Mom and a Microphone

the phrase that drives me crazy

2009-07-03T07:14:00.005-04:00

For her age.

You've heard people say it, heck, I'm sure I have been known to mutter the phrase at one point in my life. But, I don't like it really.

I realized it this morning while talking with Jim and Kevin, my two favorite friends that have interesting male opinions. We wound up talking about a female celeb, and I asked them if they found her attractive.

'Sure, for her age.'

What's THAT supposed to mean? Isn't it a yes or a no question? Either she is or she isn't? She either makes the attractive list or she's not in the eye-candy category. Isn't that how it works? Instead, the phrase seems to serve as a disclaimer. Sort of a 'yes, she is...BUT.'

It's not always for her age, sometimes you hear people say for a mom. 'Yeah, she's attractive, for a mom.' Huh? Isn't it a clear-cut thumbs-up or thumbs-down? What does having labored for 19 hours have anything to do with it?

Just one of those things I think about, but won't lose sleep over.

5 new things about brad

2009-07-02T06:27:00.005-04:00

As promised...

Here are 5 things we didn't know about Brad Paisley. He shared during our chat yesterday, which aired this morning.

Brad has no interest in competing on the Celebrity Apprentice.
Brad is even MORE uninterested in competing on Dancing with the Stars, and says producers would have to promise that his appearance would 'cure cancer' before he would be on 'that stupid show.' Performing on the show is the closest he'll get.
Brad has never had a back waxing, for the simple reason that he doesn't have enough hair back there to need it. 'It'd be a waste of wax,' Brad says.
Brad's oldest son, Huck, makes a super brief appearance on his new song 'Anything Like Me,' and often asks his Daddy 'Can I hear mine?' Brad will tell him, 'Yeah, you can hear yours.'
Brad gets a kick out of the makeup artists who get him tv-ready, when they dance around trying to groom his eyebrows. Brad tells him to just go ahead and pluck em, 'because I know I look like Bert.'

brad paisley shows wfms some love

2009-07-01T15:27:00.008-04:00

Remember when Brad Paisley sent a tweet from stage during the CMT Music Awards?

He may have been the first country act to use twitter on live tv, who knows. We talked to Brad today and asked him about twitter, and he admitted to not really knowing what he's doing but certainly trying. One female 'follower' recently chastised him for not following her back, yet Brad said he's not quite figured that part out.

We told Brad we are 'followers,' or stalkers as Kevin put it, so he offered to tweet that he was talking to us while he had us on the line. That was interesting. Brad told us to wait as he grabbed his iphone, wondering aloud if the phone's spell-check would correct WFMS, then told us the task was complete. 'Check and see if it went through,' he said. Sure enough, Brad made good on his word.

'Talking to the idiots at WFMS right now,' it read. It was quickly followed by a 'Just Kidding.'

Gotta love Brad's humor. Kidding aside, Brad never ceases to amaze, and we learned a few new things about the guy who says he's NEVER had a manicure. Like just what Brad really thinks of Dancing with the Stars, and would he ever partake in a back waxing? His answers may surprise you.

Stay tuned...more tomorrow.

my husband and a jar of wax

2009-07-01T06:24:00.004-04:00

Backhair.

Let's just say I'm not too fond of it. Kind of like I'm not too fond of turning on the tv and seeing a hot-dog eating contest, where the contestants seem to be unfazed by the ungodly amount of food they're inhaling. I can't watch without dry-heaving a good three dozen times.

Just not my thing.

So I should lead with a disclaimer that I think Greg is a very handsome guy. A very handsome guy with a few backhairs that sprouted up some time after he turned 30. He's not Chubaka by any means, it's more hit and miss. Patchy, if you will.

Oh, let's hope he doesn't read this.

Last week we received an invite to go boating with some friends, which was quickly followed by my request that Greg get his back waxed before going shirtless for all to see. No, was Gilligan's reply.

After some slight begging, Greg surprised me Friday morning with a call saying that he was walking into a spa and was completely nervous. 'What do I say' he asked? "Tell them your wife said you need your back waxed and don't worry. It's no big deal.' Yet Greg was one big ball of nerves, and mumbled something about he couldn't believe he was doing this, because what guy gets his back waxed, and if anyone in the spa laughs at him I'm dead meat. Good to know he was handling things.

To make matters worse, Greg called back to say the spa couldn't get him in for another 45 minutes, which means he had just that long to stew about the procedure. 'Can you believe they asked me HALf-BACK or FULL-BACK? I mean, really.' I'm sure a good wife would have said something encouraging here, instead I was laughing hysterically. I explained he had nothing to feel uneasy about, and tried walking him through the process, starting with the locker room where he would receive a robe.

'A ROBE? I am NOT wearing a robe. No way.' I'd be lucky to get Greg past the front desk, and certainly didn't help by introducing visions of Hugh Hefner. Plain and simple, he wanted the Express wax and hoped to disappear out the door that reads 'Embarrassed Male Customers.'

Fast-forward one hour and $30.00 later, and Greg's back is smoothalicious. As in 6-weeks smooth, which means no more jokes about breaking out my flat-iron. After all the worries, Greg lived to tell about it. In fact, I might even say he didn't mind it. And, heaven forbid, he just might go again. Of course, then there's the chesthair.

But I won't push my luck.

life's little surprises

2009-06-30T07:57:00.006-04:00

Finding money in a pocket.

A phone call from an old friend.

Waking at 9:30 am on the weekend, and your kids are still in bed.

A card in the mail.

'I love you's' from the kids.

A penny on the ground.

Jeans that fit.

A shoe-sale.

A lemonade stand on the side of the road.

Breakfast in bed.

Catching a foul ball.

Lollipops at the bank.

The person in front of you at the drive-thru paying your tab.

A smile from a stranger.

eavesdropping on my children

2009-06-29T08:21:00.005-04:00

7-yr-old: Wow, do you see that Hayden? See that baby spider? It's trapped between your bedroom window and the screen.
4-yr-old: Awwww, hi baby spider. You're so cuuuuuute. It's ok baby spider. He's probably scared because he can't find his family.
7-yr-old: Wow, if you look really close, you can see his face. Hi spider. Isn't that cool?
4-yr-old: Yeah, way cool. Hi baby. Hi little guy. Hi cutey spider. We'll take care of you. Don't worry. Awwww...
7-yr-old: Yeah, we could help free you. Let's lift the screen and help him get out so he's not trapped.
4-yr-old: Yeah, let's do that. We'll get you out, baby spider.
7-yr-old: Oh, but wait a minute. Then the spider might come on in your bedroom. What will we do then?
4-yr-old: Oh, then I will KILL HIM.

Well, it was nice while it lasted.

slow down

2009-06-26T15:00:00.001-04:00

Boy if that fortune isn't the truth.

Tonight, I had been playing baseball with the kids and later rushed upstairs to fix up a bit before heading to dinner with the family. I told Greg to give me five minutes since I was sweating more than my husband sweats at Disney, and that's a lot. No pictures to prove it, just take my word for it, the guy gets hot.

So I ran some pomade through my locks, threw in a squirt or two of hairspray, a swipe of deodorant, and wondered why the lid wouldn't fit on the bottle of hairspray.

That's when I realized I was forcing the lid to my Secret over the much-smaller nozzle. Not exactly a match and a good reason to question my sanity. Same thing happened yesterday.

We made homemade pizza, with enough left over to feed the gazillion girls who cry at a Jonas Brothers concert, so I wrapped the extra slices in foil. I meant to grab my cell from the counter and take it upstairs, instead I walked into my bedroom and found myself with a handful of foil-wrapped pizza...

...and my phone chilling next to the milk.

Better get some sleep.

not too impressed

2009-06-26T10:00:00.001-04:00

Tried brussel sprouts for the first time today in the studio. Another item to cross off my list of NEVERS. Will I have them again?

Don't think so.

I hate ants, I hate ants, I hate ants

2009-06-25T21:33:00.006-04:00

Sorry for the repetition.

Just trying to get my point across that I really hate ants. They give me the creeps, especially when they are in droves. One or two, MAYBE, but three or more and I get the shivers. Totally makes my skin crawl. Same feeling I get when I find a hair in my food, and it's not mine.

So you can imagine my less-than-calm reaction when I saw a minimum of 14, yes I counted, crawling over a piece of candy in our garage. The boys nanny had given them suckers, and my youngest dropped a piece. So I did what any reasonable adult would do, I reached for the nearest liquid material in a bottle with a spray nozzle...Windex.

Let's just say the glass-cleaner won that battle.

When Hayden asked what I was doing, I told him cleaning up one of Momma's biggest fears, right behind restaurant booths and something else I won't mention, (Note to sisters: no need to comment), and that he needs to be careful about leaving food on the floor.

Hayden's response?

'Oh, that? I meant to. I was feeding the aunts, Mom. They were hungry.'

Kellie Pickler Did WHAT?

2009-06-24T21:59:00.007-04:00

Came across this tonight.

Our pal Kellie Pickler ran out of gas...in a mall parking lot. I couldn't help but laugh when I saw the pic, and what looks to be two very compassionate women helping her out.

Hey, it happens.

I've been known to run a bit low, translation: come to a stop, when I let my fuel gauge get below the red. Yes, I know better, it just happened. More than once? Well, yes, but that's not important. And if Greg is reading this right now, quit rolling your eyes.

Glad to know Kellie is safe and I'm not the only one who pulls stunts like this.

Procrastination at its Best

2009-06-23T16:00:00.000-04:00

The nightstand by my bed.

It's loaded with...according to Greg...junk. So, my first stop after posting this entry will be the trash can so I can start the cleaning process. Greg calls it junk, but it's not really. It's stuff. My stuff. You know, random things. Like six magazines that are neatly stacked, ones I've yet to finish and may take several months before I do, and in the meantime I'll just keep restacking while they collect dust.

What else?

An almost-empty jar of peanuts that I snacked on last night as I lay in bed working a crossword puzzle, and no...I still can't figure out the 5-letter word for 4 DOWN...which is 'dog-tired.'

My frozen entree tray from lunch today that still has a fork laying inside. Yes, I ate my lunch while laying in bed. That way I could nap sooner, after all 12 stairs would have been a big delay.

A rubberband to pull back my hair and an elastic band to keep that annoying strand of bangs out of my eyes, the one that is too short to tuck behind my ear.

About 4 post-its of 'Things to do' lists that, not surprisingly, I never got around to. I'm an expert at jotting them down, just not always good at following through. Now that I think about it those lists should be called 'Things I'd Like to Do.'

And finally, a pic of me and my pal Nickie at her wedding, in my pre-backfat days. Guess that's what happens when we have kids...things shift, right? RIGHT?

Better get to cleaning. Rest assured, it's not like this all of the time. But, I do have my moments.

live and die by the ice cream guy

2009-06-22T16:14:00.010-04:00

The ice cream truck.

Does your neighborhood have one? We get sporatic visits from the guy who drives the truck full of tasty frozen treats, with photos of each item plastered on the side of the vehicle that blares 'Pop Goes the Weasel' from two neighborhoods away. Funny how as an adult, I tend to get the same treat that I bought as a child, patriotic-colored Bomb pops that turn my lips an interesting shade of Smurf-blue.

The boys go into sheer panic mode as if they'd not eaten in days over the sound of the truck's music indicating that A) if you're lucky and make a run for Dad's wallet you B) just might get the chance to buy a Drumstick. I laugh at the wails that could shatter glass in our home, 'Mom...the ice cream truck...he's in the NEIGH-BOR-HOOOOOOOOD!' I remember that excitement. There was something about buying ice cream from a complete stranger that made it seem special. Something about this ice cream tastes better than what they sell at Kroger down the street. Sure, you can buy a box of ice cream sandwiches there, but where besides the neighborhood ice cream truck can you buy just one? And not just one, but one that was handed to just you?

And so it goes in our home, the constant wondering if today's the day we'll receive a visit, or if we missed him while out at dinner, because how dare we eat. We've even hopped in the car to go searching after picking up the faint hint of his music being drowned out by lawn mowers and kids on scooters, only to come up empty-handed. Eventually, our two dejected boys return home to stare at a box of freezer-burned fudge bars in our kitchen.

Until last Saturday, when our ice cream man, who in our opinion beats out the Schwan guy in popularity, drove up and I told him the kids had been looking for him all week, and were about to sign themselves up for some sort of frozen dairy support group. 'Save yourself the stress, I only come on Saturdays.'

Now you tell me.

father's day letter to dad

2009-06-21T23:02:00.009-04:00

Dear Dad,

I missed seeing you today. But you'd be glad to know that you were thought of from the moment I rolled out of bed and you'll be my last thought when I close my eyes.

You always made Father's Day fun in our family. Oddly enough, when I flipped through my rolodex of memories from this holiday, I kept stopping at the vision of you standing in the kitchen when I arrived for our gathering and asking, 'So what'd you bring me?' You were usually sporting your white socks pulled up over your shins and very pale bird legs, as we called them. And you were grinning. Always grinning. In between dipping a green pepper in Ranch, you would be smiling that goofy smile from ear to ear that I try to emulate, but Greg has told me 'I wouldn't recommend doing that in public.' You know the one.

At least once during the family cook-out, you would have shuffled your way in for at least two chocolate-chip peanut-butter brownies like only Mom can make, taking the second after saying the first one was small, then saying, 'Debber Doo...whatcha got going on this next week?'

And by the end of the evening, you would have noticed me packing up the kids' toys and gathering their shoes, only to say 'You leavin already?' Funny how getting up early for work now wouldn't have mattered.

You'll be glad to know that Michelle made your favorite cheese ball today in your honor, though she didn't finely chop the onions like you once did, and I hope you heard me when I visited you this evening. I smiled driving out to the cemetery when I saw an older man drinking a beer on his porch alone, and wondered if he was a dad or had gotten a visit from his children.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. I sometimes ask myself what I would give for just one more 'Debber Doo' or 'What'd you bring me?' And the answer is...

Anything.

i found my nanny on craiglist

2009-06-19T08:25:00.009-04:00

I know what you're thinking.

Are you crazy?

No, I'm not. I, just like you, am shocked that I found a great person to make summer fun for my two little guys and she's, like, NORMAL. I'm the first to admit that I tend to be over-protective at times, yes, that was me who followed Griffin's bus to school when he began first grade, so awkward doesn't begin to describe how I feel when another mom in the neighborhood asks me where I found such a great girl, and I have to respond, 'Craiglist.'

After all, isn't that where people go to buy lawn mowers, bikes, or Archie comic books?

But, a nanny? Quality child-care? I'd never even used Craigslist, not to buy or sell an item, and then found myself on the site. The first post I clicked on was a college student studying to be a teacher and looking to watch kids for the summer. And she lived nearby. And she had experience. And what was the catch, I thought? I skeptically sent her an e-mail and several conversations later we made plans to meet. I whole-heartedly expected this girl to show up with hair dyed the color of that plastic flamingo in your neighbor's mulch, a lit cigarette hanging from her mouth and piercings in both lips.

What a nice surprise.

She was anything but, and smiled from ear to ear with references...which checked out...in one hand and a list of fun activities she hoped to do for the summer. I watched as she interacted with the boys, who hung on her every word, all the while thinking, 'I found this girl on Craigslist?'

I still can't believe it.

Anything would sound better than that. Like, I found our nanny in the produce aisle, or she put that baggie on my rear windshield wiper at the carwash, or we found her roaming our backyard and we took her in for a night. But, Craigslist?

The boys love her already. Hayden hugs Miss Kristen at least 83 times a day, and Griffin asks me an hour after she leaves when she's coming back. They swim, do crafts, play baseball, the Wii, go bowling and make treats, like the ones posted in the photo.

This week, Kristen told me 'this doesn't even feel like a job' and my oldest said, 'Mom, aren't you glad you found her? Boy, we sure lucked out.'

You got that right.

overheard in my house

2009-06-18T21:55:00.004-04:00

Earlier today, I heard my husband attempting to negotiate with our boys.

'Now guys, if you're really good about getting along, I'll take you with me to Lowes and CVS.' Since when did that become a treat? Even worse?

It worked.

a conversation with my 7-year-old

2009-06-18T10:30:00.004-04:00

I chatted with my son as I tucked him into bed last night:

Him: You know, Mom, when I play tackle football in the fall, I'll be wearing a cup.
Me: Really? You mean one you drink out of? (Hoping to get a laugh)
Him: (Rolling his eyes) Noooooooo, a cup. You know, that thing you wear to protect your privates.
Me: Oh, that. You sure you need one?
Him: Uhhh, YESSSSSSSSSSSSS. I don't want to get hit in the weiner.

The joys of raising little men.

i want their trainer

2009-06-17T09:57:00.007-04:00

Take a look at Martina McBride, Leann Rimes and Julianne Hough.

Came across this a few days back, and you may recall Hazel mentioning on-air that the three country stars would be proudly posing in bikinis. All I have to say is...all look great and it took ten minutes to pry our producer's fingers off my computer screen.

I love that Martina assumed she would be posing in summery clothes, not a bathing suit, so the whole she-can-rock-a-bikini-look just happened on a whim. Here's the lowdown, according to MSN. Martina says, 'So I got there and I’m thinking, OK, you know I’ve been working out a little bit...I’ll wear a tank top maybe a pair of shorts, show a little legs, show a little arms. They whip out the bikini and I say, ‘Oh that’s cute. Who’s that for?’ And they're like, ‘Oh that’s yours…I’m like, ‘Hmm..I’ll be right back.’” She walked to the bathroom to call her hubby, who was all for it, not to mention her kids. Not bad, huh?

Either these women have waaaaaay more willpower to skip the biggie-sized fries or there's something in the water in Nashville. Kudos, ladies.

I say that as I sit at my keyboard snarfing down an ice cream bar. How sad is that?

it was different to say the least

2009-06-16T18:24:00.008-04:00

Ok, so I kept my appointment and showed up for my massage yesterday.

The one I'd been fretting over because they booked me with a male masseuse. I was fairly nervous going in, so nervous that after I shook Dave's hand, he told me to lay face down, then left the room, and I completely forgot which way to lay when it was time to get on the table. Face up? Face down? WHAT DID HE TELL ME??? Where's the instruction book?

Dave was certainly qualified and all, I just couldn't get past my hangup of having a man do the massage. The entire time I was trying to relax, but instead spent the majority of the hour insulting myself. You know, with unimportant critiques, like 'Do I have backfat? Did I shave my legs well enough? Will my heels feel cracked? Will I snore if I fall asleep? Should I have skipped that bag of M&M's?' and on and on and on.

So, while I'm sure my muscles are now more relaxed...

...I left feeling like I need to sign up for a serious gym membership.

on getting pulled over

2009-06-16T07:00:00.000-04:00

Forgot to mention that the fam got pulled over this past weekend.

Yep, Greg was driving, I was in the passenger seat, and the boys were in the back. The strange thing is...we were traveling around 35 mph, so speeding wasn't the problem. As the officer approached, Greg wondered aloud what he could have been doing wrong, and Hayden panicked as if we were criminals, then promptly looked at the cop and asked, 'Are we going to jail?'

No, he was told with a chuckle.

Instead, we apparently were following an RV too closely, which caused us to clear an intersection after the light had turned yellow. We were given a warning and sent on our way, but not without my 4-year-old needing major reassurance that we A) Would NOT need to pose for mug shots and B) Would NOT be, 'taken to joo-vee,' as he stated.

But, Daddy DOES need to quit tailgating. That we know.

on why i may cancel that massage

2009-06-15T16:39:00.008-04:00

Less than 24 hours before I'm due for a massage.

Usually, that would be a good thing. Until I went to hang up from booking the appointment and heard the woman say, 'Ok, you're all set. 11:00 am Tuesday with Dave.'

DAVE?

A man? Oh no. Not sure about you, but getting a full-body rubdown from a man I've just met makes me a little uneasy. Not sure why, really, since a male doctor delivered both of my boys, and Dave won't even be seeing those parts. I'm not used to it, as my husband would rather watch four Hannah Montana episodes back-to-back than rub my feet. He doesn't do feet. Or necks or shoulders...or anything...for that matter. And in his defense, he's ok with not getting them in return. Not his thing, he says.

But, a man masseuse? It's just awkward. Kinda like those few moments when you're sitting in a paper gown and socks while waiting for the doctor to come in, that kind of awkward. Or when you step on the scale for the nurse and hold your breath that she doesn't repeat your weight out loud...that kind of awkward. And then there's the flip. That moment when the masseuse lifts the sheet and, hopefully, looks away while you turn over on to your stomach. I wonder if Dave has ever had a client skip the flip. That wouldn't be weird at all, would it? No different than skipping the guac at a Mexican restaurant, or leaving the whipped cream off of a sundae.

I'm hoping Dave is short for Davita. Either that, or I'm wearing sweats.

it's a love-hate thing

2009-06-15T07:14:00.011-04:00

Summer.

There are pros and cons to summertime. Things I love, things I don't. See if you can relate to any of these.

LOVE

Not putting winter coats on the kids

The whir of a lawn mower

Burgers on the grill

The smell of suntan lotion

Smores on the fire

Lightning bugs in a jar

Flipflops

The ice-cream truck

Sidewalk chalk

Picnics

Dining at an outdoor restaurant

Ice-cream cones

State Fair

Outdoor concerts

Flowers in bloom

Baseball games

Pedicures

DON'T

Sunburns

Bikinis

Applying sunblock to squirming children

Humidity

Flies and swatting them

Telling kids to close the door to keep those flies out

Explaining to those same kids why it's not dark, but they still have to go to bed

Ants and mosquitos

Bugspray

Hearing 'I'm bored' from the kids

When it ends.

oh, the fun i'm having

2009-06-14T09:00:00.002-04:00

I have discovered two new things today.

The first, because it's always nice to start with good news, is that rearranging furniture in your home can lift your spirits. Sort of makes things seem 'new' again. So we did just that, not to mention the new drapes I hung, and voila...a whole new house. Or something like that.

Makes coming home exciting in a new way.

The second realization? I'm not a fan of blue painter's tape. The stuff used to tape off the trim around doors and ceilings when painting. I know it serves a good purpose, but it's more annoying than trying to hear the tv when my husband decides to vaccuum. Isn't that what the commercials are for? After all, who wants to miss an episode of Dog the Bounty Hunter?

Anyway, I decided to paint our laundry room during my week off of work, and I haven't really enjoyed taping off the room. I think I'd rather wear skinny jeans, which I don't believe were made for 90% of the female population. Let's face it, unless you're Shania Twain's size zero, they aren't too comfy.

So, to recap...rearranging furniture = good. Painter's tape = not so much. I just don't have the patience. None. That, or an episode of Dog the Bounty Hunter is on.

Wish me luck.

on visiting grandma

2009-06-12T10:28:00.014-04:00

It's just not a day at Grandma's if you don't stop by Weenee World.

Yes, the place really exists. I'm off work this week, and took the boys to visit my 85-year-old Grandmother who has more energy than a toddler gripping a bottle of Red Bull. I love Grandma. She's feisty and independent, and doesn't beat around the bush. Translation: She's opinionated, which means I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

After arriving, we dined at Pizza King, where she handed the boys money for the Jukebox, and I found myself explaining that, no...they DON'T have the Jonas Brothers, but look!...they have the Statler Brothers! Who's that? my four-year-old asked. He was about as impressed as I was when my husband suggested we get that big screen tv two days before the Superbowl.

Next, we drove to feed the ducks at the pond, where Grams hopped out of the car and just the mere sight of a bread bag resulted in an entourage of geese, not exactly the cute little white ducks I was hoping for, which began swarming her while annoyingly honking or whatever it is you call that noise. Don't those things attack? Grandma didn't seem to care, letting them eat from her hands, no less. Me and the boys? We threw chunks of bread from the car. Heck, we aren't dumb. Love ya, Granny, but it's every man for himself.

Our next stop? Weenee World. The name alone is enough to make me giggle, and the boys repeated it over and over for the next hour. I wasn't sure what to think when Grandma suggested we stop there for ice cream. I took the pic above because I knew no one would believe it. The kids were in heaven, and I was in shock. The employees wear rainbow-colored beanies on their heads and you can buy one to take home, if you dare. Note to those reading this: I didn't.

Heading home, we spotted a man hitchhiking. I pointed him out, and my youngest asked me, 'Hitchhiker, what's that mean?' So I was like, 'It's when someone needs a ride and puts their thumb in the air, but I don't want you doing that, because you shouldn't get in cars with strangers.' And my grandmother decided to take it one step further, saying 'Because when you get in cars with strangers, they could bop you on the head, steal your money, then roll you down a hill and leave you in a ditch.' Uhhhhhh...he's four. Let's not scare the kid.

We learned a lot during our visit.

Starting with...The Statler Brothers, but they weren't all really brothers, and that it's best to feed the geese from your car just to be safe, Weenee World has good ice cream and not-so-stylish beanies, and don't hitchhike or you'll get bopped on the head.

And that's it.

on putting kids in time alone

2009-06-10T16:37:00.008-04:00

I put my 4-year-old in time alone yesterday. After a few minutes, I went to tell him he needed to apologize to his older brother and he could get up, but he didn't seem to care.

He was asleep.

oh, this isn't good

2009-06-10T15:32:00.006-04:00

Just got home, but not without an uneventful arrival.

I've been driving Greg's car the past couple of days. Big mistake. As I attempted to pull it in to our garage, I misjudged the side wall by a good several inches only to hear a scraping noise, in what seemed to be slow-motion, down the front end of the vehicle. Let's do the math...scraping + car = BAD. Hearing that noise twice is never good, but that's what happened when I put the car in reverse and backed out, all the while trying to think of any explanation that would be better than just, 'I hit the garage door.'

How lame is that?

So, I dialed Greg's cell, explained that the boys had a good day, I like my haircut, we need milk, and I hit the garage door.

Would you believe the one thing he focused on was the car?

No asking if I wanted skim milk or 2%, how short is my hair, none of that. He was all...how bad is it...there weren't even any other cars in the garage to dodge...this would only happen to you...and something about getting my eyes checked. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? Wink, wink.

I posted the damage. Take a gander.