Tuesdays will never be the same

Tuesday.  One day removed from dreaded Monday.  Not quite close enough to the weekend to really start celebrating.

Most Tuesdays are spent racing home from work, barreling through homework, and driving the taxi like a mad woman, all with the goal for getting into my jammies and onto the couch.

This week….Tuesday was….. a little different.

When the time rolled around to plan this month’s Girl’s Night Out, our friend Tina was lucky enough to stubble upon a flier for a traveling artist performance group that would be in a city close to ours.  Even though we had planned to catch a boring old movie later in the month, we decided it was a much better idea to support the arts and the art community as a whole.  After all, arts are important!

This month’s GNO is proudly brought to you by…

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(I don’t know if those were their real names.  But, let’s be honest, I don’t really care what their names are.)

For our purposes, we will call them all eye candy.

Greased-up, buffed-up, beefcake eye candy that, for a measly $10, would gladly allowed anyone in the screaming audience to saunter up on stage and enjoy a not so private moment on the public stage.  (And before you ask, No…Hell no!)

Some ladies were just dying to let loose.

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Some were shocked and embarrassed.

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But there’s always those few in the crowd who you would least expect who turn out to be the craziest ones around.

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No seriously.  This lady took off her shirt IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BAR!  (You can stop playing all sweet and innocent.  The jig is up!)

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Grandmas are officially ruined for me, but then again, so are Tuesdays.


Did she really just say that?!?!

I had no choice but to be a crafty person.  It was in my gene pool.  My mom sews and quilts.  She used to make clothes for us when we were little.  These days her creative juices are spent on Halloween costumes and the most beautiful quilts you have ever seen.  She truly has a talent.

Now I may not have received the quilting gene.  (In all honesty, I don’t know if I have or haven’t.  I’ve never tried.)  But I did receive the mutation for cross-stitch and crochet.

I enjoy doing counted cross-stitch.  I love watching the picture come together one X at a time.  But my true heart lies in crochet.

I love to crochet.  I find it relaxing.  I enjoy making blankets for people.  I like the feeling of accomplishment when I finish a blanket.  I love giving someone I love something directly from my heart.

Recently, I started making new blankets for my kids.  I made them baby blankets when they were little, itty-bitty things, but I decided to make them new bigger ones they could wrap themselves in while hunkered down on the couch.  In an attempt to keep the peace as much as possible, I am working on both blankets at the same time.  The last thing I wanted to hear was kid #2 complain that kid #1’s blanket was done already or was done faster or I like them better so I did theirs first.  So everywhere I go that I might have a few minutes to spare, I drag my crochet bag with me so I can whip out a few stitches.

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Not too bad for starting just a few weeks ago.

Today, I had two basketball games to go to plus drive time to and from, otherwise known as prime crochet time.  As I was sitting in the stands, watching the game and stitching away, (Yes, I can crochet without looking.  It’s a sick talent.) a lady sat down next to me.  I didn’t pay much attention to her a first.  I noticed she was cheering for my daughter’s team, so she must be a friend, not a foe.

At half time, she leaned over and asked me what I was knitting.

~ Sidebar ~ This is a pet peeve of mine.  Knitting involved needles and some techniques I do not possess.  Crochet involves a hook.  I am crocheting.  Despite my being annoyed, I’ve stopped correcting people years ago.  It saves me having to explain each craft to random people.

I told her I was making blankets and showed them to her.  She then turned back to talking to the man she was sitting with.

This is the conversation I heard next.

Man – “Do you knit?”

Woman – “No, I’ll learn to knit when I’m old!”

I then turned and looked at the woman sitting next to me.  This is what I saw.

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Wow!  I was rendered speechless and that’s truly hard to accomplish!  Anyone seen my walker???


All’s not quiet on the western front

There are times in my life when I have momentary lapses in sanity and judgement.  I had one of those two weeks ago.

My beautiful, adoring son came home as excited as possible.  They had a visitor come to class to talk to them about band and he wanted to join and play the trumpet.  Yeah!  I was excited.  (See, I really was delusional.  My first thought was that this was a good idea.)

I have a philosophy with my children, if they want to try something, I let them try it.  Over the course of their childhoods, I have signed up for, paid for, transported to and from, and cheered for the following activities:  soccer, ballet, tap, flag football, gymnastics, boy scouts, girl scouts, piano, karate, baseball, softball, swimming, basketball and football.  I’ve bought shirts, uniforms, and pictures; sold bread, cookies, and popcorn.  You name it, we’ve done, and for the most part, I haven’t minded.  I am a firm believe in kids needing to be part of teams and/or activities.  They need to have commitments and people they are responsible too.  They need to have loves, hobbies, and passions and how else are they going to discover what those are if they don’t go out and try everything.

It only makes sense that one of them would take a whirl at band.  Plus, he looked so cute when he was jumping up and down saying, “Please, please, please!”  Man, I’m a sucker.

First step, get over the shock of the price tag for band.  (Holy Moly!  He better really like this!)  Step two, lecture child about how, after I pay for band, he is not allowed, under any circumstances to quit.  Son does all but promise me is first-born, in an attempt to reassure me, that he will stick with it.  Step three, find a trumpet.  Step four, get over shock of the price of a freakin’ trumpet.  (He better really, really like band AND stick with it because I don’t see ‘used, discarded trumpet’ fitting into my current decorating scheme.)  Step five, praise the lord eBay was invented so that I don’t need to take out a second mortgage to pay for said trumpet.  Step six, sit back and wait for the arrival of the trumpet and for my life and ears to be forever changed.

Today was TD-Day…Trumpet Delivery day.  I have to admit, I was nervous.  I’ve never bought a musical instrument over the internet, sight unseen, from a stranger, so I was worried.  Plus, it was only $108.00, so I was extra worried that it wouldn’t be as promised when it arrived.  My fears were put to rest when I opened the package and found this…

Yeah!  It’s a real trumpet.

Trystan was so excited, I think he was about to burst.  He quickly unwrapped everything, pushed in the mouth piece and gave it a blow.

My nerves went back on full alert!  You know that sound you hear when you think of a fog horn or a Tin Lizzie?  Imagine that, times 20, directly in your ear…..Wowzer!

Because I’m a mom and a darn good one, I quickly put on my “that was awesome-sause” face and high-fived my future Louis Armstrong.  After all, this may end up being this thing.  Until we know one way or the other, I’ll be cheering him on, driving to and from recitals, grinning through practice times, and investing heavily in the ear plug market!


Technically it has been 30 minutes, but…..

I’m mean and evil.  I make my kids read for 30 minutes a day.  I know, I know… how horrible of me!  I want my kids to be able to read well, comprehend what they read, and focus on something other than a screen for a half hour.  Call me crazy!

My daughter jumps right in.  She sits somewhere with a book in front of her face for thirty minutes.  I don’t always know if she is really reading or daydreaming, but she looks like she is, so it works for me.

My son, on the other hand, well, here’s how he spends his thirty minutes.

Minutes 1 and 2 – Looking for the book he was reading at the last reading time.

Minutes 3 and 4 – Flipping through the book, looking at pictures, claiming he is looking for where he left off.

Minute 5 – Me nagging him about using a book mark and to start reading already.

Minutes 6, 7, and 8 – Appears to be reading, may actually be reading, I don’t know.

Minutes 9 and 10 – Staring that the wall with the book in front of his face, not reading, but not having yet figured out how to fake that he is.

Minute 11 – Call the dog to him

Minute 12 and 13 – Throwing the ball and squeaking the dog’s toy.

Minute 14 – Second lecture from me about reading the darn book already.

Minutes 15 and 16 – Again appears to be actually reading the book.

Minute 17 – Stretching

Minutes 18 and 19 – Burying face in the couch.

Minute 20 – Hearing third lecture about reading.

Minute 21 – Reading, fake reading, whatever.

Minute 22 – Announces that he is done!  Beginning of the back and forth argument between him and I about when he started and when thirty minutes from that time would be.  Who taught this boy to read a clock?  What…nevermind.

Minutes 23 and 24 – Flipping through book, while bouncing legs and humming.  The book’s in his hand but I’m preeeetttty sure he’s not reading.

Minute 25 – Walks to bathroom, loudly announcing, “I’m going to the bathroom!!”

Minutes 26 – 29 – In bathroom

Minute 30 – Exits bathroom.  Looks at the clock. Smiles.  Looks at me, “The big hand’s on the 8 now, I’m done!”

Time from the big hand being on the 2 til the big hand is on the 8 – 30 minutes

Time Trystan actually spent reading – Maybe 7 minutes

Can’t wait to do this again tomorrow!

Who are you talking to???

Ok, I’ll admit it.  I talk to myself.  I talk to myself ALOT.  I don’t see anything wrong with it.  I find it rather cathartic.  I talk out the steps to things I’m doing or planning on doing.  I talk to myself while I’m doing things, kind of like I’m my own motivational speaker.  This works especially well when I’m working out. 

I talk to myself when I have to have an uncomfortable conversation with someone.  I found this particularly helpful when I was a teenager and I was preparing my ‘defense’ or my version of the story for my parents.  Wait… What??  Scratch that, I was a perfect child.  I never had to bend the truth to get out of trouble.

I find where I truly excel at talking to myself is in the area of “I am so freakin’ teed off and I wish I’d have thought of this to say to you when I was talking to you!”  I’m really, really good at this one.  I can hash and re-hash a conversation or situation.  After the fact, I always come up with EXTREMELY witty things I could have said or more cleaver ways to say the things I did manage to get out of my mouth. 

In my head, I’m a conversational genius!  Unfortunately, I have to keep interacting with actual people…..