Friday Foto Finish Fiesta

Gotta join in on the Friday Foto Finish Fiesta. And my submission this week is (OBVIOUSLY) the photo to the left. It is about four-and-a-half years ago. Meg was in Kindergarten and she's starting 5th grade this Monday. Unbelievable. And that would make Alli about three.

I've always loved this picture and had never stopped to think of why. When I chose it this evening, I thought about it...and I guess one reason would be that it's just that it looks so cute to see two tiny sisters just ... ya know...hangin' out...havin' a yogurt drink...chillin' in their ultra-cool helmets. It's like their in their own little world. And another reason is just because they're mine. :D

Me? A Weakling???

I've always been the featherweight of the group...ANY group. As a kid I'd get the comments like "A stiff wind would blow you away." As a teen, a guy in youth group would joke that I was so thin I could hide behind a telephone pole...or a blade of grass (except my hair...which was always BIG...FREAKY BIG.) And along with being thin was the assumption that I was a weakling. OK, THAT'S pretty much true, too.

Or is it?

This past July, the girls and I spent two weeks in Montana with my brother who is pastor of a Nazarene church there. My brother is 16 months older than me, and he and I were close growing up...like best friends. We played together as kids and had a lot of fun. Mind you, him being a boy and all, the stuff we played was always boy-friendly. He never condescended to playing Barbies. No, he drug me outside to play baseball, to jump out of the hayloft, to go gloppin' (a game where we'd wear oversized galoshes and step in deep gooey mud, then try to get the loose galoshes out without falling into the mud, and listening to that big "sssssssssssloooooooooooooooP!" sound they'd make as they were pulled free), to hunt for arrowheads (and we found a BUNCH!), to go wading in the creek, to racing our goats (lol). You name it, we did it (except for Barbies, of course)...(no offense to Barbie dot com.)

Anyway....what was I saying?

Oh yes, my brother and I always played boy-type games. One of my less favorites was wrestling. Only he would stay on his knees and I got to get on my feet...to try to even the playing field. Translation: to help me last more than five seconds without getting pinned.

Well, we're older now...especially him. :D But apparently I'm the only one who grew up. While we were there this summer, on our LAST night in Montana, we were at his house for just a very short while and he starts swinging at me, like he's trying to start a fight/wrestle/boxing...skirmish. He just started batting at me, trying to draw me into it. So I decide to go all ninja-queen (or was it karate?) on him and pretend I'm kicking him. I always did that...and he grabbed my ankle, so I jumped up on him. (Shoot, I'm not hopping around on one leg. I'm too dignified for that, lol.)

So he carries me a half dozen or so steps across the room to the junction of two walls (which are made of huge logs because he lives in a log cabin...and which feels like the scales on the back of a dinosaur when your brother smashes them into your back...even if he's fairly gentle about it, lol). With the growing pressure of the dinosaur scales in my back, I give up momentarily and let go of him...and he lets me down. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...no more dino-scales. Whew. He backs away and I walk toward him ... he takes another swing and the "fight" ensues. Still the ninja-queen I give another kick. Wuuuupaaaaw!

My brother doubles over grabbing his hand and rushing to the furthest corner of the room. We (his wife, our mom, his son, and I) all start throwing questions. "What's wrong?!" "Are you okay?" etc., all of which are greeted with "DON'T TALK TO ME!" and some steely glares from my brother.

Finally he gets over the angry-pain (though still in significant pain) and he chokes out, "You've hurt me worse than ANY grown man has ever hurt me." And he coined a new phrase "It hurts worse than a kick in the thumb." It was determined that his thumb was either dislocated or broken.

So of course, me being so compassionate and all, I felt overcome with guilt and cried great tears of remorse. Or not. Okay, the truth is that I laughed......a lot. I DID apologize, but I couldn't help but laugh.

And then I gloated. The next morning at his church I asked if he'd like to thumb wrestle.

He passed.

I'm thinking about offering some sort of body guard service. I figure I'll take 'em down by the thumbs.

And they thought I'd never be more than a weakling....

I showed THEM, Hmmmmmm?

Meet the Parents...

Oh help!

Tomorrow night is "Open House" at our school...which translates to "OH HELP!" I can talk in front of any number of children, but in front of a group of adults is an entirely different thing. I can do it; it's just that I don't necessarily ENJOY it. It would be different, I suppose if I had some humorous or inspirational speech to deliver, but no. I'm going to go over kindergarten procedures, standards, grades, etc. And THAT wouldn't be so bad...but...

It's like this. This classroom designed to accomodate a group of ohhhh...25 kids comfortably (yes you could pack more in)...is suddenly filled with more than a dozen kids...and their 1-2 parents (and sometimes a grandparent or two...or a translating neighbor.) And so we've got lots of people, some of them sitting in chairs designed for five year olds...the rest of them standing around...some of them talking while I'm trying to...people coming in late...and then, my favorite, THE BLANK STARE.

What does the blank stare mean? Are they taken aback at all that kindergarten entails and so they're just "soaking it in?" Are they hearing "blah blah blah blah?" Are they thinking "I could be home watching the Olympics!"? Are they wondering why on earth my shoes are THAT ugly? What does the blank stare mean?

Last week I spent one day in my classroom. The rest of the week we were asked to stay out so the custodians could get some stuff done. This week I've had half a day to work in there...and it was filled with stuff like collecting new textbooks, workbooks, etc. Busy busy busy, but my room doesn't show much improvement for it. In fact it's worse because now I have all those books to put away. TOMORROW the hammer hits the nail, though. The room turns into a child-friendly classroom and somehow I get my brain together to tell the parents "all they need to know."

I don't know what else to say. So.......... THE END. (That was smooth, wasn't it?)

What does YOUR painter wear?

My youngest daughter didn't start talking until she was three. Prior to that she could make the sound of nearly every animal I could think of (and knew the sound to teach her, lol.) but she wasn't much into human sounds, I guess. When she finally started talking at three, she took off like wildfire. She went through quite a while (as does any child learning to talk) where I, Mama, was about the only one who could figure out what she was saying.

However, there was one day that she was perfectly understood by ALL. And I will never forget it.

We lived in a condo at the time and the condo association had hired a painter to paint the exterior of all the buildings. One morning he was painting the portion of wall between our ground floor and the floor above us and was within 6 feet of our door. All you could see of the man from our doorway was his legs...and a bit of his khaki shorts...which blended in with his tan at first glance.

Well, we were headed out and the girls headed out the door just a few seconds before me. I had turned back to grab my purse and just as I stepped out the door, Alli calls out in perfectly clear speech (very loudly because she thinks I'm still inside), "MOM! THERE'S A MAN PAINTING YOUR HOUSE! HE'S NAKED!!"

The painter bent down to peer under the edge of the wall he was painting, grinned at me, and went right back to his work.

Think he heard her??

Putting Mom's mind at ease...

My girls are a bit crazy. I don't know where they get it. Seriously, I have no idea where they get it; I still have all my crazy.

Today was my first day back working at school and after I was done, I went to pick the girls up from their dad. On the way home, they were letting their crazy free-fly.

They were being silly but it doesn't take but a moment for sisters to switch from silly to clobbering each other. So when Alli suddenly said, "If you do that again, I'll REALLY _______..." (I have no idea what the threat was going to be because I interrupted her by laying down the law. "Girls! There will be NO VIOLENCE!" THIS was followed by great gales of hilarity (i.e.- a giggle fit.) and a statement by my seven-year-old.

"Don't worry; we've never killed anyone........................................and we never will."

Hmmmmm.... ::patting self on back:: You've trained them well, Mom. Not a killer in the bunch.

What a relief. I guess that means y'all are safe. Feel free to visit...you can sleep with both eyes shut.

One-Hour Photos Gone Wrong, Part 2

Showing the exquisite taste that makes her Sunshine, Sunshine has requested the photo(s) that were the object of the One-Hour expedition that went wrong. And I'm more than happy to oblige, of course.

I know it's hard to tell the difference but that really is me, NOT Johnny Cash. What can I say? I was feeling colorful.
I think this is the one I got autographed. It is framed and usually on my Wall O' Greg, but with painting my house, the Wall O' Greg is not up yet.
And in this one, I'm laughing my head off, because I said something stupid. Kristen told Greg to scrunch down so that she could get more of my dress in the shot. When he obliged, I said something like, "I feel so tall now!" He humored me with a chuckle and I laughed like a hyena. I'm sure it charmed all of Vegas. lol I MIGHT have been just a TEEEENY bit nervous.
Thank you, Sunshine, for giving me an excuse to share the photos. ::siiiigh:: Nothing like a stroll down memory lane.

"Kickin'" Awards and Barbie-Dot-Com

Somewhere within the past year, my oldest, Meg, was playing games at "Everything Girl dot com." This site links into Barbie, Polly, and all kinds of good "dot coms."

Meg had made her way into Barbie dot com and was trying to play a game. It required that she make up a user i.d. and a password. No problem, right? Well, she put in an i.d. and when it prompted her for a password she decided to use the name of our then newly acquired dog, Pooh. However, the "h" on "Pooh" had no meaning for Meg, as is the case with many letters in many words where Meg is concerned, so in her own definitive style, she left it off. She typed in "Poo." A very tame word...not worthy of soap-in-the-mouth or hot sauce either, right? WRONG. An error page popped up that said, "We don't use that word at Barbie dot com." I nearly fell on the floor laughing. I guess Barbie is calling us all to a higher standard. It has become one of my favorite phrases. "We don't say that at Barbie dot com." I use it on my friend Ginny all the time. (She reminds me we aren't AT Barbie dot com, so she doesn't care, but I still remind her.)

Having said that, I must tell you all that in this case, Barbie and I are on the same page. It's hard for me to even say the word b.... b.... butt. I taste soap every time I try.

So in light of that, I would like to now address the "Kickin'" Awards my title is referring to.

My dear friend, Sunshine, has conferred upon me the honor of the "Kick-Batootie Blogger Award." However, if I join the club and use THEIR terminology, Barbie dot com will NEVER allow a link to my blog and what kind of mess would I find myself in THEN?? To be shunned by Barbie would be a thing most grave.

Let me be clear, though. Sunshine, I am most touched that you gave me the award and think that it's really awesome (like you). If I could blog half as well as you it would be sooooooooooo cool. (Check her out at http://sowhatwasisaying.blogspot.com/.) She rocks!

And since I haven't gotten to read everybody yet and don't want to overlook any batootie-kickin' bloggers, rather than name 5 and link here there and everywhere, I'm going to name my favorite blogger in the world. The absolute best blogger of all time:

Greg Page

Don't tell me he doesn't even blog. How do you know? I sure don't know. And anyway, it doesn't matter. If he did, he'd shame us all.

Can you argue with that? Hmmmmm???