Guilt. And Crying.

I sat, tucked away at my desk, slurping away at my morning coffee, trying to infuse some much-needed healing warmth into me while checking emails. Glancing at the 8-o'-clock time, knowing my already-two-hours of awakeness went horribly wrong already, feeling so dragged out from being sick for over a week with no relief, no sleep, with yet another day of running around, another desperate doctor's appointment in hopes of getting some help, I heard immediate, fierce crying from Baby Dude in the other room.

I rushed out to see he was holding his eye, with my toddler daughter apologizing profusely. I immediately snapped, figuring she threw her Wii remote at him, and immediately snapped her up and spanked her on her butt.

We both began crying, in shock. I, shaking, asked her to apologize, turned off the TV, and quickly left the room, collapsing back at my desk, immediately uncontrollably sobbing into my hands, crying until my breath left me and I sat there, mouth opened, in silence, chest aching, wailing in absolute silence.

I never hit her/them, perhaps a tap on the back of the hand. I felt God-awful having done it, and I just sat, in tears, listening to her upset, feeling lost and unable to cope.

This is the second week of school, and already, two days in a row, we're at DEFCON eleventy-billion with rushing. And this week began soccer, too - with five of our six playing at four different soccer fields, three children playing on Tuesday/Thursdays at three different places. I collapse to sleep at night before 10pm, every night, exhausted from the running and the heat and the craziness this school year has brung.

And I can't take it back, despite my tears and heart and heaving chest wanting so badly, to. I can only ask her for forgiveness, and help in being a better big sister and not hurting her brother anymore.

In the meantime, here I will sit, in tears, feeling totally defeated, unable to cope, wanting so desperately for the day to start-over, for the crazy to stop, even if for a second, so I can breathe a little, even if it is through a severely clogged up nose.

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Advice from Brandi Chastain for My Soccer Playing Son on Getting Serious and Going Pro

Growing up in an active family myself, it didn't surprise me seeing my children fascinated by sports, dribbling soccer balls almost as soon as they learned to walk, and begin playing soccer at age four. My oldest son, though, shows the most dedication and proficiency, wanting to become pro when he grows up.

One of the highlights of the BlogHer conference in San Diego was getting to listen to the wonderful speakers Gatorade had lined up at their Sports Moms event. Loreane Tomlinson (LT's mother), Leslie Bonci (Steeler's nutritionist and dietician) and Brandi Chastain (US Women's Soccer and Olympic Gold Medalist and World Cup champion) all spoke about their roles as mothers, as athletes (or in support of), and their children, and how drive, determination, and nutrition played an important part.

We had the opportunity to ask questions at the event via iPads, and I was thrilled when Brandi answered mine. My (paraphrased) question to her: "What was the best advice someone gave you when you were young and up-and-coming, and what advice would you give to a twelve-year-old wanting to play pro-soccer when he grows up?"

I am grateful I got to video (most of) her answer (before my memory card became too full. #fail)

I immediately texted my husband:

"OMG! Just asked Brandi Chastain a question and I got it on video! Ahhh!"
"She basically said (for our son) to never stop playing with the ball, to get out there as often as he can and become so familiar with it, so it's second nature."

My husband texts me back:

"Awesome!"
"Just yelled upstairs to (him), 'THE MOST FAMOUS WOMEN'S SOCCER PLAYER IN THE WORLD JUST TOLD YOU TO GO OUTSIDE AND KICK THE BALL!' He just ran out. LOL!"

About a half-hour later, I got this:

"Thanks Brandi Chastain. He went outside, kicked the ball too hard, and took the top off the fence. LOL!"

D'oh!

Despite him clipping the top of our brand new fence on our brand new house, I was proud of him, and I could not wait to come home to show him this video. I am beyond thrilled that this week begins soccer for my children, too.

Gatorade Moms BECOME Pledge

While at the Sports Moms event, I learned that Gatorade is calling upon people to pledge their support to young athletes in their quest to BECOME. Gatorade will donate one dollar (up to $10,000) to the Women’s Sports Foundation for every pledge received at Gatorade.com/moms (just click “take the pledge now” on the main Gatorade Moms page). Simply read the pledge, click to commit and Gatorade will donate a dollar in support of girls’ and women’s sports. The donation will help ensure there are opportunities for all children who want to get physically active, get involved in competitive athletics and get in the game.

I pledged, will you? Can you help us get to 10,000 pledges?

Win it!

As if meeting and speaking to Brandi wasn't amazingly unbelievable enough, I have a Brandi Chastain autographed soccer ball to award one lucky reader! Woohoo!

To enter, visit Gatorade.com/moms and sign the BECOME pledge. Come back here and leave a comment to tell me that you did for one entry.

For additional entries, share this giveaway via Twitter or Facebook, and comment telling me you did (with link, if you can).

Winner to be selected randomly via Random.org on Wednesday September 7th at 10pm CST. Good luck!

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Eleventy Billion School Forms to Sign and Now Web Forms, Too? Gah!

My daughter comes home with a stack of unwanted but must-sign papers, not to mention the other huge stacks I received from all of my other school-age children, too. I sifted through, battling my signature onto each page until my hand ached, but this particular stack of papers contained a letter that instructed me to go to the teacher's website, read what was on there, and only after I'd done so, could I sign and have the paper returned. Uh, okay!? I signed it anyway and handed it back to her.

This morning, my daughter hands me the paper back. "Did you go to this website yet!?"

"What? Uh, no!? Why?"

"Because I can't hand this in until you do."

"WHAT!?!?"

I mean, how the hell did the teacher know I hadn't been? Until I accessed it, and realized, there was several links she wanted me to visit - policy and procedures, rules, etc. And I like the idea of looking at it online as opposed to forty-kajillion papers (savin' trees, yo!), but then I came across a page the teacher wanted *ME* to print out from home to sign regarding my daughter's usage of a graphic calculator in class.

Print from my home to sign to give to you? Uh, no.

Teachers, you must understand that your school's paper your school buys in bulk, the copier ink is available cheaper than it is from our homes. And? My HP printer isn't even friggin' working! What about those parents without printers at all?

Miffed by this situation (and, I have to admit, a little baffled), I emailed the teacher to tell her that she should consider my email to her as my e-signing her calculator document. I mean, what was the purpose of putting this info online to save paper in the first place, if only to have the parent waste paper more expensively to print and sign from home!? What the hell?

Furthermore, this teacher than has me read all of the above, then e-sign her data-collection form online, admitting I'd read everything, planned to abide by it, all while giving her all our home address/phone/work/blood-type info. What more did this lady want? Shouldn't that be enough?

Oh right, the paper-wasting paper she sent home to begin with, telling me to do all of this in the first place, on top of the e-signed sheet and the one I'm supposed to print and sign from home. THREE SIGNATURE SHEETS for one math class!

And the absolute kicker? I got an auto-responder email to the email I sent to her, saying it was caught in their unsolicited sender filter, and by simply replying to that email, admitting I'd truly meant to email the teacher, I'd be automatically added to her trusted sender list. More hoop jumps to go through for this math teacher.

All for one math class, for just one of my four school-age kids. Why not make it harder for us, eh? Geez!

What about you? Any ridiculous papers you're signing for back-to-school? Or situations you're currently embroiled in? You guys won't believe the parent pick-up nightmare I'm currently experiencing. Saving that for another post, soon.

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The Differences Between The First and Second Day of School

It's so funny how, no matter how much I may toss and turn, awake with my husband's alarm each day, how getting up for myself to get the kids ready is eleventy-billion times more torturous. You know?

Even funnier, is how drastically different the first day of school is as compared to the second.

First day of school:

• Kids' alarms go off, they pounce out of bed. 
• WHEEE! 
• School! 
• Friends! 
• My new clothes, yes! 
• I.finally.get.to.wear.my.new.shoes. 
• YAY! 
• *dance*dance*dance*

And they're on time, fresh-faced, smiley-happy, "what can I do for you to help you, mother?" and all, Stepford kids on an adrenaline high. Even I came home, and tackled eleventeen things, felt heroic in my efforts to thwart dust-bunnies and even took the toddlers out to lunch, to applaud my efforts to kick all the mom ass there was to kick.

Please note: Well put together, clean, smiling, ready to take on the world.

Day two, however? Went something like this:

• Alarm. Snooze.
• FRICK, forgot to set my coffee to go off. 
• 5:45 sucks.
• Why am I up this early again?
• The coffee's not working.
• Hear grumbles from upstairs, followed by shower sounds. 
• Labored reporting for breakfast, followed by repeated attempts to get dressed/brush hair/"Tell your sister to remember to do.." xyz/"DAMMIT, I told you to TELL HER!"
• Prepared to leave earlier, but it took ten minutes more to do what I did yesterday.
• Kids schlepped out of the van.
• Heard first squeaks of "Do I have to?" Oh boy.

Came home to repeated slurping of coffee, and immediate sustenance needed, whereas yesterday I didn't eat for almost four hours after getting up. This morning I had to eat like I hadn't eaten in a week.

Note: Glasses in an attempt to hide bags under their eyes, fake smiles, holes and stains on new stuff.

The honeymoon's over. God help us for day three.

(Do you experience the same differences the first few days?)


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The Road Trip Accident Story and My Soon-To-Be Teenage Driver

It was summer 2007, and our (then) family of seven had traveled to the Tampa/Orlando area visiting my brother and his family and every area theme park known to man. Our Toyota Sienna was only a half-year-old and this was our first official family vacation we'd taken with it. Our intention was to spend half our vacation with my brother in Tampa, and half in Orlando, when the unthinkable happened.

It was a gorgeous Sunday morning, I remember, and we were all up bright and early getting ready to attend my brother's church services. After primping and prepping with our outfits and hair done just-so, we packed our collective families into two cars, our beloved new Sienna and their sedan, and followed them around town as we navigated our way through the weekend traffic.

The road we'd turned onto was a bit of a mess, with construction cones and cordoned off areas, as the road crews were in the middle of fixing the road, but were off for the weekend. At a stop light, we sat beside my brother, waved to one another until the light turned green. We didn't even make it through the intersection... BAM!

Part of the construction was a new median that was going in, unmarked, no cones, blended in with the road, and directly in front of us in the left lane. Hubby hit it hard enough to pop the tire and send us bumpily careening into the nearest side street to assess the damage done.

Popped tire. Bent rim. Hubcap gone.

Clearly, this was going to set us back in our vacation, as we were scheduled to leave Tampa to go to Orlando later that day. Thankfully, we were visiting my brother, and not on vacation somewhere in an unfamiliar area, because he knew of a reliable tire repair place around the corner that was able to help us same day. Many calls to local junkyards to score us a new rim, and a few hundred dollars later, we were back in business, with only minimal delays.

But that incident always had me thinking, especially with as many family car trips as we've been on in our lifetime - what happens when we experience car trouble away from home? What happens if something like this should happen again, and we aren't conveniently close to friends or family? What happens if we need help?

Today, my oldest turns 16. Six-friggin-teen! Gah!

Of course, she wants to venture into the land of the driving, wanting us to sign her up for driver's ed, all while my gray-hair multiplies like gremlins. But incidents like the above are always weighing heavily on my mind, especially with a soon-to-be new teen driver, who doesn't know all the subtle nuances of driving and predicting other driver's actions yet. I want her to know that help is only a phone call away, in the event the unthinkable happens to her, too.

Allstate has come up with a way to make roadside assistance available to you, 24/7, without taking out a new policy or switching your insurance, that's free to sign-up and you only pay if you ever need it. This new service is available to everyone in the U.S., regardless of current insurance. This service covers any driver, any car, any time. No monthly or annual fees, ever. How about THAT for peace of mind?

Sign-up with their new Good Hands^SM Roadside Assistance using the super-simple widget below, and  receive a welcome kit which includes a wallet card, key fob, and handy window cling with the number should you ever need to use the service. The only time you'll ever pay is if you should ever need them. And by pre-registering, you're providing yourself faster service should you need it roadside.

Want to sign up a family member (say, your new teenager driver, spouse, or aging parent)? You can register up to five users on your account and know you they are in good hands should a situation arise in which you or someone you love need help immediately. I know I could've used this service that summer had it have been offered, and I'm grateful this service is now around for my teenage daughter, too.

$50 Gift Card Giveaway!

To help celebrate this new Allstate program, one lucky reader will win a $50 Amazon gift card. To enter, tell me what your best piece of advice is for a new driver? Leave the answer below in the comments as your first, mandatory entry.

6 bonus entries for extra chances to win:

For 2 additional entries each:

• Register for the program and comment that you registered 
• Download the Good Hands^SM Roadside mobile app to your smartphone and comment that you downloaded it

For 1 additional entry each:

• Tweet about the giveaway by clicking this link and leave a comment that you tweeted (with Twitter username and link)
• Share post to Facebook (through widget or copy and paste link) and leave a comment that you shared it

Winner will be chosen via Random.org on August 29th by 10pm CST.

Disclosure: I was compensated to write about Allstate's new Good Hands^SM Roadside Assistance, but my opinion and experiences are my own. I am responsible for all aspects of running the contest, but the gift card being given was donated by Allstate/Good Hands Roadside. No purchase necessary to win; odds of winning are not increased by purchase of any kind or insurance policy change.

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Back to School Hauling at GoodWill

On Sunday, my husband wanted to visit our local every-weekend flea market a few exits down from our house on I-35. Despite the heat, we braved it for about an hour, but it was nearing closing. Some good finds, but I really wanted to head elsewhere - to GoodWill.

It had been over 3 years since we had a GoodWill nearby. The closest one in Louisiana was well over an hour away, and it didn't have the greatest selections. I was thrilled to find that San Antonio had 15+ locations here. WOOHOO! I had no idea of what treasures we might find, but I missed desperately the well-run consignment sales and wonderful thrift stores we had back in NC.

But HELLO! We hit the jackpot.

EIGHT bags!!

Yes, you counted correctly. EIGHT bags, for SIX kids. $77. Can you BELIEVE it?!

Look at all that gorgeous stuff! Beautiful collared shirts, jeans a-plenty. Gah, I scored BIG!

I fell in love with SO much there, my husband barely peeled me away. I look forward to going back while he's at work and the kids are at school. (Heh.)

Baby Dude couldn't resist posing for a picture with his new, silky-smooth button down collared shirt we purchased for just $.99.

Lightweight shirt made by "Arrow"

Next up is Baby Sis, who had to model each of her new outfits for me you.

Beautiful, unlabeled corduroy dress with tie-back and silvery snowflake pattern we purchased for $1.99. We guesstimate it's about a size 7?

This gorgeous size 6 "Beverly Hills Polo Club" button down dress with silvery sparkle threads and tie-back I believe was originally sold in Kohl's. $1.99

Yellow sundress that makes my soul sing. Embroidered with yellow gingham and ruffly at $1.99, this size 8 by "Bonnie Jean" will last her a while.

This outfit made me tear-up. Both skirt and shirt from Children's Place, $1.99 each. Ruffled button down tuxedo-inspired long-sleeve, size 6. Corduroy skirt, dark gray, also size 6. A little big on her, will save for next fall/winter.

Now, the school-age kids. They scored BIG TIME but chose to showcase a piece or two they felt was their favorite. First up, my seven-year-old (with his fancy new hair cut).

$1.99 collared decal shirt from XG and $1.99 jeans from Cherokee.

My soon-to-be sixth grader, wearing her favorite choice (and flaunting her new hair cut as well)

$1.99 Pink Rose spray-paint-laden t-shirt and $1.99 bedazzled-pocket denim shorts from Angels.

My soon-to-be twelve-year-old wearing the funny shirt he found (that's sooo typical of a pre-teen, if I do say so myself).

$1.99 untagged funny-guy shirt. He's such a character!

Lastly, my getting-into-being-fashionable teenager with her fave choice.

$2.99 tunic by Candie's - is that not so freakin' adorable!?

What do you think of what I found? Have you ever shopped your local GoodWill? What has been your favorite find from there, either for yourself or someone else? Or did you find furniture, or electronics there?

(P.S. Check out my friend, Debi from SABusyKids.com, who took a back-to-school challenge at GoodWill and scored a $122 outfit for $15!!)

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Stolen Bike

When my seven-year-old learned to ride his bike a couple weeks ago, his proudest moment wasn't pedaling by himself, it was riding alongside his older brother, the one he looks up to and emulates.

His older brother took pride in riding next to his little brother. Suddenly, bike-riding was on the menu, daily, and both boys ventured around our streets and into the neighboring cul-de-sac constantly. Life became an adventure.

Little did we know how short-lived that would be for my oldest.

My younger son is riding his bike today, but alone. My oldest son's bike was stolen yesterday.

A bike he was so proud of receiving for his tenth birthday in 2009.

A gift he was just robbed of, because of some unscrupulously conniving person decided to steal from a child instead of save up to buy for themselves.

While this isn't the first thing to ever go missing from us (you would think living on post would protect you, but in actuality, it was worse), this is our first second thing to be stolen from us after having purchased our own home. (My seven-year-old's scooter went missing our first few days here. We chalked it up to misplacing it in the move, originally. Now? Not so sure.)

This was on OUR property, on OUR street, in OUR neighborhood.

I feel violated and betrayed. But nothing compares to how my son is feeling at the moment.

First our trampoline was slashed Mother's Day weekend before we moved to TX (which needed to be replaced), and now my son's bike is stolen?

Words fail me.

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Dear Santa, Please Stop Collection Agents from Being Idiots. Love, Lisa

Upon moving recently, our address change request didn't process correctly, and we lost over a month's worth of mail. (Fun, right?) Some trickled in here and there once I called the USPS and followed the appropriate steps to attempt to fix the situation, but much of it was lost, one of which being an old phone bill we didn't know we had to pay to begin with.

You see, when we set-up our new phone services with the same service provider, AT&T, we assumed our accounts would merge and carry over. Some how, though, our old account didn't merge with our new, and so, we were quite surprised to find a duplicate bill for $150 for our old number when we'd paid the same amount for our new. And before we could do or say anything about it, because our mail was lost, we were placed into collections. We were stuck.

Almost immediately, my husband began receiving numerous unscrupulous calls to his cell phone from an 866 number, and it wouldn't stop, especially while he's at work doing Army-type things. At times, he had to turn his ringer off just so that they'd stop interrupting, which didn't bode well for my trying to reach him. I had to take care of this myself immediately.

I finally received documentation from this so-called collection agency, Bay Area Credit Service LLC, and called them to set up a payment arrangement with them.

A pre-recorded message answered, telling me I've reached a debt-collector, and that this is an attempt to collect a debt, all information will be used.... blah blah barf. I reached a live person, finally.

"Hello? I'd like to set up a payment arrangement and change the number with which you contact us, you're calling my husband's cell phone at work."

"Okay, let me transfer you to the person whose handling your account..."

CLICK. Disconnected. Because that's EXACTLY what you want to happen when you're already unglued over this situation.

I call back, only to hear the same stupid pre-recorded message of doom I luckily got to sit through, again.

"Hello? I'd like to set up a payment arrangement and change the number with which you contact us, you're calling my husband's cell..."

"Can I get your name?" The douche-bag cuts me off, rudely.

"My name is Lisa Douglas, I'm his wife. As I was saying..."

"Mrs. Douglas, let me attempt to connect you with the person handling the account. Also, let me remind you, this is in attempts to collect a debt..."

"Sir, your pre-recorded message already said this, I don't need to hear it again."

"..any attempt to collect this debt may be recorded for quality assurance purposes..." he continues, interrupting, talking over me.

This guy is going to get lit-the-hell-up in a minute. Thank goodness he was about to transfer me.

"Uh, thanks so much for listening. Can you transfer me now?"

"What type of payment would you like to pay this bill with?"

"Um, you said you were going to transfer me to the person handling the account?"

"He's busy."

"Okay?..."

"Now, you were saying, how would you like to pay this account?"

"I didn't say pay the account in full, I'd like to set up a payment arrangement."

"A payment arrangement?" He stammers, as though this concept is completely foreign to him.

"Yes, a p-a-y-m-e-n-t a-r-r-a-n-g-e-m-e-n-t. As in, a little bit each month for the next, say, four months. That comes out to be..."

"Okay, so, you want to pay this in increments?"

"Yes, exactly. Four months, which comes out to be..."

"Okay, and how would you like to pay for this?"

"By check."

"Check?"

"Yes!" said sternly.

Seriously, was this guy going to copy everyfrigginthing I said after I say it? "A check, yes please."

"Can I have the account information?"

"Um, no. I meant, a paper check, to be mailed in. I don't want to give you my account info over the phone to auto-draft."

"You want to send in a paper check every month?"

OHMYFREAKINGOD, must you copy everyfrigginthing I say?! *thud* "Yes, I plan to pay you by check through the mail, with a stamp, every month until it's paid."

"But how will I know you will pay this?"

"Um, I called you to set this up, remember? And how will I know you won't continue to charge my account for monies I don't owe after the four months are over?"

"How do you plan to mail us the payment?"

"In the mail? With a stamp? Uh, you guys sent me a bill. At the bottom of said bill is a payment remittance slip. I plan to mail in the payment with my check using that."

"And you have our address?"

SERIOUSLY? Do you know know what a 'bill' or 'payment remittance' slip is!?!? "Yes, it's on the slip, sir."

"And you have our phone number?"

Thud. That's the sound of my head rolling off my shoulders and hitting the floor. Is he freakin' serious?

"Uh, yes. Recall, again, I called you."

"Do you have my extension?"

"No, it lists no extension on the bill."

"The person handling this account is Ronald Smith."

"Okay, thanks."

"So when will you mail this in?"

"Um, sir? You mentioned extension?" {smacks head}

"Oh, right. Yes. My extension is 5235."

"And you're Ronald Smith?"

"No, I'm Andrew Martin. Ronald Smith is handling the account."

Meanwhile, I call bullsh!t, this guy has a really thick accent. His name is Andrew Martin as much as mine is Penelope Leadbottom. "But I need your extension?!?"

"Yes."

"Okay?!"

"So, when will you send this?"

"Today."

"And you will pay this on the 8th of every month?"

"Well, I'm not sure, let me ask, when do you mail these statements to go out each month. On the 1st?"

"I don't know. When will you pay these every month, on the 8th?"

"Like I said, I don't know. I can't commit to paying this every month on the 8th if I don't receive a statement with payment coupon from you by that date. Can you tell me when you'll mail these, roundabout?"

"I don't know. I need to know when you'll pay this, so I can put it in my notes."

"And I need to know when you'll mail this by so that I can tell you! Can't you just type in your notes that I'll pay it as soon as it's received, since you can't tell me when you'll mail your statements?"

"Fine."

"Alright, thank you. Have a great..."

And he hung up on me. Hilarious.

This head explosion now has been brought to you today by the Post Office and ridiculously stupid collection agents.

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Let's Play the "What's Under Your End Table" Game, Shall We?

Picture me, sprawled out on the carpet between the living room/dining room area, watching Baby Dude play with his "chocolate sandwich" (Nutella), hugging and loving on him as he chomps and chews, when my head turns to a new view of the end table. The "under" part of the end table, usually unseen.

What. The. Crap? (Literally.)

So, in an effort to laugh at the hilarity of what I found, and to hopefully encourage you all to play along with me, here's my laundry list of "Crap I Found Under My End Table." You're welcome.

Brilliantly amassed in our short two months we've lived here. My kids have skillz.

Let's go through this sad list, shall we?

• My daughter's tie-belt. Explains why her pretty skirt has been baggy as of late. Gotcha.
• Empty Capri-sun pouch (and subsequent straw wrapper): Bane of my EXISTENCE! They are EVERYWHERE! It's called a garbage, kids, remember!? {snarls}
• Stray cereal piece. Ew. And dammit, kids. 
• Leftover food (vegetables). Double ew. And double dammit, kids. If you don't want 'em, don't stash 'em under the freakin' end table!!
• Ruler. Because that's where you put your new school supplies - under the end table. Sigh.
• Pencil. See above.
• Bag 'o pipe cleaners. I don't even know where the rest of the craft stuff is (did we even unpack it yet!?) so, this one stumps me. 
• Popped balloon from daughter's birthday a couple weeks ago. So happy to see they stashed the remnants here. Keeping it for later? A memento, perhaps? 
• Hair-tie. Does not surprise me. (See upcoming related post to the daily "Death by Hair-Ties" issue we have in the bathroom constantly)
• Half a toothpick. This stumps me beyond belief. We don't even OWN toothpicks!?!?

Needless to say, my kids are SO friggin' fired.

---

Now, what's under YOUR end table? Go, quickly find one in your house (could be anywhere) and take a picture, caption it (if you like), and come back here and link up in the comments so we can poke fun laugh along with you. It's a humorous exercise in not taking this parenting business so seriously. And commiserating in this big, tough world of parenting. We are not alone.

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This Post is Brought to You by the Letters "T" and "P" and Our Lack There-of (Now)

Apparently, these are the remnants of the last freakin' roll of toilet paper in the house.

Son of a.....

(Lie to me and tell me this happens to you, too?)

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Pre-teen Chef (aka Ways to Make the House Fill with Smoke and Pride Simultaneously)

My son offers to make hot dogs and macaroni and cheese for lunch. A little too young to do it himself without supervision, I move my "office" with laptop to the dinner table, and oversee as he fills a pot with water and places it on the stove. After five or so minutes, he turns the vent fan on. And then I smell something burning.

"Baby!?!? What's happening!?"

I don't see any smoke, but something is clearly burning: a plastic-y sort-of smell. I immediately spring to my feet. "Did you drop something on the burner?"

"I don't know, I just turned it off and moved it to this one. I think I had it on too high."

As I maneuvered around, I noticed the room was all smoky, now. The smell was God-awful, and I couldn't seem to find where it was coming from. The pot? The burner? "Baby, was there something on the burner?"

"I don't know, I just turned it off when I saw fire."

"FIRE!?!?"

(We have an electric stove, friends.)

"Yeah. At first, I thought that's what was supposed to happen. Until it began to smell."

Oh boy.

"Um, yeah, we're not supposed to have fire, this isn't a gas stove."

"Oh."

Meanwhile, I'm wondering how this happened right under my nose, what fell and caught fire while he was cooking (we still do not know), and how to cover the new gray hairs I sprouted during lunch.

And yet, despite the fact that he nearly caught the kitchen on fire, he's busy mixing and cutting and so very proud of his met task - he cooked his siblings lunch. Nevermind he came in from the sprinkler to do it, wearing his bathing suit and towel wrapped around him.

It's the littlest things that are the biggest deal to them, you know?

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Post #BlogHer11 in Which BlogHer is Like Chuck Norris and I Melt Away

I think instead of BlogHer they should call it "ChuckNorrisHer" because it kicks ass in so many ways, to include your own. I feel a thousand-years-old, and could nap a week and still not feel any better.

Do you know what sucks about being in the land-that-doesn't-ever-get-above-seventy-five-degrees for almost a week? Coming back to hundred-degree-plus heat that bitch-slaps you in the mouth, and I hadn't even exited the plane yet.

My flight back had a forty-minute connection in Houston. As we taxied to the gate, the flight attendant came over the radio to ask that we all close our shades to keep it cool for the next flyers. Really? I thought to myself..  and I obliged, promptly stood up, and, as I approached the gate, the heat smacked me upside the head like I owed it money.

My next flight was even worse, like we were in a heated can of tuna, and the douche that sat next to me wouldn't stop opening his window shade. I wanted to smack his hand and tell him the flight attendant told him to keep it closed, but the attendant had said that on the previous flight, not this one, and he probably would've thought me insane had I have done so. "Some crazy lady just smacked my hand!" Plus the woman next to me was a little scary with her fancy-schmancy Kindle and eighty-karat ring, so I abstained, and sat sweatily in my middle row, agonizingly bearing down, hoping the fifty-minute flight would be done sooner than later.

My husband and I were furiously texting one another while I was waiting for my bags at baggage claim.

"Are you done now?"
"How 'bout now?"
"Where are you?"
"Did they lose your bags?"
"The kids are about to set fire to the van if I have to circle the airport one more time, baby."
"Are you done yet?"
"Are you even alive?"

(My bag was second-to-the-end, m'kay? Not my fault. I suddenly wanted to channel Joe Pesci from 'Lethal Weapon 2" and shout "They f*** you at the drive-thru baggage claim, okay?!" but I contained myself in my texts.)

Finally got everything jerry-rigged in such a way I could wheel it awkwardly to the outdoors, and he texts me to wait by the curb. Even in this parking area, the heat made me feel squeezed like my cheeks did by my grandmother when I was little. Everything weighed a-thousand-pounds, and I ached in places I didn't know could ache.

But the smile from Baby Dude I saw over fifty-feet away when my husband pointed me out at the curb suddenly melted away my physically melting there on the sidewalk. I could almost hear him calling me through their deliciously air-conditioned van on the approach. (Thank God for air-conditioning, yo!)

Y'know, I was used to this oppressive heat before this trip, and doing just fine with the whole, shallow breathing, taking minuscule baby steps, not ever walking barefoot because I like the skin on my feet, and living in the sun either soaking wet or shaded. But this? With what seems like entirely too many clothes hanging off me, and sweat suddenly dripping into my eyes constantly, this sucks all over again!

(I have yet to find where they bottled the San Diego weather and gifted it to us in our swag bags, dammit.)

A real post-BlogHer update to come soon, though. As soon as I can remember my name without a badge, and drink approximately 800 cups of coffee while decimating a jar of peanut butter. And maybe a three-day nap wouldn't hurt, too.

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I Am Me

I feel kind-of dorky when in front of the camera. I am usually behind it, quite happy to be snapping away at the life surrounding me. You won't see me at my most comfortable in front of the lens, but you'll see me, who I am, and only me: dorkiness, muffin top and all.

I won't ever pretend to be anything other than who I am. I am a mother to many, a wife to one, loyal friend, hardworking woman, with wrinkles, gray hair, green eyes, tanned skin, pointy nose, with a Marilyn mole, a devotion to coffee, and a hearty love of life.

I have many, many faults. But I'm always honest, and I work so very hard at everything I set my mind to. I don't know how to give up without a fight.

And with how hard I work at balls-to-the-wall living life every day, as my friend Katja would say "Living life to the fullest," sometimes I am tired, and sore, and out of patience and bordering on the brink of almost-insanity.

But I dig deep. I find something within my self to never, ever give up. And I'm surrounded by my family, near and far, by my friends, new and old, close or a great distance away, and I know I can do anything, achieve anything, because they are beside me.

Win or lose, whatever I do, I am grateful. And blessed. And ever-so-thankful. They are part of me. Me.

Are you attending Blogher? Come up and hug me, I'm a hugger. A smiley-one at that.

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