It got quiet in the house.
That means one of two things.
(A) the kids went out to play — YAY
OR
(B) They are into something that they aren’t supposed to be — NOT Yay!!
So I venture back to the bathroom and the door is closed. Thinking that she must be in there, I open the door and spy an empty potty. I come back out and search the rest of the house and cannot find Samara.
I go back in the bathroom and find this…
In case you’re wondering where that is, it’s my bathroom linen closet.
But what I’m wondering is WHY IS THERE A CAT IN MY CLOSET?
Is this her way of telling me she wants to keep the stray cat she found?
Oy… that child….
Until next time…
My parents got a new dog.
I heard that they were going to get a “real” dog (and by real, I mean big) but Dad said they chickened out.
They got a beagle mix. She’s cute.
She came from a not so great home, and my parents and the traveling zoo (what we call them when they travel with two children, two cats, my grandma, and a dog) will take good care of her, I know they will.
But she needs a name.
She came with the name Snoopy. And that’s fine, but it doesn’t work.
For one, how many beagles are named Snoopy?
Secondly, she doesn’t look like a Snoopy.
AND? She’s a girl! Snoopy is a boy’s name.
So we came up with Gracie, Chloe or Pheobe as potential names.
What do you think? Which of those fit her?
OR… do you have a better suggestion?
My mother and I thank you much….
Until next time…
Last night it was raining. But what else is new? It’s been raining for what seems like forever.
It was also our last softball practice before our first game and while I know that I couldn’t teach those girls everything they needed to know in an hour, I knew we had to try.
So we had practice. In the rain.
I was proud of them. It was muddy. It was chilly. But we did it. And they did well, few of them complaining at all.
So when we were all done, I gathered them ’round the pitcher’s mound and I let them get me.
And they got me good.
The girls had a blast, the parents thought I was nuts, and you wanna know something?
I’m thinking I have a guest review for Chic-Critique because who needs those fancy products? When I washed my face off last night, my skin was so smooth!
I might be on to something!
Until next time…
I mentioned how I never win anything, and then I mentioned how I won, not one, but two things, and then today? Matthew got the mail and there was a package for me.
The envelope was nothing special, except the return address label was 10x better than mine are, and I like mine. I knew that contained within would be my Doodlebook.
But wanna know what was inside the ordinary envelope?
Do you see that pretty paper? There were two sheets of tissue paper… that one and then a really pretty lavender piece. And a little tag… which was written so affectionately…
H-
Happy Doodle-book-ing!
<3 K
Like we had known each other for eons when in reality, I think I found her blog, or she found mine rather, just a month or so ago.
But whatever…
I ripped that paper off… and here’s the book… 
And you want to know something?
It’s EXACTLY the book type of doodlebook that I would’ve picked for myself…
Thanks Krissi...
Until next time…
A short (no seriously, I promise) background on the pictures in this post…
Rhoda killed a rabbit yesterday. The kids decided to dispose of the rabbit for me, because they love me, and really, it’s just a little bit bigger than a mouse.
These pictures capture the events that took place on the afternoon of April 17, 2008.
So, Sam… think it’s going to fit in that shoe box?
I got it in the bag, Matt… but it needs to go in the Amazon box.
Rhoda! Get away, you’ve already done enough damage.
Come on, Matt… we need to find the perfect place to bury Buddy.
Sam, be respectful. Don’t be so loud. Funerals aren’t loud… unless people are crying loud.
Let’s find the perfect spot, Matt. Then we can bury all dead mice, too. We’ll have a little animal cemetery for all the animals Mom and Rhoda kill.
No… here. This looks like the perfect spot.
Ok, I ‘ll start digging.
You work on that Matt and call me when you’re done. I’m going to watch Hannah Montanna.
This is going to take awhile.
With all this rain we’ve had, the ground sure is hard and dry.
Hey Matt! If we try and put it in this shoe box, you won’t have to dig as big of a hole.
I’ll get Buddy ready for transfer.
Yup! He’s still in there!
I’m glad this bag has handles.
Let’s see if we can make this work.
Matt… he fits, but his legs keep sticking out. Can you help me?
There we go! What a nice coffin for Buddy.
Oh man! His legs popped out again.
I don’t think this is working Matthew.
Forget the coffin. We’ll just bury him in the body bag.
Ok, I’ll finish getting the grave ready. You go make the tombstone.
Man it’s hot out here.
Must. Keep. Digging.
This is taking forever.
Are you done yet, Matthew? It’s a commercial.
Nope, not quite big enough Matt… just a little bit more.
I finished the tombstone.
Heavenly Father, thank you for the time that Buddy had here on earth. Please watch over him in Heaven… that is if he went to Heaven. He might have been a bad bunny, but we’re sorry that Rhoda killed him. Please help Rhoda to stop killing animals in the future. In your precious name I pray. Amen.
I’m just going to clean this up a little bit and make it nice for Buddy.
Hey Matt! Did you that know that RIP means Rest In Peace? Becki thought it meant Remember if Possible.
Com on Matt! We’re missing Charmed!
If you look at my daughter and you look at me, you’ll notice that we look alot alike. I often refer to her as my mini-me, as do others.
I’ve passed alot of things on to her in addition to physical features… like my personality.
She is me.
Period.
She’s manipulative. She’s funny. She’s outgoing. She’s smart, oh that child is smart. She’s stubborn. She’s strong willed. She’s independent. If she’s thinking it, chances are I thought it to at some point in my life.
And yes, I apologize to my parents on an ongoing basis.
But tonight, I saw something else that I passed on to her. (And yes, I’m going to brag on myself for just a little bit.)
I passed on to her some mad softball skillz. (don’t ask why I put that z there… it just seemed to flow. work with me here.)
Now, I wasn’t a phenomenal softball player, but I could hit. I could hit because I HAD to hit. I had to hit it far so that I could lug my rear around the bases before they could get the ball back to the infield to get me out. I was a big kid.
If I didn’t get it into the outfield, I was out. I didn’t even bother running. Running was not my thing.
Come to think of it, it still isn’t.
Did I mention that I’m coaching mini-mites softball this year? I am.
I’m the head coach, in name only. My assistant coach and the other parent that is helping know far more than I do about how and what to teach these girls ranging from age 5 to 8.
But Samara?
Picture this… (and I’m so not making this up…) At practice tonight, we divided the girls into 2 teams…
Bottom of the 5th and the last inning that we’ll get in before dark.
The other team is up by two.
Bases are loaded.
Samara comes up to bat.
In mini-mites there are no strikes and balls. You get 5 pitches (pitched by the coach) and if you don’t hit it, you’re out.
So, Samara comes up to bat.
She misses the first 3 pitches.
She fouls the fouth.
I’m catching and I tell her to choke up on the bat, to get it off her shoulder, to lean back a little bit and to keep her eye on the ball the whole way in.
After I got the look of “shut up mom, I know what I’m doing” she choked up on the bad, got it off her shoulder, and leaned back a little bit.
I watched Coach B. pitch the ball.
I watched it come toward her.
I watched her swing.
I watched her brand new, purple, shiny bat strike the ball.
I watched her drop the bat and start running. (Something she can do well.)
I watched the ball, on the ground, make it to the outfield.
I saw her round first and head to second.
I saw one teammate cross home plate.
I saw the girls running to get the ball in the outfield.
I heard Matthew screaming for them to get the ball home to stop any more runs.
I saw Samara stop on second base.
I saw another teammate cross home plate.
I couldn’t believe it!
TWO RBIs and she tied the game!
I try very hard not to cheer for Samara more than the other girls. They all are doing so well. But when that ball took off, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. That girl can hit!
Now I just need to teach her that playing in the dirt is not what she’s supposed to be doing when she’s on the field.
Until next time…
Until next time…
A few weeks ago, Matthew came home with a new scooter. When asked why we have a new scooter he told me that his friend was going to throw it away because the wheels were messed up and he asked if he could have it.
Immediately, he sat down at his computer and started researching the cost of new wheels. He finally found the ones that he was looking for and at a price that he could afford… ebay is his FAVORITE website.
We ordered them and we expected them to be here right away.
A week later he left for his Nana’s and the wheels still weren’t here.
I didn’t put much thought into it until yesterday and when I went to check the mail, there they were.
I laid them on his desk and sure enough, the first question that came out of his mouth when he walked in the door from his trip was “Did my wheels come?”
Immediately, he went to work on putting the wheels on.
I didn’t pay much attention to what he was doing until he asked for some help. Mom was here so he enlisted her help as well…
After he was all done, I asked him WHY it needed new wheels….the answer is pretty obvious…
But now we’re stylin’
Until next time…
Heather
When I was 13 we lived on the Naval Base in Philadelphia. If you are unfamiliar with Naval Bases, they are their own communities, complete with a McDonald’s, Commissary (Grocery Store), PX (Kmart type store) and in our case, a bowling alley.
An aside: We were an Army family living on the Navy Base. The nice thing about this was calling someone and telling them that I was Captain Moore’s daughter. A Navy Captain is MUCH MUCH higher in rank than an Army Captain, but they didn’t know that Captain Moore was an Army Captain so they moved when I spoke. Hee Hee.
Anywho, in an effort to get my brother and I out of the house on Saturday mornings, my mother signed us up for the bowling league, and I’m not going to lie. I loved it…every single minute… and not just because the base hottie, Chris, was on my team.
I like to bowl. And over time, I got pretty good scoring close to 200 or a little over on all my games. I learned that I bowl better when I don’t have my glasses on.. go figure.
One day, I got 3 strikes in a row. I was very excited and the people at the bowling alley explained to me that 3 strikes in a row is called a Turkey. So when I went home I explained to my Mom that I got a turkey, acting as if I knew all along what this meant.
My mother is WONDERFUL with being excited, genuinely, for you. Any accomplish that you have she is excited for you and I absolutely love that about my mother.
The conversation went something like this
Mom: So how did you bowl today?
Me: I got a turkey.
Mom: How did you get a turkey?
Me: I got 3 strikes in a row.
Mom: Honey, that’s wonderful! Way to go!
We continued walking and chit chatting about the morning… I’m sure she asked me about the Hottie because he’s all I ever talked about when it came to bowling.
Mom: So do they cook it or do I have to?
It was then that I explained that it’s just a name and I wasn’t bringing home a real turkey.
Yes, I’ve always loved to bowl but haven’t done much since high school when I was on the school bowling team. (Yes, that just removed any coolness that you might have thought that I had back in the day… provided that you assumed I had any at all, and if you did, bless you… you’re my new best friend.)
Short of the two hard core bowlers I’ve dated in my adult life, I really haven’t gone out and done much of it. A little over a year ago, I dated someone who was on a league and for Christmas he bought me a bowling ball. For my birthday, I got a pair of shoes and a bag. Unfortunately, or fortunately, however you want to look at it, I broke up with him before he took me to get the ball drilled. Yes, that was over a year ago, and the ball is still sitting in my cloest, holeless.
I get teased about it alot.
Saturday night, some friends called and said they were going bowling. After the jokes about my holes not being drilled, I said that I would join them, so I pulled out my bag and my shoes and headed to the bowling alley. I felt very cool walking in with my bag and when I donned my new bowling shoes.
And then we bowled.
The first game was horrible. I didn’t even break 100. Then I took my glasses off and they turned the lights off and She Thinks My Tractor’s Sexy was piped through the loud speakers… that’s all it took. My groove appeared out of no where.
I rolled my first ball… strike…
The next two frames brought the same results and when I looked up on the screen, there was my turkey.
I finished the game with a 146, not my best, but the best I’d bowled in awhile and I had so much fun.
It was midnight and they all wanted to bowl one more game, but I wanted to quit while I was ahead (plus I had yet to finish packing the kids and I had an 8 hour drive the next day) so I loaded up my bag and came home…
And now I can’t wait to go and do it again… but I think I’ll work on getting those holed drilled first.
Oh and the best part about the night? I bowled 2 games with out breaking a nail. 
That’s true talent there!
Until next time..
Heather
Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve thought it would be really cool to be a stewardess…or an airline attendant. And how excited was I when my mother handed me her Barbie Doll collection and there was a stewardess outfit contained within the obviously-from-the-60s-suitcase filled with clothes and accessories?
Oh I was excited.
I still wonder what it would be like, even now, as I jet set all over the country from Roanoke to Missouri or Mississippi.
So when we were on our trip to DC, within the Air and Space Museum there was a little stand about being a stewardess.
Knowing that I didn’t have to actually submit a full length photo, I took the quiz (but there WAS a full length mirror there…ugh)
Each of those blue squares talks of the requirements… let’s start off with height…
Well, strike one… I’m 5′8″… and truth be told, I wish I was 5′6″… then I could date men that were shorter than 5′11″
Ok, moving on to weight…
Nope… too fat… I’d hate to think I would throw the weight off on the plane…not looking good for me…
How about age?
Strike three… I’m too old…
How about marital status?
nope… I’m divorced… that sucks… strike 4…
Moving on to appearance…
Ok, well I am height and weight proportionate, but what does “Just below Hollywood standards” mean? I do have personality, but I’m not sure about poise…
Ok… ethnicity…
YAY!!! I finally meet a requirement!
And gender?
WOO HOO!!!! I’m a girl!!!
And education?
Well, an RN I am not, but I do have two years of college… but I’m thinking that they no longer require this because I’ve met alot of DUMB airline attendants!
So that settles it… I wouldn’t have made the cut in the 50s…
But just for grins and giggles, I was curious to see if I would make it today…
And apparently, there were many discrimination suits out there (imagine… we live in such a litigious world!) that I could make it today… they just ask that you are height and weight proportionate…
I’m so glad my dreams are not yet squelched…
How about you? What was the one thing you wanted to do when you were little?
Until next time…
Heather
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