Scarred for Life

I was in the privacy of my own home. The shades were drawn. It was the middle of the day.  There was no chance of getting caught.

Or so I thought.

In my haste, I overlooked one very important detail – locking the back door.

I don’t know who was more startled. And I’m not sure exactly how much The Boys witnessed before I realized they were standing there. It was a scene no teenager should ever have to see.

The spectacle they observed was so utterly horrifying, so completely embarrassing for all of us that there is not enough therapy available to wipe that look of disgust off their faces.

There I was in my ratty Louisville sweatshirt, mismatched Smart Wool socks and Mom Jeans.  And I was doing a Mid-Life Mom interpretation of Running Man all alone to a windowpane rattling volume of Party Rock Anthem.

I was totally busted – for bustin’ a move. [Read more…]

Joy in Mudville

 

Spring is in the air, the days are longer and the grass is green.  And that means it’s time for the annual rite of passage for parents known as t-ball.

This is the time for the 4 to 8 year-old set to learn how to throw, hit and catch.  So I felt duty-bound to sign up Older Boy when he was five.

I think participation is actually required by federal law.

After sitting on the sidelines that season, I decided it would be even more fun if we made it a family endeavor since Younger Boy was now old enough to play.  I thought being a t-ball coach would be a cinch, so I signed The Husband up.

Signing your spouse up for a volunteer commitment with a group of individuals who do not yet have all their permanent teeth is never a good idea.  But I persisted.

“Wouldn’t it be more fun than just sitting there?” I argued.  “And don’t worry about doing it all by yourself, I’ll help you. Besides, it’s just t-ball, how hard can it be?” [Read more…]

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