Monthly Archives: September 2016

Another Random Filler…

23 Odd Things You Don’t Know About Me

1. Do you like blue cheese? Nasty. I don’t like any dressings.
2. Have you ever smoked? Unless you count living in an area normally surrounded by wildfires in the summer, no.
3. Do you own a gun? Well, I live in the country. There are critters. So, yes.
4. What is your favorite flavor of ice cream? Mocha almond fudge, closely followed by mint chocolate chip. Ice cream is proof God loves us and wants us to be happy.
5. Do you get nervous before Doctor visits? Not usually. Unless I know there is a needle coming.
6. What do you think of hot dogs? Only turkey or beef. And only if there’s no other option.
7. Favorite Movie? That’s not even a fair question. There are a top five and sometimes those change.
8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? Dumb question. Coffee.
9. Do you do push ups? If forced. And I struggle like a newborn kitten.
10. What’s your favorite piece of jewelry? My wedding ring set. Because saying my nose ring will just start the drama again.
11. Favorite hobby? Writing and reading. Shocking, right?
12. Do you have A.D.D.? It’s ADHD! (says the OCD).
13. What’s one thing you love about yourself? My nose ring. 🙂
14. What is your middle name? It’s royal sounding.
15. Name three thoughts at this moment? I need another cup of coffee. Coming up with blog posts during a busy week bites. Chocolate is good.
16. Name 3 drinks you drink regularly? Coffee, water, sweet tea.
17. Current worry? Hoping the black light volleyball tournament tonight is fun.
18. Current annoyance right now? Presidential debates. Make.Them.Stop.
19. Favorite place to be? Home, because I’m wild and crazy. Or the cabin or the beach (but not a crowded beach).
20. How do you ring in the New Year? Asleep, if possible.
21. Where would you like to go? Australia (again).
22. Name 2 people who will read this. Kristin and Rosemary.
23. Do you own slippers? A few pair. Don’t judge.

Hunter Pence: The Beard, The Socks, The Heart

Dear Hunter Pence,

I don’t know you. I like the Giants but I couldn’t tell anyone what your batting average is. You have a fantastic beard and wear old school socks and pants. I’ve see clips where you make impossible catches in right field. And there have been a few interviews you’ve granted that make me laugh.

(I’m sorry, but I blanked and forgot to grab the photo credit here…)

But on Friday night, you captivated me. There were no cameras. You were two stories below me and had no idea that my daughter and I were clapping as you jogged onto the outfield to warm up.

This wasn’t my first Giants game. I’ve had the pleasure of sitting all around the park, from bleacher seats to handicapped seats when my husband insisted on coming to a game after foot surgery. He’s the one who taught me to rock Giants orange.

As you passed in front of the bleachers, you acknowledged the cheering and waving fans.

Hey, Hunter?

You’re the exception. Every once in a while, someone might throw a ball to the fans. But you? You waved back the whole way out.

It was better than your crazy batting stance.

(photo credit:

Just before the game started, children with cancer took the field following a big screen presentation about Buster’s amazing charity work. You joined your little fan. And after signing the ball, you turned that kiddo to the fans. And they cheered.

My kids are healthy. By the grace of God, they bounce back from split knees and broken bones. But my mommy-heart filled the moment you kept your arm draped around your shadow until all the clapping died down. The other children ran off while warm-ups started and you prompted more waving, then waited until it stopped.

I know you’ve come back from injuries (foul ball hit to the face, “Nah…it’s good”). It’s obvious you love the game.

But I hope you know you’re more. You’re a champion of the fans, hero to not only that tiny human who is fighting cancer, but to everyone who saw you take the time to stop and be gracious and compassionate.

Thank you, Hunter.

Type “Amen” and Share


I nearly went to hell this morning. Saw a Facebook photo someone posted this morning. I kinda, sorta agreed with the picture and scrolled down. Then I saw it:


Oh my goodness. I have to be blessed by Jesus! While I’m at it, I probably should update my status on FB with a check-in and a play by play of what I will be ordering for lunch. Of course, it’ll be healthy because I ran out of time this morning. And I only ran out of time because I was switching over laundry. And I only was switching over laundry because I had to rewash a load that had sat in the washing machine.


For three days.

fail Don’t judge. Last week was worse. Someone told me a table was going to be in a different spot when I arrived somewhere (location will remain secret for the clueless) and I burst into tears. Over a table.


Typing “amen” or sharing a picture does no more for your salvation than lipstick on a pig. God’s not going to cross His arms if you scroll past the picture and withhold your afternoon latte or give you a homework pass.


But just in case, be on the safe side and at least hit “like.”


When the Velociraptor Needs a Haircut

I read an article this morning about a mom who “forced” her daughter to wear hideous outfits from the thrift store because said spawn was bullying another girl about her clothes. (Apparently, it’s an old story, but a good one!) Ah…the memories….


Circa 2006. California. Thing 1 was born with some spectacularly curly, blonde hair. Honest to goodness, people would ask me if I permed her hair. Um…no.  But she loved her hair and as a outgoing 5-year-old, she loved it even more when other people loved her hair. Personally, I loved conditioner and detangling spray (God bless you, Johnson & Johnson).


Thing 1 was (and still is) a whipper-snapper. That lil’ thing taught herself the ABC’s at 18 months. I have proof on video because I was certain that I’d birthed a velociraptor. Until she was enrolled in Pre-K (called T-K that year because “T” meant transitional, whereas “Pre” was obviously not “T”), most of her friends were adults. Yeah, I’m a jerk that way, but her sentence structure was fabulous!


So off she goes to T-K. We get great reports and macaroni crafts…right up to the day we get a call about “an incident.” Of course, there must be some misunderstanding. My kid wasn’t mean! Oh, but she was…Thing 1 had taken it upon herself to bully another girl about her hair, going so far as to give it a solid yank. Or two.


And she wasn’t sorry.


I also wasn’t sorry when I lopped off about 6 inches of her hair that night (with the Hubs’ blessing). And I can imagine some horrified looks about our decision. But Thing 1’s lack of remorse wasn’t going to be solved with kind words or a stern voice. It was the finality of having to explain her shorter hair to the other kids that made her understand the severity of bullying. Oh believe me, her 5-year-old brain got it. Hair grows back. Bullying can last a lifetime.


And in case you think my heart is made of either lead or ice, I cried the night I cut her hair. Making hard decisions to force your kiddo to see their error is not a chocolate covered almond. It’s a chocolate covered raisin…you think it’s not so bad: “Oh, chocolate!” And then you realize it really does suck.


So, yeah, I’m that Mom. And I applaud other moms who make a hard decision and stick with it. It’s not a high point in our mommy lives. And you peeps who put raisins in oatmeal cookies, ew. Stop. You make me question all chocolate chip cookies.

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