the twelfth day of school

I know we've all been there. Mommy guilt takes hold of your gut (and your heart) like no other imaginable bad thing ever.

Am I doing this right? Did I say the wrong thing? Was I yelling too much? Did I not yell enough? Should I just lock them in their rooms until they are 18? Just kidding on that last one. Sort of. No really, I am kidding. Maybe not. I digress...

You all understand my point I'm sure. Mommy guilt is the worst kind of angst. Period. It seeps into your soul and wrestles with your insecurities and then laughs at YOU in your weakest moments. Unless you are one of the emotionless machines that is able to turn off that ping of guilt button at any moments notice. Oh how I envy you.

Mommy guilt is humbling. And it's horrible. And it's gross. Makes a mutha want to raise the white flag, and then climb under the covers to hide.

And, what's worse? In my case. All this guilt inducing horrible gross-ness comes in the package of a sparkly, defiant, outgoing, beautiful seven year old girl. She, IS, the female version of my twelve year old son so one would think...round two? I gotz dis! But I don't. I'm weak and tired and still licking my battle wounds from round one. Which isn't over by the way. That dude still lives with me.

I am fully aware my brand of kid is gregarious, bright-eyed, smart and fun-loving. I know they fib the truth and seek ways to bend the rules. They think out of the box....in fact, they are never in the box. Ever. And I can't lie, I love when I meet a teacher/bystander for the first time and their face lights up at the mention of one my own as they sing the praises of my personable comedian that is such a riot, or my kind-hearted animal lover that seeks good things, or my glittery fashionista that runs the world. But deep down, I'm on a roller coaster and always dancing the two step. Trying my best to keep ahead of the game these three are playing. While I struggle with feelings of failure around every corner.

So when child number three (the before mentioned seven year old) came home yesterday with a behavior chart for messing around in the bathroom for twenty minutes during class time, I knew the honeymoon period of a brand-new school year was officially OVER. It didn't even last a full two weeks. We have stepped into that dicey therapy stage too early methinks. I fear divorce but crossing my fingers this rocky bit will smooth out before the lawyers are called in.

I know what you are thinking right now. Her? you say.

Don't be fooled by her toothless smile and her twinkling eyes. Gurl got this sucka on lock and she knows how to manipulate the system. She's a playa. And, she is the QUEEN of avoidance techniques. She observes her prey from afar, pours on the charm, snuggles up to their sides, strokes their egos and then strikes when they least expect. She is on fire.

She suspiciously went missing from class during writing time. Ding. Ding. Ding. A subject she's not too fond of. She says it's boring and she struggles and she doesn't like it and, well, she would rather be talking. So of course, she sashayed up to the one in charge and asked to use the potty. Her newbie, young, right outta college teacher has no clue what she is up against. And. I'm. Scared.

***

When I put her on the bus this morning after another rocky start and many tears, I walked back to my house with my tail between my legs. The behavior chart, worries over the right classroom fit, my own untempered emotions, undesired behavior from said seven year old started to fester and bubbled up. My brain tells me this too shall pass. My gut tells me to employ the CTFD method. My heart tells me I am a loving parent. But my overly frazzled, mommy guilt reflex is sucker punching me in the face. Hard!

In hind site, I've stewed and worried when I know she probably had a right fine day at school today and forgot all about our bumps this morning.

And, last night.

And, yesterday afternoon.

And, the morning before.

And, the morning before that.

My right brain has decided we need to put a plan in place pronto. This chick needs to get her act together or I might just go Bill Cosby on her arse. "I brought you into this world, I can take you out!"

I called my friend to vent.

Then I breathed and unfurrow my brow.

And I laugh (after I stressed most of the morning of course...I am only human).

Deep down, what brings me peace of mind, is this. My kid is a genius!! Straight up! Because only a genius could figure out how to get excused to the bathroom and be absent from the classroom for twenty whole minutes, unnoticed, to avoid unfavorable responsibilities.

That my friends, is a genius at work.

thirty days hath September

We made it through summer vacation and the school district gave me the most awesome birthday present ever. SCHOOL!!! So, I celebrated by joyfully sending three kids, on time, to their individual educational establishments. Give this mother a gold star thankyouverymuch. Because, unlike the years previous, this family now has a middle schooler. A "have-to-shower-every-morning-and-wear-deodorant middle schooler who gets on a bus headed west an entire hour before the rest. Which isn't as bad as I thought it would be. Although getting out of bed earlier isn't the funnest thing I've ever done.

 

(no picture of middle schooler because bus came a whole hour earlier

and neither parents were prepared)

Besides doing the happy dance for school starting again, I celebrated my last year of dirty thirties by picking up one of these:

 

Introducing Benjamin Button. Benny for short. I know, I know. Not the smartest thing I've ever done. But wook at dat face!! I mean....Come! On! I regularly troll craigslist for bargains and this little puddle of fluffy adorable-ness popped up on my screen in need of a home. He is a six month old, 4.5 pound maltipoo. A cute family of four had some life adjustments unexpectedly and thought it best to find a new family for him. And although I fell head over heals for this teeny puppy-wuppy, I have THEE. HARDEST. TIME. telling people what breed he is. As many know, I'm a die-hard Scottish Terrier fan and announcing this guy as a maltipoo sounds just so sissy.

 

And, because Benny is squirrel sized, Mavis and Franklin only wanted to eat him temporarily. A week later, they are kosher as could be and the adding of a new family member, even one called a maltipoo, went better than I expected. Smooth actually.

 

Except for the kids....they continue to fight over who gets to hold the littlest dog pretty much all the time. Which is yet another reason to celebrate school days. Yay school!

 

Fall not only brought us puppies, school and birthdays but more baseball as well. Yes that's right folks. For the first year ever, we are playing some fall ball. As much as I hate to say it, this little community we live in is somewhat label driven and elitist loving. On a regular basis I find myself being told how such and such's child is in a smarter-than-average program, or got on a select sports team, or achieved whatchamacallit. As special as every child is, the whole my kid/life/house/car/pet is better than yours routine gets old. Being that my kiddos don't tend to be the chosen ones for all that specialness, my handy hubby decided to start a little team of non-labeled kids and label them Bulldogs. A non-select, select baseball team. Which has been awesome!

 

 

In other, more boring, news .... I've spent a better part of my kid free time taking puppy-potty-breaks, purging forgotten crap that got tossed into corners and reconnecting with my mamacita friends over coffee since September started. It's been grand!! I love Fall Vacation!



 

 

summer lovin'

Soooo basically, I took an unannounced, unintentional sabbatical from blogging these summer months. I didn't plan to. It just sort of .... happened. I didn't forget about you though. In fact, I thought about you often, thinking, I really should post something. Truth be told, I've felt a little stale and unexciting. Although, seems like I'm not alone. Many around the blogosphere were on blogging siestas.

Turns out it's a lot like riding a bike. Once I put my mind to it, I'm able to ramble on just like old times. Whose the lucky one? You are! (wink)

While you are reveling in your luckiness, you might be wondering just what exactly has been keeping me too busy to tickle the QWERTY. Well, mostly managing the smallish people while trying to keep them from killing each other and surviving on coffee and sour patch kids. Sometimes, my friends, you really can spend too much time together. That old saying "absence makes the heart grow fonder". Yeah. That is so true!

Divide and conquer is my running motto. The kids took turns spending time at Camp Grandpa getting dirty and living the farm life. Taking one kid out of the equation makes a gigantic difference. And, just last week, I was lucky enough to send two at time. Woot! Woot!

Other than that, we spent much time floating around the lake, staying up late and watching movies. We've eaten our weight in s'mores, visited with far-away friends and sported too many pairs of bowling shoes. We also photo bombed the host of our local human-interest show while at the grand opening of new movie theater and watched ourselves on TV. We celebrated El Fuego's birthday at the water park. Burnt out our forearms driving go-karts. And, logged in many steps at the zoo. I ran a 5k, celebrated my 15 year anniversary with Mr. Hawthorn and (gulp) went to my twenty year high school reunion. How am I this old?? We had backyard sleepovers in tents, started (but haven't finished) house projects, sold our living room furniture, enjoyed a few pedicures and came 'this close' to adopting a pound puppy. This close I tell you. This close! And, as of late, we cheered on our hometown All-Star baseball team as they battled in the Little League World Series. That, folks, was our summer in a nutshell.

The school life routine is pressing upon us. Only a week left before we have to set alarms, pack lunches, do homework and hit snooze buttons. Oh, who am I kidding? I don't pack lunches!! But I can hit a snooze button like nobody's business.

This year calls forth a new experience for us. Middle School. Shiver me timbers!!! While the girls were at Camp Grandma, El Fuego and I took care of some middle school business. Like finding the perfect pair of tennis shoes and getting an ASB card. The dude is way more excited about the ASB card than the shoes by the way.

The girls will be starting fourth and second grade. My babies aren't babies anymore. Sniff! This week has us learning who their classroom teachers are and collecting supply packs at school. I started buying the school supplies through the PTSA in June shortly after I decided rounding up supplies at Target in August is pretty much like being on the front lines of Vietnam. It. Ain't. Pretty. And, that's all I will say about that. I also have grand plans to get the backpacks in order and organize the laundry room which is supposed to be where the backpacks reside when not at school but has become a dumping ground for outgrown rain jackets, dust, gloves missing mates, dog leashes and crap sent home from school last year. You know, that stuff that was thrown in a corner while I told myself I would clean it up later. Well, it's still there. Yay me.

And now....I will present you with pictures in no particular order from the last few months.

 

 

 

 

 

The end.

fifty cent

 

So while I'm on the topic of soft serve ice cream, did you know you can get a ginormous cone at Burger King for just fifty cents?! Like, what can you really get for that cheap these days?

ho hum

Today is one of those days in which it becomes 2pm and you have no idea how it happened. I've barely gotten out of my pajamas, still sipping coffee, while El Fuego yells into his xbox headset and Miss Petite demands Top Ramen and watches Christmas movies. The weather is chilly as the sun is hiding behind the clouds. I'm wearing a sweatshirt and fighting the urge to turn up the heat. (Relax Mr. Hawthorne! I haven't and I won't turn up the heat.)

Stay-cation on the cheap is the name of the game around my house this summer. Budget friendly movies, discounted zoo tickets, Camp Grandma, free bowling, trips to the lake, badminton in the backyard is pretty much how we've been rolling. It's relaxing and sometimes boring but that's okay too.

 

(secret swimming hole last week)

Speaking of Camp Grandma, The divine Miss O is there this week. Reports of horse riding, sitting in fancy dragsters and swimming in the neighbor's pool have made the two here at home drool with envy. I keep reminding them how they each get a turn at the Grandparents' house and each will experience their own fun. Then I get them 50 cent soft serve ice cream cones to make them shut up about the unfairness of it all. Soft serve makes everything better. Crossing my fingers this trick lasts forever!!

For the most part my offspring are very good at rolling with it. They understand they each have different adventures. At least, that's what I preach often. The trick to being happy is knowing everyone gets a turn and it's way more fun to enjoy the good things in each other lives than to sulk and be miserable in the corner. At least, that's what I remind them when they get pouty. One day it will sink in and all three will realize just how smart their mother is.

summer recap

Day two. Weather? Mostly rain. Some sun.

A friend organized a day of cheap activities including budget movie tickets, $1.50 Costco hotdogs and free bowling. Surprisingly, El Fuego tagged along swimmingly even though we weren't with any of his friends, but with Miss O's crew instead. And, even though he might not admit it, I think he had a pretty good time.


Day five. Weather? Rain.

El Fuego is playing xbox while listening to 80s hair bands and simultaneously singing "Living on a Prayer". The girls have successfully held down the couch watching animated favorites.

This has been our new routine as of late. Just as the last few months started with a bang, with every minute filled with some activity or sporting event that needed done or attended. Our summer started with a complete stop of everything. The brakes were applied and everything came to a halt. But, my kidlets are still in "go" mode and they declare boredom about every other second.


Day six. Weather? Pouring rain.

Miss O enjoyed some girl time at a friend's house while El Fuego (and his mini-me, neighbor boy) and Miss Petite rode bikes and played outside in between torrential rain fall. Seriously, happy summer kids!! The rain has been crazy but the humidity makes for an interesting combo.

My  mom was working in a town about an hour away, so I packed up the kids and met her for a quick dinner ala Subway and "gave" her El Fuego for a week. The girls and I drove home


Day eight. Weather? Rain.

Being brother free, the girls and I went to the zoo mid afternoon. We were trying to avoid the big rain falls and zoo traffic. Going to the zoo later in the day is a magical time. Most of the animals are up and active, getting ready for their dinner. The mothers with their ankle biting strollers and screaming toddlers (that never ride in said strollers) have gone home. And, the summer camps and organized tour groups are over. Thus, leaving the grounds in a haze of relief and quiet, with the slight smell of cotton candy sugar in the air.


Day nine. Weather? Sun.....finally.

Being a little over a week into summer vacation, I can honestly say, our pace finally felt like it slowed down. We've been sleeping in and mostly being lazy. Instead of going at things like 65 year old speed walkers, we droop our bodies over couches and linger way too long.


Day twelve. Weather? Sun and Hot.

Blink, Blink! Hello July. You snuck up on me!! And, what's this? Heat?!?! Mother Nature finally turned up the thermostat and every PNWesterner I know are sporting sunburns and complaining about how hot it is. Hot being relative since the temps hovered around the high 80s/low 90s. We are weak people!!

The kids and I ventured out to the new movie theater to beat the heat and a local TV show was doing some taping. El Fuego did some major photo bombing. Then we had our picture taken the host of the show and chatted up the camera man before we took our popcorn into the IMAX movie to watch After Earth. (A movie filmed in Costa Rica right before I got there earlier this year.)


Day fourteen. Weather? Sun and Hot.

We are on a weather streak and don't it feel good!!! We met up with some friends and hit a secret spot on a lake for fun in the sun. Mostly the kids were terrible and fought with each other. But once we hit the water and had lunch, everything was groovy. The parental units enjoyed sitting in the sun and chatting. Awe!! This is what summer is all about.


Day fifteen. Weather? Sunny and warm.

Happy Fourth of July!!! Fun, food, friends, and fireworks. All good F's.


Day sixteen. Weather? Overcast and warm.

Worried it might rain, but luckily it didn't as the fam and I worked in Mr. Hawthorne's parent's garage all day. I love decluttering and purging!! We made a few trips to Goodwill and one run to the dump. We dropped Miss O off at my parent's house for her Grandma week and I came home with a load of vintage goodies.


Day nineteen. Weather? Sunshine and warm.

Slept in until 10 am. Awwwweeee. That felt good. Took a shower around noon. Weeded while talking to a friend on the phone. played some badminton with the youngest child. Basic lazy summer goodness.

gym jam

 

Miss Petite's Christmas present was gymnastic lessons believe it or not. She had been begging for gym time for months. Apparently, every other kid in our surrounding area also wanted gymnastic lessons. So on Christmas morning we told Miss Petite "yay, you are going to get lessons!!" "Butttttt, you are on a waiting list and we have to wait for a spot to open." Luckily, that didn't phase her. Just knowing she was going to get lessons was enough for her.

 

Then the call came through one day three months after the holiday. Miss Petite got a spot. So every Wednesday she puts on a leotard and heads for the gym. And the girl loves it!! Thrives in the noisy, chaotic atmosphere.

 

The gym is huge and there are bodies flipping and swinging around everywhere. The whole thing makes my ears plug up and gives me hives. But not this kid. This kid shines as soon as she steps on the floor.

 

Last night was Miss Petite's scheduled Gym Jam....sort of like a recital for gymnastics. The kids show off what they've learned and the parents watch samples of what their kids could be like....if we empty our wallets and drain our bank accounts. But it's impressive none the less.

 

For now, I'm just happy my sparkly child is having fun and enjoys her time flipping around.

 

And she does.

times three

For all intents and purposes, I am an only child. I grew up in a house of one. I never shared a bedroom, had a sibling wear my out-grown clothes, or fought over too much time spent in a bathroom. So, being a parent of three children is like an out of body experience for me every, single, day. I'm constantly questioning "is this normal?" I wage war against noise, dirty laundry and hormones regularly. I toggle roles between playmate, tutor, chore master, chef, party planner, maid, comedian, life coach, muse, taxi driver, authoritarian and game warden to name a few. And, it is exhausting!

Some days I feel plagued by un-flushed toilets, a sink full of dirty dishes and laundry baskets filled with unfolded clothes. And clutter, lots and lots of clutter. The words “what the hell?!?!” is on a constant loop in my head. Unidentified, greenish in color, petrified something or other smeared on the wall? “What the hell?!” Food wrappers shoved in-between the couch cushions?“What the hell?!” Rocks and crayons in coat pockets only discovered after said coat went through the washer. AND the dryer! “What the hell?!” And, every time the loop is played it comes out with a different feeling or meaning. This simple, multi-purpose, three-word phrase can sound fast and mad like, “WHATTHEHELL!!” Or, slow and questioning like, “wwwwhhhhhaaaaa tthee hheelllll????” Seriously, books on how to raise kids should be titled, that’s right, What the Hell?!

Television shows often try to portray the overworked, overly frazzled stay-at-home mom type, but you know what, they never, ever get it right. The sets are just too perfect. The actor’s hair is just too coifed. The clothing is just too high-end. And, the children’s behavior is just too fake and annoying. My real-life is uncensored and messy, filled to the brim of mostly terrible and stress, sprinkled with dabs of magical.

Noise and chaos is what it really boils down to. Just noise and chaos. But when you least expect it, in the middle of all that noise and chaos are small glimpses of fantastical awesome-ness. Little, prescious, sometimes unexplainable, moments that, if you are quick enough and you let it, fill your heart to the brim and make all that horrible noise and chaos worth the trip.

Example! My youngest daughter is a major pain to put to bed. She pretty much always has been. Bedtime is not her thang. She beats to her own, sparkly drum and takes her sweet, excruciatingly painful time with everything. It drives me absolutely insane. Like drive me to drink copious amounts of liquor insane. Instead of brushing her teeth, she stands staring into the mirror while humming and examining her facial expressions for twenty minutes. Putting pajamas on takes another fifteen minutes because she can’t find that one tank top she wore two nights ago and nothing else (not even the cutest, brand-new pjs plus twenty bucks) will do. Then it takes another five to ten minutes to pick out the longest bedtime stories in the history of bedtime stories. Before you know it, that seven o’clock bedtime has turned into almost eight thirty, and, you know that show you've been waiting to watch already started. Exhausted and frazzled, the lights go off almost two hours after you’ve started putting the child to bed. But, just before you close the door all the way, that child, that same child that wore you down and chiseled away every patient nerve in your body will squeak out some over the top adorable sweetness like “I love you more than anything Mommy!” in the cutest, most sincere voice and with every fiber of your being, you know she means it. THEN! Then, your heart explodes.

That’s what raising kids is exactly like. Just when you think you can’t take anymore and you are about to push your own self off the cliff and die a most horrible death….your life saver comes in the form of teeny, tiny beautiful moments that are so pure and so amazing they're hard to explain with words.

time

It is true what they say, you know. Time heals all wounds. Although, Rose Kennedy disagreed and was quoted saying: “It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”

In my slightly bitter, younger days I would whole heatedly agree with her somewhat half-filled glass sentiment. I understand her point of view. I do. Once the negative feelings eventually erode away, you are left with scars. Sometimes they are physical but mostly they are invisible, and the carrier of these scabbed-over wounds are left to figure out how to deal with them.

For lack of a better explanation, my biological father abandoned me when I was small. He made choices and decisions for himself that negatively impacted my life. And, for a long time, I walked around the world with a giant, gaping wound no one could see. I felt an obligation to love him because he was my dad but yet I felt so hurt and angered and ashamed of his behavior at the same time.

Long story short, my father met another woman soon after my mother changed her life (and mine). One thing led to another, yadda-yadda-yadda, I was the brand-new owner of a step-mother and a baby sister. After a few false starts as a blended/every other weekend family, I rarely saw the three of them. Mom and I went on living. And, that was that. 

Time passed.

As I grew older I did struggle with feelings of being replaced. Heard rumors of untruths. Had my feelings crushed. Wondered why. But, all along, I understood there was really nothing I could do about it. The less I saw of him, the less hurt I became. The wound healed and the pain subsided.

Time passed.

Jump ahead to my adult life, I made a conscience decision to NOT make any more attempts at maintaining a relationship with him. I was pregnant for the first time and I wanted this start at my family life to be simple and unscathed. I wanted my unborn son to have two parents, two sets of grandparents and one family. (Something I secretly always longed for.)

Time passed.

I moved away from my home town. Had two more babies. And, filled my life with diapers, preschool, sports, pets and Facebook. Little by little, I opened my heart up to the people around my father and allowed them to get little glimpses of my world through the magic of the interwebs. My half sister is a married adult with babes of her own. My step-mother divorced my father and is remarried.

More time passed.

Currently I do not, nor do I wish to, maintain any communication with him. That is one small piece of my heart I protect. I don't harbor ill will against him. I just don't wish to rip that scab off. And, maybe, if I'm being honest with myself, it is one small way I punish him for his betrayal. WOW! Get out of my head Dr. Phil!!

My kids have grown older. My life has become crazy busy and full. And another Mother's Day was yesterday. My family and I celebrated with a couple meals and some major downtime. And, per my normal routine, I logged into facebook to check out the goings on.

But something was different yesterday. Something a little bit miraculous. A quiet and a rather simple gesture between two women that shared my life in some capacity throughout the years. My mom and my step-mom became facebook friends. Time had healed wounds for these two women. These two mothers. Which in turn healed my wounds as well. And I felt happy.

Time. Its pace often not what we appreciate. Sometimes too slow, mostly too fast. It sneaks up on us and disappears in an instant. But one thing I know for sure, if we are patient and allow it. Time does heal all wounds.

 

Happy Mother's Day and every day, my friends.

mepps

Recently I was reminded of a little goodie from my childhood. I was searching for some form of entertainment via 'onDemand' on the television when in the top, right corner a blurb about an old movie called The Coneheads was being referenced. Do any of you remember that movie??

The Coneheads was a sketch on the Saturday Night Live television show of the late '70s about aliens with cone shaped craniums that come to Earth to observe everyday life. My mother thought the comedy sketch was hilarious and when I was nine years old, she dressed me up as, you guessed it, a conehead for Halloween. [go ahead...laugh]

She worked painstakingly on my costume. She made a cone for my head that allowed all my hair to be tucked inside. Spray painted it just the perfect flesh color. And, even included a senso-ring. Ha! Oh gawd, how I wish I had a circa 1980ish picture to share with you right now.

So while all my peer counterparts were dressed as princesses and ballerinas, I walked into my third grade class dressed like an alien with a cone-shaped head. I! Know! Now you might understand where my sense of humor comes from a little better.

Those were the years kids wore their Halloween costumes to school for the whole day. And, Halloween parties were called Halloween parties not Harvest Festivals. Truth be told, I sort of loved the originality of my costume. I wasn't like all the other kids walking around in drugstore purchased, plastic costumes that were itchy and falling apart that day. I was a homemade freakin' Conehead! I wore my cone proudly.

After being hopped up on classroom party candy, It seemed like forever waiting for dusk so Mom and I could venture out for trick or treating. At the time we lived in a mobile home park. Mostly filled with young families and older, retired folks. Not the best area for prime candy collection, but the trailer houses were close together and the drives were filled with street lights.

With every knock on the door I was asked the same question: "what are you supposed to be?" And, with every question my excitement and love of my cone dwindled. Nobody in my neighborhood thought my costume was as cool or as funny as my mother and I did. Nobody knew what the heck I was supposed to be.

Jump forward to present day: I was on the phone with Mom. I mentioned to her how I remembered that costume and how nobody in the neighborhood appreciated the fantastic-ness of the Conehead. At nine, I was expecting laughs and instead, I only received puzzled looks. Which in a nutshell is pretty much how my humor is received to this day.

But, in reminiscing about that night almost thirty years ago, we decided the problem wasn't with my costume. Because lets be honest, a nine year old alien with a conical skull is pretty damn funny. The problem was the trailer park filled with older retirees that go to bed at eight o'clock. That was our big mistake!! If I had gone trick or treating in the near-by hippie community that shared in the hilarity of the Saturday Night Live sketch, I would have had success aplenty.

Moral:  Know your target audience!

the story of my life

...is simply baseball, baseball, baseball. I feel like I do nothing else but shuffle children around from practice to game to game to practice and do laundry.

 

White pants + PNW rainy weather + muddy fields = mama does a lot of laundry.
 

 

All three kidlets are playing baseball. Did I mention that already? Meaning the girls play BASEball, not SOFTball. Big difference around these parts. And, everyone we talk to always respond the very same way, "I didn't know girls could play baseball?!" Yup, they can!

 

We tried softball and I do worry my girls aren't making connections with the other girls, but after a couple years of really going nowhere skill wise and schedules being bounced around who had dance and gymnastic and horse riding lessons. Not to mention all the singing and dancing in the dugout. We decided to put the girls into baseball.

 

The kids are on the same schedule. Bonus! Plus, the boys don't dance or sing or even once mention an American Girl doll.

 

It builds some major confidence in our middle child, especially, being nine and all. Lessons she learns is that she can do the same things boys can do, and in most cases kick their butts at it. Not to mention the lessons it holds for the boys having a rocking girl play on their team. So I would like to take a minute and say "you are welcome" to their mothers.

play ball

It's that time of year again. Rain and all!