came to the party and brought me a gift." And it was bittersweet when he then said,

"Do you have the address for Heaven?"

Wisdom of a 7-Year-Old

I made potato salad over the Labor Day weekend. Of course, it wouldn't be normal if something hadn't "happened." "Pulling a Deb" is what Jim and Kevin like to call these incidents.

The boys seemed to need something every two minutes. And if you've ever made potato salad, it's a little time-consuming. Lots of chopping, dicing, and slicing.

I found myself repeatedly stepping away from the cutting board to get Hayden some milk, help Griffin find his football, pick up the goldfish Hayden spilled before Darby could eat them, etc. At one point, I told the boys "Mommy needs a little time to finish this or we will never leave to go see Grandma." Both boys stared at me blankly as though they had no idea what I was talking about. This was going well.

Finally, I began chopping, dicing, and slicing at a faster pace, trying to finish. In my hurry, I cut my finger. Griffin heard me yell, and asked what happened. "I cut myself, but I'm ok," I told him.

"You should probably slow down," he wisely responded. "That's how we get hurt."

Wonder where he's heard that before.

Thanks, Jessica

Country singers are known for being very giving and generous. What I mean is we don't often hear about a country artist who told off a fan seeking an autograph...Britney Spears, anyone?

Instead, country music artists make us proud.

Back when Jessica Simpson was in the studio a month ago, I learned during our interview that my Dad was no longer with us. Naturally, I abruptly left, and didn't say goodbye.

A few days later, Jessica sent flowers, saying she was keeping my family in her thoughts and prayers.

A sweet gesture, and very appreciated.

New Thing We Do

Griffin and Hayden have been great distractors from all of the sadness over the past month.

3-year-old Hayden and I now have a new "favorite thing we do" when I tuck him into bed. Here's what happens...

I get him under the covers, then he asks me to tell him a story. My stories are always about Hayden being in the middle of a sports game, where he makes the winning play. He loves it and beams from ear to ear.

Hayden then wants to be the one to tell the story. He begins telling me he is playing a soccer game, where he scores the winning goal. I end his story by saying with disbelief, "NO WAAAAY!" And Hayden says, "Yes, way." Then, he's a football player, runs a touchdown, and I say, "No WAAAAY!" Hayden responds, "Yes, way." And so it goes, till we run out of sports.

This happened again last night, and as I left his room, he said, "Love you, Momma." "NO WAAAAY!" I told him.

"Yes, way," he said with a grin.

Doughnuts and Pj's

One night last week, I spent the night with Mom, while the boys and Greg stayed at home. I guess you could say Mom and I had a slumber party. We made a late-night run for milk, then came home and stayed up talking till 1 am.

The following morning, Greg called to say hello and said he was taking the boys to the local doughnut shop. Griff took the phone to say good morning, and said he and Hayden were still wearing their pj's with Crocs on their feet. He wasn't sure he wanted to go inside wearing his pajamas.

I reassured him that it was no big deal. "You will be in and out of their in a matter of minutes." Finally, he agreed.

Greg called back during their drive home to tell me it didn't go as he had planned. Once inside, Griff heard a familiar voice call out to him. It was a female friend from his second-grade class. "Griffin! Hey, Griffin!" I'm getting doughnuts, too!" Griffin bashfully hid behind his father.

Then the end of the world flashed before his eyes when he heard her say...

"How cute...you're still wearing your pj's!"

My Knight in Shining Armor

Haven't felt like posting much lately.

We stayed with my mother over the holiday weekend, and memories of Dad were shared around the dinner table. Driving back to the house, I realized I forgot one of the best stories I remember from my childhood. Thought I'd share.

As a 13-year-old girl, my bedroom window was at the front of the house. One night, I woke up my parents and told them that a car's headlights were shining in my window and I was scared. More like frantic. And paranoid. And I wanted Dad to protect me.

Dad got up, and reassured me it was probably nothing. He looked, waited, looked again, but no one was there. Dad tucked me back in bed, "tuck, tuck, tuck, tuck, tuck" he would say as he pushed the covers around my legs, and went back to sleep.

The next night, the same thing happened. Headlights were once again shining into my window. I could see them coast across the walls and stop at the center of my room. I woke Dad up again. Just like before, he checked things out, and found nothing. History repeated itself the very next night. I was about to be the only 13-year-old who slept between her parents.

Sure enough, my Dad realized he would have to get to the bottom of things. The next night, Dad sat silently in the dark garage, with the door UP, and waited. And waited. And waited some more.

The headlights returned.

Bravely, Dad hopped in his car and took off after this mystery vehicle, demanding to know who he was and what he was up to. The man's response?

"I'm rolling newspapers. I'm just the paperboy."

Oh.