Don't Let Your Daughters Grow Up To Be Cheerleaders

R. has always been somewhat shy when you first meet her. She'll talk to you, as long as she is holding my hand or sitting in my lap. She needs that safety. And though she is funny as hell with those she knows well, she does not like to be the center of attention to those she is unfamiliar with.

Yesterday my neighbor and friend, J., called to say that she was signing up R.'s BFF, E., for cheerleading.

"They can be cheerleaders at 5?!" I asked in astonishment.

"Yea, can you believe it? E. wants to do it," she answered.

I thought how adorable the two girls would be together. But I knew R. would never follow through with it. "Nah, I'll pass. She'll never get in front of strangers like that. Good luck with E.!"

Later on that night the girls played outside together. R. ran up to me and said, "I want to be a cheerleader with E.!!!"

I asked her if she knew what a cheerleader was.

"Um, nooooooo," she answered.

"Well, a cheerleader wears a cute little outfit and claps and yells RAH! RAH! to football players at games. They do it in front of all the people watching the game."

"Oh. Nevermind, 'cause actually, I don't want to be a cheerleader."

I told her, "Maybe next year."

I secretly hoped she would want to do it, if only to bust my mother-in-law's chops. You see I was a cheerleader in 6th grade. I only stuck with it for one year because I really only tried out to prove a point.

I wanted to prove to everyone and myself that I could DO it. That I could actually, in a town full of cliques, make the team, on my own.

I had fun, but back then, I'd rather play baseball, soccer, and football with the boys.

But back to my mother-in-law.

I remember when my niece made the cheerleading squad. I can still see the look on my MIL's face when my sister-in-law told her the news. It was a look of total disgust.

She said to my SIL, "UGH. I can't believe you are letting her do that. She needs to stick with her school work."

My SIL looked at me and rolled her eyes. My MIL can sometimes be very opinionated even when she really has no idea what she is talking about.

She continued, "Don't roll your eyes, don't you KNOW what they grow up to be?"

"Ah, here we go," I thought to myself. She's going to throw out the "all cheerleaders are whores" innuendo. Not being able to take her irrational debate on the life of a cheerleader, I piped up, "Um, a wife to your son?"

For the first time since I had met her, she was speechless.

Score one for me. RAH! RAH!

Weekly Winners, July 5 - 11

Canon PowerShot SX110IS

No, that is not chalk. Mr. Schmitty actually power-washed that statement on the fence.
At least it doesn't say, "And Mom Drools"!

Thirsty



Her Mean Face


Hey! No "peeing" in the pool!

It's All Hannah Montana's Fault

I know this person that is a bit neurotic unstable cuckoo excitable. She is a very sweet person that would give you the straight jacket shirt off her back, but she tends to get somewhat very completely worked up over minor problems.

And forget about any of life's major inconveniences, such as a flat tire.....OY! It's enough to send her into a tailspin!

As I said, she is very thoughtful, caring individual. I really like her. But she seriously needs to relax a tad. I'm afraid that she may just have a stroke one of these days. I can imagine that pulsing vein in her forehead just bursting during one of her tirades.

Recently I was on the phone with her and she was becoming unglued about some plight or another. I listened and offered advice. I tried to be the sound of reason while also being supportive.

I'm just glad we weren't on web cams because I believe I rolled my eyes a few times. I wanted to bang my head on the table, but I was afraid of spilling my, now cold, cup of tea.

As she prattled ranted talked I think I began to lose consciousness. I caught myself and shook my head.

"Umm hummm. Yes. Ummmm hummm." I said into the phone to show that I was indeed still with her.

Like a kid with ADD, or a dog who sees a squirrel, my attention turned to the tv in the living room. Hannah Montana was performing that Hoedown Throwdown song. It's a catchy tune that my kids obsessively sang for weeks and inadvertently taught to me.

"Pop, it lock it, polka dot it...."

"Blah, blah, blah....."

"Ok, I'll let you go," I heard, a clearly uneasy voice, say to me.

OH SHIT! Elvis completely left the building and the phone conversation. I don't know how long I was gone but apparently it was long enough that she caught on. For all I know she was telling me that martians had landed in her backyard and were experimenting on her children. She could have just called me an effing whore and I would be none the wiser.

"Oh My God! I am soooooo sorry! That was so rude of me!!" I apologized while trying to think of an excuse other than, "I just couldn't help myself, I was listening to this like totally cool song by Miley Cyrus, you understand, right? It's like soooooooo awesome, like Oh My God!"

Okay, I totally dated myself. I'm sure the valley girl lingo is long gone, but you get my drift.

I looked around in a panic. T. was sitting on the couch, picking at the scab on his knee.

Ah, children are always the best scapegoats. "Really, I'm sorry, T. was picking at something. And I was trying to figure out what he was doing. He's always picking at something."

"Oh, that's okay," She replied with a much chipper voice. She then, I'm assuming, picked up where she had left off.

I accepted my penance and turned off the television.

If It's Not One Thing...It's Your Mother (In-Law)

If there is one thing I know about my mother-in-law, it's that she is absolutely no good at playing telephone. You remember that game, right?

Well, I guarantee you that my mother-in-law has never, in her life, been able to repeat a story correctly.

Nevah. Evah.

Mr. Schmitty was working in the yard last week. I was sitting in the window with R., watching him trim the edge of the grass, with the weed whacker. Suddenly, he spun around and his hand went up to his eye.

I jumped up, swung open the door, and shouted, "Oh My God! Are you okay?" I could clearly see he was not.

He came inside and after a few minutes of blotting his tearing eye with a tissue and blowing his nose, he was able to open his eye. He opted out of going to the emergency room, as he wasn't in any pain. He was also able to see out of the eye, though his vision was slightly blurred. He and I were both afraid that going there and not getting the proper care could make the eye worse. He decided to call a specialist in the morning.

After speaking with a doctor friend of ours, Mr. Schmitty obtained a name of a trusted eye specialist. He called and mentioned our friends name and was told to come right in. It pays to know the right people!

Mr. Schmitty called me from his cell phone when the appointment was over. He apparently had gotten hit directly in the center of his right cornea. There was a pretty deep cut and there was still some bleeding. He needed to fill about four prescriptions, avoid any physical labor, wear sunglasses all day and a plastic eye patch all night, and he had to sit upright to sleep. The doctor wanted to see him in the morning.

"What are the chances that it will heal properly?" I asked.

"About 50/50. It could heal perfectly fine. It might not."

Wonderful. I wasn't liking those odds.

"Oh, and get this!" He said. He then proceeded to tell me that while he was sitting in the doctor's office his mother, of ALL people, happened to call the receptionist to make an appointment for my sister-in-law.

I swear that woman has freaking radar!!! What are the chances that she would call while he was sitting there. A place he had never been to before! Are you kidding me?!

I really think she had a tracking device injected into each of her children when they were born. A GPS of sorts. Or something like the locator micro chip that the ASPCA placed in my new adopted kitten.

So, my husband, the big dummy that he is, talked to his mom and told her the whole story. NOT a good move this early on in the situation. You DO NOT tell my mother-in-law ANYTHING like this without knowing 110% that everything will be A-OK.

You JUST don't.

Almost immediately after I hung up the phone with Mr. Schmitty, it began to ring again. I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was his brother.

Damn, my mother-in-law was already burning up the lines. It didn't take her long to get the word out.

"Hi B."

"Can you please give me the REAL story about my brother?" He asked not knowing whether to be serious or not. "I'll hear the facts and then I'll tell you what SHE said."

I filled him in and then said, "Okay, what did SHE say."

"She called, in a panic (surprise, surprise), and said that he may lose his eye, that he was going in for surgery TOMORROW, and that he'd probably lose his job."

Oh.For.The.Love.Of.Pete.

I love this woman, but seriously? She needs to start tape recording conversations.

Update: Mr. Schmitty saw the doctor today. He was able to read the entire eye chart and his sight is no longer blurred. The doctor said that he may get some scaring on the eye but he was lucky. He told my husband, "You definitely had someone watching over you."

What a relief!

Lady Liberty Rocks!

Today we celebrate our freedom. Our Independence Day. Our Liberty and Justice.

We have many symbols of our patriotism; the flag, the colors of red, white, and blue, the American Eagle, and the Statue of Liberty.

I have only visited the Statue once. Pretty pathetic, as I live in New Jersey. Mr. Schmitty and I, back when we were dating, took a day to explore Ellis Island and the Statue.

I couldn't wait to climb up to the top of her crown. I wanted to proudly march up those 354 steps. I wanted to peer out from almost 300 feet in the air. And I wanted to look down and exclaim how the other tourists looked like ants.

My future husband? Not so much.

I knew he was afraid of heights. I just didn't realize the depth of his phobia. That is until we began our assent up the spiral stairs.

I, being the special girlfriend I was, took every opportunity to bust his balls. I laughed and joked, at his expense, as I continued on my upward journey.

After climbing approximately 50 steps, I turned to look at my boyfriend's face. I was about to offer up another wisecrack when I noticed the color of his skin. He was as white as a ghost. He looked like he was about to throw up or pass out. He knuckles were gripping the handrail so tightly that I thought he may snap it in two.

I felt like a complete jackass.

The Statue is engineered to withstand heavy winds, however, now that I know the extent of his fear, I can only surmise that this is how the whole ordeal felt to him:

I hope one day to make it into the crown. I hope my children will accompany me.

As for their father? We'll leave him home on solid ground.

Our Family Has Grown By 4 Feet....And A Tail

This is my beautiful daughter, with our new family pet, whom we adopted from the ASPCA. Izzy is 4 months old and the sweetest kitten in the world. She is very calm and affectionate. She came home this afternoon and is as in love with the kids, as they are with her. She is confined to the boy's room for a few days until she is more comfortable. As you can imagine, the boys are completely THRILLED with the arrangement!! (As I'm typing this, Izzy is curled up in bed with W. and they are both fast asleep.)

We are sloooooooowly introducing Ruby and Izzy. A few, supervised moments at a time. This may take a while.

Pests

When I was a young girl I didn't like bugs. I wasn't afraid of them. Apparently, I just didn't LIKE them.

We had a screened-in porch at the front of our house. My mother used to lock imprison (I kid mom, I kid!) put my sister and I out there to play on summer days. One day she heard me yelling. As she moved through the house to see what I was up to, she could hear me shouting, "DIE! DIE!"

As she approached, I wonder if she thought I had my sister in a death grip. Maybe she imagined that I was beating her over the head with my Crissy doll. There was no one else with us, so what else could she be thinking? It had to have freaked her out some, I'm sure.

Anyway, she stepped out onto the cement floor and there I was; stomping on a pile of little black ants. I must have dropped some sort of sugary goodness on the ground and they were all over it. I had my fists clenched and was pounding them with my feet, still yelling at them to die.

And I wonder where my daughter gets her temperament. snort.

A few years later, I recall placing a large black ant in a small glass jar; one the size of a film canister. I then found an Earwig, or pincher bug, as I called it, and dropped it into the jar with the ant. Clearly, I was a sadistic child because I watched that pincher bug chase that ant for hours. I sat patiently waiting to see if he'd catch him in his forcep-like clutches.

I think my parents worried I might grow up to be a serial killer. Or an exterminator.

So, let's jump to the present, shall we?

I've got news for you. Those damn ants, they don't forget. I'm telling you, they have tracked me down and are now paying me back. Tenfold. Last week, I found an army of tiny black ants, running amok on my kitchen floor.

I started stomping on them. I then put down bait traps. And what did they do? They laughed at me, that's what. And the next day, they brought friends. Lots and lots of friends.

We called our bug guy. He came, he sprayed, they dropped like flies. Heh.

Two days later, I opened the cabinet to take out the peanut butter. Four of those suckers were running around INSIDE the cabinet. THEY WERE NEAR THE FOOD! They saw me and ran. I swear one flipped me the bird.

"OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! Don't you have a picnic to ruin?! Fine, you wanna play?!" I half asked, half yelled at them. Thankfully, I was alone in my moment of madness.

We called the bug guy again and told him to bring the heavy ammo. I was done fooling around. This would strictly be a kick ass, take names, kind of war.

I cleaned out the cabinet. I pulled out the contact paper. I smashed the hell out of the stragglers that weren't fast enough to get away. I wiped the shelves down.

I waited for my guy and thought of my childhood and my wicked, wicked ways. I shook my head. "NO! I was only a child! I didn't know any better. I did not deserve this now!!!"

There was a knock at the door. My savior was here. He filled the bait traps with a yellow, oozing type of stuff. He told me that THIS would definitely do them in. I didn't ask what was in it. I didn't care, at this point, if the concoction was mixed with plutonium. I just wanted those pesky vermin out of my home.

So, it's been about four days now. There has been no sign of ants in my kitchen. I did, however, have a nightmare last night that involved a giant, glowing ant.

Moral of this story: Do not allow your children to harm insects; it will come back to haunt them!