Boys With No Shirts (or more importantly, part two of a girly football game)

This post is dedicated to those of you anxiously awaiting an update on the Championship Powder Puff Football Game last night. Yeah... I'm laughing, too. I will, however, not only give that update, but also share my thoughts on half-naked teenage boys.

And some of you just sat up straighter.


First things first.

The freshmen girls did beat the sophomore team to secure their third place standing in this year's championship tournament. My girl stood her ground on defense with the rest of her team and endured the throat-clenching, hair-pulling, jersey-grabbing antics of an unorganized tenth grade offense. Final score was freshmen 12; sophomores ZERO. Woot Woot. We didn't hang around for the junior/senior game.


And now on to the more interesting stuff.

Last night was cold for our neck of the woods. We sat on a blanket (on the metal bleachers), huddled in a blanket, and watched others spend good money to warm their hands on slices of pizza or cups of hot chocolate. But even the brisk wind blowing could not stop groups of shirtless teenage boys from supporting their female classmates out on the field. On both sides, boys in pajama pants and shorts bravely faced the cold wearing nothing on top but coordinating body paint and letters proudly displaying their loyalty (F-R-E-S-H-M.... you get the idea). Hats on backwards, boomboxes playing, and flags waving, the girls were not lacking a cheerleading squad on either side.

When the freshmen girls scored the FIRST touchdown, their shirtless male counterparts made a victory lap around the track stopping only to wave their flag in the face of the sophomore boys. When the SECOND touchdown was made, the victory lap was repeated only to swap the flag-in-the-face move with all the freshmen boys dropping on the field to exhibit their strength in push-ups (to show their might over the sophomores, the daughter later informed me). While this was taking place, a sophomore boy snatched the flag of the freshmen.

Which led to a minor flag tussle.
Which got a teacher involved.
Which caused enough distraction for a freshman boy to snatch the boombox of the sophomores.
Which he promptly delivered to the group of shirtless senior boys sitting in the bleachers.
Which got another teacher involved.

Oh my goodness.

We laughed and clapped and completely forgot there was an actual game taking place on the field.

As the boombox-snatching freshman was escorted away from the scene of the crime, we went back to watching the game and the husband remarked that towards the end of the second half, the boys with only paint on their backs and chests to keep them warm were not as rowdy as they were in the beginning. The cold must have dampened their enthusiasm as hands were shoved into pajama pant pockets and they were more huddled together than chanting any great cheer. The final buzzer buzzed and the game was over. I think the boys disappeared faster than the girls who were, like last night, delivering their farewell hugs as they made their way off the field.

So, all in all, the last two nights have been a lot of fun. The daughter is already looking forward to next year and I gotta admit, I'm anxious to see what those boys come up with next.

And watching my girl play, too.

That's the most important part...

Right?

Powder Puff Dreams

For the first time in all of my kids' middle school/high school careers, we attended a sporting event for the sole purpose of watching one of our own take the field. I've never been envious of the notorious soccer mom running herself ragged to get from one game or event or class to another with all of her Nike-Reebok-Adidas wearing kids in tow, but I have to admit it was rather exciting to descend the concrete steps of those metal bleachers looking for a place to park myself. Equipped with a comfy blanket to sit on, we snatched a spot on the 50-yard line and as luck would have it, a trash-talking grandpa for the opposite team took up space right in front of us. The oldest broke open his motorcycle-riding-backpack that was stuffed with snacks, the husband began a verbal assessment of the opponent, and with the sound of a buzzer, the game was on.

Powder Puff Football.

It's the freshman year of the youngest. In the days leading up to her high school registration, she remarked to her dad that she intended to get the full high school experience. She sent me a text a few weeks ago announcing: I did it, Mom. Signed up for powder puff. What have I gotten myself into? Even as I admonished her for using her phone during school (It's study hall, Mom), I was at the same time cheering her on. You go, girl! 

So for the last week she has been at practice learning about football and taking defensive tactic training from her father. It's all been rather entertaining. She comes home from practice wound up about this sophomore or that senior and the girls who won't do anything because they're afraid of messing up their hair. She insisted we didn't need to be at the game last night because as she put it, We're gonna get killed, Mom.

Which brings me to another point.

Whose bright idea was it to pit the freshmen team against the seniors?

Yep. The senior girls took to the field in a intimidating formation that involved launching diapers and pacifiers and baby bottles at the huddled group of freshmen girls. It was rather sad and funny all at the same time. You don't need the details of the game- the seniors did win, but it was by no means a slaughter as predicted earlier by the daughter. We watched our baby girl take up her defensive stance and slightly prayed, Not the teeth, Lord. Protect the teeth ($5000 worth of orthodontics, you know). She held her own and we cheered them on. Even the trash-talking grandpa became eerily quiet as the clock wound down. When the final buzzer sounded and girls on the field hugged each other (as only girls in football jerseys can do), we gathered up our blanket and snacks and waited for our athlete to make her appearance. The husband leaned over and whispered to me, Well, at least we only had to do this one time.

Nope, I sadly shook my head. We're here tomorrow night, too. Losers play the losers; winners play the winners.

Those sophomores are going down.

Then I'll gladly hang up my soccer mom shoes.

At least till next year.

Memories, December, And Pictures To Go With It

The second of December? Good Lord. Where has the time gone? It seems like just yesterday I was trudging through knee-deep snow in the Rocky Mountains hoping to induce labor...  that and walking up and down a flight of steps during every commercial break of The Young and The Restless and As The World Turns (my soap opera days). I can't remember my exact due date with the oldest. I think it was November 27th at first and was later changed to December 9th, or something like that. Doesn't matter. He arrived just when he was suppose to, somewhere in the middle of those two guessing dates on the morning of December 4, 1993.

I remember the night before his birth so clearly that it's almost eerie. I'm sure I am not alone in that some memories are so exact, so right there, I swear my mind could fool myself if only for a short time. I was wearing a light blue and white-striped button down, short-sleeved shirt. The husband came home from his Army duties to a supper of Hamburger Helper Chili Mac and after the sun went down, we sat in a dark living room of our rented town home on the ugliest-couch-known-to-man looking at the twinkling lights on our first Christmas tree together. Around ten o'clock we went to bed and around eleven o'clock I knew something felt different. A few hours later, I called the maternity ward at the hospital, described what I was feeling to the friendly Air Force nurse, and was assured that I was not in labor.

She was wrong.

I remember the husband insisting we take our little baby carrier and my packed bag to the hospital when I finally woke him up and we left our home around three in the morning. I told him there was no need, the lady said it wasn't labor, and that they would probably give me something to help my stomach (keep in mind this was my first, my mom wasn't close by, and the book did not describe anything I was feeling). Ever the practical man, he said he wasn't making a trip back to get everything and he was pretty sure this was the big moment.

He was right.

That little boy showed up a little after six-thirty that morning and we made the happy calls to the grandparents. The next day, we loaded that little baby seat into the backseat of a Mustang where I hovered beside him terrified of all the passing cars on the freeway. I can still see us arriving back at our town home, setting our tiny little bundle still in his baby seat on that ugly couch, and looking at each other. We had nobody but us and I don't mind admitting that I felt utterly helpless. Nine months was suddenly not nearly enough time to prepare for our new family of three and our home felt a lot different than a fully staffed maternity ward. Thank God for that man. He sprang into action and by the end of that first hour had me settled into our not-so-ugly rocking-chair holding the most beautiful baby ever while he lined up bottles and stacked diapers and did everything else that needed to be done. It took a few more days of this same pattern before he looked at me and said, Wanna take him to see your parents?

And that's what we did... took a less-than-one-week-old baby on a fourteen-hour drive from the Rocky Mountains to the Midwest (in DECEMBER, of all times) and gave my mom and dad the surprise of their life.

One of my all-time favorite memories.

The tree we sat looking at on the evening of December 3rd.

Surprising my parents a week later.

The striped blue and white shirt and the ugly couch .

The not-so-ugly rocking chair.

Fully Awake

Today promises to be a good day. A good friend of mine is anxiously awaiting the arrival of a new grandson and I am anxiously awaiting the text that says he has arrived. The happiest days are always the days when babies make their grand entrance.

I feel better today which is another reason why it's got to be a good day. Yesterday was spent in a Nyquil-induced haze (the husband's cure-all for any ailment) and last night I shook off his offer of another dose. No, thank you. I would like to function today, if you don't mind. But then again, all that sleep I got yesterday had to have helped. Something helped. Thank you, Jesus.

Moving Forward

The turkey is behind us and the tree looms on ahead. I feel the same way about that tree as I did the turkey... so not looking forward to it, but I so know it will turn out grand. I'm gonna kick start the decorating, though. That, some lights, and few rounds of Jingle Bells ought to get me in the mood. Besides, our girl already has her room decorated... tree, lights, the whole nine yards. If I don't do something quick, somebody is gonna look like a Scrooge around here and I promise you this, it won't be her.

The family is in for a treat tonight. The weather is in the high 60s and the grill is ready for action. While grocery shopping today, I came across a steal-of-a-sale on steak. No more leftovers for us. They (the family) have been patiently awaiting the mom-back-in-the-kitchen, I'm sure. We pretty much winged it all weekend after the Thursday afternoon feast. I think all that remains is a few stragglers in the sweet potato department and a healthy piece of pumpkin pie. I'm looking forward to some charbroiled beef.

Or grilled beef. You know what I mean.

I've been reading and crocheting and settling into that winter mode. With the sun setting shortly after five or so, it's hard to do anything but slip on the pj's and turn in early. I do look forward to this time of year (much cooler weather!) and yet I also miss sitting on the porch in the evening hours. Sunshine is good for my soul. On the plus side, though, the mosquitoes have vacated the premises. At least our budget is spared the expense of bug spray.

And although I am thankful that this month of thankfulness is almost over (yeah... you don't even want to see the blog entry I did on that one and then wisely deleted), I do want to shout out my own thankfulness:

Webcams.
Skype.
The whole techno thing.

I got to see my favorite girls (nieces & great-nieces) over the weekend. My parents, too.

I'm going to do everything I can to end this year on a positive note.

Just don't hold me to it. =)

My New Favorite Turkey

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone and as much as I was dreading it, I have to admit that it was beautiful. It was just the five of us as planned, but I'm no fool... I was very thankful to have a family for whom to prepare a meal. We sat down to a candlelit table shortly after the noon hour, the husband said a prayer that was heart-wrenching to me, and the kids dutifully answered the mom-forced question of What Are You Thankful For? The kitchen was spotless by two o'clock and the rest of the day was spent in comfy pants in front of the television. As we turned in for the night, the husband stopped to hug me and simply said, "Thanks for taking care of me today."

In my book, it doesn't get much better than that.

My New Favorite Turkey

a thawed twelve pounder, cleaned out, rinsed and patted dry

rub (inside and out) with kosher salt, lemon zest, and rosemary the day before

stuff with quartered onions (unpeeled) and lemons and fresh thyme the day of

brush with melted butter; sprinkle with kosher salt & pepper

roast (uncovered) at 450 for forty-five minutes

kick down to 325 and start checking temperature after the first hour or so

rest for a good twenty minutes

Happy Thanksgiving (Then & Now)

According to my Thanksgiving Week Plan (yes, I really do have one of those on my fridge) I should be setting the table and baking pies by now. Oh well. It can wait. I became slightly distracted by our now-working computer while I was cleaning the shelves above the desk. Good thing I haven't made it to Pinterest yet... I might never make it to the kitchen.

Instead I found myself dusting a framed picture of my brother and me at my wedding and thinking back to times long gone. It was a Thanksgiving Week such as this one twenty years ago that my husband and I had what could loosely be referred to as our first date. Basically we ran into each other on a Friday night and the rest is history, but the timing of that chance meeting is rather unique, not to mention a good reminder that God always has a plan.

That was my first holiday (not counting the Fourth of July and Labor Day) that I was away from my family. I was in the Air Force, in the states, but still too far from home to make the drive. To say I was depressed and homesick would be putting it lightly (gee... I haven't changed much, huh?) and I was not looking forward to a holiday feast on base. A supervisor of mine took pity and invited me to share a Thanksgiving meal with his family. I took him up on it and ended up making it a sleepover. They had small kids, I was like a big kid, and the stash of Disney movies took us well into the night. Later that evening, by now a Friday night, we all went out for dinner and that's where I recognized somebody I thought I knew. Like I said... the rest is history.

You know, I hated not being home that year and yet I was right where I needed to be.

There's not a whole lot more I can say to that.

Happy Thanksgiving to my family who will be together this weekend.
My parents. My brother and sister in-law. My nieces and great-nieces.

Happy Thanksgiving to my friends, both near and far.

Happy Thanksgiving to the family who shares these four walls with me.
You are so worth all the cooking and baking that's about to take place.

It's time I got started.