My reasons, be what they may...

Do you ever have those days where you wonder what life would be like if you were super rich or famous? How much easier life would be for yourself and for your family? How things would just flow so much easier and life would be so much less stressful? Money would be in abundance and happiness would rear it's beautiful head! There would be none of that jazz of balancing budgets, paying bills, clipping coupons, washing dirty old tennis shoes so they can be worn some more, wearing hand-me-down's, or worrying how high your next electric bill might be. The list goes on and on with things that could be made easier with money and fame.

Has any of that ever crossed your mind? Maybe while you're driving your 5 year old truck, that's still yet to be paid off, to dance lessons you really can't afford anyways? Or maybe while you're clipping aforesaid coupons or doing price comparing so you can try and beat the monopoly we call Wal-Mart?

Well, guess what people? I don't have those thoughts. I don't dream those dreams. I don't relish in what others may desire.

Wanna know why? Wanna know my secret to happiness? Wanna know why I don't feel the need to go wondering about such nonsense as having a lot of money or being famous for really awesome cooking or really awesome blogging? Wanna know why I don't ever care to be popular amongst the masses?

I actually have two reasons.

Reason #1:


Reason #2:


How would I ever explain these two to the general public? How would they ever be accepted by "normal" society for the little punks that they are? Oh, how the people would stare! How they would stare and how they would laugh!

I just couldn't bare it.

It would be impossible.

Therapy is slowly but surely helping me to deal with this brutal reality.

Headin' to another session,
Drama Momma

To her, it's not "just a game"

Softball. It's what dreams are made of. At least, it's what my 8-year-old's dreams are made of!

These are the pictures from our last tournament, which was June 13th. We play again this coming weekend. I'll try to get in some more good shots amidst cooling myself off with a battery operated misting fan and re-applying Lady Speedstick every two hours to enSURE (remember that old commercial, "sure sure unsure unsure"?) that the players are the only ones that smell! These were courtesy of another team mom, that mom that always has her Canon within arms reach! Thank you DL.

These pics, to me, show softball at it's finest. She's a girl. She gets dirty. She gets banged and bruised and sometimes bloody. She bats. She swings. She fields. She can throw to first base from left field! It's softball. And she loves it! I know I know, enough with the short phrases!

Last tournament we had a girl get hit with a bat, we had ice packs, we had upper 90 degree weather, and we had band-aids galore! These girls are no sissies and that's a fact!
Swing batter batter swing!



Here's a pretty awesome swing! Look out outfield!



#8 in her 3rd base action



She can be quick when she wants to be!



Here's her team. They got 3rd place in this tournament. They played some great ball! Go SWAT!!!



I, for one, am very proud of you. Play hard girls.

#8's Momma

It's been eight years...

The day came. Then it went. It was sad. I might have shed a tear that night when the adrenaline stopped rushing through my veins. Hey, I said might have, not did. Anyways, my baby is eight, and well, not a baby anymore. She started her day playing a softball tournament, in which her team so deservingly took 3rd, and then that night we celebrated with a slip'n'slidin' mudfest, hot dog grillin', not-for-the-insulin-dependent cupcake cake, good ole' country birthday bash! And she loved every second of it.

PS: You might be a redneck if your slip'n'slide is placed strategically in front of a steer's pen, the dog keeps attacking the sliders (playfully of course), your 3-year-old is the bully of the party with all her punching and spitting, and each and every punk ends up covered in a nice layer of muddy wetness! Oh my, oh my. We are country! No doubt.

Here's my birthday girl (I didn't say baby alright?) with her crazy friends...

Some more of the little nerds...

Can't forget the little siblings...these girls are gonna be T-R-O-U-B-L-E one day...

***Please note the mud on his legs***

Sorry to the mother of this poor child. At least the steer didn't get out though. Right?

Here's my nephew. He's about to be 12. He's a super stud. He was politely telling me to buzz off.

And last, here's a pair that'll always make my day. No matter what. They are the upside down of my frown. No lie. **Please note the blood dripping down Pawpaw's arm. He's a hard-workin' old man I tell ya. Doesn't even realize he's coming to his great-granddaughter's birthday party with blood all over his arm. I'm sure that blood is the product of a long day in the garden at 78 years old! I see now where my hubby gets his strength.**

I think I'll give my hubby some extra lovin' tonight for being so strong. I hope one day we're that old couple with pastel plaid shirts and bloody arms. That's true love people.

Happy birthday not-so-baby-anymore 8-year-old! We love you! And all of your quirky weirdness.

Momma

My baby's no longer a baby

So I've come to realize something. Your kids get older and there's nothing you can do about it. It's true. It's sad. I hate it. Someone slap me. Okay, so the one who made me a mom, the one who stole my heart when she looked into my tear-filled, swollen, dark circled eyes on June 14th, 2001 is about to turn 8. Yep, I said it. 8! Eight years is a long time. In that amount of time, you could get 2 or 3 college degrees, two Presidents could have served terms, or a welfare-dependent mentally unstable single mother in California could have given birth to 14 children. It really is a long time. And it makes me sad. The little girl who used to hold my hand to walk down the sidewalk, who used to call M&M's "MMs", who used to fall asleep in my arms every night, is going to be eight years old. That's 8 in kid years! Third grade. Boys. Homework. Sports. Prom. Driving. College. Marriage. That's what my future holds with the one who made me a momma. Where are the days when she would want me to kiss her boo-boos? Where are the days when she would tug on the bottom of my shirts (which used to really stretch them out and annoy me)? Where are the days when she needed me to lift her up onto the potty? Where I ask? LONG GONE. She's big now. She's getting older and she's insisting on things like privacy and iPods and posters for her walls. That's my new reality.

What happened to my sweet baby girl?

She looks like this now.

This is her more girly side (rarely seen however)

This is my new reality. She's getting older and I'm going to need therapy.

Oh the drama!

And so it begins...

Today is the day I welcome myself into the wonderful world of blog-filled bliss! I decided a while ago to venture this way but have hesitated for a while - mostly because of the "unknown". Now that I've started - and with having some major obsessive compulsive issues - I'm sure it won't take long to aquaint myself. I hope to entertain your senses very very soon! Stay tuned and I'll keep truckin' til' I've mastered the blog universe!