Soccer Moms, Mini-Vans and Fanny Packs

S started soccer this week so I guess that official makes me one of those dreaded soccer moms. My friends have ever-so-kindly offered to send me a soccer decal for my car. Speaking of which, I can't believe I have sunk to this level but I am actually looking at minivans. What's next, a fanny pack? Someone please help me. The last shreds of coolness are fleeing from me! (gulp)

S has taken to sports like a fish to water. She already came with that natural "black swagger" to her walk and rhythm to boot. We are hoping that soccer will wear her out so she will sleep in longer than 5:50 AM in the morning (no, putting her to bed later doesn't help).

It brings me back to my sports attempts. I went to a school were jocks were "IT" and I spent a lot of junior high trying to be "IT". Only when you go out for sports and aren't so hot at them, it's even worse than not going out at all.

Case in point was my attempts at junior high volleyball. There were so many girls that went out that there were five (count em, five) teams. At 5'9" since about the fifth grade, you think volleyball, particularly front row, would be my thing. The coaches eyed my height with relish...until they saw my try to play. I was put on the fifth team with the kids from special ed (I am not making this up).

I talked my sister Susan into coming to a game of mine. I had worked hard on learning to overhand serve but with my wasted worms for arms, I had very little upper body strength. I couldn't even do a pull-up so to get a volleyball hit with enough strength to go over the net, I had invented this convoluted side-step maneuver followed by swinging my arm around with all my strength to hit the ball.

Only, as Murphy's Law would have it, on the ONLY game that anyone every came to for me (go Susan), I ended up tripping over my own feet during a serve and falling flat on my front. Susan slunk down in her seat while the ref had to call a time-out so she (the ref) could quit laughing. I looked over at the bench and my teammates were doubled over, as well.

That's the day I decided to embrace my drama/band/vocal/FFA nerdiness and do something I actually enjoyed and was halfway good at doing. I'm hoping S has a different experience but if she doesn't, at least I can say "been there, done that" to her and we'll go wail away on guitars;-)

Big Bangs Theory

I've really done it now...been wrestling with some black hairline issues for weeks now. Have tried this tar smelling goop that was recommended by another lady. Have tried straightening the hair, tucking it into cornrows, pulling it into twists, head bands, etc...and the hair around S's head kept breaking off. The other morning, I got her up and she had rubbed/scratched a bald spot right behind the first rows of hair on top of her forehead.

So I got this bright idea (again, shouldn't have been looking at the hair relaxer box with a smiling picture of a smooth-haired child on front) to give her some bangs. After all, some of the hairs she had cut earlier herself (much to my chagrin) were about that length. I got out my trusty scissors and snip, snipped, snipped...but then couldn't get them even, so I snipped, snipped, snipped some more...still weren't looking right so I snipped again.

Then her bangs dried. And now they are too short and stick out at a right angle to her head, like a natural born visor. WHAT TO DO! I am having nightmares from when my mom did the same thing to me! (my dad was the family bang-cutter).

More gel, more goop, combing down, wetting, putting a hair band around them to hold them down (only made her look like a sad '80s punk rock wannabe)...those bangs are still stubborn. So today, I washed, dried, and pressed her hair (codeword for "spent hours with a flat iron") and got them straight, then took a scarf and wrapped it around her head like a giant headband with a knot underneath her hair in back. Darren raised one eyebrow and asked if I was going for the "Aunt Jemima" look...

Nope, just trying to hide my handiwork until they are grown out again. Lesson learned.

Getting Laid...Off, That Is!

Well, that title ought to have caught your attention! Yeah, guess the economic recession has hit a little "close to home", you might say. Husband is one of the (un)lucky ones to get "temporarily" laid off from his company. The good news is A) there is unemployment insurance B) a small monthly stipend from the company and C) the company will continue to pay our health insurance. The bad news? Unemployment and the stipend considered, our income will drop in half.

I spent the first day alternating between crying jags and sheer shock. By Day 2, I was in full battle mode. I am slashing every expense possible and still have enough to eat and to have electricity. By Day 3, I am going through my house deciding what can be put on a garage sale. Funny how you view possessions much differently when you know money will be extremely tight. And how many purchases you can pass by when you put your mind to it. By Day 4, I refuse to entertain one thought of pity...there are others much worse off than us.

So this is us for the next however long. This one thing I know for sure...God has never forsaken us nor let our oil jar go empty. If my trust was more in jobs and possessions before, I now am convinced my only security is in Christ alone. Maybe truly learning that is worth the "price of admission" alone.

Refried Beans and Other Forms of Female Bonding

I just got back from a night out with some awesome girlfriends spent over Mexican food and Schwans ice cream bars. It's 12:30 AM in the new daylight savings time and yet I am so recharged and energized, I feel like I could do a one-armed push-up.

There is nothing like time spent with real women...you know the kind that admit that they yell at their kids (and feel subsequent guilt about it), sometimes want to exchange their husband for a different model, feel overweight, inadequate, exhausted, and low on sexual drive from time to time. Or a lot of the time.

Real women are the kind that you can admit anything to and they don't love you any less. You can do the ugly cry in front of real women. You can change from subject to subject with no discernable tie to the previous conversation and it's okay.

Real women know what it's like to be hurt. They know what it is like to be misunderstood. They know what it is like to wonder if they are the only one who has ever considered (fill in the blank) or felt guilty about feeling (fill in the blank) and so they bear no judgement on those who also think or feel the unthinkable.

I thank God for the real women in my life. They prop me up when I need it. They carry a hope for me when I cannot always carry it for myself. They tell me when I am overreacting or not doing something that is in my best interest but they tell me in a way that makes me know they love me regardless. They laugh at their own weird quirks and accept your neurosis.

So to Yvette, Erika, Cheri B, and Kristi, let's do this again soon. I need the ab workout from all the laughter. And next time, I'll even bring the box of Kleenexes!

Born in a Barn

Back to back postings...yep, it was that kind of day.

While eating supper, I look over and see S is shoveling food in with her fingers despite the numerous times we have worked on using utensils. In my most nurturing tone of voice, and being the super mom of the year (still waiting on my trophy, crown, and sash), I tell her to "Please use your fork...after all, were you born in a barn?"

She looks at me with head tilted and asks, "What does "born in a barn" mean"?

I tell her it means that she is eating like an animal.

To which she pauses, then asks, "Wasn't Jesus born in a barn??

Touche. I need to find a new colloquialism.

Beware of the Wolf

S's Book-It homework is to read a story and answer questions about it. Instead of hunching over her to help her with homework, I let her know she is responsible for doing it all by herself. I then check it afterwards.

The story this week was the fable of the "Boy Who Cried Wolf". I came back in from getting K off the bus to find S had answered her questions this way:

Q. What happened the first time the boy called out "Wolf!"?
A. the people scareed the boy

Q. What happened the second time the boy called out "Wolf!"?
A. they came again

Q. What happened the third time the boy called out "Wolf!"?
A. the people did not come

Q. Why didn't the people come the third time?
A. case they new he was bouing (unrecognizable word) tricks

Q. What lesson can you learn from this story?
A. If you tell a trick a wolf mite come

Yes, some nights the train of thought does not stop at every station.

Mizz Fiercely Independent

We are working towards independence this week...mostly in the morning routine. I would like to say its so that they can feel grown up or being self-sufficient adults but it's really because I would like to maximize my sleep time in whatever way I can and hope that at some point, my kids will do all the work around here like I had to do growing up. I was always convinced that was why my mom had so many kids...it was her own Merry Maids division.


We have worked on getting your own breakfast however I discovered that S has a vast affinity for butter as evidenced by large finger gouges in the butter. She didn't so much butter her toast as she did just eat it plain (gag!). K likes to pour her own cereal...which usually ends up in an overflowing bowl that she then tries to get back into the bag/box only to spill all over the counter.


I'm teaching them how to sort and do laundry...so far, several facial tissues, tubes of chapstick, stickers, and wintergreen individually wrapped mints have been washed along with our clothes. Next on the list is teaching them to check pockets before putting things in the wash!

Some things I have put on the forbidden list still...such as doing their own fingernail polish (had to try to get silver glitter polish off a white duvet cover...impossible...finally gave up and bought a new one), running the TV remote (two kids + lots of remote buttons being randomly pushed = weird settings on the TV that I can't seem to undo), and doing their own hair.

S really wants to do her own hair. Sometimes I let her practice on Saturdays because then no one will see it. I wish I could post a picture of the last frizzed out bouffant hairdo she did and then you would understand. I suppose a good mom would let her do her thing but I start developing a tic in my right eye if their hair looks disastrous. Perhaps it's the judgement of black women I fear the most. I want to prove that my AA girls can hang with the best even though their adoptive mama had to learn how to cornrow off of a YouTube video.