BLINK

My girl is a senior this year and time is moving more quickly than I ever dreamed possible.
This milestone has meant not only the exciting senior photo session but also the need for a baby picture for the yearbook.

For Mama it means going from this:



To this:


In the blink of en eye.



She is ready to fly; and because she is ready to fly, I am ready to let her.

QUEEN

So last week was Homecoming at our little high school. Float building, theme days, Powder Puff football (Senior Victory - woot!) pep assembly, parade, ballgame, group dinner, dance, photos. You know how it is.

Oh and at the pep assembly, a young girl I know was named Homecoming Queen. And her King? Football Superstar and Amazing Artist, Jante.




My girl at the coronation dance. Congratulations sweet KaylaBeth. Your tiara sparkles almost as much as you do.

NORTH CAROLINA....

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Soon I will post some thoughts on these wonderful memories.

NEW

Check out this new blog that I happened to stumble across: www.myblogdoesnthavearealname.blogspot.com.

I know the blogger pretty darn well; in fact, I gave birth to her.

And I'm really quite proud of her.

We are on vacation in North Carolina. Posts and photos coming soon.

FOUR

This evening, the three of us - Paul, Kayla and I - went out for a quick dinner and then to Walmart to pick up a few last minute groceries for our upcoming trip.

Oh. I didn't tell you? We are driving to North Carolina.

To stay in a beach condo for a week.

!!!!!!AND TO SEE OUR MARINE!!!!!!

Judging by the amount of giggling Kayla and I did in Walmart tonight, I'd say Paul is in for a real treat on that 16 hour drive from Illinois to North Carolina. See, every now and then, when Kayla and I get the giggles and start talking about nail polish and swim suits and bras, he gets a far away look in his eye and says "man, I miss my son...."

According to my calculations, which are based solely on the quickening of my heart and the goosebumps on my arms when I think about it, we will arrive on base sometime early Friday evening.

And our family of four will be together for about ten days. My girl. My boy. My love. And me. In a condo on the beach.

Four. It really is a lovely number.

TATTOO

Evidently I mentioned that my son got himself some tattoos but failed to let you all know what they were.

Did I perhaps say something like "a gold star to anyone who can guess what he got?"

See? I don't even pay attention to myself....

Anyway LESA asked in the previous comment section about the tattoos. And yes there are two of them. Probably when I wrote that post, there was one, but now there are two.

So....no he did not get an Eagle Globe and Anchor. He did not get a big bold USMC. He didn't even get "MOM" or "I HAVE THE BEST MOM EV. VER." Which totally surprised me; I thought that would have been his first choice. *sigh*

He got the American Flag - all wavy and red white and blue right over his heart.

And then. He went back and got another one on the other side of his chest.

A Republican Elephant.

Yep.

He did. One of those that looks like a stencil; again, red white and blue.

So there you have it, my ones of readers.

If becoming a United States Marine wasn't enough to prove my son's patriotism, well now we just have to follow him to the beach and take a look at his chest.

Ooh rah indeed.

ORGANIC

In the late summer, when it was hot and muggy; when rain was a distant memory and did not appear to be in our future; when the top of my head barely reached my grandpa's belt; I'd walk along his garden with him.

I'd kick up dirt clods and not be bothered by the dust and grime that coated me.

We'd stop at the tomato plants and he'd pick two off the vines.

Plump and red. Small in his hand; big in mine.

He'd wipe them on his pant leg and hand me one. And we'd stand there in his garden, his pride and joy each year, and eat those juicy tomatoes, the juice dripping down my chin and mixing with the sweat and dirt that already covered my face.

I'd eat every bit of that tomato, wipe my hands on my shorts and walk on, stopping to "help" him examine his other plants.

I love fresh tomatoes.

I love that memory.

I don't know which is more delicious.


It is a memory matched only by the one where I am standing beneath our apple tree in the fall. We had three. Apple trees that is. And I'd stand there with my brothers and sister like four hungry birds as we watched Gradnpa reach up and pick an apple off a low limb.

Red. Green. Ripe or not. It didn't matter.

He'd wipe it on his pants, just like he did the tomatoes, and then he'd pull out his pocket knife and slice that apple for us, handing us the slices right off the blade.

One for you.
One for you.
One for you.
One for you.

Around he went until the apple was gone. Then he'd pick another one and start the circle again until his four little birds had their fill of apple slices straight off the blade of a pocket knife.

Organic eating at its finest.

IT'S BEEN A YEAR.....

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THE SELFISH GOODBYE

As I remember "The Goodbye" one year ago today, and as I sort my thoughts for another post, I will repost this one from about a year ago.
*******************************************************************


Three days ago I said goodbye to my son - AGAIN - as he took his first step toward fulfilling his dream.

It is amazing how, during that final hug, that final hug in which I wished desperately that I did not have to let go, how many thoughts went through my mind in such a short amount of time,

First I thought of how different it is to hug my son the man, than it was to hug my son the child. Whereas years ago - although it seems like moments - I embraced a chubby, round, soft -cheeked little boy who smelled like bubble bath, sweat and dirt, this time I was hugging a tall lean young adult who smelled like deodorant and cologne. Where my hand used to touch a soft fleshy baby face, it was now touching a lean, chiseled cheek-boned face just like his dad's - a face rough with whiskers that had yet to be shaved that morning. Where I used to bend over or sit on my knees to hold my boy, this day I was stretching upward to reach him and he was bending down to reach me.

Sweet Mercy, how DOES the time pass so quickly?

The thing that remained the same, though, was that, just as my sweet little boy used to pull out of my embraces, impatiently moving on to play in the dirt or the lego bucket, my tall lean adult boy pulled away first - eager to move on. Eager to fly away and start this new chapter.

And as painful as it was to feel him leave my embrace, it is a beautiful feeling to know that your child is eager to begin a new chapter - to set out on the path set before him.

It is beautiful to see your child show courage.

For the past several months something just felt wrong about Blake's decision to join the Marines - something that I have chalked up to the fears of a mother's heart. And then it hit me.

We have, in a sense, reversed roles.

From the moment I knew I was pregnant with Blake it has been my duty, my privilege, my instinct, to protect him - to place myself between him and danger.

And now, he has chosen a life path that, in essence, will call him to place himself between me and danger.

He will become my protector - along with all of his brothers and sisters in uniform.

That just feels wrong to me. And yet it feels so right, because it IS right. I know it is right because I've seen his diligence as he prepared for this time. I've seen his excitement as he talked about it. I've seen the contentment that entered his heart when he signed those papers.

And so he has gone. And the many many emotions that swirl in my heart right now are surely going to collide and form a perfect storm where this lonely, frightened, proud, uncertain, relieved mother can do nothing but plant my feet and hold steady until I get used to this new phase. And that's okay.

I can do that.

I can do that because I recently sat through a memorial service for a 16-year-old boy whose mother cannot look at a calendar and count the days until she will see her precious son again. She does not get another goodbye. She does not get to watch him leave for the next phase of life - whatever that phase would have been.

And I am ashamed of myself becasue I have spent the last year - the last fourteen months actually - living in fear and dread of the day my son will leave home. I have lived in dread of the day I had to tell him goodbye. And then that day came and he was sent home and I had to do it all over again. And I spent a lot of time feeling sorry for myself.

But here's the thing. I GOT TO SAY GOODBYE. And for now I know my son is safe and, although he is doing something extremely difficult, he is happy because he is finally living his dream. I get to see him in thirteen weeks.

Oh how Nic's mother would love to know she would see her boy in thirteen weeks.

I miss my boy desperately. I cannot stand to think of what he is enduring right now. But I am thankful for the perspective that God has allowed to seep into my heart.

I have a sweet daughter at home and oh how I love watching her enjoy life. I so enjoy her. I have a loving devoted husband. I have a son who is healthy and strong enough to be at Marine Corps Boot Camp.

And I got to tell him goodbye - strong in my faith that I will see him in less than three months.

Forgive me, Father, for my selfishness during this time of change in my life. Forgive me for forgetting to look beyond my own self pitying heart.

THE UGLY DRESS

So I bought this dress a couple months ago.

It's a little different than what I'd usually choose but something about it just caught my eye. It has a scoop neck - not too low - short sleeves but not so short that they show my upper arms (of which I am NOT fond) - and a hem length that hits right above the knee. And it's polyester which means I won't have to iron it.

I hate wrinkles.

I think it's a sheath dress. Or is a shift?

I don't know. But it might, kind of, perhaps, just maybe look like something Carol Brady would wear in the later episodes.

Anyway.

When I tried it on at the outlet mall (I confess; it is from Dress Barn) the sales lady that had been "helping" me adopted a sneer that made her look as though she'd swallowed a worm. Up until then she'd been very complimentary of everything I'd modeled.

"Oh, that's just darling. Great color."
"Now that is just right for you. You can wear that any where."

But this one?

Well this one did not please her. It did not please her at all.

After making her "oh dear I've swallowed a worm" face she said "I just don't see that on you."

Which was a total lie.

I mean, OF COURSE she saw it on me. She was standing there grimacing, making it very clear that she saw it on me. (I guess she was speaking FIGURATIVELY....)

And she did not like what she saw.

But I wasn't to be swayed. Not only did it have all the qualities I mentioned above but it was marked down to about $13. It did not occur to me that it was so cheap because it had the potential to make people gag.

I wanted this dress. This would be my "WOW!" piece for summer. My one piece that was just a little bit "out there."

Plus I totally wanted to spite that very disapproving salesclerk.

So I bought the dress.

Yesterday I wore the dress to run errands. I love to wear dresses and skirts in the summer. Love love love them. But I was a little unsure about putting this one on to go out in public. I mean, when a salesperson, whose job it is to SELL you things, tries to convince you a dress just isn't for you...it just isn't for you AT ALL....well, it kind of erodes your confidence a little.

But I settled on wearing it anyway.

With a paper bag on my head.

Which was very uncomfortable because: 1)it was REALLY hot outside and 2) it was really sunny and I couldn't decide if my sunglasses should go on the outside of the bag or the inside.

So I got through my day of errands to the bank, a friend's house to pick up a catalog, and....the gathering spots of ALL gathering spots....WALMART. I told myself if I saw anybody I knew at Walmart I was just going to act very confident in my outfit and nobody would think I looked anything but FAN. TASTIC.

I didn't see anybody I knew which means I didn't have to feel uncomfortable but I also didn't get any compliments on my new edgy dress.

*sigh*

At the end of the day, after putting groceries away and doing whatever else it is I do around here, I greeted my husband at the door when he walked in from work.

He did a quick scan of me in my dress and said with true enthusiasm:

"Well...you look pretty. I really like that dress."

BAM! Take that Dress Barn Lady!

THE BIG NIGHT FINALLY ARRIVES

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THE BYU MORAL COMPASS

Let's talk about BYU.

Have you heard the story and read the reports - the story of the BYU basketball player who was suspended from the basketball team because he had sex with his girlfriend?

BYU's honor code (which each student must sign upon admission) forbids premarital sex and consumption of alcohol and caffeine. I'm sure there are many other items covered in the honor code but these items are the ones most mentioned because, evidently, our society thinks it is absolutely ridiculous to expect our young men and women to practice self control to the extent that they wait for marriage until they have sex and that they do not ride through college on a keg of beer.

My suspicion is that most people are appalled NOT at the rigidness of BYU's standards but at the fact that BYU was actually assertive enough to suspend one of its athletes from a team that was doing so well and was well on its way to some sort of championship. I doubt we would have heard or read one word about this story if Brandon Davies was a member of the marching band or the debate club.

At all levels, athletes (because our society so idolizes them) are usually given preferential treatment. It is nearly unheard of for an athlete to be punished in such a public way. We usually hear about it all after the fact or, more accurately, after the season when said athlete's talent has been squeezed for all it's worth.

And you know what? I am SO SICK AND TIRED of our society turning a blind eye to the poor behavior of sports stars. It happens in high school. It happens in college. And we all know it happens in the world of professional sports.

I have read a couple of opinion pieces that state it is a ridiculous policy, this BYU honor code. I suppose it is to most people. I suppose it is ridiculous to those who think college is a time for kids to "explore" and "experiment" and "find themselves." I am not one of those people. I am one of those really really prudish moms who believe college is a place at which my daughter will receive her degree and I expect her to spend her time pursuing that degree, not the next party (because - have you seen the price of tuition these days?) And if her grades indicate she's chosen the latter, all funding will cease and she can come home and work at the dog kennel.

Perhaps I am not so shocked at the BYU honor code because I went to a very strict and conservative Christian university (the same university at which my daughter has recently been accepted) But, at 18, I entered that campus knowing what the rules were and that I was expected to abide by those rules. I had a wonderful college experience with lots of fun and laughing. I made lifelong friends. But I knew what was expected of me and I followed through with my end of the bargain. So did my husband and so did probably 95% of the other students there.

It is interesting to me that people have stated that a young man or woman just out of high school cannot be mature enough to sign a contract that requires them to behave a certain way for the next four years.

I come at this from another angle. I watched my son sign a military contract when he was 17 and, while *I* worried that he was too young to commit to a five year career before he was even out of high school, not one other person expressed that concern to me. Oh we got plenty of other judgment from others, mostly along the lines of "how can you let your child become a killer," but nobody suggested he was too young to choose a life path with such rigid rules and regulations. I guess when we are arming them with M-16s and expecting them to fight our wars, we do not worry about their maturity level. We just expect them to fight that war and do it in a way that prevents us from getting our own hands dirty.

See, people don't stop and think that most of our military men and women have signed a contract at the age of 17, 18 or 19 - a contract that essentially puts their every action, their every thought into the hands of their superiors. They have signed an honor code and they WILL be expected to live by it. And yet, when a young man (who is approximately the age of my son) is expected to honor his contract that governs behavior at college, people are all uptight that he's just too young to have made that decision when he did. We expect our young soldiers, marines, airmen and sailors to honor their contracts every minute of every day. We expect it because our safety relies on it. But yet we think a college student of the same age just isn't mature enough to follow through after putting their signature on a piece of paper?

Also, my high school daughter signs contracts every year when she participates in an extracurricular activity. She is expected to abide by the rules the coach or sponsor has set before her. She is expected to represent herself, her team and her school in a way that her school has deemed appropriate. So at 15,16, 17, and 18 SHE is expected to honor a contract.

I feel for this young college basketball star. I feel for him because we all make bad decisions at his age - okay at any age. He surely isn't the only student on campus to have engaged in premarital sex or to have drunk alcohol or caffeine. He evidently was the one who was caught.

Which brings me to my biggest question: how did he come to a point where he ended up "confessing" to this sexual act. I have looked through a few articles and I cannot find the answer to that. If, as one person told me they'd read, he put it on facebook; then he should be suspended for being a jerk, not just for sleeping with his girlfriend.

Every institution we encounter sets its own behavioral compass. Work places, schools, society. BYU is no different. As a private institution they have the right to make their moral code as strict as they choose.

This is not to imply that Brandon Davies "got what he deserved." That is not for me to say. This is to say that people need to lighten up on BYU and recognize their rights.

Just like we have to recognize the rights of students to choose BYU or to move on to another institution that better suits their educational and social needs.

DEVIL DOG

I have a few questions after watching this video.

1)Why is this newsman looking for reasons to criticize Chesty? I mean, really, give the old dog a break. Not once did he commend Chesty for his service. Is he not aware of WHY the Marines are called Devil Dogs? It is because when they grab hold of an enemy, they do not let go. I think Chesty should have found Mr. Newsman's shoes and made a mistake on them......

2) How did that Marine remain so serious throughout this interview? I guess Marines really AREN'T
allowed to smile. Perhaps they frown on smiling. Oh my gosh, get it? FROWN on SMILING......

3)What exactly was Chesty's punishment for his write ups? Is that classified? Since I have a couple of connections with The Corps, I am delving into this.

4) And finally; how, HOW IN THE WORLD does that Marine stand upright instead of toppling over to his left under the weight of all those medals.

Ooh-rah indeed.

And by the way, I loved how it was mentioned that Chesty came in through DEP - Delayed Entry Program. That's how my boy went in. Such an innocent little pup when the Corps got him.

I have added Chesty to my list of heroes.

SOMEDAY I'LL LEARN TO DRESS MYSELF.....

So then last Sunday I was putting on a pair of pantyhose for church.

The pantyhose themselves were not going to be seen as I was going to wear boots with my skirt; so I grabbed black hose to put on with my brown skirt.

But then when I put on my brown boots I realized they were going to hurt my feet and that just won't do. It won't do at all, so I would have to throw on a pair of brown shoes.

So I started flinging pantyhose out of my drawer until I found a pair of "coffee" hose.

I KNOW I have a pair of coffee hose in here. WHERE ARE MY COFFEE HOSE??!!!

The clock was ticking and I hate being late. I hate being late more than I hate wearing pantyhose.

So I found my coffee hose and sat down on the bed with a "harumpf" and began the switch.

After getting my left foot into its proper leg, I started on the right, only to find that there was a substantial run in the right leg of my hose.

*sigh*

Ticking clock....ticking clock....

So I did some quick calculating and mental measuring and decided that the run would be far above the hemline of my skirt and might even stay there if I halted that run in its tracks with some hairspray.

Never have I been so glad to have a bathroom right off our bedroom because the journey for the hairspray was not an easy one.

With the waist band of my pantyhose resting at an interesting angle between my left knee and my right ankle, I tippy-toed and hippity hopped, and hobbledy-hobbled into the bathroom (so as not to increase the run in my hose, you know) and grabbed the Kenra hairspray that is like GOLD to my baby fine hair. Gold, I tell you.

Then I carefully pulled up the legs of my hose and proceeded to spray the tar out of that run.

Then I put my left thumb through my hose at approximately the site of my hip bone.

At which point I sprayed the tar out of THAT run.

Between the hairspray on my head and that on my hosiery, I could have powered a compact car for a day.

Nobody light a match, mama will go up in flames.

ticking clock....ticking clock.....

Finally my outfit was put together and I looked in the mirror and told myself I looked absolutely ridiculous - the whole outfit was all wrong. But there was no time to correct it.

ticking clock....

Hoping that my favorite pair of gold earrings would correct the numerous mistakes of my Sunday best I grabbed them and put them on.

Thankfully I took one last look in the bathroom mirror before heading downstairs because while one earring was gold, the other looked strangely gold AND silver. At closer inspection I saw that I had actually stuck TWO earrings into one ear - a gold dangly one and a smaller silver dangly one. Apparently the little silver heart had become tangled with the gold circles in my jewelry box.

*sigh*

Now I do not plan to stop wearing earrings so I obviously need to be more vigilant with my ear accessories each day.

But this whole pantyhose fiasco? This is precisely why I usually wear slacks to church.

WE LIKE CHICKEN

We eat a lot of chicken at our house. Chicken noodle soup, chicken enchiladas, barbecue chicken.

I usually have chicken on hand because it's healthy and it's versatile.

And now I know that chicken is just plain fun.

Please watch this video and see if it doesn't leave you with a craving for a bucket of the stuff.

Oh, and I'd like to dedicate this to my boy.

Blake, this one's for you.

LETTER

Dear Fellow Menard's Shopper,

I get it. Menard's new grocery section is quite handy. They don't have a lot but it's nice to run in and get a gallon of milk, some butter and eggs. It's especially nice when you just need a few items before hunkering down at home to wait on the newest snow storm; and you don't want to fight the crowd at The Walmarts.

That is why I was at Menards today - to pick up a couple of necessities, namely pet food and kitty litter and ketchup.

Oh and - most important - Hershey's Kisses with Almonds.

Here's the thing, Fellow Shopper. When you are at the checkout with your last minute groceries, the idea is to bag your own groceries while the clerk is ringing you up. See, you really aren't supposed to stand there and watch while the clerk who is more than twice your age heaves a 25 pound bag of dog food off the bottom of your cart because you "can't get it." You really could help a little bit.

And if you don't want to help lift the heavy things, you could be bagging your other groceries while the clerk does the dirty work. It's just a teeeeeny tiny bit irritating for those of us in line behind you if you wait until all of your groceries are in a pile at the end of the conveyor belt before you even move down there to claim them.

And then, when you do get down there, it's really not very considerate for you to stand and read every item on your receipt, using your finger to guide your reading, in an effort to make sure you have not been cheated. If you'd like to check your receipt, great. But could you bag your groceries and move yourself out of the way first? I mean, that'd be great.

Because the rest of us? Well, we want to get out of that store too. We want to get home and eat our chocolate.

And none of us likes the grocery pile up that occurs when the clerk continues ringing up groceries while the shopper at the front of the line IS NOT BAGGING HER STUFF SO THE LINE CAN KEEP MOVING!!!!!!

I keep saying I am going to write a book on grocery store etiquette but I simply CANNOT DO EVERYTHING. I am only one woman, after all. *sigh*

So this letter is just my humble attempt at helping you, Fellow Menard's Shopper, to become more efficient and considerate when you leave your home.

That is what I am here for.

To make the world a better place one snarky letter at a time.

HW

PERFECT

Today was the ultimate girls day for KaylaBeth and me.

We went shopping for a prom dress.

After driving to my cousin's house to meet her and her daughter, we all piled in their van and headed out to start the hunt. We had three shops in mind, map quest directions in hand, prom magazines dog eared and bookmarked, gentle reminders of budgets peppering the conversation.

We walked into the first shop and I became almost giddy.

I will be 44 years old in a week and I wanted to put on a prom dress. Really I did. But today was not about me and that was totally okay.

Oh the colors! The sparkles! The ruffles and poofs!

Oh the twinkle in our girls' eyes as they told the clerk they'd like to try this dress. And this one. And this one. Oh, and could I please try this one too? Oh the fun of tip-toeing through the maze of dresses so as not to step on hems and trains. If only that was the only kind of mine field our world would ever know.

And the excitement of walking into the shop and finding a classmate of KaylaBeth's just finishing up her successful search. Two mother-daughter pairs had turned into three.

Color us happy!

This is just the kind of day I needed with my girl.

She tried on aqua and baby pink, lime green and bright pink. She tried on bright orange-red. She sparkled. She twirled. She laughed and preened. She let me take picture after picture.

She made me so happy to be her mama. Again.

She chose a dress at the first shop - a dress that was her size and needed no alterations. A dress that got to come home with us today in a big plastic bag that will be tucked away in the guest room where it will tease a certain teenage girl as she waits for prom night to arrive. And since the other girls also chose dresses at shop number 1, we had time for a wonderful sit down lunch before heading home to show Daddy the gown his princess had purchased.

Oh it's just a perfect day - such a perfect day.


Pictures will come soon but if you are curious about THE dress - think "Rainbow Sherbet."

FAULTY INTEL

While Blake was in boot camp he got to call home twice (not counting his "I've arrived safely" call) and, thankfully, I was home for each call. Each time he was allowed to talk for about 2 minutes but I was thankful for any little crumb I could get during those days.

Yesterday was the first time I'd missed one of Blake's calls in the six months he's been in the Marine Corps.

Can you believe it's been six months since his ship date? Wow.

Just wow.

Anyway, I felt a little bad for missing his call but, in my defense, I had been given faulty intelligence.

I had been told that there would likely be radio silence during mid day chow so I silenced all communication devices and hit my rack to do a little gold bricking.

I took a nap.

Sadly, my marine found a moment to open communications after all and tried to call during that brief time.

*sigh* This is what you get when dealing with the government....

I did wake up to a nice text from him after my nap and was able to speak to him last night before bed which always allows me to put my head on my pillow with an extra peaceful feeling in my heart. *second sigh*

In other news.

Kayla and I had an impromptu girls night last night.

Guess where we went.

No really. Guess.

Would it surprise you to learn we ended up at the mall?

It totally wasn't our fault.

Paul was working late so as Kayla and I sat at the counter eating our spaghetti somehow the suggestion came up that we go out for a while.

Which led to the only natural destination - the mall. I mean what else are we going to do when it is 19 degrees outside. Play tennis?

I think not.

Especially since I don't play tennis when it's 75 degrees outside.

Anyway.

I try - really try - to change things up when it comes to time spent with my favorite teenage girl.

But I JUST. CAN'T. DO. IT. There was that time Paul suggested the library but I told him his cruelty knew no bounds. (Silly man. I buy my books at the mall....)

At the mall, we get to walk. We get to talk. We get to challenge ourselves to find the best bargains. And it is healthy for our brains to constantly challenge our reasoning skills. They say brain puzzles will help prevent Alzheimer's and I'm simply trying to preserve my own health however I can.

Plus, clearance racks are wonderful opportunities to work on math skills, and all of the things Kayla got last night were from the clearance rack (well, not the jeans) including her faux leather jacket and her THREE DOLLAR dress.

So she was presented with many opportunities to work on her math skills - namely percentages.

I am all about promoting education no matter where we are or what we are doing.

I am just that kind of mom.

Plus, when I go to the mall with my girl, as opposed to by myself, she carries the sacks, which does nothing if not promote physical fitness for her. She is, after all, a pitcher and she needs to keep her arm strong year round.

So to sum up: Shopping equals math skills, problem solving skills and exercise.

And THAT is not faulty intel.

But don't quote me on that.

STUFF

Both of my kids have been asking me when the next blog post will appear.

Blake has reminded me that he finds most interesting those posts that are about him.

Kayla has not been so self centered.

The only thing going on in my life lately has been my being sick. Sick sick sick sick sick. I'm still kind of sick. But that is not a journey you want to go on with me as it is a whiney one, so I'm just going to record here on this blog, what is going on in our life right now.



*We get to start shopping for a prom dress soon. I don't know that my heart is going to hold up very well seeing my girl in a princess dress. I held myself together very well when I saw her brother in his Dress Blues for the first time (okay I had to do a little deep breathing because Marines don't handle tears well - not well AT ALL) but my girl in a ball gown? I'm expecting to lose my dignity a little bit. I am not ashamed.



*Our Marine will be buying his first car in April, as soon as he finishes his school. This, of course is assuming he gets a stateside duty station. *Fingers Crossed* that he gets his first choice of assignments.

*Our kids are lucky. They have a financial adviser built into their support system which is quite helpful when a young man is buying his first car; however, when a young woman gets to buy her first formal gown, we might choose to ignore the sage advice of our money man. I mean he doesn't need to be bothered with such frivolity, does he?

*Has anybody seen our John Adams DVD set? I've been wanting to watch it again through the winter and WE CAN'T FIND IT ANYWHERE....

*We are participating in a Trivia Night fundraiser this weekend to raise money for the post prom party. Well, Paul is participating in the Trivia Night fundraiser. I'm on snack detail. Paul has a useless head full of knowledge (or is it a head full of useless knowledge?) while I know a lot about snacking so we will both be serving in areas of strength.

*I wish I could think of something to say about Blake so he'll like this post.

*I wonder if he's aware that Kayla is my favorite...

*My kids need to learn to leave comments on my blog.

*Did I mention I've been sick? REALLY SICK. Like so sick I soon stopped fearing I'd die and began to fear I would NOT die.

*I'm starting to feel better. Thanks.

*Oh!! Blake got a tattoo. Um....yeah. Not a fan of tattoos but he's a grown up now. A gold star for the person who can tell me what he got and where. It's the one time in my mothering career I did not feel sorry for my baby boy when he told me something hurt really bad.

*Did I mention Kayla is my favorite?

*My kids love my sense of humor.

*I think I'm going to make pineapple muffins today. New recipe you know.

*Oh!! We offered to take Kayla to New York City for Spring Break. She said she'd get back to us.....

*I look forward to 3 each afternoon when I can see my girl after school. She usually pencils me in for about 32 minutes after school before other commitments call her away.

*I look forward to 2 each afternoon when my boy calls on his lunch break to tell me hey. Last week he told me he was willing to bring me onto his financial team if I'd make insurance calls for him. I told him I'd get back to him....

*I'm drinking a cup of coffee for the first time in ten days.

Did I tell you I've been sick?