RSS Feed

Soccer Stats

Posted on

This past weekend saw the first game in my young daughter’s soccer career. There is NOTHING cuter than a bunch of spazzy 4 year olds dressed for soccer. Unless they were holding kittens, or were actually kittens dressed in soccer gear.

I can haz a socker bal plz?

I can haz a socker bal plz?

The game went pretty much as you’d expect.

There was some of this...

There was some of this...

 

... and a little bit of this...

... and a little bit of this...

 

... and a lot of on-field chatter...

... and a lot of on-field chatter...

 

But mostly there was this:

this

this

 

and this:

AandO first soccer practice 8-09 198

 

And this:

AandO first soccer practice 8-09 199

Oh yeah. She needs me.

Posted on

Interior: Chez Rosie – Kitchen. Afternoon.

ROSIE and ELDEST CHILD  are  at the kitchen table sharing an after school snack. ELDEST CHILD is nattering on about how cool 7th grade is so far. We join them mid-conversation.

ELDEST CHILD

…and it’s so awesome that I sit right in front of Camille in World Studies because we’re like best friends and I didn’t think I’d know anyone and OHMIGAWD! You have to drive me to school right now!!!

ROSIE

Why?

ELDEST CHILD

Because I totally forgot my homework and it’s due tomorrow and Mrs. S is like totally scary.

Close up of ROSIE banging her head repeatedly on kitchen table.

FADE OUT

 

The first day of school, people. The first day of school and SHE FORGOT HER HOMEWORK. This does not bode well.

 

Winter, spring, summer, or fall

Posted on

Amy is pretty self-sufficient these days.  Gone are the mornings spent in the bathtub with shampoo mohawks and mom-wielded soapy wash clothes. Long gone are the days of me chasing her slippery body around the tub while doing my best Elvis impersonation (“A-scrubba-scrubba-scrubba in the tubba-tubba-tubba.”)  The screams of “MY HAIR!! YOU’RE KILLING ME WHEN YOU BRUSH MY HAIR!!!” have all but ceased.  I noticed just last week that there are actual dents in the tube of toothpaste – a sure signal that someone besides her mother has been squeezing it. (I’m vaguely OCD about a tidy tube of toothpaste.)  I don’t remember the last time I actually said, “Your teeth have fur on them. Go. Brush.”  These days Amy takes care of all that herself – down to and including the contacts we bought her for her upcoming 13th birthday. She has for a long time, of course, but it hit me especially hard this morning, the first day of junior high, when I realized that my baby, my first born, the child who opened my heart, needs me less than she did yesterday.

Because they want to kill me

Posted on

I don’t think my family likes me very much. Oh, they pretend to with all the hugs and kisses and nice words, but I think that when my back is turned they make the “talk talk talk” gestures with their hands and cross their eyes and stick out their tongues.

We all know that I am riddled with anxiety (see: TIMES, END OF. Also: NO BASEMENT, TORNADOS). These are my triggers to upset stomachs, heart palps, cold sweats, sleepless nights, and anxiously glancing at the sky to make sure that the 4 horsemen/tornados aren’t touching down. A LOVING family would avoid these topics.  A NURTURING family would shield me and nod understandingly as I bleat out, “It’s the inability to protect my children that makes it all so horrible!”

My family? Last night they rented this:

DAHHH!!!!!!

DAHHH!!!!!!

And they call me spiteful.

A woman of a certain age…

Posted on
My boobs.
My boobs

I had my first ever mammogram this morning. At nearly 40 it was time. I awoke this morning with a vague case of nerves. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I mean, I had an idea, but as far as the actual procedure, I was a little in the dark.  I don’t want you to be in the dark so I’ll tell you how it went for me. Even though it’s about my boobs.

 
You’re welcome.
 
It was easy. I stripped from the waist up, washed my deodorant off with the provided MammogramWipe, donned my open faced surgical gown and stepped into the room where the action happened.  In there was one of these:
My Mammy

My Mammy

Don’t be intimidated. It’s not that imposing.
 
 
 
 
I was asked to step up to the machine and put my right breast on the plate, lean forward, and sort of hug the machine with my right arm.  Then she squished my boob from the top down.  Remember ladies, your boob is more than the fun bits. It goes under your pits and above the swell. 
I was then instructed to hold my other breast out of the way with my other hand.  I stood still for about 10 seconds, the x-ray was taken, and then I was asked to “lift my breast up off the plate” and step back. So I did. The technician made sure she got the shot then rotated the machine to the side, asked me to step forward and put my boob back on the plate, hug the machine, pull my other boob out of the shot, and then stand very still while she squished my boob from the side  like this : 
–>] (  *  ) [<–.  Repeat with the left breast.
 
 
 
That was it. It wasn’t without minimal discomfort, but nothing you haven’t experienced squeezing between a pulled out chair and the wall, you know?  In other words, don’t be a puss. Let your boob be squz. It might save your life.
 
 
 
I should have the results in 2 weeks. I can put it out of my head between now and then.

The ass. She ees fat. Again.

Posted on

It took 3 months to take it off.

It took 9 months to put it back on.

Let us begin. Again.

Why we would never be allowed to own a dog

Posted on

“If we had a dog I’d name it Paul McCartney,” Middy said. “And I’d call it Paul McCartney. Not Paul.”

“Paul McCartney! Quit humping my leg. That’s a bad Paul McCartney!”

“Get out in the yard and clean up Paul McCartney’s poop.”

“Oh God! Paul McCartney just peed in the kitchen!”

Poor Paul McCartney. If we got him it’d only be for our amusement.