Ridin' Nerdy

What I love right now? Right this very second? LSAT Logic in Everyday Life on iTunes Podcasts. I'm listening to a podcast about jury selection right now. I think the man featured in this episode is the only other person (besides myself) I've ever heard that actually would LOVE to be picked for jury duty...

Get in My Belly

Get in My Belly

I think it's because my dad was...is...an entrepreneur: I always root for the little guy. For the small business. Or...correction...the fabulous small business.
A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of getting acquainted with a mom from Calvin's preschool. We got to talking about running when I mentioned that she should come into the rockstar sports store that I get to work at: CK Sports. She came in, got fitted for shoes...and we talked about, among other sundry things, chocolate. She works in the family business of chocolate. No kidding. That is her job: chocolate. Her brother-in-law is a chocolatier...which I'm assured is different than a musketeer. Even though it rhymes. But, as usual, I digress. So, yes. That is his job title. Could a better job actually exist??? I think not...and that is beside the point.
Anyway, she finishes up and leaves. I'm happier for making a new friend. AND THEN...she brings us (Jacob and I) SAMPLES of her favorite chocolates: bacon chocolate truffle and caliente truffle. I have never tasted a chocolate so distinctively decadent and unique in all my...ahem...29 years of chocolate-admiring. So! I thought I'd share this precious little gem with you. They were recently written up in the Dallas edition of Daily Candy. For those of you not familiar with that website, it's an online review of all things cool and hip and wonderful in a particular region...not just food...and certainly not just candy. So, give it a look-see. And should you feel so inclined? Go ahead and order a box...and feel free to send it to me.

Follow Up on Killing Links...

Jason: You are a brave man. I'm a little surprised that you commented on the Link Kill before the Car and Driver...
Before the follow up, there are some things...caveats to be more precise. Know that I am PAINFULLY shy in certain settings. At least I thought I was. So, a few of my friends went to a follow up class at the actual studio. I, of course, found a bunch of reasons to be late and only went to half of the class. Guess what? My lats are STILL sore, and my core got a total work out. And for someone who has been hobbled from her fave sport? That's appealing. That's what the very athletic dude part of me wants to comment on...but...hmmmmm. As I write this? I wonder if I should start a totally new (and private...or anonymous) blog just for this. Ha! Ok. Let's see who's paying attention.
1. Looking for blog titles. Sassy suggestions?
2. Any subscription interest?

The Effect of Blogging on Metrosexual Individuals (...but not really)

There is a little too much Morgan Spurlock in me for my own good:  I like social...observation, experimentation, and certainly annotation. I ask a lot of questions, inappropriately personal and otherwise. For example: I ran into someone I've spoken to at the gym a few times last night at Target. We chatted, and somehow the topic of airplane phobias came up. Without missing a beat, I went into DSM-IV mode and proceeded to ask a relative stranger about control issues, trust, and childhood trauma. Honest to goodness curious. Sigh.
I also love to observe unique social groups in relative context. The culture surrounding youth football in Texas starring in my most recent series. This year has been a bit of a bust as more than half the season has been rained out. If only I'd thought to keep some of the league director's cautionary conduct letters to the parents. Hmmm. I may have to look for some of those.
I'd even considered working at Walmart for 30 days so I could a) be a regular contributor to People of Walmart and b) watch people.
ANYWAY...in the most round-about way possible, I'm getting to the point of this post: Eric L. So, Eric knows I like to write...about...stuff...as indexed above...and mentioned that he'd love to be in a post. Well, poor Eric. I don't think he wanted to be in a post like this. He also happened to mention this when I was talking to his general manager and the sales manager where he works. So, I sputter the first thing that pops into my head (praise ADD + poor impulse control): "would that be a metro commentary on men that wear more expensive jeans than I do?" His skin flushed pink. So, again, I mouth off the first thing that pops into my head (isn't there medication I can take for this?): "oh my gosh! Are you blushing?! You're blushing!"
I have NO idea if he will talk to me after today.

Under 5 Seconds From the Other Room

Recently, I've been thinking about things in terms of "Top 10s". Very Letterman of me, I know. Movies, among other things...see car post ...come to mind. You know what I left out of my mental movie list? The Mad Max series. It didn't even occur to me until I was washing up this evening, and I heard the tv go on in the other room. In under 5 seconds, from the other room, WITH NO DIALOGUE, I KNEW it was Road Warrior. Simply by the score and the engine sounds. Thhhaaaaaaaaaaat's impressive.
Ok. After watching a little more, it's kind of creepy. What's with those chaps? But still. Iconic.

I Don't Speak Car & Driver

...but if I did, I'd actually care about performance and what's under the hood. Which I...don't.
My dad is either contagious or we have more in common than my mom has previously accused...I mean...noticed. My dad loves cars. Beaters. Luxury. Trucks. Sports. Racing... Of course, he satisfied his love of beater cars by making sure that's all I ever drove growing up. (Spoiled brat, right?)
His house...or that part of it that my mom allows him to trash...is littered with car magazines and Craigslist print outs. Naturally, I can't ignore that flood of imagery as I, too, love cars. Here's what would be in my garage if I were an ostentacious...professional football player. Wait. Baseball player. I don't think they have salary caps...

Jeep Wrangler Rubicon with 4 doors.

Audi Q7...there's just something...about them.

Audi TT Roadster

Toyota Land Cruiser...old. New. Doesn't matter.
BMW Z4 Roadster
1960s era convertible Mercedes Benz...1965?
1986 Saab...convertible
Mercedes G Class (love that big boxy look)
MGB...19...7...3? That was a good year.
1979 Porsche 911

And This is Where I Kill the Link to My Facebook

Because I have three friends that will find this WILDLY amusing, I have to share it. On general principle. And if I don't hear from the three of you (via e/voicemail), I'm totally gonna call you out.
Someone, please ask me what I am doing Monday night. As much as I seem the total extrovert, I'm NOT a performer. I don't relish the idea of people looking at me (unless, of course, it's to comment on my shoes...). So, the idea of attending a POLE-DANCING fitness class is alternatively horrifying and...intriguing.
Horrifying because I keep flashing on that one scene from True Lies (which I was going to link but...) when Jamie Lee Curtis (who is awesome) takes a total digger mid-er...uh...performance. Horrifying because people actually do this for a living.
Intriguing...for some really weird reasons. I think I'm one to have grown into my athleticism and, dare I say?, grace: I'm curious to know if I could do it. Everyone I know who has taken these classes has commented on how physically demanding (I know, I know...I couldn't think of a better double entendre) they are. Followed by an aside: "those strippers are in great shape!"
Under 'normal' circumstances...and given my obvious trepidation, I'd probably opt for a core class at the gym. However, the owner of the run store I work at has different ideas. She is hosting this fitness...er...class? demonstration? and asked me to work...it.
I'm blushing already.

Lying About My Weight but Not My Age

There's an interesting cross-section of time and space when it is totally appropriate to over-estimate your weight and tell the truth about your age. As far as I am concerned, whenever I'm going to have anesthesia on board, it is a good idea to make sure I have enough as I have woken up in the middle of surgery before. Yuck. So, I routinely state my weight at least 10 lbs higher than it is. Even if the nurse rolls her eyes. This same eye-rolling nurse cocks her head to the side, surely at my plucky charm and well-applied lipstick so early in the morning, and comments that I'm awfully YOUNG (everything after that word was just white noise...) to be screened.
Me: "Why, yes, I am. It's nice to be the youngest in the waiting room. (Smile). But seriously, there's a family history..."
Then she brings me two of the warmest blankets I've ever met.
I roll (literally) into the next room where I notice that the additional benadryl has not taken effect. I comment to the doctor that I should have lied higher about my weight. We laugh.
Next thing I know, I'm being shaken awake from a dreamy dream. I think I groggied a "no, thank you" to no avail. They keep shaking.
Barring any unusual results from a biopsy, I am ok. And I am still on track for those new jeans.

I Left My Heart in San Francisco...Along With Some Other Body Parts

Ahhhhhhhhhh...San Francisco. One of the most divine cities on earth besides, maybe, Rome. Having grown up in the Bay Area, I never quite appreciated San Francisco until I left. What a friendly, eclectic, beautiful city.

My good friend, Dawn, came out from Virginia to SF with me to run Nike's Run Like a Girl Marathon. We stayed in Union Square (the heart of SF shopping) a block off the starting line. While shopping is always a...er...um...delightful pasttime for me, we really enjoyed the FOOD...or, perhaps, better said, the culture surrounding said food. We ate in North Beach, the Italian part of town, every night that we could. The weather was nice enough that all the restaurants had their doors open and the hosts calling to the pedestrians. This is how we met Angelo and...the other guy. He's the one that had told us about the Philly Eagles...the house special dessert...and the best things to do after a race. Total highlight.

That and seeing friends from high school that I haven't seen in...over 18 years. Um...yeah. I'm old enough to say that. The funniest thing from that night was my friend Stacey saying over and over: "Rachael! I wish you remembered more from high school!" They kept telling me all about stuff we'd done together, and all I could do was stare blankly back and say, "are you sure I was there?!" I think the nicest thing about that evening, though, whether I remembered it or not, was how two of those girls remembered me being the first person to befriend them in a new school and how one of them reminded me that I introduced her to her husband. Sigh.

And...in spite of my best efforts at avoidance, I got to see my sister, Lisa...and had a really great time with her and her family. They came out, and we enjoyed Fisherman's Wharf and some good ole sour dough bread. And I got a witness to attest that...in my family? I'm the shrinking violet...

Sigh...then there was the race. Please note that I'd run a marathon 2 weeks prior to this, injured my left knee, and didn't take recovery very seriously. The night before the race, I had spent an inordinate amount of time trying to download a playlist that this Nike DJ sent out. (As an aside, it's pretty good, and I will try to link it to the blog.) Stupid, stupid, stupid. 4 hours of sleep. Tops. But that's ok. That's how I do most of my long runs anyway. We're at the start line where I'd put myself in a slower time category so that I'd have something to do mentally during the race...pick people off. Ugh. The arrogance. So, we're cruising the streets of the financial district. Great. Mile 2...my knee starts to feel stiff. But who cares? I feel great and am on track to PR. Mile 6...it starts to hurt. But that's ok because people who run expect to feel some pain and discomfort. It's a natural consequence. Then there was the massive downhill leading to the beach. Mile 12...it's debilitating, and I actually have to stop off at an aid station to wrap up. Well...there's 14.2 miles left to the race. And I had to mentally figure out how in the world I was going to finish. At such a diminished pace...and/or walking. Let me tell you...14 miles is a LONG time to spend with yourself. Especially if you're ticked off...at yourself...

Then you suck it up, buttercup.

At the end of the day...how bad could it be? I was in San Fran-freakin-cisco. AND I got lots of compliments on my new shorts. I finally finished with a time that was a full hour + over the time I'd gotten in Odessa...which is demoralizing...but I could still appreciate the necklace and the tuxedo-ed fireman handing it to me.

Sigh. So...San Francisco got more than my heart...it got bits and pieces of my knee as well.

Hair Sucker

Before I post about the thrill of victory (ha ha ha) and the agony of defeat (who remembers who used to say that?), I need to post on one of my favorite things: having my hair brushed. Mmmmmmmmmmmm. My kids...ok...Mackey...LOVES to brush my hair.
Squirrel...

OH MY GOSH...the Last 30 Minutes in My House

Overheard...

Calvin: Hey mom, hey mom, hey mom! You know what's totally awesome?! Going poop in a diaper! Just kidding! Ha ha ha ha ha!

Lucy: I don't mind eating outside with the animals...

Mackey (doing something with the microwave): What the hell?
Me: How much do you like soap, Mackey?
Mackey: What? Dad says it... You threw him under the bus with my kindergarten teacher last year?
Jon: I was quite the coneisseur as a child.
Lucy: Which kinds did you like, dad?
Jon: The soaps without strong perfumes...Dove, Ivory...definitely not Irish Spring.
Me: I don't think this conversation is 100% constructive.

Me: Is this chewed up GUM on the floor?
Mackey: Uh...yeeeeaaah? It just fell out of my mouth.
Me: And this was a good place to LEAVE it?

Lucy: Recycling? That's my world, guys. Go green...blah blah blah.

Does anyone wonder why I train for marathons anymore?

Cancer Skinny or...My Gray's Anatomy

As you may or may not know, I just ran the Odessa marathon to qualify for the Boston marathon coming up in April. During training, I lost some weight. Perhaps even a little more than I would have liked. No big deal...how hard is it to put on weight (as I'm eating a residual, road-trip Pop-Tart)?
So, fast forward to the gym today where I see a friend (who shall remain nameless because he felt like a total heel for saying this in the first place) who I hadn't seen in a month or two. The first thing he says to me is: "You're so skinny! Do you have cancer or something? You're like cancer skinny!" So, I respond back: "Well, I might! I'm going in to find out in a couple of weeks!" He's looking at me as if he doesn't know whether or not to take me seriously. Cuz, really? Who jokes about stuff like that? Normally I would; but today I wasn't.
So many of my posts have been so LAME lately. In fact, I had to go back to the Knife Story for a good laugh. Sigh. Well, this one won't be much funnier.

In the spirit of full-disclosure...what else would you expect?...I have been to a LOT of doctors lately. Of the 'elective' variety. Do you know how ODD it is to finish a plastic surgeon's sentence for him? I remember after my first research visit (research into the heart of a Dallas woman's psyche), I posted about weighing the costs of a total upgrade/mommy make-over against a cute little car. That was just the beginning...and the summation of a like appointment a few weeks ago.
I recently had an appointment of a different sort. Less elective and more compulsory. There's a family history of colon and related cancers in my family, but I'm too young (wow...THAT'S surreal to say with all the wrinkles furrowing into my skin!!!) for routine testing. I was gonna 'game' the system by looking up the symptoms of the disease to mention to the doctor to cover the cost of the test. I know, I know. Very naughty. Gulp. After a little more reading, there was less 'gaming' involved than I'd thought. On the bright side, the doctor was RIDICULOUSLY cool about noting the appropriate symptoms for insurance to cover costs so I won't have to.
Yada yada yada...I find out in a couple of weeks. But seriously? There's NO USE in worrying, right? So...bring on some new jeans in a smaller size!!!

Romantic Getaway

Romantic Getaway
Ok, this one, too, cuz the commentary was so funny.

Half And Half

Half And Half
Until I remember how to take my Facebook/Phisherobilias love link off, I will post the tame faves.

Good vs Bad Choices

Last evening when I crested the hill down to the Plano Balloon Festival, it occurred to me that several of my choices today could distinctly be categorized into good choices and bad choices.

Bad Choice: running with a couple of guys that are significantly faster than me at 5 am.

Good Choice: running in traffic behind the one with the headlamp.

Bad Choice: drinking 52 oz of refreshing QT bevvy...on my way to an outdoor festival.

Good Choice: getting "race" practice by using a...a...a...portapotty. (Needless to say I chose my line wisely.)

Bad Choice: letting the very-frustrated-with-mommy 6 year old brush my hair.

Good Choice: finding a ponytail holder.

Bad Prison Movie

Ugh! I'm THOROUGHLY convinced that The (beloved) Calvin is destined for a life of crime or at least a bad prison movie. Newest nicknames? GRAND THEFT AUTO and Hack...not to mention the on-going Oedipus (shudder). His latest 'interest' has been to filch car keys and try to start the car. START THE CAR. Non-stop questions about driving, turning 16, traffic laws...? Now...I remember hearing about kids like this when I was a mother of younger children and being QUITE condemning. Let me assure you: this is a behavior that sneaks up on you. There's no parental pre-planning for this! I put the keys up high...I impose sanctions...but the kid is pretty slick.
Then there's the computer...I sign out of EVERYTHING before I leave my desk so that Calvin doesn't spam all of my friends. Or worse. Last week, I made the mistake of leaving an online shopping cart up while I did something else. He managed to add all sorts of things! Thankfully he doesn't have my credit card.
And then there's Oedipus. The Halls recently had to endure a retelling of the cute bootie story (thank you, Mackey), and now there's one to trump. I was laid out on Jon on the floor yesterday when Calvin moseys in. I braced my back (runners are an injury-fearing breed) for impact. He laid out on me. And then: wait for it...wait for it...did a two handed reach around. WHAT THE HECK?
Hmmm...who feels like a bad prison movie now?!

Paid to People Watch?

First and foremost, I love people. I love to converse with people, study people, observe people, and yes, even, on occasion, comment on people...mmmmmmmmmm...sociology.

Since I don't think PEOPLEOFWALMART is hiring, I thought maybe I could get a job at Walmart as a greeter. For a month. In the spirit of Morgan Spurlock. And document ALL OF IT. I mean...how hard could the application process be? Teeth? Check. College degr....oh, nevermind, hired.

Can you IMAGINE the stories one would come home with???? I'm giddy with anticipation. Hmmmmm...now if I could just get myself to ask for an...application?...with a straight face...

Wise and Mature and Facebook

...both of which I am not. But my folks are.
So, I just had the most surreal experience of the day.
My parents are over with their BFFs from the Cali hood. Please understand that my parents are...um...ADVANCED in their years...like 70s and 80s, and they look FANTASTIC...(in case they're reading...). Not exactly spring chicks. So we're all chatting away, and my dad has a newish phone (many premature phone deaths by toilet) that I haven't checked out yet. I'm mocking him, ever so gently, about how lame it is that he, a technophile, doesn't get instant email notifications from Facebook (I'd posted something timely on his wall that he missed). So he comments on how he'll check his Facebook... Two things happen at once: 1) I remember a conversation I'd had with a significantly younger person about how weird it is that so many older people (referring to me - the nerve) use a college-inspired communication platform, and 2) the family friend remarks: "You get Facebook on that phone?"
It was so weird.
And then...if I think about it any more and make it totally not funny? I think about how of course there is a disproportionate number of older people on Facebook because they (notice how I didn't use "we") make up a greater segment of the population. Duh. And then I think about the first edition of The World is Flat when they talk about the internet as ubiquitous technology that levels communication barriers. Who knew those things would converge on FACEBOOK. I just got a randomly geeky chuckle out of the whole thing.

OH…..MY…..GOsh!!!!!

OH…..MY…..GOD!!!!!

Walmart Wedding

Walmart Wedding

Why So Serious?

Why So Serious?
More to come.

The Significance of 20 Miles in the Rain

Thanks to a fantastic running friend, I no longer run 20 miles on a treadmill. Thanks to the same fantastic running friend, I now run 20 miles outside...in the rain. Which was actually great; I'm not knockin' it. There's something addictive about knowing your body can rise to a challenge through injury, insomnia, poor food choices (anyone say 'nachos'?) and rain. Yet this affirmation is not what is significant about yesterday's run. No. The CONVERSATION is.

Some of the people in the group know that I'm running a Boston qualifying race in Midland/Odessa on October 3rd, so we were talking about it...among other things over 3 hours...

James: "Are you planning to fly out?"

Me: "What are you talking about? It's (like) 2 hours from here?!"

James (laughing): "Uh...no it's not. It's closer to 8..."

Me: "Huh? What? Whoops..."

So...I'm new(ish) to Texas...and apparently to Thinking as well. Why would I not CHECK such a detail? Ugh. I SWEAR I used to be smarter than this.

Thankfully Jon is accustomed to such oversights on my part, and we'll adjust our travel plans accordingly.

Quality Time with Calvin

I didn't realize just how occupied the older kids (aka Lucy and Mackey) were keeping Calvin this summer...until Monday. The closest thing I can approximate his clinginess to is a squid on my face. Except bigger. And MY face.

Poem Written by 9 Year Old Girl Who Lives in My House but Wishes to Remain Anonymous

"Walking under an ice cold sun,

Summer's over, school's begun.

I'll make new friends and say 'hello',

and hope ones not named Pelopoe.

Summer's over, school's beggun.

I'm walking under an ice cold sun."

Countdown Until Taylor Lautner is Legal

Nothing like something a little taudry...
Countdown Until Taylor Lautner is Legal

That Boom Boom Pow

It's official! Calvin is potty-trained!!! Which, for the 2 of you who read this that aren't moms, means he doing double duty in the potty and waking up dry (unless I give him a gallon water before bed or something)!!!! Ok, and, well, technically, wiping is a different story, but hey...

We celebrated by going on a date to Old MacDonald's (which is like kryptonite to me, so you KNOW what a big deal this is), the movies (with an itty bitty stop at Nordstrom's on the way), Yogaliscious, and the maze.

Which isn't to say this kid isn't MILKING his new-found stardom. I swear that kid can smell when to go in for the manipulative kill...and that's why I adore him!!!

It's a Man-Child Miracle

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN...(drumroll, please)!
For all of you who have had to listen to me complain that I'm sick of changing the equivalent of an adult's diaper...
You will never guess who potty-trained in a day. Never. Ok. Maybe you will.
Calvin.
The secret? The perfect combination of a rainy day to keep us in and a take no prisoners policy toward diapers. He went straight to an underwear/pull-up policy. He has only had one accident...not including the one when Jon told him to poop in his pull-up. But that's Jon's fault.
He has woken up dry 2 days in a row.
But he's yet to poop. Wish us luck.

Time

It's time to lock-really lock-Calvin out of the bathroom when I'm taking a shower. Ask me how I know? I was getting dressed today, and Calvin came up to me, grabbed my bottom, and told me, "You have a cute bootie."
Uh-oh.

I CANNOT Believe My Kids

The fruit of MY loins? Not with stuff this good.

So, we are completing the 3rd week of our summer vacation. As you can imagine, it has been busy and fun and relaxing and frought with peril. The froughtness with peril came to a proverbial head at our neighborhood pool the other day. We had met the Hawkins there to swim, and my kids just weren't groovin. We had to leave the pool much earlier than anticipated as well as listen to my pontificating on the finer points of civility with the final nail being an early bedtime for all. In the aftermath, our family had a calm discussion about what we can each and all work on to prevent further summertime peril. Up to and including letting my sleep in past 6 am.

Fast forward to the next day. I woke up (early) to them telling me that they were going to let me sleep in. Ok. 9 am I roll back out of bed. Nice. As were pulling out of the garage, I commented about how we'd forgotten family prayer that morning. Lucy says: "We didn't! Mackey and I had our own morning prayer and read in the scriptures together this morning." Me (cough...sputter). Lucy: "We figured out Operation Truce and how we can get along better and help you more." Me (more cough and sputter). So far, so good. Squabbles are handled more efficiently and calmly. There has been a better spirit in our home. Wow. All I can say is "Wow".

Which brings me to my next bragging point. Mackey lost his first tooth tonight with a babysitter while Jon and I were out on a date! She texted me about the whole thing! So we got home, and Jon went up to make sure the toothfairy was alive and kickin (nod, nod, wink, wink)...and lo and behold, of her own accord, LUCY HAD PUT $2.50 UNDER HIS PILLOW. What?! What to my wondering eyes should appear but a brother and sister who've grown to endear. Lucy is a sweet girl, with a 3rd grade big sister streak, but that has GOT to be the most tender thing I've ever seen. I am just so proud of them!!!

http://www.runnersworld.com/cda/racefinderdetail/1,,s6-239-283-284-0-0-0-0-1897822,00.html

http://www.runnersworld.com/cda/racefinderdetail/1,,s6-239-283-284-0-0-0-0-1897822,00.html

Shared via AddThis

It Never Ends with This Kid

I only share this, not because I'm partial; but because I almost drove off the road today laughing so hard I was crying.

One of Calvin's favorite things to do is heckle Jon. Seriously. It doesn't work on me because I'm too cool for it. But Jon? Well, he's an easy tease...youngest of 7 and all. So Calvin's in his seat about 2 hours into our return trip when he loses interest in the movie and focuses on Jon.

Calvin: "Daaaaaadddddy. Dad. Dad. Dad. Daaaaaaaadddddddddyyyyyyyyy. Yooo-hooo."

Jon: "What, Calvin?"

Calvin: "Look. See, Daddy? Look what I can do. I lick my toes. Ha ha ha ha ha!"

Puts filthy toes in his mouth.

Jon: "That's disgusting! Rachael! He's making out back there with his feet!!!"

Calvin (sensing he can juice Jon for hours of entertainment): "Daaaaaaaaddddddddyyyyyy! Look! I lick my toes! Mmmmmmm! Ha ha ha ha ha!!!"

Jon: "Rachael...make him stop!"

Jon just reminded me about this one. We can't quite verify it's truthiness (props to Colbert) or not (it could just be the Burn Notice stuck in my head), but we think we heard him say the following:

Mackey was pestering the heck out of Calvin. Which, frankly, is unusual. Pestering definitely flows upstream in our house. That's probably why Calvin was particularly perturbed by the whole thing. But that's besides the point. So, Mackey's just punkin' Calvin. And we think, although we have NO IDEA where he would have heard this phrase (seriously), Calvin goes, "Mackey! Stop it or I will rain down hell on you!" In his defense, Calvin sounds like Lil Cheney (see above video...and don't judge me). His pronunciation is sloppy and his diction, terrible. The other, and more likely, alternative: "Mackey! Stop it or I will play tell on you!" You be the judge.

Needless to say, Calvin has kept us on our toes all weekend.

Calvinables or Calvin Quotables

At my husband's prompting, I am writing this most recent segment about things that Calvin aka 'The Three Year Old' says. This is a sampling from today.

In prayers:

"Thank you, Iron Man, for keeping us safe."

"Thank you for Iron Man."

"Thank you, Jesus, for guns."

In conversation:

"Oh yeah, baby, it's on."

By the way, this is the same husband who astutely noted that in the morning I communicate by grunting; and in the evening, I communicate by sighing. I need to remember how great he is when I'm tempted to extort him with expensive purses.

Nah.

Overheard in my House

In the past 2 minutes, I have overheard the following:

1) Setting: Mackey and his friend, Mason, are playing upstairs.

Mason: "This is getting boring."

Mackey (with alarm): "DON'T LET MY MOM HEAR YOU SAY THAT! She'll make you do chores."

2) Setting: Jon is opening a package that UPS just dropped off.

Jon: "...but where's the ammunition?"

It is never, ever boring at my house. Here comes Lucy and her friend soaking wet. This should be interesting...

What's with the Underwear?

I'm horrified to post that I just overheard the following:

Lucy (a little horri-shocked): "What? I hope you have more than 1 pair of black underwear!"

Mackey: "Nope."

Lucy: "That is DE-SCUSTING. You better hope mom doesn't find out you've been wearing the same underwear since Wednesday."

Me: !!!!!!..."Excuse me, but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation (mostly because Lucy was saying it loudly enough for that purpose). It's Sunday. You've been wearing that underwear since Wednesday?"

Mackey (smirking): "Yep."

Me: ?!?!..."Well, that's just gross. You're gonna be lucky if I don't tell everyone I know how gross that is. Go up, take a shower, and look for your hygiene while you're at it."

Guess Mackey wasn't so lucky on the publicity.

Homemade Underwear

You know what I LOVE about my Sunday meetings? That I don't have to discover my six year old in homemade underwear as I'm getting ready to run out the door (late, of course) for church. APPARENTLY as Jon was getting the posse out the door, Mackey says, "I made my underwear." Upon further examination, it turns out that, yes, yes he did. Out of bubble wrap no less. WT....Heck.

Stupid M&Ms

It's a good thing I don't drink. Cuz I'd be an alchie fo sho. As it stands, I'm an M&M-ie.

I just threw away a partially...ok, mostly...finished bag of M&Ms. Not in the bag. Cuz I might go all George Castanza on it. No, I emptied out the contents into the trash can containing unsavory diapers so as not to be tempted.

Luciella Bella

I've gotten so accustomed to Lucy's awesomeness that sometimes I overlook it. I totally take her independence, intelligence, and responsibility for granted. These are her latest, most massively impressive feats:

1) This morning, Lucy was telling me about a boy in her class who teases her when she goofs up something or has a clumsy moment (by her own admission gives him plenty of opportunity). She told me that it embarrasses her. We discussed several different ways of handling the situation; one being a direct approach. The one major roadblock to addressing him privately is that he ALWAYS hangs out with this other boy. If she asked to speak to Adam in private, she feared the whole 3rd grade assumption of romance. As she got of the car for school, I wasn't sure what, if anything, she'd decided to do.

After school, she was telling me about her day.

Lucy: "oh yeah, I talked to Adam today. It was no big deal. He won't bother me anymore."

Me: OH MY GOSH!!! What a brave girl I have!!! "WOW! Tell me about it!"

Lucy: "I just asked him if I could talk to him before recess in private. I asked him if he knows how he teases me when I trip and stuff. He said 'yeah'. I just told him that it embarassed me and asked him to please stop. He said 'ok'. Can I make some Chinese food?"

She's amazing. That takes guts. She's just awesome. She's one of those kids that doesn't need 'the crowd'. Not yet, at least. And I sure hope it stays that way.

Next.

2) Chinese food. She has this culture report that she needs to have the food for in school tomorrow. As I'm flying solo and up to my eyeballs in whiney boys, we talked about recipes that she could do on her own. She picked one out. We picked up the extra ingredients. And...THAT KID MADE COCONUT RICE. ALL ON HER OWN. Stove top, measuring, the whole nine yards. I'm not 100% sure I'd done something like that in college, let alone elementary.

She's just pure awesomeness.

Party in My Bathroom

My morning started with a party. A Star Wars party. In my bathroom.

As I was getting ready for the day, Calvin made an evasive move into my bathroom:

Calvin: "Mom! Darth Vadar out dare!"

Me: "This early in the morning?"

Calvin: "Mom! Goo guys out dare, too!"

Me: "They must be really tired."

Calvin: "We have to save them!"

Me: "Okee dokee, artichokee."

Next thing I know, the little boy who scandalously picks his nose, snickers as he burps, and farts for laughs was cordially (where did the sense of urgency go?!) inviting his imaginary Star Wars friends into our secret hide out. The funniest thing? He looked at me rather impatiently when I didn't formally greet our 'guests'...because acknowledgement of the rebel forces clearly wasn't enough.

Calvin: "Mom, this is Rex."

Me: "Hi, Rex."

Calvin (looking rather expectantly at me)...

Me: "Nice to meet you, Rex."

...and so on to the rest of the forces.

The saga continued into my shopping foray as well. We went to The Rack where Calvin rattled on and on and on (which is really endearing) about how he would be build me a ship with the help of Rex and Ben 10 (sometimes we combine our overly violent cartoons) and escape the Null Void...much to the entertainment of all the ladies around us.

Abort Mission!

I ran into a friend at church yesterday who asked me why I hadn't posted in a while. I'd responded that Facebook makes me lazy...and uncreative. It also robs me of my forum for blowing off parenting steam. (But it totally satisfies my adult onset ADD...).

True to form, lest this be considered among the 'my family is so perfect, come read about them' blogs, I am ranting and soliciting...

With summer lurking around the corner...do you love how it 'lurks' these days as oppposed to 'approaches'?...I'm afraid. My kids fight more than I can stand. Mackey needs an anger management course - I wonder if Jack Nicholson is available? Seriously? I almost sent this kid to school in his underwear cuz he was freakin out so hard about getting dressed. Getting them to do chores effectively and efficiently is taking years off my life (but don't worry, I hate housework too much to cave).

I stumbled upon a great little parenting blog through my local newspaper that promises quick parenting tips or, in my case, reminders.

Please. Wish me luck...and ideas if you have them. Remember, I didn't grow up with siblings. So, I'm WOEFULLY lacking in practical experience.

Starter Kit Style Essentials

Be forgiving...my mojo is a little off since my head wasn't 100% in the game. As always, dear friends near and far, any style questions you can pose would be greatly appreciated. And, btw? Love the Big Star jeans...in a darker rinse.

Since last week focused more on ‘please do nots’, this week’s advice centers around the ‘please dos’ of four style essentials. There are certain things a woman’s closet is naked without: a great pair of jeans, a white shirt (or two), a little black dress, and a car coat. For starters. Having these ‘tools’ at your wardrobing disposal will build a great foundation for you (and your closet).
Jeans: find a pair of boot cut jeans in a dark rinse with 1-3% spandex long enough that you cannot see your ankle bones (longer with heels). Make sure the back pockets are relatively big, centered closer to the middle seam vs. the side seams, and a little lower on your toosh. Trust me. It’s a backside miracle if you’re looking to minimize. Flap pockets help balance out a hiney that’s flatter than Nebraska.
White shirt: For t-shirts, get cotton with a little bit of stretch. If you like 100% cotton, the ‘perfect fit’ t-shirt at JCrew has micro-ribs that keep its shape. I personally prefer a ballet (boat) neck with three quarter sleeves. For blouses, go tailored with three quarter or long sleeves, buttons down the front, and a crisp collar. Again, personal preference, I like a mandarin collar with subtle detail for flair.
Little black dress: this is me in a rare cave to social pressure. I don’t much care for black, but it is versatile. A well-tailored sheath dress in a structured fabric is good for straighter figures or an a-line in a variety of fabrics if you’re dressing curves. My favorite black dress is stretchy wool with short sleeves and a subtle cowl neck. I don’t wear it a ton, but I’m glad it’s in my closet when I need it.
Car coat: this is a nice way of saying you need good outer wear so as not to spoil your outfit. Consider length, material, color, and lapel when purchasing a coat. A good length for petites is upper mid-thigh and longer for their taller counter-parts. Wool always looks nice, and mercerized cotton is a great alternative for warmer weather or layering. While I prefer camel or navy, black is a perfect basic. Lastly, decide if you prefer a coat that buttons all the way up or a notched lapel.
No one wants a naked closet, so wear this instead.

Why Calvin Will Collect Unemployment

Calvin is officially out of a job. His little, 2 year old responsibility in our house was to feed our dog, Berkeley. Today has been a sad day for our family and probably the beginning of a sad week: Berkeley was euthanized today. We pulled the kids out of school early after the vet called to inform us he was doing worse with treatment and that we should consider 'other options'. Like voluntarily, even if humanely, sentencing him to an unnatural death. Sigh. Ugh.
So we hauled the crew over to say our good-byes. We were the saddest little bunch you've ever seen...or heard (if you consider Mackey's WAILING...Mackey would make a fortune in a culture that pays for professional 'mourners'). Mackey said the sweetest little prayer for Berkeley...that Heavenly Father would take care of him and that he'd be brave and happy and we'd see him again someday.
I think I will cry about this for a while. More than I ever thought I would...grizzled vet that I think I am. And Calvin will have to find another job.

Budunka-dunka and Other Workout Wear

Newest post for the stylistically challenged. Hitting up my fave subject: sports bras. See below. Also...looking for topics for the next couple of weeks. Help??? I only have one subscriber through the newspaper's website with no other questions from g-pop forthcoming. For those of you unfamiliar with inappropriate prison movies or cop shows, 'g-pop' is general population.
Today’s topic is a little touchy but near and dear to my heart. Literally. Sports bras and other gym attire.
A friend asked me about workout wear specifically wanting to know where she could wear gym clothes after she left the gym. This particularly fit friend can wear whatever she wants wherever she wants. Sigh. For the rest of us, there are some guidelines. Ok, for her, too, to prevent car crashes or husband smacks. Consider the typical errand-sphere of most suburban inhabitants: Target, schools, lunch, mall, groceries, and kid games. As a rule of thumb, gym clothes will suffice anywhere you will push a cart, eat with a menu on the wall, and cheer little kids. By default, extended trips to the mall – no one wants you to try things on all sweaty – and school visits are a no-no. With a caveat. If you are dropping off, fine. If you are sticking around, make sure you’re dressed to the standard that the school expects of its students.
On another note, think about conventional gym attire. Obviously you don’t need to dress to impress; however, the best thing I ever did to lose 35 pounds was get decent workout-specific clothes. Like a uniform, I take my exercise more seriously when I wear clothing specific to the task at hand…not something I’d clean my floors in.
While I’m at it, I feel compelled – no, OBLIGATED – to address the issue of workout bras. I am so evangelical about a certain brand of exercise bra that I should get an endorsement from them. Seriously, people have stopped me from offering ‘free consultations’ to strangers. In my not so humble opinion, no other bra does a better job keeping your chest in one place than Enell. Google it or visit Run On in McKinney. Admittedly, it is ugly. It is my sacrifice to vanity’s altar. But do you know what it is really ugly? Budunka-dunka. There’s not even a word for that awful bounce; just a sound effect. It is so vulgar to see a woman running or jumping or whatever with all of her femininity all over the place – no matter how much you paid for them. I’m not just talking about busty women either. Smaller sizes need to keep it together, too. If you don’t already have one, do yourself, no, do us all a favor, and pick one up.

Mackey, Always Mackey...Unless It's Calvin

Sigh. Picture if you will all the kindergarteners running excitedly to see their moms after a long day at school. Not Mackey. Not today. He has the dejected look of a boy who got in trouble at school. Which makes me sad. So I hug him and reassure him that things can't be that bad while we wait to talk with his teacher (yeah, this is really me talking about one of my kids...spooky, isn't it?). In the course of waiting, it becomes evident that Mackey accidentally (that's my story, and I'm stickin' to it) used an inappropriate word in class. (How red am I?) Mid-choke, Mrs. Cole is ready for me.

So as not to embarrass the poor fella (which is code for 'not embarrassing me'), we walk off to speak in private. It goes a little something like this:

Mrs. C: "Did he tell you what happened?"

Me: "Uh...yeah. He did. And, frankly, I'm a little surprised. We don't use that phrase. I mean, well, maybe the word, you know, in, like, a Biblical sense."

Mrs. C: "I can see that. This wasn't Biblical. But I don't think he knew what he was saying when he said (wait for it...wait for it...) 'What the hell?' to a friend."

Let me tell, that is NOT a proud parenting moment. I know, I know. A lot of you were nominating me for MOTY anyway, but this might be a deal-breaker. And you know what's so lame? I don't even say that. Ever. But I have my suspects as to who does.

Please note that this is coming off the tails of a 'shirtless' fiasco at the end of primary yesterday. Sweet. He storms the primary room where I'm finishing up with JUST HIS SWEATER VEST ON holding his button-down in his hands. After putting my eyeballs back in my head, I tell him to go put his shirt back on RIGHT NOW. To which he responds, "...but mom, I was hot." Smiles (very proud of himself) and walks off.

That kid.

Charlie Brown's Mardi Gras

I was a bit under the gun for deadline this time...for no other reason than procrastination. So, this is the stuff of very little sleep and about 2 and a half hours punctuated with 'mom, can I...?' or 'mom, Lucy did...' or 'honey, does...?'

This week, we need not rely on my style musings. Alas, there have been inquiries about accessories. Most notably, these: “How about accessories? What is going overboard and looking like Mardi Gras?” and “I'm unsure about how much to wear, matching vs. coordinating, and being afraid I look like Charlie Brown's Christmas tree.”
Well inquired, ladies. First, let’s define accessories: jewelry, hair adornments, belts, purses, small dogs, etc. In the interest of space, let’s chat jewelry. Thanks to home jewelry parties and rap videos, people over-accessorize. Please don’t. There’s a better way. One need only consider two things about jewelry: placement and scale.
Think of jewelry as belonging in three distinct places: ears, neck, and wrists. Not ankles. Not toes. And certainly not belly buttons (no matter how great your abs are). As in rock, paper, scissors over stinky diapers, I usually apply the ‘two out of three rule’ for jewelry. (Though, pierced ears should always wear earrings.) Go for all three if the pieces are understated. And then we have fingers. Like children on a playground, rings should take turns and not go on all at once.
Jewelry should compliment an outfit not steal the show. Too many big pieces don’t make a statement – they make a billboard. Especially with earrings and necklaces in such close proximity. And big pieces will age you. Something my wrinkles are doing a great job of without any help. Remember that opposites attract: large in one place will be complimented by small in another. Big earrings, simple necklace. Chunky necklace, delicate earrings.
Generally speaking, my jewelry is simple. I have trays of fun jewelry – a la Target and even Sam Moon – but I don’t wear it often. Tops on my list of “must have” basics are: little hoops, humongo hoops, and biggish, round diamond (-ish) stud earrings. For the neck: a short gold or silver seed chain with modest-sized pendant – no dollar signs or clocks, please – but I love the Sundance catalog and local artisan, DromDesigns for necklaces. Clinking on the wrist: a few bangles or stretchy bracelets. Fingers: out here in the ‘burbs, likely a wedding ring and possibly a simple band for the right hand.
So, avoid looking like Charlie Brown’s Christmas Tree at Mardi Gras, and wear this, not that.

Wear This, Not That Inaugural Post

So...I did it! I posted a style article on our local paper's website. Which, if you could see what I'm wearing right now, is pretty ironic. The editor seems to like it and will submit for hard copy. The link is high-lighted if you want to get the whole local paper experience, but I also pasted the content. See below. Now, if I can just figure out how to get PAID for shooting my mouth off...

Wear These Jeans, Not Those Jeans
The inaugural post. No pressure, right? But at the end of the day, all of us bloggers are exhibitionists and/or voyeurs. I’ll post mine if you post yours. So, here I post…
Well, since I’ve had sick kids, I haven’t been able to go out to take pictures of what not to wear and practice using little black bars to protect privacy. Ok. No. I PROBABLY wouldn’t really do that. Though I’ve had a good laugh thinking about it. But do we really want to find out? Nod, nod, wink, wink… Because I have indeed been buried up to my eyeballs in Kleenex, Advil, and cough medicine with Hydrocodone in it (don’t be jealous), I’m gonna take on a light-weight style subject: jeans.
Although finding the perfect pair can SEEM as allusive as finding the perfect swimsuit – one exists, the other does not – it’s really kind of simple. Not easy, but simple. For the sake of argument, let’s break down jeans into five basic categories: bootleg, flare, trouser, skinny, and please don’t. With those styles come ‘rises’…which refers to how high up on your belly the waistline hits. I’m a mom; I no longer refer to my midsection as ‘abs’ or ‘stomach’…just belly. ANYWAY…I digress. Which I do. There’s 3 essential rises in my oh-so-humble opinion: varying shades of ‘low’ rise (beware the backside and dunlap), ‘mid’ rise (most flattering), and ‘please don’t’ (high-waisted) which is trying to be trendy right now. Ew.
So! If you don’t have a passion for fashion and don’t feel like reading the rest of this, do one thing: buy bootleg jeans. They’re the best thing to happen for the female form since the bra. Anybody can wear them, and everyone should own a pair. Puh-lease, please get a mid rise. They can be fitted or relaxed from hip to knee with a gradually wider shape from knee to hem. They balance out hips as well as add shape to the less shapely. Like I said…a denim miracle. The flare is the trendier BFF to the bootleg. Imagine a bootleg with…wait for it…wait for it…more flare. Not for the overly curvaceous…too much flare can make you look like a reflection in a circus mirror.
For those of you still reading… The trouser leg, maneuvering well from casual (with flip flops) to a little more dressy with the right accruements, is also very flattering. The front pockets are slanted and the leg is easy and slightly wide. Avoid going too wide if you aren’t very tall or if you aren’t built like Heidi Klum.
The skinny leg. It is as it says: it’s fitted and skinny. And, don’t hate me for saying it, they’re also for people reflecting their namesake. Nuff said. You know who you are.
Lastly, the ‘please don’t’ aka ‘mom jeans’. Perhaps I should have led with this. Put simply…these are the jeans that are too high in the rise – I prefer 2-3 fingers below my navel, and frankly speaking, your navel, too – and create a kangaroo pouch no matter how much you weigh. They do this other thing: taper. The only things that should taper are song lyrics and candles. I can’t differentiate between sausage links and tapered jeans. Even my mom, style icon at the ripe ol’ age of she won’t let me tell you, has a pair of old tapered jeans that she wears in the garden. She, weighing all of ‘not much’ even soaking wet, puts on 10 lbs when she busts out those relics.
So, if you’ve got a pair of sausage pants, burn them (Mom, are you reading?). And, hey, it’s better that you know.

Fantastic 5 to Super 6

Props, accolades, awe-inspired worship...bring it. I had twelve 5 and 6 year olds over yesterday to kick it old school and have a birthday party at my house. Please, please. Hold your applause. Lucy was the designated party - Jedi Training Center - assistant. She did a fantastic job. Next year, I'll just put her in charge and kick back with a giant beverage from QT. Minutes before padawan arrival, I begged Jon to run out for the aforementioned 'fod-ee fo' to fuel us for the party. Needless to say, the party went down quite differently from the one I had imaginacted in my head...I'd conjured up all these (in my opinion) really cool training games. All they wanted to do was wrestle and shoot stuff. It was soooo weird! Although, I'm not exactly sure why I expected any differently. It was still fun and nobody had to go to the hospital. Success. Here's some pics. Happy birthday Mack-D.