Another day

  • The rainbow connection

    The mighty Rainbows had their second game of the season on Saturday, but since I missed the first game it was my first official coaching experience. And I’m playing fast and loose with the words “official” and “coaching”.

    The game was at 9:15 a.m. so I told P to wake me up around 8:00. Caroline had spent the night at Mimi and Bops’ house and I figured an 8:00 wake up call would give me all the time I’d need to map out our game plan and plot our team strategy or at least enough time to eat a bowl of yogurt with granola and berries because the yogurt and I have reunited and it feels so good.

    While I ate my yogurt and checked email, I asked P, “Is there someplace to sit or do I need to bring a chair or a blanket?”

    He looked at me for a minute and said, “There are bleachers, but it doesn’t matter because you won’t be sitting. You’re a coach, remember?”

    “Of course I remember. I was just asking for Mimi and Bops.”

    Also, I totally forgot that I was a coach. And that coaching requires you to stand on the sidelines and, um, coach people.

    In my defense, we didn’t have practice last week because of all the rain so it’s totally understandable that it slipped my mind that I’d volunteered for P and I to co-coach the team. I feel like Michael Scott, “I was promoted to co-coach. We will be co-coaches together.”

    I went into the bedroom to get dressed and lamented to P that I didn’t have any Nike shorts trimmed in royal blue with a matching royal blue t-shirt because I wanted to look coach-like and wear our team colors in the hopes that the right outfit would totally take away from the fact that I had no idea what I was doing. It’s a strategy that has worked well for me throughout much of my life. Especially from 1994-1996.

    Without that black double-breasted suit jacket from Harold’s paired with a snappy houndstooth skirt and sensible pumps, I wouldn’t have convinced nearly as many people that a 22-year-old recent college graduate (with a degree in Speech Communications and a D in Personal Finance) knew exactly which mutual funds were the best and they should ABSOLUTELY let me help them invest their retirement money.

    P said I was more than welcome to dress in team colors, but that I should know I’d be the only coach out there who did so. He might have also alluded that he might decide to ignore me if I did, but I may have blown that out of proportion. Not that I ever blow things out of proportion.

    We arrived at the fields about thirty minutes early which allowed us plenty of time to get completely overheated before the game ever began. Apparently the sun didn’t get the memo that it’s the end of September and time to turn it down a notch. We get it, you’re the sun and you’re very bright and hot.

    Caroline showed up with Mimi and Bops. She had her shirt tucked into her shorts (I’m still on the fence about the shirt tucked in versus worn out) and had her royal blue socks pulled up past her knees to somewhere around mid-thigh. I felt like I was about to have a heat stroke just looking at her with those wool socks covering her entire leg. But she insisted that’s how she wanted to wear them and insinuated that what I don’t know about being a cool soccer player is enough to fill a book. Which, granted, is true.

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    The other team showed up and I began to get a little concerned because they looked bigger than our girls. Then I met their coach and she was wearing track pants with a stripe down the side. I don’t know if anything is more legitimate than a coach wearing track pants. Not to mention that her team seemed to have several assistant coaches also wearing track pants and they all seemed to know a lot of soccer-type chants. All we had in our arsenal was “GO RAINBOWS!” and no track pants.

    Also, I don’t think she had a child on the team. Which means she coaches soccer for fun or because she enjoys destroying six-year-olds. In her free time.

    We had an umpire with all the enthusiasm of a corpse who didn’t really seem to understand that these were six- year-old girls and not professional soccer players who knew what he meant when he grunted “Corner kick” at them when the ball went out of bounds. And it started to get on my nerves just a little bit when the other team scored their tenth goal on us and their coach still insisted on jumping up and down and screaming every time it happened. I wanted to politely remind her that they are six and we don’t even play with goalies, but I was waiting to see if she was going to rip off her t-shirt and show us her sports bra at the end of the game.

    Our girls gave it their best effort even though they all knew enough to know we were getting beat. BADLY. All these people can say what they want about everyone being a winner, but kids know when they’re losing. There’s no sense in lying to them about it. At halftime, P just told them to give it their best shot, play as hard as they could and leave their guts on the field. I passed out grapes and Gatorade and refrained from making any speeches about guts. But that’s why we’re a good match.

    They played a lot better the second half and, in a stunning turn of events, Caroline even (accidentally) took a ball to the head. I was totally prepared for the meltdown I knew was about to happen but she just kept on running down the field like a mighty Rainbow should.

    All in all, I have to say I’m a fan of soccer. I love that the girls love it. I love that it caused Caroline to burn energy to the point that she laid on our couch for two hours after she got home. I love that one of the moms brought delicious snacks for the whole team. Most of all, I loved seeing Caroline run down the field and score a goal.

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    This coming Saturday I’ll be on my own. P has a prior commitment so I’ll be coaching solo.

    And you better believe I’ll be wearing my track pants.

  • Cheaper by the dozen or ten pound case

    I cannot tell you how relieved I am that at least 97% of you didn’t know that you were supposed to run bleach through your washing machine. My deep laundry insecurities made me feel like I was the only one and that everyone might laugh and point at me in the comments. For the sake of information and knowledge, I feel like I need to let y’all know that Hugo said to just dump the cup of bleach directly in the tub of the washer and not in the soap dispenser, otherwise you may end up with some residual bleach in the dispenser that could wreak havoc and destruction on your next load of laundry causing untold sorrow.

    In a delightful turn of events it has been cold and rainy here for the last two days. Well, at least it’s been Texas cold which means that the thermometer has hovered around a chilly 68 degrees. I know some of you Northerners may call that summer, but it’s been enough to make me break out my flannel pajama bottoms and the ingredients to make a pot of chili. P is super excited because he waits all year for the moment he gets to see me walk around the house in my blue fuzzy robe with socks pulled up to my knees. I think it goes without saying that it’s my most attractive look.

    Due to the rain, P was home most of the afternoon yesterday and when I walked in the door from picking Caroline up from school I caught him looking at something on the internet, a ten pound case of dark chocolate covered cherries. He tried to tell me that he wasn’t about to order them, but given his love of ordering things in bulk I’m not sure I believe him. He is a firm believer that if one is good, then sixty-five are better.

    I believe that philosophy applies to certain things like shoes or tubes of lipstick in various shades, but not to chocolate-covered cherries. Personally, I don’t need fruit messing up my chocolate.

    But it made me think about buying things in bulk and wonder if I’m missing out because I’m just not a fan of the bulk purchase. Obviously I am in the minority or Sam’s and Costco would cease to exist. The only things I buy in bulk are paper towels, toilet paper, and Gummie LifeSavers. In other words, the essentials.

    So my question is what do you buy in bulk and why is it better to buy it that way? I may need to rethink my philosophy. I mean it was just two days ago that I didn’t know to put bleach in the washing machine. Clearly, I have a lot to learn.

    But I know enough to know that a family of three doesn’t need ten pounds of chocolate-covered cherries.

  • The motherboard always gets a bad rap

    Yesterday morning I woke up to the sound of rain. Actually, that’s not true. I woke up to the sound of Caroline calling “Mama! Mama! Mama!” and then I heard the rain. It was 6:00 a.m. and a full hour before we actually needed to be awake. So I did what all wise mothers do in this type of situation. I poured her a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, turned on Tom & Jerry, told her that Daddy was up if she needed anything, and then crawled back in bed for another hour.

    She woke me up at 7:00 a.m. with all the gentleness and subtlety of a pack of wild dogs. I helped her get dressed which means I suggested various outfits while she repeatedly laughed and mocked all my suggestions. Fortunately this process was short-lived because we were in the midst of a clean clothing shortage due to our washing machine issues.

    After I dropped her off at school I came home and put on something other than workout clothes because I had plans to meet my friend Steph to go shopping. The rain was pouring down so I called her to make sure she really wanted to go because I would have totally understood if she wanted to drop her kids off at school and spend the day watching Lifetime movies. I’m not saying that I know anyone like that; I just hear it’s what some people like to do on rainy days.

    Steph said she was still up for the challenge if I was and we agreed that our shopping time was worth the risk of running all over town looking like two drowned rats. And it was. We had the best time shopping, found a couple of cute things ON SALE, and we even got to meet Gulley for lunch because Tuesdays are her half-days.

    While we were at lunch I pulled my phone out and placed it on the table because I was waiting on a call that I didn’t want to miss, the call letting me know that the Sears repairman was on his way to my house. I kind of felt nervous and apprehensive like I used to feel before going out on a blind date because you know there’s a good chance that something ugly is about to happen.

    Naturally he called right as I was on my way to pick Caroline up from school. I told him I’d be home in ten minutes and begged him not to leave me in my time of laundry trouble and sorrow. As I drove to get Caroline I prayed that our washing machine issues would turn out to be something a little less serious than a whacked-out motherboard.

    By the time I got home, P was in the laundry room with Hugo the Sears repairman. I never dreamed that I would fall in love with a mustachioed man named Hugo in a striped short-sleeve dress shirt with “Sears” embroidered on it, but I did. I fell in love with Hugo when I walked through the back door and he informed P and me that the problem wasn’t with our motherboard. In fact, our motherboard has never looked better.

    I don’t know if that’s true, but I like that way it sounds. Like maybe she got some Botox and appears refreshed.

    The problem was a clogged drain. That’s what the F2! F2! F2! meant. However, the repairman who came out on Monday allegedly cleaned the drain and it didn’t fix the problem, so he jumped to conclusions and blamed the poor motherboard who was only trying to use her powers for good.

    Repairman #1 (as he shall be forever known) didn’t have the tenacity of my dedicated Hugo. Hugo would not rest until our drain was clean. He used bleach and some kind of magical tablets because apparently our biggest issue was that the washer had never been cleaned. Am I the only one who didn’t know you’re supposed to run a cycle with just a cup of bleach once a month? We have been living like savages.

    Hugo pulled out all manner of gunk from our drain and even some assorted pieces of metal which I take full responsibility for because I am forever leaving empty shotgun shells in the pockets of my hunting pants.

    When he was finally satisfied that the washer was clean (I am not even kidding when I tell you that he wiped out the entire rubber gasket around the door even though it had nothing to do with our problem) Hugo stood up and announced that the washer appeared to be as good as new. There is a possibility we might need a new pump, but if we have anymore problems in the next 90 days all we have to do is call Hugo and he’ll get us one for 15% off. Hugo completes me.

    He also let us know that our dryer is spectacular and will last for “forty or sixty years” if we just remember to clean out the lint. In fact, he said it would last long past our washer which makes total sense considering that we paid about $900 less for it and all you do is turn a knob.

    And last night I did laundry with enthusiasm. I washed towels, sheets, colors and whites with a renewed appreciation for the convenience of newfangled technology that allows you to wash clothes in the privacy of your own home with little to no effort.

    Now if only someone would fold it and put it all away.

  • Here’s where I decide to just get a tub and washboard

    I keep trying to think of clever or, at the very least, coherent ways to begin this post but I am struggling because I am just so tired. TIRED. I went to bed last night at 9:00 p.m. which hasn’t happened since I had the flu two years ago and was certain I was about to die and wanted to be in bed watching old episodes of Little House on The Prairie when it happened. If it was my time to go then I wanted to go out the way I lived, totally lame.

    The weekend in Orlando was unbelievably fun even though I had nary a glimpse of any sort of theme park. Deeper Still was phenomenal and I am not kidding when I say I have about sixty pages of notes that will take me weeks to process. Kay Arthur taught the entire book of Hebrews, Beth Moore talked about discernment, and Priscilla spoke on Ephesians 3:20 and how God can do above and beyond all we can ask or imagine. In fact when Paul wrote Ephesians, he basically used language that says God can go beyond our beyond. He can do beyond beyond. Believing that truth is the foundation of our faith.

    So I crawled into my bed in a hotel in Orlando on Saturday night reaffirmed in my belief that God can do beyond beyond.

    Then I tossed and turned and didn’t sleep much at all because I was worried I wouldn’t hear the alarm go off and I’d miss my flight. At 5:30 a.m. I finally gave up, got out of bed, checked out of the hotel and headed for the airport. It wasn’t my finest hour. I feel certain there were several children on my flight to Atlanta who were convinced that Cruella DeVille was following them home from the Magic Kingdom. It probably didn’t help that I was wearing my dalmation fur coat.

    (Why is spellcheck telling me I spelled dalmation wrong? Doez it thank I can’t spell gud?)

    (Edited to add that apparently I can’t spell gud becuz dalmation is spelled dalmatian.)

    Also on an air travel side note: If you haven’t traveled enough to know you have to take your shoes off when you go through security, then you probably shouldn’t get in the Expert Traveler security line. I know you may feel like an expert and you may do a lot of things really well, but getting through a security line in a timely manner isn’t one of those things.

    Anyway, I ended up sitting next to a very chatty girl on the way to Atlanta and she told me all about some type of herbal supplements she’s selling that could change my life. Apparently they are made from some kind of super jacked up Chinese herb and will lower my cholesterol and help me get off my diabetes medication. It didn’t really seem to matter to her that I don’t have high cholesterol and am not diabetic. And then right as the plane was about to land, she said, “Can I ask you a really weird question?”

    I was so frightened because I just knew she was about to give me the hard sell on the Chinese herbs in the form of “How much do you think is too much to pay to change your life with Chinese medicine? $39.99?”. But instead she asked, “Does my hair look okay?” So now I’m paranoid that people think I’m odd because I ask that same question about ten times a day and have never once thought it was weird. I thought it’s what people do when there isn’t a mirror in close proximity.

    We landed in Atlanta and I had ten minutes to make it to the other side of the airport. I checked the monitor to confirm my departure gate, saw that my plane was boarding and sprinted through the airport with my carry-on bag in tow and my unbelievably heavy purse on my shoulder, only to arrive and discover that the plane was actually running about thirty minutes late. I’m totally sending Delta Airlines the bill for my eventual knee replacement and shoulder surgery.

    Once we were on the plane, the pilot announced the delay was due to some maintenance issues which why? Why do you need to announce that? “Welcome to this small metal tube. Fingers crossed that we got everything fixed. Would you like some peanuts? Perhaps some paper and a pen to make out your will?”

    Obviously it all turned out alright or this increasingly boring blog post wouldn’t exist. I landed in San Antonio and P and Caroline picked me up from the airport. As soon as I got in the car, Caroline announced she’d played a practical joke on me and pulled all her clothes out of her closet and thrown them all over her room. I figured that was actually the joke and when I arrived home that her room would actually be neat and tidy.

    But I was wrong.

    She wasn’t kidding. There were clothes all over her room and I wanted to cry, but instead I tried to gently explain the difference between a funny practical joke and things that will cause Mama to have a permanent break with reality. Then I took some deep cleansing breaths and we cleaned up the room.

    All I really wanted to do was unpack my suitcase and get in the shower. Preferably a shower used by Hazmat crews because I was convinced that I’d contracted some strain of tuberculosis while I held on to the handrails on the Atlanta airport shuttle and probably should have bought some of those life-changing Chinese herbs. Hindsight.

    So I unpacked my suitcase, sorted some massive piles of laundry, started a load of wash and jumped into the shower. I felt totally revitalized or at least like death was no longer imminent until I heard this odd BEEP, BEEP, BEEP coming from the laundry room. The washing machine was having a major case of PMS and decided to rage. I couldn’t get it to work despite all my best mechanical efforts which basically involved unplugging it and plugging it back in repeatedly. I did what I always do in these situations and yelled for P.

    He walked into the laundry room and unplugged it. Great minds.

    When that didn’t work he performed a series of maneuvers where he pulled out various tubes and what not. It would act like it was going to work but would go back to flashing F2! F2! F2! And I felt pure hatred for an appliance, a three-year-old appliance that was not cheap. Kenmore is dead to me. DEAD.

    And so I curled up in the fetal position and went to sleep at 9:00 p.m. just to make the day go away.

    Yesterday morning, a repairman came out, tried a few things and announced that the motherboard on our washer appears to be fried.

    I’d like to be more upset, but in all honesty I know exactly how she feels.

    At one point yesterday I told God that none of this was really my idea of Him going beyond beyond. All the reality came in and stole my joy. I just felt tired and frustrated.

    But then last night I sat at the dinner table while Caroline told us about her day and P said something that made us laugh out loud and I realized that the gift of those two in my life is an example of how God does beyond our beyond. They are more than I asked for or imagined.

    The Kenmore washer, however, is not.

  • In the words of Arnold, I’ll be back

    I got home from Orlando yesterday around noon and am in the process of being beat up by reality. Nothing serious, just things like empty refrigerator shelves, mountains of laundry, and other stuff.

    In other words, I’ll be back tomorrow with more.

  • I did not have the time of my life

    Yesterday started out fairly delightful other than the part where I had to get out of bed when it was still dark outside to fry an egg and watch Caroline drown an innocent Eggo waffle in Aunt Jemima syrup. She got dressed with a minimum amount of debate over what constitutes seasonally appropriate attire (much to her dismay, this rules out anything made of velour) and made it to school before the first bell even rang.

    After I got home I allowed Scout and Bruiser to drag me around for a few miles since it was a brisk 80 degrees outside and I no longer have to worry about all three of us spontaneously combusting from the heat. Plus I needed to work out and there are just some days where I can’t bear the thought of being tortured by Jillian Michaels and her hateful plank positions.

    I straightened up the house, started a load of laundry, and finally finished reading the book of Job. It was a good morning.

    Eventually I left the house to run to TJ Maxx. I’m going to Deeper Still in Orlando this weekend and was in need of a carry-on bag with wheels. In the past I’ve always just borrowed a bag from Mimi and Bops, but they are using their luggage this weekend. Gulley said I could borrow her bag but I decided that it was time to be a grown up and purchase my very own black carry-on.

    I actually received a gorgeous full set of Hartmann luggage for my high school graduation. Unfortunately, it is dead to me now because that was back in the primitive days of luggage with no wheels when everyone still carried their suitcases around like a bunch of barbarians. Not to mention the days before airlines decided to charge people extra money for checked bags because it’s not like you’ve already shelled out plenty of coin for your ticket.

    So I went to TJ Maxx in search of a bag. There were several of your basic black models and also a few in a very tricky shade of red that semi-frightened me. I unzipped some of them and looked at the various interiors trying to decide which ones looked like they could withstand the challenge of being filled with more clothes and shoes than any one person should ever attempt to pack in a carry on bag, yet said person doesn’t want the hassle of checking a bag and enduring a sketchy weigh-in process on a scale that’s designed to make sure that person is charged $50.00.

    In the midst of my suitcase research, I happened to spy a really cute pair of black boots right across the aisle and as I walked over to get a closer look (one pair in a size 10) I happened to spy a darling little carry-on bag in a large black and cream checked pattern. I looked at the interior and was delighted to discover that it was hot pink with all kinds of extremely useful and well-placed compartments. The tag said it was by Liz Claiborne.

    Well I had no idea that Liz Claiborne made luggage, but back in junior high I was a huge fan of her perfume that came in those primary-colored triangle-shaped bottles. And for Christmas of my sophomore year in high school, my mom bought me this really cool Liz Claiborne jean jacket and I had it for all of two weeks before it got stolen out of my locker. Which I forgot to lock. I guarantee that if my mom reads this post today she’ll feel the need to call me and remind me what a nice jacket that was and how I should have remembered to actually lock my locker. It was that tragic.

    Anyway, the official Liz Claiborne price tag on the bag read $240, but we all know that TJ Maxx is all about slashing prices. Or maybe that’s Walmart. Whatever. I searched all over to see what my TJ Maxx price would be, but it was nowhere to be found. And neither was any sort of sales associate.

    I didn’t know what to do. On the one hand, I’d found a perfectly serviceable boring black bag for a mere $39.99 (originally $180 retail!), but what if the price on the Liz Claiborne bag had been dramatically slashed and I could get the much sassier bag for only pennies or $30.00 more?

    It was more than I could process. I needed some space. So I walked over to the children’s department to see if they had anything in velour for Caroline. That’s when I saw the cutest little vest ever. It’s this great plaid in shades of red and black with some tan mixed in with a fur-trimmed hood that is to die for. And it was in a size 7, which I figured might be a little big but it meant she could wear it for two years. I snatched it up because it was the last one, it was only $15.00, and it only took me three seconds to mentally plan our entire Christmas card picture around it.

    Feeling rejuvenated by the great vest discovery of ’09, I went back over to the luggage and decided to take both bags up to the counter and ask them to do a price check on the cutey-cute bag. If it was too much then I’d just take the cheaper, but less chic, black bag.

    I rolled my bags up to the counter, waited until the automated voice told me that register number two was now available and then made my way over to a cashier who was all of sixteen years old, clearly thrilled to be working at TJ Maxx and dealing with neurotic moms who agonize over luggage decisions.

    Putting on my best smile and hoisting the suitcase up on the counter, I said, “Hi, I’m hoping you can help me. Can you find the price on this Liz Claiborne suitcase?”

    He looked at it for two seconds and replied, “Yeah, I don’t see a price”. And then stared at me blankly.

    “I know. That’s the problem. I wanted to see how much more it is than this black one.”

    He replied, “Umm, it costs more”.

    “Yes, I realize it’s probably more expensive but I wanted to know how much more. Can you find out?”

    “I don’t really know how to do that. I just know it costs more”.

    Well, yes. I can see how it would be hard to find a price on something that’s for sale in a store where you work.

    I could feel my patience wearing thin, so I just said, “Never mind. I’ll just take this black one”. My desire for the cute bag lessened when I realized that finding the price could cost me minutes of my life and my sanity that I’d never get back.

    But still, I’d found the greatest vest ever for Caroline so all was not lost.

    Until she got home from school and I showed it to her, just knowing that she was going to fall totally in love with that darling plaid exterior and fur-trimmed hood. The only problem was going to be convincing her that she couldn’t wear it until the weather cools off.

    She took one look at it, wrinkled her nose and said, “Does it come in any other colors like pink or purple because that looks like something a boy would wear”.

    So unless I can figure out a way to fit into a girls’ size 7 vest, it looks like I’m headed back to to TJ Maxx later today. And who knows? Maybe that bag will still be there and I can actually get someone to find the price for me.

    Or maybe I’ll have to get all belligerent and tell the sales clerk, “No one puts baby in the corner”.

    I realize that makes virtually no sense at all, but I felt that I needed to say it in memory of Patrick Swayze.