BEHIND EVERY GREAT HIGH SCHOOL FUND RAISER...

...are some really tired moms.



Mrs. R, Mrs W, Mrs K

A couple of weeks ago, I told my FOMs (Fellow Officer Moms) that I'd really like to skip just one football game. There were things going on that just made me want to stay home and catch my breath. I needed some space.

And they were very gracious and understanding and said all sorts of encouraging things.

You relax, and don't worry about things.

You really do enough, it's okay for you to miss one game.

Really, they were so sweet in allowing me to be a great big slacker.

But then I started worrying that they really liked it better when I wasn't there.

I mean, what if they no longer LET me work in the concession stand?

What if they didn't let me do ANYTHING?

What if I wasn't given any more responsibilities with the fund raising?

What if they no longer let me sit at the cool kids' table?

But then I woke up and said "pffft! That'll never happen" Because as little as I might do (I am known for excusing myself to the bathroom when any hard work comes up) they probably still need me, if for no other reason than because I always have gas....I mean I always have THE gas...I mean I'm the one that gets the gas.

Okay, let me start over. I am the one that gets the propane tanks filled for the gas grill so we can grill up all those scrumptious burgers, pork chops and hot dogs during the ballgame.

And without the propane, we have no hot sandwiches people!!!

I am the gas lady, and I choose to believe it is a vital job despite the fact that I have sat dormant for the last 2 weeks when it came to keeping the concession stand running.

Thank you FOMs - Kelly and Gretchen. Thank you for letting me beg off for a week or two so I could stay removed from a difficult situation and catch my breath. It really means a lot to me.

And you can count on me for that Christmas raffle. Really, I'm you man...er...woman....to get that one up and running.

In the mean time, if you need me for anything, I'll be in the restroom.

Thanks again, ladies.

'ROID RAGE

I have pleurisy, which is an inflammation of the lining of the lungs - the pleura, I believe. I think it also means I'm getting old.

And pleurisy really hurts.

Come. Come with me on my journey of pleurisy.

So then, in the middle of last week, I started feeling a tightness in my chest, then pressure, then pain - over a period of a few days. I get congested at this time every year so I decided not to worry too much.

And I told myself if I had not awakened dead by Monday I would call my doctor.

Take me to Vegas, baby! I played those odds and won.

I got into the doctor on Tuesday and he diagnosed me with Pleurisy.

Which was really good because it would have been a real bummer if I was having a five day heart attack.

But after he diagnosed me, he sat and stared at me with a puzzled expression - an expression that said "I really don't know what to do with you."

Not unlike the expression my husband and children give me several times a day.

But I wasn't offended because he's a medical person and it seemed far less insulting.

See, the problem is that the two treatments for the pain of pleurisy are:

1) Non steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs

2)steroids

Which, now that I've typed that seems very much like a contradiction.

But what do I know?

My problem with these two options, is that my body can't tolerate either one.

If I take the anti-inflammatory drugs, they will aggravate my ulcer.

If I take the steroids, they might accelerate my heart rate because I have a teeny tiny little heart condition.

My goal is to be a case study in a medical journal before I'm fifty. That is the only way I will ever be a cover girl.

To help the doctor out, I weighed in. And, believe me, after 19 years as his patient, he totally loves it when I weigh in on things. Or better yet, when I tell him I've saved him some time by diagnosing myself using Webmd before my appointments. He loves that.

So I said "Well, since I won't be on the anti-inflammatory drugs for more than a week, let's go with those. I can handle it if it irritates my stomach." I am woman. Hear me roar.

Boy was I wrong.

Two hours after one dose of the sample he gave me, my stomach set itself on fire.

But because I'm a slow learner, I took the second dose the next morning.

And by eight thirty I had called my doctor to ask for the steroids. This made my husband happy too because the first drug was going to cost over one hundred dollars. Ther steroids cost us $1.86. No, really they did.

With a steroid pack, you have to take six doses - SIX DOSES - on the first day and you decrease your doses every day for a week.

So after each dose yesterday, I sat in a chair and concentrated really hard on my heartbeat.



Is it beating fast now?

How 'bout now?

Now? Is my heart beating too fast?



Which, I realize, was a total waste of time. I mean if I'm going to be on steroids I should be in my garage swinging a seventy-pound sledge hammer for fun or something. Which is not to say that my friend's husband is on the 'roids. No, not at all. He's just freakishly fit and has this unbeatable spirit.

I, on the other hand, wear myself out using my little kitchen hammer to put a nail in the wall.

But NO MORE I SAY!

Now that I got me some 'roids.

Tonight at the football game I think I'll lift the team bus off the ground just for fun.

RUDE

So then, the other day I stopped in briefly at a place where I do some volunteer work.

I can't say where it was because this is a small town and any complaints will get right back to them before I hit PUBLISH and I've got enough controversy in my life right now thankyouverymuch.

Anyway, I made a brief stop to make arrangements for my REAL volunteer day and I was treated rudely by the front desk person.

And I don't like to be treated rudely by somebody who works at a place where I volunteer my time.

I don't like being treated rudely by anybody, actually, but it really bothers me when it is by somebody who is either being paid by me or is receiving free labor from me.

I'm not going to complain to anybody about it (you know, like formally) because that would reflect badly on the organization I represent. I will probably let our coordinator know that somebody hurt my feelings *sob* and then let it go.

But Geesh!

I figure a volunteer should be treated like a client.

And as a former receptionist/secretary, LET ME TELL YOU, clients are supposed to walk on a red carpet when they enter your place of business. It doesn't matter if you have a migraine, if you're mad at your boss, or if your toilet overflowed before work that day, you treat the clients nicely.

Am I wrong here?

So now that I've given you a detailed account of my persecution, you can all weigh in with some sympathy.

Those of you who aren't too busy on Facebook that is.
***********************************************

Now speaking of RUDE, I was telling my sweet neighbor about a little issue we've been dealing with at home and she said I should totally blog about it. So since it fits right in here, let's have a little chat about....


CANINE FLATULENCE!

Okay, you can blame Jenna for this post.

We have a senior dog.

She's really sweet and loyal and as docile as they come. She barks at the UPS man and Schwan man but she's afraid of the neighbors' new puppy. She folds herself into the litter box when it thunders and sits there shaking until the storm passes. That is, if she isn't in the bathtub trembling. We have considered sedating her on each Independence Day because the fireworks turn her into a trembling drooling mess. Poor Baby.

As most of you dog owners know, a dog can be pretty smelly at times. There have been times when our whole family has simultaneously dropped to the floor from her silent fumes as she lies among us snoring.

But now her...um....fumes aren't just Silent But Deadly (SBD). Now they are actually Audible But Deadly (ABD).

And they scare her.

Yes our dog is scared of her own flatulence.

Now as she dozes on the carpet, she scares herself with her ABD's. She will be in the midst of a well deserved nap and hear a suspicious noise behind her, leap up and run across the room with her tail between her legs and look back as though she expects to see a predator.

And her little canine thought bubble reads "What the heck was that? Don't worry family, I'M ON THE JOB!"

Then she looks at all of us to see if we're frightened before settling down to another nap so she can repeat the process. I think she might be a little confused as to why we are all laughing so hard during such a frightening time.

Such is life with a senior dog, rude as it may be.

The only person who seems even the slightest bit pleased with this new....uh....issue....is Paul.

Now when he says it was the dog, he has proof.

MY HEART

Approximately ten days ago I told half of my heart that it would be wearing brown for family photos. The other half, since I actually trust her fashion instinct, decided to pair PINK with the brown. Go figure,

This is the result.

Is it any wonder I asked my sweet neighbor to take Blake's senior portraits for us and then snap a few of the whole family?

A few words to mothers of little ones. Remember that feeling when you saw the first professional photo of your baby? Or even the one taken in the hospital? Remember how you fell in love all over again and you wondered how in the world you were still breathing even though your heart had suddenly jumped outside your body?

Remember that?

Well, that feeling doesn't go away.

Even when, say, hypothetically, your grown son has decided not to shave or get a haircut until January 1st. Even, when, say, hypothetically, he holds fast to this commitment when it's time for his senior photos.

Even when, say, hypothetically you beg and plead and say "Why, son? WHY?" And you wave the white flag of surrender because, as you're pleading for a clean shaven young man, his peers are saying things likes "Dude, that is SO COOL. It's like you're a wolf man or something."

And how can a mother hold battle against such encouraging words?

But you look at the photos of "Wolf man" and his little sister and you fall in love any way.

You really can't explain it.

It's just there like a balloon swelling somewhere inside of you (probably that place where your heart used to be) and as you look at each proof, that balloon grows bigger and bigger. So big you know it's going to burst and leave a spray of tears all over your computer screen.

I love photos. Photos have a way of putting life into perspective. They remind you of what really matters. They remind you to put the past where it belongs. They remind you not to fear the future. They remind you that life is beautiful. Life is good.

They remind us that we somehow manage to do our job on this earth even when our heart is living outside our body.

********************************************

Thank you, Jenna. The photos are all gorgeous. You have a wonderful gift and we appreciate you.

SWEET HONEY...

...David Whyte in The Heart Aroused can resonate with the Spanish poet Antonio Machado who wrote:

Last night as I was sleeping, I dreamt - marvelous error! - that I had a beehive here inside my heart. And the golden bees were making white combs and sweet honey from my old failures."

"White combs and sweet honey from my old failures." Sometimes it works out that way, but not always. Sometimes my failures have me buried in shame and guilt and loss. I've come to learn that when I fail alone and isolated, I don't crawl out of the muck so well. Sweet honey only comes from my old failures when someone has taken the time to love me through my failures. And through the loving touch of that caring human being, I am healed.

Paul S. Williams

From the devotional book When I'm Learning to Love by Greg Allen, Rick Rusaw,
Dan Stuecher - Paul S. Williams, editor.

FRIEND

*Edited to add: Apparently this post made my friend cry and she sent me an e-mail IN ALL CAPS telling me so. This is not a good thing for her to be doing at work, crying that is. She works in a male dominated profession, which she combats beautifully by wearing lots of pink and carrying great purses. But still, there's no crying. So, sweet J-net, if those big mean men made fun of you, give me their names and I'll come down and smack 'em.
Okay, not really. That's your job.

I have this friend.

I'll call her J-net.

She's carrying quite a load right now so I decided last week to take dinner to her and her husband. I whipped up a pot of chicken noodle soup and popped in with it.

Don't they say chicken noodle soup is good for the soul or something?

So anyway, I had such a good time that night that I decided to do it again tonight.

Because even though I went to make their evening a little brighter they ended up making my evening a whole lot brighter.

Tonight I popped in with some meatloaf and trimmings. I knew I'd have to keep my visit short because Friend J-net has a cardio class in the evenings and I didn't want to keep her from it. Turns out she had a tiny little headache and decided to skip cardio so we could visit and laugh.
And laugh and laugh.

Here's the thing, though. She really didn't want to tell her husband she was skipping cardio due to a tiny little headache. Because, see, he has cancer. And he was in the garage working out while we were in the living room making excuses for skipping our own exercise routines that day.

He was working out with some other guys and I kept hearing this "thwump." "thwump." "thwump."

What IS that noise?

Oh, they're just swinging a sledge hammer against a tire.

Wait, what?

This man who is on the tail end of thirty six radiation treatments is in the garage swinging a sledge hammer before heading off to his second job?

HE WAS SLINGING. A. SLEDGE. HAMMER.

For fun.

And he's not, like, on a chain gang or anything.

And he's undergoing radiation treatments.

And I decided to skip my exercise today because I had cookies to bake and a meatloaf dinner to prepare. Oh and I had to run to the mall to buy an ice cream cone. I had a busy day, people!

So then.

When he came inside Friend J-net confessed that she was skipping cardio because she had a tiny little headache. And I decided to make the ultimate sacrifice for her and let him know: "Her headache's name is Heidi and I'm crying on her shoulder. She can't leave."

Once he finished his NINETY MINUTE WORKOUT he ate some dinner and left for his second job.

Hello. My name is Heidi and I am a slug.

Here's the thing about my little visits with my dear friend. I like to think that by showing up every week or so with a simple meal it might take a little stress off of her for a couple of nights. I like to think that the hour (or two or three) we spend laughing and talking might be a little pick me up for her.

And maybe it is.

But as it turns, out, it is a HUGE pick me up for me. Because even though she is carrying such a heavy burden right now, she has, on each of these visits, set her own burden down, and picked mine up for just a little while.

She has encouraged me, affirmed me, loved me, teased me, and made me laugh til I cry and cry til I laugh. She has been my sister in heart and in Christ. Each of us has helped the other bury her father. When I try to imagine my life before I met her, I simply cannot comprehend how empty it must have been without her shining smile, amazing humor, self assurance, and true loyalty.

Plus, when someone hurts my feelings she offers to hunt them down and smack 'em. Really, she does.

I am blessed by you Miss J-net. You have helped me more than you'll ever know during our years of friendship and I want to help you carry your burden.

And next week we have a celebration dinner to plan....

Love you sweet friend.

SLINKING AWAY

Each of my children has faced a bumpy road lately.

And each of them seems to have navigated it better than their mother.

When Kayla was having a disagreement with another girl - a disagreement that took an ugly turn - this mama bear had to work very hard to keep her responses measured and her words kind toward somebody who was hurting her cub.

Then one night, Kayla came home and calmly said "Oh, we worked it out. Things are fine now."

Now I have a confession.

When she said this, I wanted to say "But...wait...what do you mean you worked it out? What if she....you can't have...."

"Wait, what?"

But there was such finality to her statement, such calm assurance that I, for once, was able to keep my mouth shut and listen and learn.

It's over. It never happened. For now I choose to believe in this peace.

And I slinked away in shame.
***************************************************

Yesterday Blake had an encounter with an adult that, in his words, left him feeling intimidated.

And here came that mama bear again.

I calmly said to him something like "I'm sorry this happened to you. Do you want me to step in and say something?"

And he said "No, mom. I have a future ahead of me that's so much bigger than this man and this situation...."

And I slinked away in shame.
*****************************************************

Last Saturday was Senior picture day for Blake, and since it had been a while since we'd had family photos taken, we turned it into a session for all of us.

And as I watched a couple of Blake's shots (I didn't want to watch them all - I want to be surprised) I turned into a puddle of goo just thinking about the fact that we were at this point in life.

Then, just for fun, I had our photographer take a few shots of Kayla.

And I turned into a puddle of goo.

Because, come on!!

How does this happen so quickly? How do we get to this point so quickly - the point where we no longer spend an hour getting the perfect shoes, the perfect dress, the perfect socks, the perfect bow for pictures? The point where we no longer beg and cajole and threaten so that Blake will cooperate with "just a few shots, buddy. - PLEASE!" The point where Blake no longer has to hold his head at odd angles to work around the giant bow on his sister's head.

The point where our children are fighting their own battles better than we could fight for them and coming out the other side with a lesson learned.

The point where glimpses of their character are starting to shine through and we can, between prayers and frustrated slaps to our own foreheads, say maybe, just maybe, things are going to turn out just fine.

And we get out their baby books and try to convince ourselves that those days really weren't so sweet after all.

LEARY

Yesterday at Kayla's last softball game, I noticed a guy there that looked a little...um...shall we say....shady. He was wearing a funny stocking cap and sunglasses that I suppose were like Oakley's or something like that. Maybe he got them in Europe....la te da....

He had not been at any of the games before but he kept standing around watching MY DAUGHTER'S game so I was just a little disconcerted.

So much so that I turned around and snapped his picture:

Oh wait. It's only Kayla's big brother and his friend Mitchell.

"911? Uh, yeah, never mind. The shady guy is my son."

Crisis averted.

PERSPECTIVE

Life has been coming at us hard and fast lately - as hard and fast as a speeding freight train.

And we are tied to the tracks.

For a local point of reference - we are the Trojans and life is Tuscola.

We are the Titantic and it is the iceberg.

Yeah, things have been a little rough.

But Friday I got some news that puts things into perspective for me.

Our neighbor's son was injured in Afghanistan last week. You might have seen the story on one of the national news channels. Our troops were caught in a fire fight - outnumbered - and lost eight brave soldiers. Our neighbor's son, a medic, received multiple shrapnel injuries. I think his body will heal more quickly than his spirit. After all, he had the horrendous task of tending to his brothers in arms who gave their lives.

This young soldier's step dad was Kayla's softball coach last summer. His little sister was on her team. I thanked him last summer for his service to our country - before he shipped out. I talked a lot to his mother about what it was like to have not one but TWO sons serving our country in a war zone. I listened to every word she spoke but I still did not comprehend.

I still don't.

But I called his mother today. I called to tell her that I was praying for her and we most certainly would continue praying for her boy and her family. And that is all I could do. What does one do for a neighbor whose son is injured in a desert half way around the world? How does one even begin to put words to that kind of pain?

Please pray for this family. Please pray for all families that are receiving that most heartbreaking of phone calls or visits from some U.S. Government official who never met their loved one.

It is indeed time for peace.

CHILLY

Now I know why they call it a FALL league.

It was a wee bit chilly at Kayla's games yesterday. But notice the trees in the pictures below. They are truly becoming gorgeous.

But anyway. When we started the day yesterday at the fields it was a balmy 51 degrees, partly sunny with a breeze that kept things a bit nippy. At the end of the final game it was 48 degrees with no hint of sunshine and a breeze that kept the moms a bit snippy.

And now for a brief pitching tutorial - from the least athletic mind God ever created.



When a pitcher warms up she does not throw fast solid pitches lest she hurt her arm and her mom and dad have to pay for some sort of contraption to make it all better. And no no no that's not gonna happen.

Here is Kayla "framing."I think that means she is just like, maybe, getting herself centered, and, like, maybe, staying balanced. Frankly, I don't know. But she's doggone cute while she does it. (notice the girl to the left. That's Hillary. Her hat? It's a magic hat 'cause that girl was on fire yesterday. note to self: buy 12 zebra caps.)

Then the pitcher will bring her pitching arm above her head, forming an "L" with her other arm, then bring the pitch around in a nice smooth arc, then snap her lower arm quickly and release the ball, like so:

She will do this a dozen times or so. I actually caught this whole action in a series of frames but have no idea how to explain it. And I'm sure Kayla will read this post and say "Um...mother? You got it all wrong." Whatever. But she looks doggone cute while she's doing it.

Perhaps as the mother of an athlete I should know more about her sport but I consider myself to be my kids' chief cheerleader. That is my only job. They have coaches. The parents who know lots about the sports - all the technical stuff and every teeny tiny rule - tend to be, in my experience, the ones who are also more critical of their kids. I don't know sports, but I know how to encourage so I'm going to keep myself ignorant, thank you very much.

The girl with the hat? She also wore some pretty nifty little boots to the game. I told you it was chilly.

Here are Kayla and Becky. I had asked for Kayla not to act annoyed at my picture taking so Becky was kind enough to step in and take on that role. What are friends for?

My daughter will not let brisk Autumn temperatures deprive her of her flip flops. She has a thing for flip flops. Oh don't worry. She doesn't play in them. She changes to her cleats that are black with pink stripes. 'Cause you gotta work the pink in somehow.

Kayla, what's with the annoyed look? I'm your mother. I birthed you. I'm really cold.

Could you please give me a genuine, sincere, appreciative smile?

Okay maybe a little over the top but we'll take it.

Oh and her coat? We thought it was a little pricey when we ordered it last year as part of her school softball uniform. But I threw it on today to step outside and it's REEEEALLLY nice and warm, and it's water repellent and it fits me.

If it didn't have her name embroidered on it I'd totally steal it.

FLU SHOT - PART II

So on Wednesday I decided that Kayla and I needed a little quality girl time.

After school, we got in the van and headed out - not for shoe shopping but...wait for it...are you ready....?

FLU SHOTTING

Since I could think of nothing for which Kayla needed to be punished in the past week, I decided to spare her the Walgreens experience and instead headed for our nearest walk-in clinic.

Oh the heartache of having the best family doctor, ever, 21 miles away.

But really, it didn't matter where we were going; what mattered was the mother/daughter bonding time we were giving ourselves, right?

Pulling into the parking lot, I was somewhat encouraged because there did not appear to be many cars there. Counting the staff, I figured the cars represented maybe 10-15 people who might be in various stages of their walk-in doctoring.

My spirits sunk, however, when we walked into the waiting room and the first thing we saw was a stainless steel stand holding surgical masks, tissues and a giant bottle of hand sanitizer.

And I heard the theme from Jaws playing in my head.

There was a young mother with a little girl in line ahead of us at the sign-in desk. The not-so-subtle sign in lady said really loudly "So she's getting a flu shot?" And that poor sweet little girl turned her head and looked up at her mom like she was suffering the biggest betrayal of her life. Her lower lip began to quiver, her face scrunched up in a heartbreaking pout, and then tears began to fall silently down her precious little cheeks. I wanted to take that stainless steel rack and soundly thrash that mean lady. That poor little girl had a long wait ahead of her to dread the needle and obviously her mother had wanted to spare her that. I bet after work that lady went to that little girl's house and kicked her puppy.

Not one to be pessimistic (ahem) I thought SURELY at the start of flu season they had a system set up such that seekers of the flu shot were being called back lickity split while the miserably sick were required to wait a minimum of 90 minutes.

Because fair is fair, people.

Turns out I was wrong.

So terribly, painfully wrong. I soon realized that EVERYBODY was going to wait a minimum of 90 minutes. Escpecially scared little girls waiting to be poked with a needle.

After signing in and checking all the "No" boxes on Kayla's flu shot form we settled in for what I still hoped would be a short wait.

Kayla read her book and made small talk with a little boy who was probably in fifth or sixth grade. (That girl really has a way with kids) I sat and stared into space. I tried not to look at the little girl across the room who was curled into a ball in her chair silently crying while her mother whispered in her ear. It was hard to ignore her. I also couldn't seem to ignore all those germs that were jumping onto my body.

Because this room was full of really sick people. People slumped over in their chairs like they were made of noodles. People whose eyes were red and puffy. People with little piles of used tissues lying beside them on the chair. A lady on the cell phone telling somebody "Yeah, I'm swollen all over." My only distraction was a little boy who was about two. He would catch my eye, smile, cover his face and giggle. He was painfully cute. So cute it made my arms ache to hold him in my lap. But that would not have been wise.

Germs, ya know.

His cuteness was countered, though, by the little boy of about 7 who spent 20 minutes doing handstands in the middle of the waiting room floor. I kept wondering why somebody, you know, like a parent of his, didn't roll up a magazine and pop him on the back of his baggy little jeans after he was told to stop and he didn't. But I'm mean like that.

So we waited about 25 minutes before I decided we had picked up all the germs we could - there were no more germs to be found here - and I politely told the receptionist to take our name out of the line up because we decided not to wait.

We high tailed it back to the van where I made Kayla bathe in hand sanitizer. There was so much hand sanitizer floating through our van, the poor girl had to open her window to breathe lest it bring on an asthma attack. "Geeesh, Mom!"

Then we stopped by the marine office where I had hoped to catch my son's recruiter because I had a question. But we had no luck there, so we walked next door to the new Bible book store and bought my friend and her husband some presents (because he is fighting cancer - please pray for them) and ourselves some CD's and books.

We arrived home just in time for Kayla to leave with a friend to go eat Chinese food for dinner, while I made a note to call our doctor's office to let them know we'd be stopping in for a flu shot.

All in all, I'd say this girls day out ranks right up there with our last trip to the dentist. Plus, I'm still in the running for mother of the year.

HOMECOMING

After the float had been floated, the concessions had been concessioned, and the game and been won, it was time to put all of our efforts into the dance the following evening.

So Saturday evening, my heart got all dressed up and took itself to the festivities.
Separately of course. This was as close as the two W offspring were going to get to spending their evening together. You know, I think I'm objective when I say this; I haven't done a lot of remarkable things in my life but I sure did make me some pretty babies.

The W girls:

Kayla's dress came from London and I think she did a wonderful job choosing her hair-do to go with it. It was a side pony tail with lots of curls and she put a silk flower in it. Nice and simple.

Cousin Maddy spent the weekend with us and went to the dance with Kayla and her friends. Next week, Kayla is going to Maddy's dance. These girls obviously hate each other. See how unhappy they look. They are miserable like that every time they get together.

Since the weather was so terrible, we decided to turn the W house into a clown car and see just how many sophomores (and a couple freshmen I think) we could fit into our family room for photos.

FOURTEEN!! With room for a few more. It was a very sparkly gathering.


Me and my boy:

Notice his huge smile. No really, that's a huge smile for Blake. But I know he loves is mama.


After the sophomores left for dinner we rotated the seniors in. Blake and his friend Connor brought their dates to the house for some quick photos. Connor's Marine ship date is June 21, while Blake's is May 24. The really neat thing about these two big tough future marines - one swimmer and one wrestler.....

...is that they went to the dance wearing pink and purple.

Because that's what their dates told them to wear and they are no dummies.

Blake and his sweet date Mackenzie.

Well, there they are again in front of the fireplace.

Beauties and the Beasts: Connor and Jenna; Blake and Mackenzie.

I have a couple more great photos to post but I have to first steal them from a couple of different facebook pages.

And I need Kayla to help me do that.

*Legal note: There is a slight possibility that this post may disappear within 24-48 hours because I have absolutely NO permission from the parents of any of the above pictured minors to post their photos on this blog. And since I have seven (yes, SEVEN!!!) followers and a few closet readers (those who don't want to admit they read it) this could turn into quite an ugly legal battle. If I do happen to receive a cease and desist order, I'm going straight to Nancy Grace so you'll just have to tune in to see what happens.

RESCUE

Edited to add: Well, I've been called out on a terrible mistake in this post. Apparently, today was simply WACKY TACKY day at school - not WACKY TACKY SUPER HERO DAY. It was my daughter's idea to put on a cape and become a super hero for the day. The good news is, she rescued my weary heart. The bad news is that my daughter actually has a pink super hero cape in her wardrobe. I've yet to decide if I should worry about just how far her love of accessorizing has taken her.


It's been a bad ten days here at the House of W.

Because of things that are too private for this blog, there are some heavy hearts around here.

But life goes on and we strive to enjoy the here and now while picking up the pieces from "before" and looking forward to the peace that comes with "after."

And since this is homecoming week for us, there are many distractions like float building and dance preparations.

Since every day this week has had a theme at school, and since today was WACKY TACKY SUPER HERO day, this super hero swooped in this morning and picked my heart up off the floor:

Seriously, wouldn't your heart feel just a little lighter if YOU had given birth to this super hero?

And while we're on the subject, what shall we call her?