Giggling Uncontrollably and Inappropriately

Daughter 1's bra broke. She has more than one bra, but this was her favorite bra. It may have been her favorite bra because it's the one she can actually find, but none the less, it was her favorite bra. And, it didn't break so much as the underwire poked out. It might as well have stabbed her in the heart and left her die.

I suggested, when she told me of this at 8:15 yesterday evening, that she just pull the wire out. Well, you know that can't be done, right? Because then she'd be lopsided. Plus? It's a stupid idea, donchaknow.

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"So, are you going to get me another bra?" she asked me as I shooed her to bed. I sighed.

I was weary. It's the first week of school, and we started on a Tuesday, which means that I have spent all week having super weird dreams about Robin Williams being my student and old boyfriends hiring me to coach track and stuff like that. I'm not rested. I'm tired. And now, I had to go back out and get a bra.

"I guess," I whined. "If you really can't find your other bras."

"I really can't, Momma." And she said Momma with a heavy sigh in her voice.

Brian passed by me as I was walking out the door.

"Want me to go get the bra?" he asked as he kissed my forehead.

"Nah," I responded, grabbed my keys and headed out.

Then, as I stood at the bra display, grabbing bra after bra that is Daughter 1's size, but becoming completely perplexed by the numerous kinds of bras that were at a young girls' disposal, I realized the error of my ways.

I should have let Brian go get the bra. Holy cow! If I were perplexed, his testosterone filled head might have actually exploded making the choice.

Or he would have come home with a white, knit over-your-head sports bra.

Either way, it would have been hysterical.

And that's how I came to be standing in the lingerie section, by myself, flipping through bras, giggling uncontrollably.

Give me an S! (For Stupid)

When we found out that Daughter 1 was not Son 1, we declared then and there that she would not be a cheerleader. Now that Daughter 1 is a tween, it's clear that she's completely on board with our desires. Daughter 2, though ... man, that's a different story.

It's not that we think cheerleaders are evil; we just don't believe that the end of a cheerleading road is someplace we want our girls to hang their hats at night. Let me explain. If our daughters play softball growing up, they can join a softball league as an adult. If they play golf, they can continue to play golf as an adult. But, if they, as an adult, don a cheerleading uniform, shake their pompoms and run onto a football field, they are arrested for public intoxication. We just wanted our kiddos to participate in activities that would serve them well for their entire lives.

Please understand that I know all about competitive cheer with the stunts and tumbling and routines, and I support that fact that cheerleading is an athletic endeavor. I just don't believe that Daughter 2 wants that out of life. I think she wants the short skirt and the matching bow, if the truth is told.

It might have been a little hypocritical of us--and by us, I mean me. I was a little girl during the mid- to late-seventies. My sixth grade year, found me on the sidelines shaking a pair of black and gold pom poms, cheering on the YMCA Raiders. But, I really wanted nothing more than to be a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader. I'm also pretty sure that if I were a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader, Brian would have not one complaint about cheerleading in general.

I loved those boots. I did. I really did.               Source

I wanted to marry Roger Staubach, and knew what a Fedora was thanks in no small part to Tom Landry, who was the third most important man every Sunday behind God and the preacher.

Back to Daughter 2. This kid. She's an awesome athlete. She can seriously compete in any activity and competes well. But, she's also a girly girl. She wants to accessorize herself like a QVC model, and she's always trying the new and latest hair styles. And ... she really, really wants to be a cheerleader.

When asked why she wants to cheer, she'll stiff-arm an off-the-cuff routine that involves the words victory, defense and let it roll.

I conceded and told her that quite possibly, this fall, she could cheer. Sigh. I don't want this to become her one true passion, but I don't want her to always wish she could have been a cheerleader when it could be an easy and somewhat harmless fix. But, I'll be honest here, I hope it's not something she loves. Because if it does become a life-long pursuit for her, I'm afraid of her becoming an Oakland Raiderette.

You've heard about this, right? The organization has a "super secret" cheerleader handbook. And a not-so-super-secret scorned cheerleader has let its contents leak.

If you don’t like your meal, try a little of everything and strategically move the rest around your plate.” And, “Gently unfold your napkin and place it on your lap. Fold it almost in half and place it with the fold side towards your body. If you need to leave the table, place the napkin on your chair, and don’t forget to say, ‘Excuse me.’

It takes 3-5 seconds to form a first impression of someone. Think about the last time you met someone for the first time. You probably looked at their hair, jewelry, facial expressions, style of clothes, shoes and nails…

If you are a grown woman and you still need very basic social functions explained to you, then being an adult cheerleader is the least of your concerns and quite possibly the department of human services might want to do frequent welfare checks on you.

I might have made that last one up. But, I bet we find it in some form there.

So, my fingers are crossed the Daughter 2 cheer and get it out of her system, that Daughter 1 not torment her too horribly and that Brian and I can lead her down a road that leads to fulfillment as an adult and not necessarily down a road that leads to cheerleading. Unless she makes the Cowgirls squad, then Go Cowboys!

21st Century Kid

Raising a kid in these days of a high-tech, hand-held lifestyles is really difficult. As a momma I have to compete with every single piece of information (and misinformation) in the whole wide world, also known as the WWW.

When I was a kid, my new information, also called The Evening News, came in small doses at 5:00. Usually, at this time, my daddy was watching the news with a cold Miller Light in his hand while my own momma finished up our supper. My sister and I usually played outside until we were called in for dinner. At that time, I'd get the news of the world, as presented and censored by my parents.

Today, with the flick of their index fingers on the mouse or the tap of their thumbs, my daughters can find out anything their little hearts or minds desire--or don't desire. As a parent in this era, Brian and I must be vigilant at keeping the lines of communication open so that our modern daughters know that no matter what, they can and should come to us about anything. 

And in that respect, it's never been easier to communicate with our kids. With those same overused index fingers and thumbs they can reach us at any given time with a phone call or a text. Fortunately, at our home, the smart phone has been instrumental in our keeping the communication lines open. 

I'd like to think that my girls could talk to their daddy about anything that they would talk to me about as well. In fact, up until Friday night, I'd have laid good money down with Vegas odds makers that they were just as comfortable speaking to me as they were their daddy about any given subject--including girly subjects.  

Then this happened:

On Saturday we went shopping. Both Brian and Daughter 1 agreed that it should be a momma-daughter date. 

Once a Bagger ...

Last week, Brian and I went to Hellmart to gather my supplies for my Great Day Green Country TV segment. Brian didn't want to be there. He never wants to be at Hellmart, but on this particular night he was coming off a three-day sinus infection that had laid him flat. Once my list had been checked twice, we went through our new self-checkout. I'm not sure what it is about the self-check out, but dang if it's not fun, right? There's power in that scanner, y'all.

I turned to Brian before I began scanning and asked, "Do you want to bag?"

He shook his head, so I scanned and bagged. Rwar! I am woman! I can do it all!

And I got it all in one bag. 

"Heather? Geez," Brian sighed and pulled another bag out and started re-bagging my purchases.

You see, back in the day, Brian was a state-champion bagger. 

No. I'm not kidding.

"I asked you if you wanted to bag," I whined when he was redoing my chance at carrying in all of our purchases in one hand.

"I don't. But I don't want to pick up a bag full of your stuff from the driveway when the bag breaks."

"You miss it, don't you. You miss bagging the groceries, stacking heavy to light, creating sacks full of groceries that won't squish." I teased as I paid out.

"I really don't. I just don't want the bag to bust before we get home," he sighed. 

"You miss the apron, right? You wanna wear the apron when we get home?"

It was at that point that he stopped talking to me.

But he did wear the apron around the house the next day.

January 6--Beans! Beans! The Magical Fruit!

(Are beans even a fruit?!)

Today is Bean Day. It's also Cuddle Up Day. If you get the chance to stay in jammies all day underneath a big warm blankie, I suggest you just do that. If you eat beans, I suggest you cuddle only with people who have had beans or dogs. You can blame your toots on your cuddle partner or the dog. But that's just my opinion. Do whatever you want to.

For Bean Day, we're making a big ol' pot of beans. For New Year's Day, I baked a spiral ham and kept the bone (this is something that I never do and my mother always chastises me for it). I'll make cornbread for Brian and then eat those muffins piled high with jelly for my dessert. The Daughters, however, will not even eat the beans. I'll make them a chicken sandwich instead.

The beans--they are soaking and sad for some 

ham and Rotel!

You could also start your beans for your garden on this day. the home improvement stores already have their starter stuff and soil out.

This would also be a good day to make up some dry bean soup in a jar and deliver it to your neighbors--especially remember those who may be cooped up in their houses alone during the winter. You know me, I like to share and (over)share and (over)share some more.

Let's all finish the day by singing the Bean Song! Sing it with me, now, y'all!

Beans, beans, the magical fruit

The more you eat, the more you toot

The more you toot the better you'll feel

So let's all eat beans for every meal!

Beans, beans, they're good for your heart

The more you eat, the more you fart

The more you fart, the more you'll eat

And you'll spend the night on the toilet seat!

Beans, beans, they give you gas

They make you fart and burn your a$$

The more you eat the more it hurts

Slow down your eating to stop the squirts.

My Favorite Things: My Bubby

My Bubby--I'm not sure why I started calling him Bubby; it evolved from Buddy, and I'm not sure why I called him that either. Although he does remind me of Buddy the Elf, I started calling him that way before the movie came out. My friend, FloJo, refers to him as Bubbly part in mock but partially because he is ... He's a bubbly sort of fellow.

When I was putting together my line-up of favorite bloggers to highlight, he was one of my first thoughts. We've been married for almost sixteen years, but have known each other for almost twenty ... we think. We met several times before actually meeting and sticking together.

He's my biggest supporter and the one whose opinion counts heaviest with me. He encourages me in all aspects of our life together and is a great daddy, an awesome teacher, a fabulous husband (read my book, Getting Lucky--you'll understand why) and my best friend.

Check out his Favorite Things post on his blog. This man, my heart, one of my most favorite things.

I Messed Up

The first meal Brian ever cooked for me was sausage crescents at three in the morning. The second meal he ever cooked for me was sausage casserole. On most days, I'd place good money on his loving sausage more than he loves me. But, that's not the point here. 

Quickly, I learned to make sausage crescents. Really, there's nothing to them: brown sausage, add cream cheese, spoon in crescent rolls and bake. They are delish.

Sausage casserole, however, is just a bit more complicated. It's also Brian's very favorite meal. When it's his night to cook, you know he's going to cook sausage casserole. On several occasions, he's offered to teach me how to cook it. On several occasions, I politely decline. If I learn how to cook it, I'll have no excuse to not make it for him. Don't get me wrong. I like sausage casserole. I just don't like to eat it for every single meal.

This is where I messed up. Friday night, Daughter 2 requested sausage casserole for dinner. Brian promised to make it for her. He started the water boiling and the sausage browning, then he and Daughter 2 went out to practice their pitching. 

As I stood in the kitchen wondering how it got to be so messy when we hadn't even been home most of the week, I stirred the sausage a little and added rice to the water and before I was fully aware of what was happening, I had put together a pan full of sausage casserole. 

This meant that Brian would know my secret. He'd know I could cook it. There would be no end to his sausage casserole requests. I hung my head, disappointed in myself, and slunk to the living room, mentally preparing myself for a lifetime of sausage casserole six nights a week. We eat out in Sundays.

Brian and Daughter 2 came into the house and excitedly noted that I had made sausage casserole without his assistance. He was so proud of me, and I could see the sausage-loving wheels turning in his pork-biased brain. 

Then, I was spared, sorta once realized that I hadn't set the timer and the casserole had been in the oven for W A Y longer than it should have been. I rejoiced that I had almost burned the beloved sausage casserole. Brian ate it anyway because "almost" is the key word in that sentence.

This may or may not have been what my casserole looked like.
I will cop to nothing.
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Brian also just shrugged his shoulders and said that he'd be responsible for time-keeping when I made sausage casserole for dinner, starting the next night and ending when pigs fly and no one can bring home the bacon ... um, sausage.

I messed up. It's a curse of being so efficient.

#NaBloPoMo: Accomplishment Of Which I Am Most Proud

What accomplishment am I most proud of? Hint: There's not just one. For the sake of time, I'll give you three...

It'd be easy to say that I'm most proud of my books. Just eighteen months ago, I was dreaming of being a best-selling author. And now I am one.

I am proud that I set a goal to have my books published and am meeting that goal. I'm proud that The Daughters are seeing hard work and dedication paying off. I love that they are sharing their dreams with me but I'm prouder still that their are sharing their plans to make those dreams come true.

I'm proud of a little thing called Listen To Your Mother. I met Misti Kae almost three years ago when we were cast in the NWA production. Last year, we were selected to produce a show in OKC. This year, we're producing a show ... again!

I'm proud that this little show is a nationwide movement that gives motherhood a mic.

I'm proud of my family. My hubby is an amazing rock star--He rocks the classroom, he's rocking his health, he rocks daddy-dom. He's nothing short of amazing--and I'm not just saying that because he puts up with my shenanigans and doesn't whimper or mutter things like it's been a good run, but Imma be going now.  

Our daughters are beautiful, talented, spunky, sassy, strong-willed, smart, dedicated to their dreams, and mine. All mine. I chose them before I knew them. I made them. I birthed them. I love them and am so proud of them.

So, accomplishment (singular) that I'm most proud of? I haven't a clue. But, accomplishments (plural) that I'm most proud of? There's not enough space on the internet for me to list them all.

Friend Friday: Future Former Fat Man

He's one of the smartest men I know--he knows finance stuff, world events, history, geography. He can do algebra, keep softball books, and has this really awesome ability to see basketball plays even when it looks like a bunch of tall player just messing around on the hardwood.

He's sensitive (don't tell him I said that). He'll sit through not one, not two, but three different productions of Mama Mia and won't complain one time. He'll do remarkable things for his students like buy them lunch when he knows they are hungry or stays after and tutors them for free. He drives his daughters all over town pimping cookie dough and stops at every "lost dog" sign so they can see if they know the lost dog.

He's creative. He's a thinker. He's fun and funny, which is not always an easy balance to keep. He's fiercely loyal. He loves with his whole, entire, bigger-than-life heart. He's a dreamer. He has big plans, not just for himself but for everyone else as well. And ... he battles with his weight.

A year or so ago, after some professional bumps in the road, he had hit a low. He was traveling and stressed and ate his way out of frustrating situations that took him away from his family and robbed him of time that could be spent doing things he wanted to do or needed to do.

In desperation, he sought help from a doctor that specialized in weight loss surgery. Over the course of a few months, he realized that the surgery would certainly assist him in losing weight quickly, but it would also lead him to lose out on some of his dreams, namely doing an Iron Man Triathlon. He also worried about the message he'd be sending his daughters. He wanted them to know that if the situation was dire enough, do what needed to be done (surgery), but only if the situation was dire enough. He didn't feel like his situation as an otherwise healthy, able, and willing man was dire enough. He wanted to do it on his own.

So he researched nutrition and altered his diet. He landed a different job with a schedule better suited to his family and made time to work out. And, he's now twenty-five pounds away from losing one hundred pounds.

Tomorrow he's doing the Tulsa Run, just a small step toward his goal of doing an Iron Man. I couldn't be more proud of the Future Former Fat Man ... My husband, Brian.

I See Where I Rate

For the most part, the government shut down didn't have a direct impact on me and my family except to cause extreme anxiety in my already-anxious child about how the government shut down would directly effect her and her alone. I have close friends whose families wondered where their grocery money for the week (or two or three) would come from; I knew people who weren't being paid because they are employees of the Federal government; and every single person I knew had an opinion, one way or another, about what the real issue was and who was at fault.

As for me, I didn't fully understand it. I listened to the commentary, I read every last shared post on Facebook (and then did some major blocking of ignorance), but I all I really got from it was that our politicians' behavior could be best summarized with two words: Big Babies.

Good news--they came to an agreement before we defaulted (whatever that means) and the government shut down was ended, which really didn't mean too much to me and my family because, as I said before, we weren't directly impacted. Life was still going on as usual. I blogged a little. We did our #ThankfulThursday. We went to school. We came home. We went to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat.

On Thursday morning, we woke up, got dressed in our costumes and drove to Tulsa to film my segment for Great Day Green Country. Brian and I were dressed as a Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes winner and spokesman. Daughter 1 was dressed as Napoleon Dynamite--Sahweet! And Daughter 2, after a lot of last minute scrambling, was dressed as one of the Duck Dynasty Guys.

We did a segment wherein I discussed how we do our own Halloween costumes and how I try to not spend exorbitant amounts of money on something that we'll only wear for four hours at best and how 90% of our costume can be used in some other capacity and about how I crowd source for the hard to find items--like a Napoleon wig.

The interviewer, KC Lupp, who is always so kind and seems genuinely interested during our segments, asked my family how they felt about my blog and my oversharing, and they all responded that they were the first editors, nothing gets posted without their approval and then we cleared.

All during my interview, I felt my phone in my back pocket vibrating like an adult toy with new batteries. Brian and The Daughters went back to the lobby--they didn't need much changing. I headed back to the changing room and then joined them in the lobby where I checked my phone.

You were preempted!
The president is speaking!
You aren't on! The president is!
Why aren't they showing you?
When will you be on?
What are you doing? Send. Send. Did it send? What are you doing? I don't think this phone is working. (My own momma just learned to text.)

So ... we stayed around to film my next segment ... but I'm not telling you when it will air in case the President reads my blog has plans to wipe me from the air completely. (So there! I will not go down easily, President Obama!)

In the meantime, though, we ran into a few of our Wednesday night friends:

So ... what was my takeaway from Thursday?

1. Apparently The President outranks a mom blogger from Oklahoma--who knew?

2. Modern Family photo opps always make things better.

3. Our costumes look really, really great on and off the air.

Wordless Wednesday: Daddy Daughter Date

Anatomy of my Morning

"You wanna meet me for a morning walk?" my friend innocently asked not knowing that I was fixing to rip her  ears from her head and stuff them down her dirty talking mouth.

"I don't do mornings," I growled with a sneer that rivaled Jack Nicholson's sneer.

Source

"C'mon," she insisted. "You'll feel better."

"Lady ... ," I growled. "Let's take a took at my morning ..."

Sharp As A ... Pencil

Earlier in the summer, I received a Classroom Friendly Pencil Sharpener. I finally got to use it last week.

Yeah. There was a problem with it.

Look, Ma! We're On The YouTubes!

Kim Kardashian can keep her sex tape. (No, really, she can.) I got something else that's going to be a big internet sensation. Actually, I've got two something elses...

This past May, I co-produced the first ever Oklahoma City Listen To Your Mother show. It was an amazing experience. I was in the NW Arkansas show last year and just fell in love with the whole concept. This year, I co-produced with my girl Misti Pryor (also of the NWA show) and my new boo, Julie Bohannon. But that's not all.

Brian auditioned and read in the NWA show this year. It was so much fun to sit in the audience and enjoy the show from that perspective, of course. But, it was way, way, way cool to hear my husband say his kind and sweet words about me being a mother in his own words. Gah! How I love that man.

So, while we don't have a sex tap that we're sharing on YouTube, we do have something that makes us way more cooler than any naked Kardashian. We have our own words, in our own voices. Thank you, Ann Imig for your vision of Listen To Your Mother.

Enjoy--I'd love to know what you think of them.

And ... next year ... think about telling YOUR story.

My Husband, The Pretty Woman Expert

This weekend, we watched The Princess Diaries with The Daughters. We'd all seen it before, but it had been a while, so we stayed in our PJs (except Brian because, well, he doesn't officially have PJs), and we watch Anne Hatheway transform before our very eyes from a nerdy, geeky teenager to a graceful, beautiful princess. As the movie ended with all the main characters out on the royal dance floor, and Hector Elizondo's character asking to dance with the Queen of Genovia (played by Mary Poppins), I sighed and said, "I've loved Hector since he was the concierge at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel."

Tree-Hugging Hippy

Last week was a banner week all around. Wendy Davis took a stand in Texas, the Supreme Court declared DOMA to be DUMBA, and I turned 43. To celebrate my birthday, we went out to one of our many few steakhouses in town, where The Daughters decided to split a meal and then argued over who got more chicken. Happy birthday to me. As we left, Brian noticed a CNG crew cab truck in the parking lot and--good news--the driver was still in the truck.

Weekly Rundown--June 22

After last week's busy, busy week that included way too many early mornings, we were all content to be at home this week. But, that doesn't mean we did nothing!

My most popular post this week was all about maintaining my restraint on social media. And I threw in a "dammit" because that really attracts attention.

I also have a giveaway going on. You have until Sunday evening to leave a comment to register for a $25 gift card along with two signed books. Have you commented yet?

This week, I'll be on KTUL (Channel 8, local peeps) talking about TMI and then on Saturday, I'll be at Ida Reds (3336 Peoria) in Tulsa signing books--COME SEE ME! (There might be Taco Doritos and mint Oreos.)

In the Examiner this week, I called out the map app geek. Travel with some kids, dude!

This week, I kicked off my newsletter. It will contain information FIRST before it hits this site or Facebook. It may even contain recipes. Or maybe not. Be sure you've signed up for the newsletter so you can really stay in the know.

Also, my precious hubby--aka The Dad, aka Brian--has jumped on the blogging band wagon. I couldn't be more proud. Go give him some love!

http://futureformerfatman.blogspot.com/

What A Man

This picture was not last night.
Oddly enough, we didn't take a selfie.
I'm losing my touch.
Also, I think it's ridiculous that I'm opening with this picture;
however, I've placed it a million times and each time
it ends up at the top. I give up.
It's too early after a too late night and I'm hungry.

Last year, I was cast as an inaugural member of the Listen To Your Mother show in Northwest Arkansas. I had been following the progression of the show since Ann Imig (mother of LTYM) had her first show a few years before. The year before last, the show expanded to Chicago and Austin. I contemplated the ten hour drive to Austin and decided that it really wasn't feasible ... but I contemplated it nonetheless. I really wanted to be in the show.

Then Northwest Arkansas got a show last year and I knew the three-hour drive was totally doable. I auditioned, was cast, and became sold on the value of the show.

"If we win the lottery..."

In an effort to expand The Daughters' horizons beyond reruns of Friends and random nonsense--did I say nonsense? I mean crap--on Cartoon Network, we forced our beautiful girlies to watch the news. Gasp! I know! Do not call Human Services. They've been out and assured The Daughters that the nightly news is not abusive. Cruel and unusual, yes, but not abusive.

A Man Cold Almost Killed Me

Last week, Daughter 2 came home sick. Fever, aches, puking, stuffiness, sore throat, chills, snot, snot and snot. We high-tailed it to our favorite pediatrician (where Daughter 2 did cartwheels in the waiting room--it's what she does). Strep and The Flu were ruled out; it was a virus. We'd have to wait it out. So I slept maybe three hours during this run of her virus and then ...

... Daughter 1 got it. And then ...