Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah

Today is a busy day around my household. It involves--unfortunately--the dreaded task of packing. I hate packing. It's tedious. Love to travel; hate to pack. A conundrum.

Today, however, I'm not packing me so much as I'm packing my 11 year old son Chase who is leaving tomorrow for...I can't even believe it...two weeks of camp. Two weeks. No communication except for the written letter--delivered by the USPS--actual print on paper, folded in an envelope, stamped and sent via pony express (practically! I just had a package I mailed three months ago get returned because the address was "insufficient." Three months it took to come back. Seriously?). Can you believe? How archaic, this letter writing, and yet, that's the only way I will hear from him. I've had to threaten an ice cream ban if I don't get at least three letters.

I do realize I voluntarily signed him up for this--nine months ago, I knew it'd be tough but now that it's here, I think I should contact the camp and advise them to question the sanity of the applicant. She might not have it all together. (A sentiment I find myself thinking more frequently these days in general!)

No trepidation for Chase though; he can't wait to get to camp. He went last year for a week, his first stayover camp. He absolutely loved it, coming home bubbling over about the things he'd done, and the things he had not done (like shower frequently). The taste of independence for him was heavenly--choose what you want to eat, when to bathe (or if to bathe), what to do each day. He's talked about it since the minute he came home. Not surprising. This place, called Camp Cosby, hasn't been around since 1922 without knowing how to show children the time of their lives. The camp is set on a huge parcel of wooded land in eastern Alabama alongside a lake. The kids stay in cabins with AC (it ain't that rustic), eat all three meals in the "mess hall," have nightly campfires and entertaining skits by counselors, sing big group funny songs and every day they choose any five activities they'd like to do out of the umpteen offered. And we're not talking drawing and storytime. We're talking outdoor adventure. He can wakeboard/waterski (which he loves doing), ride dirt bikes, ride the zip line, go horseback riding, shoot b-b guns, jump on this enormous inflatable, swim, try his hand at archery, and much more. What a kid's dream! And Chase even saved his money all year from holidays, birthday, goals scored to go for a second week this summer. I was proud of his accomplishment and dedication and he can't get there fast enough. But now that it's time to send him off, I'm wondering how I'll survive.

Here's one thing I do know: If I can get the old song "Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah" out of my head, the weeks will go much better.

Summertime & the Social Butterfly

So ensues the first week of summer around my house. My 11 year old finished his last elementary school year last Friday and the social butterfly has already got a full dance card. I'm wondering when it's appropriate to begin asking him and all his friends to kick in for gas.

In the 5.5 days he's been done with school, I've done more schlepping around that I think I did the entire month prior to school wrapping up. Taxi anyone?

Friday night: school's out swim party at a Friend A's house
Saturday night: school's out party at Friend B's house
Sunday: spending the night at Friend C's house
Monday: retrieval from Friend C's house--bring Friend C and his brother home with us to spend the night
Tuesday: soccer tryouts; Friends again spend the night
Wednesday (today): return Friends to their house, more soccer tryouts tonight

And still, I've been asked, amazingly: Mom, what can I/we do? We're bored!!

Here are my new options: 1. Entertain yourself or 2. I've got some math problems you could work on. Amazing how attractive Option 1 suddenly becomes.

Welcome to Summer!

In God We Trust

Here in the south, we've had some screwy weather lately. It went from our typical winter directly to highs in the high 80s in the blink of an eye and we've been deluged by rain (a rare occurrence). Then for the past couple days and even today, there's a brisk snap in the air and the highs are now barely stretching to the 70s. Add a few 25 mpg wind gusts, and I don't know whether to don a parka or opt for sunscreen and tank top any given day.

In the nail salon yesterday, I was talking to a gal of Asian descent and she mentioned the odd weather. I agreed that it was bizarre indeed and I wish we could just settle into a routine. She told me that ancient Chinese tradition says that odd weather like this--cool when it should be hot, up and down, etc--is an indication that God is displeased with authority. That was her word, and she was unsure if it translated precisely, but basically, government, leadership, Congress, the President--those who hold authority. The strange weather pattern was God's way of showing that what the "authority" was doing was unwise or not His desire.

Interesting. There are many views on what the good ole government is doing these days--many opinions on the bail-outs, nationalized medicine, taxes, the fledgling economy. I try to avoid discussing politics because you're just going to tick off one side or the other and rarely can you alter someone's opinion on this sort of thing. You're pro-O or anti-O, waving the red flag or the blue one. But one thing is for certain: the country is torn over it all and I wonder if God's voice is coming through in a way that most modern folks wouldn't consider but the ancient Chinese follow closely. It's rare that you hear of God and politics together these days anyway, unless it's the token speech culmination "May God Bless America" or when people begin discussing the removal of our national motto--voted on and resoundingly passed by Congress in 1956--"In God We Trust" from our currency, or taking God out of the Pledge of Allegiance. Incidentally, how contradictory to wish for God to bless America but then want to remove all traces of Him from currency, pledge of allegiance, school football games, prayer in schools, etc.?

Every wonder why God is distanced from politics now? It wasn't so long ago that God guided everything we did--from the top of the government to the poorest of people.

Abraham Lincoln said: "The way is plain, peaceful, generous...if followed, the world will forever applaud, and God must forever bless."

JFK said: "...the belief that the rights of man come not from the generosity of the state but from the hand of God."

Martin Luther King Jr said: "Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, we are free at last."

God is the foundation of conscious--personal conscious and national conscious. These leaders and many before and after them strove to follow God's will when helping to direct our country. It helped them determine what was morally correct. Yet as recently as our last president, George W. Bush, it seems more popular to now ridicule any leader who openly walks with or mentions God favorably.

Regardless of religious choosing or political views, it's scary to remove a higher power from our everyday life. If you remove God from politics, what then drives our national conscious and helps guide our leaders to choose right from wrong? Over 200 years ago, God's values drove our forefathers as they created a new country. Why would that be different today? And if it's not God who helps to determine right and wrong, what does?

I don't mean to come across preachy; it's something that I really wonder about and consider alarming. What the gal said to me yesterday reminded me of a two part sermon given at my church a few weeks ago. If you have some time on your hands, check it out. A message titled God & Country, it really gives you something to think about--delivered by an absolutely dynamite speaker, Andy Stanley. He's not a fire and brimstone guy shoving religion down everyone's throat, so don't worry. He's just down to earth, drawing parallels between the Bible and what's going on today, and giving us all food for thought in a way that is enjoyable to listen to. Find it here:

http://www.northpoint.org/messages

Scroll to the God & Country Messages and watch one or either parts. Well worth the time.

Rules for the Gym Locker Room

Why is it that all sense of propriety goes out the window in a public gym locker room? Where are these people coming from who think the locker room is the place to bare it all? "Go naked or go home" is clearly the motto...if you're over 60 years old or 300 pounds. Since no one else strutting their stuff in the nude is under 60 or under 300 pounds, do they think it's a club to which only their elite can be part of? And what about other general, keep your nudity to yourself standards that seem to be exempt in this place?

My husband and I were chatting about this the other day after he returned from a gym visit that offered up some particularly attractive sights post-workout. And by attractive, I mean scary-ugly. John and his bad back have decided to give the steam room a whirl after working out--loosen the muscles, sweat out the bad stuff. And there is a sign that specifically states you are supposed to wear a towel in the sauna. For women, I've never known this to be a problem. Everyone discretely wraps a towel around themselves, doing the little tuck-in number at the top to hold it in place.

For the men's sauna, the sign is evidently more necessary--No junk flop allowed--but also apparently given little regard by these naked anarchists. (Screw the establishment!) And what you end up with are guys who go in, sit down and just drape the towel over themselves. Ok, so you're not exposing all your glory to the world (or, you know, the sauna crowd) but what about the nudie parts that are on the bench with no protective towel keeping the creepy crawleys from going into unpleasant places? If you're not concerned about what you might be leaving behind for the next guy who sits down, at least think about what you might be picking up from the dude before you. Penicillin shot, anyone?

Inside the sauna, it is appropriate to be dressed in only your skin (with the appropriately wrapped towel, thank you) but outside the sauna, I've got news for the birthday suit-wearing folks cruising the locker room sinks and counters. You're putting on a show no one wants to see.

To the guys reading this, thinking: wait, I wouldn't mind seeing that show in the female version. Trust me, you don't. Because we're not talking the old movie scenes (think: Porky's and other Oscar-worthy classics) where beautiful chicks walk around in panties alone (or even panty-less, if you were lucky) in the ladies locker room. Yeah, that doesn't happen. If you were to cut a hole in the wall of my gym, oh you'd see nudity and plenty of it. But it'd be of the Sharpei-variety as opposed to the Greyhound-variety, if you catch my drift. The old gals do love to show off what life has done to their wizened bodies. It's quite the sight. Just not one you'd want to see and I wish they'd realize the rest of us women do not care to see it either.

In the men's room, I'm told that the same problem exists but rather than age being the requisite for baring it all, weight is. You have to have 40+ inches around the waistline to qualify and a hefty shoulder to hold the towel that's slung over it, mocking everyone who walks by because it isn't where it should be: around the owner's waist. Shaving, blow-drying hair, brushing teeth...all done gloriously naked with a pot belly offering up not quite enough party hat to cover the clown below.

If you're one who thought this was a great club you'd earned admission to through the consumption of extra calories or the passing of many years, please stop. Go screw some other establishment but the rest of us at the gym ask that you please adhere to the rules: No Junk Flop Allowed.

Happy Mutha's Day, Soccer-Style

Happy Belated Mother's Day to all you mothers out there (not to be confused with mutha's). I realize I'm a day late on this but since I'm a day late and a dollar short for most things in my life, this is really just par for the course for me.

On Mother's Day each year (well, for the last 11 years), I remember vividly when I was a child on Mother's Day and asking with a sneer--as I'm sure all kids do--"Mother's Day? When is it going to be kids day?" And what's the answer? Of course: "EVVVVVERY day is kids day." That answer ticked me off at the time because there was certainly no special day of gifts and presents that came kids' way, not counting, you know, Christmas, Easter or birthdays. But lord, once you are a parent, is there any more true statement than EVERY day is kids day? And now, my own son asks me that same question each Mother's/Father's Day. And he gives me the same look of disgust I'm sure I wore when hearing the infamous answer.

So in keeping with every day being kids day, we spent Mother's Day weekend at the soccer field. And not just any soccer field, but one that was a gazillion miles away, playing games that were scheduled just far enough apart that it was senseless to drive home between them but a long enough duration that we had some serious time to kill.

What I learned during that time to kill is that the parents of our soccer team are the coolest. And I have seven years of soccer parents to compare them to, so I should know. We were mostly all unfamiliar with one another this season, all coming into a relatively new program. It took awhile to learn who everyone was, let alone get to know them. But I'd begun to suspect recently that we might have a Grade A group and this weekend confirmed it. Too bad it took dang near all season before we figured it out. I believe we had more fun laughing it up together this weekend than we had all the rest of the season combined. Better late than never tho, right? I learned valuable things during the Cool Parents Soccer Extravaganza:

1. A soccer tournament is better played with cleats (eh hem, you know who you are)
2. Boys who are big enough to drive themselves to the field probably aren't 11 years old
3. Boys who are two heads taller than you give them a distinct advantage when playing soccer
4. Adult men running around with 11 year olds pre-game + wet grass = A 10 from the judges but an aching hip later
5. Folks giving you a hard time for buying a 4WD in the snow-deficient south shut up quick when it comes to creative parking in an overfull soccer parking lot
6. Boiled peanuts are under-appreciated everywhere but in the south
7. Eight boys eat two large pizzas in 45 seconds flat...and then expect parents to have a bottomless coin purse of quarters
8. Even driving around an area they grew up in, men still get lost.
9. Italian ice vendors can alter their "free samples" sign remarkably fast when they realize a kids soccer tournament is in town
10. A forfeit from the other team is still a win

Like every other day, Mother's Day still surrounded my child but I wouldn't have had it any other way. Thanks to all who made it a great holiday to remember...

Memorable Dance Moves--You Know You Did Them!

I had a winning combination moment this evening--winning the lottery while scoring a free margarita on Cinco De Mayo? I wish. Actually, my spectacular combo came in the form of finding yet another awesome iPhone function that also made me laugh. Read on, non-iphone users. This is good stuff even if you're a non-believer.

See, I think the iPhone is the greatest invention ever (Tivo comes close, as does Italian ice) and I'm also determined to keep the laughter flowing in my life, even amid the chaos of an economy that's harder to stomach than a wanna-be singer on karaoke night--I know you've all seen her; hell, I've been her. And tonight, I scored a new discovery that feeds my desire for both iPhone awesomeness and laugh-out-loud fun.

There is a You Tube application on the iPhone, which I was fully aware, but what I never noticed before on there is the option to choose Most Viewed videos. Hmmm...what's this, I thought. Choose it and you can look at the most viewed videos of today, this week, or...ever. Ever? And the most viewed video ever on You Tube has been seen a whopping 119,000,000+ times. This had to be good; I had to look. It was six minutes of HI-sterical. That's right, my friends, with a capital HI. You must see it. I shall make it easy for you to do so by pasting the video below. For those of us...eh hem, for those of you who grew up creating your own funky dances to popular tunes through the years, you'll laugh even more as you remember perfecting many of these moves yourself.

Enjoy!

A Barbecue Celebration

Today is my wedding anniversary. Another year of wedded bliss has passed. Neither of us has killed the other. Now that's worth celebrating! :-)

Alright, I truly am celebrating this historic day. As one who used to hoot at the top of her lungs about how I'd never, ever get married (again) because I'd tried it once and it just wasn't my cup of tea, it's pretty amazing that I not only took the plunge again but we've lasted and been happy while doing so. Turns out, I'm not a commitment-phobe after all. It was the pathological liar I married the first time that put a dent in the Mustang of all life commitments. Luckily, John persevered; he patiently waited me out until my anti-marriage blustering had passed, and here we are today.

So what was our big celebration? Well, I hate to show up all you other couples out there or make you sick over our sugary-sweet sappiness, but we had a weekend full of 11 year old sports games (most of them in the rain) and then today, on the big day, we went all-out romance by going for lunch at a local barbecue joint. Settle down, ladies. He's taken. Get your own husband to whisk you off your feet at a romantic greasy spoon. :-) This will make more sense when you learn we watched a special on TV last night about Atlanta's best barbecue restaurants so naturally, it seemed perfect for today's agenda.

It may not have been wine and roses, but actually, we never go that route to mark a special occasion. After all, roses die and John will take beer over wine any day. Instead, I'll be getting the spa day I'm desperately in need of, and John got another round of golf that he can never get enough of. Tonight, we'll cook our famous chili for dinner since it's a nasty, rainy day, and we'll celebrate in a simple way what I'm grateful we've still got together after all these years: the laughter, the shared likes and dislikes, the ability to look across a room and know exactly what the other is thinking about the conversation and people around us, the knowledge that there's someone else out there that cares if you're late, lost, upset or in need, the halved burdens in life because we shoulder them together, the vacations we enjoy together, the child we're raising who makes us proud, and the simplicity of being loved. That's what I'd have missed if I'd continued my anti-marriage rant. So ironically, I'm most grateful for the patience my not-very-patient husband actually showed in the area it paid off for us both most: waiting me out.

Thanks babe, and Happy Anniversary!