The very last day...

to submit a request for Oprah Winfrey Tickets, is upon us. This really is IT. My very last chance to scratch good ol' #16 off of my Bucket List.
(Dear Oprah- Bucket List not in order of preference.)
My name, is officially OUT THERE.
Out in the swirly Oprah Website world, of Desperate Women and their Desperate Requests.
This post, is my last heart-felt plea.



Dear Oprah:
(and the lovely women on her Ticket team)

Maybe, I had not clearly expressed my sincere desire (near obsession) to be a (first-time) member of your studio audience. So, here goes....
(Men to which I am related: this may be the portion of the post, where you should stop reading, to retain just a wee-bit of respect for me.)

Oprah, I Heart You. You were my after-school snack. My phone conversation with mom. My reason to beckon my husband, 'just to watch this one part'. I have hushed my children, to better hear your wisdom. I have VCR taped and DVR'd you... planned my dinner making, around your schedule.
I've repeatedly began sentences "Oprah told me..." to which my Father-in-law has replied "She told YOU, or she said that on the television to millions of people??"
My reply, was a blank and confused stare.

I did not need Favorite Things or trips to Australia, I have always only wanted, a seat in your audience. One teeny seat. I would even squeeze up, with another patron and go half-sies.

I have demeaned myself on this blog, declaring my adoration and I do not regret one word typed in angst. Maybe, I have held back. Not Today. Today... I have reached my Pathetically Desperate Hour.

What's it gonna take? Just tell me.
Should I sell you one of my children? Deal. Take your pick. They are equally as cute and troublesome.
Tattoo your name on my wrist? Cool. Right or left?
Would you like to to run down the street in a swimsuit, with your show logo body painted on me?
Fine. Name the location.
Lie and pretend my mother is dying of a rare disease and her last wish is to sit in your audience, therefore committing myself to an eternity burning in hell?? Done. I like warmer temps anyway.
Stand on my head, drinking a Worm slushy, singing your theme song? Ok. I'll tell my son to start digging.
Should I read every novel on your bookclub list?
Admit you are a better friend, than my husband?
Humiliate myself via the Internet?
Done, Done and Done.

I am begging, pleading, praying and fingers-crossing... for just a couple, itsy-bitsy tickets. Name your price.
Should I start a mass email campaign? Have T-shirts made? Text-message all 32 friends in my address book? Create a Facebook phenomenon? Figure out what Twitter really is and open an account?
Threaten my blog-followers, if they do not Comment, re-post to their accounts or descend upon your website with gale-force strength: I may fall into a deep depression and will NEVER post another witty Coach remark or cute/messy picture of Coco... Ever.
(Can you live with that on your conscience??)
Ask anything Oprah! I will do it.

Please. Pretty, pretty please. With cherries, whipped-cream and sprinkles on-top! Plus a kiss for good-luck. Can I have tickets to your show? Just a few. A couple. I promise to dress pretty. Smile very brightly and Never. Ever forget a glorious moment of it.

PS- I live nearby. Just a skip. A mini-jump, really. A drive so short, I could bike it, if you'd like. I am totally available and willing to dash away from my lonely house-wife life, in obscenely short notice.
Just say, WHEN!!

PSS- I Heart You, Oprah. You're pretty.

Goodness, Gracious....

Great Balls of Fire. There is not a boy amongst us, more Irish in appearance than Two. With his red hair, freckled face and blue eyes... Two represents his Irish Catholic clan, very well.
And per tradition,
he is an excellent big brother. Their 'official' babysitter. He is helpful with many church activities. (only sometimes, is that help 'encouraged' by his parents.) He is kind to his grand-parents and most importantly... he will run to the concession stand for his nieces
(when I am toooo chilled to get out of the van.)
Two is active in athletics. He has spunk, spirit and sass (Sweet description of an energetic boy, who sometimes gives his mother a teeny headache, when he kinda forgets to sorta follow some of the rules.)



Two-
As you enter your 'Seventeens'... I wish you:
A cute girlfriend, at least 2 interceptions and a touchdown, maybe some Homecoming Royalty, a tiny bit more maturity and a itty bitty less sass.
(um, maybe I wish that for your parents' birthdays!)
I wish you a great Last Summer of High school and a promising start to your future.
I believe you are More.
Happy Birthday, Two!!
With love.

Jammie Day

Big Girl Tink, is currently attending Two Schools! This is HUGE stuff, for a girl who can barely leave her couch. She has regular preschool 2 days a week and for 6 weeks, she will attend the high school's parenting class. Tink has been waiting 4 long years for today's theme: Pajama Day!! Her "teacher Kafee, wif dat hair dat is yellow, dat I like... said I could wear my jammies to school!" It has literally, been the topic of conversation for days. After she was told she could not wear my old Cubbie T-shirt in public, she chose a pair of Tinkerbell Pajamas gifted to her "by Dat Girl."
The outfit was complete with Hello Kitty rain boots, "because rain means rain boots."



Later, she was much confused, after we made her to change into sweats for her broder's baseball game. Especially ironic, given her mother wore almost jammie sweats to the game herself.
(note: Me, Warhol, my cousin and 3 little girls, pulled the van up the the field and watched the game in the warm comfort from inside our vehicle. Coach had to coach in the cold. It's hard work, being Coach.)
The excitement of Jammie day, was exhausting.
She feel asleep early, chin safely on her couch armrest.



Danks to Teacher Kafee and Dat Girl,
both wif the preddy yellow hair.

* Grammy purchased the rain boots but she hardly deserves a shout-out, wif plain ol' brown hair and ugly brown eyes. Yucky.

Easter...

In Conclusion:
Yes, Coco knows her sunglasses are upside down.
The Big Kids take the hunt, very seriously.
Bubbles are fun.
Golf Carts/Electric Cars are fun.
Until they get stuck and then stop being fun.
Cousins are cute.
And, No..... I did not embarrass my husband with any ideas from the previous post. I was pretty much, totally respectable the entire day.
Happy Easter everyone!

Dear Clark, Doc and Mrs.....

In one week, you will complete a half-marathon.
This post, is your sun-shiney, happy-happy thoughts, Good-luck Love letter from Me to You:

You have willingly decided to run 13 miles. I am unconvinced, this is a good idea in any capacity. You've assured me, there really IS NOT a bear chasing you OR an ax murderer OR a poltergeist-like image. (see... I went with poltergeist, because of U of I's mascot being an Indian.)

Apparently, you really are running just for fun. (weird)
And if that is your Bucket List. I will support you.
(With more flare, than Clark has supported my Oprah dream. Cuz I am the better person.)

I am still confused, about paying for the race. It seems more likely, I would have joined, had someone offered to pay me. I am equally bewildered, you have trained (practiced) on your free weekends, by already running eleven miles. Multiple times. I am certain, a Jersey Shore Marathon or possibly cutting your leg hair with a butter knife, would have been time better spent.
Again, people have dreams. And this is yours.

Thanks to your training, your hearts are stronger, your butts are tighter and your will is more fierce... than mine. You have proven, your Superflyawesomeness glaringly outshines mine and after Saturday, will officially outshine Coach's. (at least for a month or so.) Still, I am comfortable knowing, I am more intelligent than you... because long ago, I learned vehicles were invented to carry a person on trips of several miles and I took that learned information and "ran with it."

I wish you all:
Swift feet, clear minds, charged IPODs, confident hearts, sunshine, double-tied tennis shoes, determination and much love. Literally, go chase your dreams. Even if a bear, is really not chasing you...

And to answer the Mrs.'s question, "Would I like to participate in a run after Easter Dinner??"
Yes. Of course, I would. I'd also like to celebrate the day 'The Lord Hath Risened' with the following ideas:

1. Slowly sticking the knife from our sliced ham, under each fingernail, while singing gentle hymns.

2. Painting whiskers on my face and hopping naked, around the children, during the egg hunt.

3. Having a Cadbury Cream Egg eating contest.
Winner is the last to puke.

4. At the end of Mass, standing up and shouting
"Holla Back Father! That was not nearly enough religion for me, let's go for another hour, beyitches!!"

...Or maybe....

5. Eating an entire basket of plastic Easter grass, while wearing a crown of thorns, as Gramma reads the passages, beginning with The Last Supper and ending sometime around Mary finding the empty tomb.
In the original Latin text.

All of which, sounds equally as fun, as running.
Good luck next weekend Clark, Doc and Mrs.
We all love you!

Forecast: 42 degrees w/ Thunderstorms

The Exact Text Message exchange between Warhol and I, as I notified parents baseball practice was canceled, due to poor weather.

Me: Looks like 'Coach' is gonna have to cancel practice again this evening.

CrummyAsstCoachHol: sweeeeet

Me: Not so sweet. Their first game is Thursday and they still suck.

Warhol: Oh, was this a "magic" practice??

Me: Funny.

------------------------------------------

Point #1: Obviously, Coach inherited his love of athletics from his elder brother.

Point #2: Munchkin, you'll notice I did NOT respond 'LOL'... even if I may in fact, have Laughed Out Loud, as I read his reply.

Two Months from Today.... (puke)

I spent my weekend, home with a little girl, suffering from Spring/Chest Thing/Cough/Booger issues.
She was sweet and pathetic. We sorta loved it.



This afternoon, someone could have snapped a picture of her mother, with a nearly identical result, after enduring a 3 mile Run (36% Slow Jog/64% Walk) with Coach this afternoon.
Coach as my Running Buddy: Not Good.
February-like cold winds: Not any Gooder

Each corner we ran (slow jogged) too, I angrily mumbled "And I'm out..!" I would stop to walk and proceed into a detailed "I hate running" rant. After the first stop, Coach threatened to step in tonight, as a guest Blogger and tell the world how awful I am.
Example #Two of his upbeat, dream-crushing, motivational speaking....
after his third threat, I called his bluff and offered to log him into my account as soon as we got home.

Where's the blog, Mr. Intimidation??
Obviously, I'm not the only person living in this home, who can Talk the Talk but can't Walk the Walk.
Actually, I can walk fine... I can't Run the Run.

Coach walks in...

as I am watching Oprah Behind the Scenes.
I pause the show and dramatically deep sigh.
Coach ignores me. I deep sigh again.

Coach: Yeeessss....??

Me: It's not gonna happen, is it? I'm probably not gonna see The Oprah Show.

Coach (shoulder shrug): Doesn't look like it.

Me: There's only like 20 shows left. That's maybe only 2500 seats left to fill.

Coach (lifting my spirits): And how many thousands of people, like you, are trying to get those seats?

Me: Too many... What's going to happen to me? What will I dream for next? Except for my dumb dreams for my stupid children... what dreams will I have left? I'm not going to Bucket List a stupid marathon race, that's for shiz. I guess, I still have Paris. Except, I am probably not going to Paris either. Am I??

Coach (still lifting spirits): Probably not.

Me: So then... THIS is it? (looking around me.)
This is my dreams realized?

Coach (shoulder shrug): Yep. I guess so.

Me: I didn't marry very well, did I?

Coach: Nope.

Me (lots of deep sighing): Are you just waiting to tell me I got Oprah tickets, on our Anniversary? Tell me sooner than later, because I need to shop.

Coach: Ok... but I'm probably not getting you that.

Me: Tickets to Paris then?

Coach: Isn't this the wood anniversary? (giggle) Besides, didn't you want to go BEFORE you turned 40? We have time.

Me: That was my dream. But dreams shatter.

Coach (takes out a calculator): How about before you are 50, instead?

Me: I'll be ugly then. Ugly people can't go to Paris.

Coach: Welp... I don't know what to tell you.

Me: Great pep-talk. Thanks.

Side Note-
Oprah, I have NOT given up all hope.
But I am starting to get very nervous.

Never! In all his Years....

This rainy Saturday, CT will celebrate her sons birthdays. Earlier this week, they received a surprise gift from their Grandma M. Grandma M stopped by, unannounced with a miniature horse, as a gift to the boys. A shock to even CT!!
This is adorable. The pictures of the jammie-clad boys are priceless. Grandma M easily wins the prize for Greatest Grandma for the Month of April.



Yet, I cannot help but wonder:
What if Grammy, surprised all of us with a Pony?
A Puppy? A Bunny? Or even a tiny Hamster?

Coach would NOT happily grab the camera for cute pics. I rather believe, he may chase Grammy down the drive, spewing curse words, while spitting at her feet. Football-style throwing the hamster, after her....
I suppose, the reaction MAY not be that violent.
But pretty close.

Lucky for CT's boys, her husband is a little more game for animal surprises. Plus, they already have a barn... and that helps.
Happy Birthday Boys!!
I wish, I could gift you some sunshine.

Kick Off to Training...

As previously mentioned, I have been 'committed' (appropriate word choice) to possibly three (probably two) races in the next 10 weeks.

Insert: I reserve the right, to withdraw at any given moment, due to poor weather conditions, injury, anxiety attack and/or complete lack of interest.

In typical fashion, I have done Zero, in preparation.

Training (pretend practicing) began 3 weeks ago, shoe shopping. I tried 3 pairs labeled (Running.... or Quick Walking/Slow Jogging) After a brief rant over "What the bleep has happened to me??", I chose the Most Comfortable Shoes, rather than the typically familiar choice of Cutest Shoes worn with my Yoga Pants.

Mentally and physically exhausted from my grueling shoe decision making process, I forced myself to rest for nearly 2 full weeks. It is wise to pace yourself, while Marathon (5k) training.

This Week, though... I gave in (sorta).

Kick-off Weekend: In a carefree (ignorantly innocent) moment, Tink and I dared The Kid, we could race him and Coach (driving in the van) from Grammy's house, to our house... on foot. It will shock you to know, little Tink (who typically declares leg cramps walking down the hall to the bathroom) is actually lightening fast and apparently Daddy-like competitive. Her tiny legs took off in a blur. 3 blocks later, I tried to coax her into quiting (yes, you read 'quit').
"Tink, do your legs hurt? Do you want to walk? Do you want to stop and look at some flowers??!!"
"NOOOOObe. I want to win!"

Her father cheerfully encouraged us (cracked the whip like a slave driver cuz he must think I am fat) by driving slowly behind us. While I PRAYED (that's right GG, I waste prayers on NOT running) Coach would just 'Pass us and put me out of my misery.'

Our compromise?? He stopped, we threw Tink into the van and I promised to walk the remainder, so Tink could beat me. Because she "Had to win somebody!!"

That little dare, jumped-started my running AND my training for preparation in becoming the inevitable race loser for the people, I know and love.

Monday: Two mile walk, with awesome new stroller.

Wednesday: Jogged. Walked. Jogged again, on the walk from yoga. I even went 4 blocks Out Of My Way! (did you hear that garbage, Doc?? 4 Extra Blocks.)

Thursday: Yoga, followed by a lite DQ lunch (turkey sandwich no mayo and MINI-blizzard... my body is cleansing). Short walk in the afternoon, with plans for another evening walk except... I was compelled to watch episodes of Glee Season 1 on Wii Netflex.

This morning: I woke early. 6:00am and ran 4 miles.
Without stopping.
Coach snapped this picture, as I passed the house.




Ok. That last entry was a lie.
But still... it's sorta a start.
Include: many breathless moments, hyperventilating over the ridiculous and mind-bending Dumb-ness, which led to my registering for the Warrior Race... and I have 'committed' a solid 4 hours, in 2 months.
I'm Hard Core.

Coach's Training Regimen, thus far:
He's purchased new Adidas.

Don't use Big Words, your Bottom can't Cash.

This morning, on the news, I heard a politician discussing Obama's plans for our Social Security debacle. The politician used the word "Demagoguery" in his normal conversation voice.
I hate to embarrass the man,
but I am pretty sure that is just a word from the Elfin language in "Lord of the Rings" and not actually a real human word. Right?

Label: This is the most political,
my blog will ever get.

Sometimes, I am way too busy to Download Pictures...

On Sunday, our little Nine received her
First Communion. She was beautiful.



As was her Aunt Doc. Coach was sorta cute, as well. Obviously, her god-parents were chosen for attractiveness AND athletic ability.



Unfortunately, for Nine's Blog time, her brother Six, stole her thunder for me. During Mass, sometime around the 'Is this over yet' portion... I lifted Coco over the pew, to Aunt Flag Girl. While doing this, Coco's dress lifted, exposing her diaper. The entire Nieces and Nephews row, giggled over this.

Except, Six, who whispered to me: Ohhhh.... So girls do wear underwear, under their dresses?

Me (laughing): Of course they do. What did you think?

Six: I don't know (standard Six shoulder shrug)...
I guess, I thought they wore nothing.

Me: Six... if that were true, there would be 100 little girls in this church right now, sitting on naked butts.

Six (and the others) erupted:
Yeah... I guess you're right.

This conversation proving Two Things:

First, knowing Six never gets old.

Second,
I am still the most "Inappropriate Aunt" AND the newly crowned "Most Hilarious Aunt During Church".
I'm sure my mother-in-law, is very proud.

Congratulations, Nine and EL.
You both were lovely.

What the What???

Tonight we rented 'Black Swan'.
Soooo....uuummmmmmm.....?
Confused much?
Let's totally ignore 'The Part' which was blown out of proportion. At the end, I was left with a headache.
Natalie Portman-
Save your drama for your mama.
That was too much, for me.

She'll Eat Anything...

After our beautiful Spring weekend, full of outdoor chores and children frolicking in the yard...
I just can't help but wonder,
how many of our tiny play-ground pebbles,
I will find in Coco's poopy diaper, this week.

I Really Hate:

when the Mrs. extends stupid challenges.
Here goes....

I am very much NOT a Warrior.

I want regular pedicures.

I have more than I imagined.

I wish the ants in my kitchen would leave.

I hate anyone who makes my children sad.

I fear I really may not be attending an Oprah Show.

I hear you but I am probably not listening. Sorry... I get that from my Dad.

I search for very little. I am surprisingly, very comfortable with what I have and what I know.

I wonder if Kit's 'Full On and Fearless' personality, really will be the death of me.

I regret next to nothing. MOST all of my bad decisions have led to my good choices.

I love these four people to the point, it is completely indescribable.

I ache over the day, I am no longer Tink's 'faborite'.

I always am continually amazed by The Kid's forgiving and wanting Heart.

I usually am ignorantly renewed by each day.

I am not (repeat) a Warrior.

I dance with maybe less abandon than I should.

I sing only in the presence of children.

I never argue with a drunk. (words to live by!)

I sometimes lack a filter.

I cry very, very rarely.

I lose more sleep to thinking, than I should.

I am grateful I took a deep breath and jumped, rather than sitting comfortable on the familiar ledge.

I need more sleep, than I get.

I should pretend, to give this running thing a solid effort. But I am sure, I won't.

Ok ladies, I did this. Blah.

Wordly Updates: Via US Mag

A.) Ke$ha will guest star as herself, to perform her new single 'Blow' on a popular Nickelodeon series.

Proving: Obviously, I am not the only aunt in America, who finds Ke$ha's thought-provoking lyrics, appropriate for children.


B.) Quote: "At the end of your life, all the things you thought were periods, they turn out to be commas."

I refer to this segment as:
Deep Thoughts from Matthew McConaughey,
which actually seem to make sense.

A Drop of Coco.....

to perk up your morning.



She may be a sister-slapping, spider-monkey-shelf-climbing, marker-eating, quick-temper-losing mess... but her smile sure can brighten up any day.

Something Vexes Thee... Again??

Many months ago, I posted my poor Coach was having a bad week. Sadly, it has happened again. I'm sure, in many households, the husband feeling grumpy is not blog-worthy material. Yet, in our world, Coach is our rainbow and we are the clouds floating around him. Because my children were grown from within me, they unfortunately inherited a little more of my (occasionally) gloomy DNA and less of their father's smilely sunshinyness.



My mother seems to have successfully (for the moment) rid our home of it's Bad Mojo. Except, we realized she only floated the bad vibes out into our yard. In the span of one hour, Coach's clutch shut down in his (cute little) Big Man Truck. Forcing The Kid and I, out to the street to push the (luckily cute and very little) truck back up the driveway.
Moments later, Doomsday Dan blew a big ol' gust of bad luck against Coach's basketball hoop. Crashing it to the ground and snapping the metal backing.

Truck in the Shop + Broken Basketball Hoop =
Bummed out Coach x Plumbing bills =
Very Bummed Out Coach.

Here's hoping my husband's luck turns around. Because even the idea, of having to be the cheerful adult in this home... really gives me a headache.

You once thought of me
As a white knight on a steed.
Now you know how happy I can be.
Oh, and our good times start and end
Without dollar one to spend.
But how much, baby, do we really need.

Cheer up, Sleepy Jean.
Oh, what can it mean.
To a daydream believer
And a homecoming King....

Spring Training....

While our son has all of the athletic talent in the world, he lacks a little, ummmm... go-get'emness.
Each spring, we dread the first week of baseball.
No one, more than his Coach.
Tonight, was the first official practice and The Kid, did not disappoint. Our long standing Tradition of Pure and Uncensored Dramatics, ensued.

A.) 5:10pm (during dinner).

The Kid: Ugh... do we HAVE to have practice so late? Do we HAVE to have practice in the cold? Do we HAVE to have practice for so long?

Me: We are not playing this game, this year. You are going to practice. You are going to shut your mouth and listen to your father. You are not going to talk back or be negative. If you do... even once... for even one night... Dad will not coach you.

The Kid: Is he going to quit?

Me: Nope. He'll coach the other boys but YOU will be kicked off the team. And if that happens, you will spend your summer playing for Team Bible School.

The Kid: What does that mean?

Me: You will be forced to attend, each and every week of Bible School, offered in this town. Both Lutheran churches, the Catholic Church, the Methodist Church....

Coach: ... even the Congregational Church.

The Kid (with HUGE eyes):
What?! Can you even do that? Go to all of them??

Me: Go Team Bible School! Whoop-whoop.

The Kid: Fine. I'll be good.




B.) 5:42pm (The Cup Drama: 3rd Year Running)

Me: You have to wear your cup.

The Kid: NO! I hate the cup. It makes me run slow.

Me: You HAVE to wear your cup to every game.

The Kid: Noooo. They threw me out at First last summer because I couldn't run fast enough.

Me: Figure it out. Dad wears his to every game and he is one of the fastest on his team.

Coach (whispering):
What? Only just ONE of the fastest???

The Kid: I am NOT wearing it.

Me: Fine. But if the ball hits you and breaks your penis, don't tell me about it.

The Kid (hysterically laughing and eye-rolling): Mom!! You can't BREAK a penis. Penises don't have bones in them. If a penis had a bone, then guys would just be walking around with penises sticking out! Come on, Mom. You don't see guys, walking around with a penis bone sticking out off their body... otherwise, skeletons would have a bone sticking straight out!

Coach (totally dying in the corner.)

Me (trying my best, not to join Coach's immaturity):
I get what you're saying.
But you still have to wear your cup.