Happy Mother's Day!

To those of you who are mothers already and those of you who hope to one day have your own child to repeatedly kick your foot throughout your Mother's Day lunch. This sort of thing entirely makes up for it, though:

Dear mom,
Thank you for giving me life and taking good care of me. I love you. Happy Mother's Day.

Sincerely,
Sebastian

Ready for a shocker?

Last night, Jeremy and I went out for our anniversary. Not that shocking yet, but bear with me. We went to a real restaurant where there were no children in sight, no burritos on the menu, and there definitely weren't any meals that came with a toy.

How we managed to have a date where we didn't feel like teenagers is anyone's guess. (We'll ignore that my top came from Forever 21.)

And if I were to be entirely truthful, which we all know is difficult for me, the only real reason we were in a real restaurant is that my mother sent us some random gift certificates to 5 places we've never been, including 2 in Wilmington. We decided to head over that way because spending an hour driving would ensure that we would not somehow end up at home before the children's bedtime.

So we had a real meal with soup, salad, an entree, and the worst chocolate cake I've ever had. Then, we drove slowly past the bowling alley long enough to realize we had no intention of going there. Then we drove over to Keene, decided against seeing any of the movies and then went to the outdoor ice cream place for a "Fancy Frappe"--- with a bunch of teenagers.

We're working on it. One day we'll actually be old and boring and we'll dream of mini-golf and Burger King dates.

T-ball terror

See that boy o' mine? He is trouble with a capital T-ball. Granted, the children only had one practice before their first game because 2 out of 3 were rained out. And granted, getting Kindergartners and First graders to play ball is like herding cats. But our kid was out of control. During the 2 inning game he:

• was incapable of staying in the position the coach assigned him.
• missed a ball headed straight for his assigned position because he wasn't there. Twice.
• ran for every ball, no matter where it was headed.
• tried several times to offer other children $5 to let him have the ball. ($5 he does not have.)

But he had a good time, which is clearly the point since every child bats each inning and no one keeps score. And he did know where the bases were. I'll give him that.

I was almost going to whine...

But I won't. We all know you don't want to hear me drone on for the millionth time about too much volunteer work for school when we all know what the definition of the word "volunteer" is. So I promise I won't tell you that I'm in the middle of 8 days of volunteer overload which just had 2 more tasks piled into it. Mum's the word.

Instead, I'll give you the good news. The good news is that today the bill came for the sewer pipe (I know bills are not good news, just be patient) and if the insurance company holds up their end of the bargain, I will be paying about $1000 less than my original prediction. Can I get a "Hallelujah!" over here? It's still more than the $0 I would like to be spending, but it is no longer terrifying me.

I love you, Mr. Jeremy!

Nine years ago today, in unseasonably sweltering heat, I wed my best friend in the whole wide world. Two kids, one minivan, and a house with a broken sewer pipe later, we're still going strong.

It doesn't get much better than that. (Especially now that the pipe is fixed.)

That boy has got problems

While my darling cousin Emily was here this weekend, she got to witness the bizarre spectacle that is The Children Across the Street. She was already horrified by their constant staring in our direction, the incessant hellos from the youngest girl, and the swinging of wooden baseball bats at each other-- you know, the things that have become a normal day in our neighborhood. And then we saw the absolute icing on the cake.

You may recall that part of my new fence needed to come down to allow for the excavation of our sewer pipe (an event that quickly became the talk of the town). Two dowels and one post were taken down, and to do this, the workmen removed 2 galvanized nails and then left them stuck in the top of one of the remaining posts.

While I watched from the kitchen, the middle child from across the street, an 8 year old boy who when asked how to spell his name told me, "I have yearned many things, but I have never yearned to spell my own name," wandered over to inspect the newly poured cement of the sidewalk. Then I saw him touching the nails in the fence post. As my cousin and I exchanged a disdainful look, I realized that the nails were no longer in the post. I called out the door, "G-----, did you take those nails?"

"What?"

"I said, did you take those nails? From the fence?"

And that's when he pulled them out of his mouth.

A supposedly fun thing I'll never do again... at least until next year

The Flapdoodlers had their annual "Running of the Bulls" party in honor of their 2 Tauruses, Flapman and Little Miss Flap. This party involves drinking the strongest margaritas ever and then running up their dead end street into the woods and back for a total of a half mile.

Myopic bookworm that I am, I am not made for running. Hell, I'm no good at track and field video games. It is not my sport.

It should be no surprise that I came in last. And I mean dead last. As in "I almost died" last.

I could blame the margarita, or the maker of the margarita, but the full responsibility lies with the drinker of the margarita who had the awesome foresight to wear her low rise pants which are perpetually falling down and a pair of Chucks. I was somehow completely unprepared for the fact that the other people were going to be wearing running shorts and running shoes and, you know, run for fun and stuff.

Well, there's always next year (when I will be sitting on the sidelines with my margarita cheering everyone else on).