Funny Fail

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I think this church might need to be a little more 'of the world'...

Progress Report

• Diet is going well, but I sabotaged myself with a trip to Sam's today.  Hard to resist yummy snacks purchased for the kiddos.  Luckily, I bought lots of gorgeous produce, too.
• Exercise?  Not so much.  Was thwarted by the lovely pink bicycle.  But cleaning house burns calories, too, no?
• Weight lost since the horrible 'before' pictures:  12 pounds.  
• Yahoo!

Duck Season

Happy hunting season!

Prodigy

The inevitable has happened.  I knew it was coming, but it still took me by surprise.  I have become a soccer mom.  I do not, for the record, drive a mini-van, so there's that.

I signed Z up for soccer this fall.  Our first practice was on Tuesday.  So far?  I am not really impressed with Z's coach.  She didn't attend the coaches meeting, so we were the last ones to hear from our coach.  She put off reserving a field until she just had to take what was left: a field so far away that it is practically in the next state.  Oh, and she didn't show up for our first practice.  Awesome.

Z and I drove out to BFE and found the soccer field and waited for everyone to show up.  And waited.  And waited.  Did I miss a memo?

Luckily, I was the mom prepared for everything.  We had brought Z's shiny new (pink!) soccer ball with us, so we had a practice just the two of us.

My girl has mad skills.  Seriously?  I knew she was a pretty good kicker, but I had no idea she would be a good dribbler and passer.  I played soccer in high school, so I ran her through some drills.  She mastered all of them in no time at all.  By the end of our 45-minute 'practice' she was good enough at ball-handling to steal the ball away from me!  You go, Z!

And since nothing says 'proud mama' like shaky low-res cell phone video with crappy audio?  Enjoy!

Widow Season

It's that time of year again, the time when T takes it upon himself to protect the world from the ravages of small-ish not-very-smart birds.  That's right.  It is dove season.  I mean, seriously?  A bird that is dumb enough to get run over by a car deserves to be food, right?  The question (for me, anyway) is why would you want to eat them?

At best a whole dove makes four bites - and those bites can vary from charred to raw on one tiny bird.  Not to mention the danger of ruining your very expensive dental work chomping down on a bit of bird shot. And the fact that they taste like liver.  Why do we eat these things again?

Z won T's heart forever by declaring dove meat (carefully selected by her father) to be delicious.  Between the two of them, they picked 15 tiny carcasses clean.  Me?  I am on a diet.  A diet that doesn't include liver-y teeth-endangering game birds.

As if dove weren't enough (in)edible game, duck season opens this weekend.  But only the tiny ducks (teal).  One size up from dove and just as organ-y.  Yay!  So T will head out after work to hunt dove, then get up obscenely early to go stand in the water to shoot ducks. I don't know whether to hope his hunt is successful or not!

Oh, did I mention that they have spotted a 12-foot alligator in his duck pond?  If he's not careful, I'll be more than a hunting widow!  Awesome.

Flat Line

Doctor, the patient is dead.

This would be very sad if I weren't talking about bicycle tires, huh?  After Tuesday's debacle, T (optimistically) filled up my tires on his way to work this morning.  He warned me to check them before I left and if they had lost any air to abandon all hope.

The tires seemed firm enough when we loaded up, but I was understandably skittish.  My quads still ache!  So this time I decided to take a test run.  Fool me once and all of that. 

Out of the gate, everything felt fine.  We made it to the end of our cul de sac before I started to feel the tell-tale drag.  I hopped off to check the back tire and, sure enough, it was a little mushier than it had been in the garage. Deciding that discretion is the better part of valor - or in this case, caution is better than burning thighs and long walks in the rain - we high-tailed it back to the house.

So I dropped Q off in the trusty mom-mobile and I am off for slime tires.  Better luck next week, right?

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Pre-School

In keeping with my new better 'life style,' I decided that I would take Q to school on my shiny new bicycle.  I got it for Mother's Day and it was just what I wanted: retro styling, big cushy mom-seat, no gears.  I love it!  It is so PINK!  Squee!  (The no gears thing isn't as crazy as it first sounds.  A.) I am a spaz and would never use the gears; and B.) we don't have hills in Wester.)

We have been riding bikes - or, in my case, pulling a wee chariot -  all summer on pleasant evenings when there was no danger of getting struck by lightning.  Which is to say, not very often because west Texas seems to have evening thunder storms more often than not.  All of this is to say that I felt quite confident that taking Q the mile up the road to his school should be no sweat.  (Pun entirely intended!)

With lunches packed and cameras in hand, we packed up the bike trailer like we were setting out on a cross-country expedition.  Q could barely peek out from beneath the purses and nap pads and first-day-of-school flotsam.  It was with bright hearts and big smiles that we took off down the driveway toward Q's education destination.

About a quarter of the way:  (breathing hard) Wow!  It has really been a while since I went for a bike ride! 

About way way:  Huff!  Puff!  Man, I am seriously out of shape.  My legs are on FIRE!  Pant!

About three-quarters of the way:  Gasp!  Sob! The pain!  Make it stop!

As I turn in to the parking lot: (Catching a glimpse of the rear tire as I check on Q)  Is that...?  No. Way.  My @!#$% tires are flat?  ALL FOUR OF THEM?!!?

And then it started to rain.

The end.