I heard one time that Dr. Seuss came to fame on a bet that he couldn’t write a book or something. There was a bet involved, anyways. Today, I’m rolling down the street, cruisin in my minivan with the kids, rockin out to some Dr. Seuss on tape, and barely listening when I hear one line from the book that almost made me pee right there in my precious minivan seat from restricting myself from laughing hysterically. I had to hault ALL bodily functions. Because if I laughed as hard as I wanted to, the kids would be encouraged to say it all day and laugh at each other, and really, they’d get sent home from Pre_K for this:
“I would not could not with a goat.”
Me either, Dr. Seuss. Me either.
Maybe that was the bet. And he won. He got that line in one of the all time classics. It’s from Green Eggs and Ham. It could be the gruffy old man voice who’s reading it on the tape that gives the line such impact. And I couldn’t be more proud that my kids are learning to read this stuff.
That’s how I roll.

It’s occurred to me that my kids are really growing up. They are now riding off on their bikes they are too big for. They’ve had the bikes for two years because they were two and too big for tricycles.
Yes, we’ve covered their physical enormousness. It’s become very apparent in the last week that their vocabulary and communication skills are maturing as well. They’ve been talking and using words since way before they were one. Being the communications major that I am, I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but… TOOT TOOT!

Their vocabularies have been big; their creativities with their vocabularies has been entertaining. We thought nothing of it, until we got visitors, asking, “What are they talking about?”
Yes, we’re the obnoxious parents, “Oh, that’s code for this or that. Isn’t that so cute, they came up with it all on their own.”
They are only days away from turning 4 years old, and the code words are fading fast. There’s only two left. We’re holdling on to it as long as we can. Here’s a few words and their translations that we bid farewell to:
The New Gym _ We switched gyms almost a year ago. They still use this one on occasion, and then question themselves.
Spicy Juice _ any caffeine_free, clear, carbonated beverage.
Which seques beautifully into:
Mommy Juice _ This is any juice the kids are forbidden to touch: vodka tonics, beer & tomatoe juice slyfully disguised as “mommy’s breakfast juice” Mommy Juice can also be caffeinated beverages. The kids still refer to this one on occasion, but not too much because they just know to not even think about touching my juice.
Booger Holes _ We have no clue where this one came from, but one day, we’re at the zoo checking out the gorillas and Max says, “He’s got big booger holes!” And so be it. Yes that gorilla did, and we just thought it was so cute, we never corrected him. Some fool corrected him and he now refers to it as nostrils. Damn.
Flat Cheese _ Try and guess. Anyone? I’ll give you a minute. Did you get it? It’s American Cheese. In our home, we cook nothing that can’t be corrected with a little extra cheese.Some people can fix anything with duct tape, I prefer cheese. So, my kids are well versed in cheese sticks, cheese cubes, shredded cheese, and flat cheese. Aren’t they brilliant?!
Boing_Boing _ noun and verb references to trampoline or jumping on a trampoline.
Tuesday School _ Preschool that is attended on Tuesdays and Thursdays. It was just school until we got them signed up for Sunday School… Pretty brilliant on their end, don’t you think? It was quite a doozie when this year, we started Monday/Wednesday/Friday school. Whew! Somehow, we got it through that it was called Pre_K. That’s when they asked about college. “Sweetie, can we get to Kindergarten before you start jumping to college?”
Daddy’s Hot Ride _ This is a conglomeration of what should be referred to as a Hot Rod, and the lump of car in our garage. The lump now has a sweet paint job, no interior, and I think it might have an engine in it. I’ve pushed it in and out of the garage one too many times to refer to it anything less than the lump. The kids now call it what I guess is the correct term, the Chevelle.
Yummy Milk _ Chocolate or Strawberry Milk. And you better differentiate, because one likes chocolate, one likes strawberry.
The weak should not read the following terms. I’ll be brief, but again, it’s worthy of writing and reading. Lucy came up with these in a moment of, er, stomach illness.
The three degrees of poop:
Pee Poop (Worse), Barf Poop (Bad), Snake Poop (Better). I’ll leave this for you to figure out. But isn’t that brilliant? What a genius! Thankfully, these three terms have depleted from their vocabularies because they haven’t had to use those descriptions in a while.
There’s one that both Max and Lucy are holding on to: Ungumbrella. Yep, it’s just your average umbrella. This one we’ve tried to correct along with Gumbraska. They now say Nebraska, but Ricardo and I are just at a loss over the Ungumbrella. Now that we bid ado to the other funny phrases, we’ll hold on to this one as long as we can. We (and when I say we, I’m including Ricardo in this unvoluntarily) pride ourselves in fun, funny and laughter in this family life of ours. So, I hate to say goodbye to such fun terms. I guess Lucy calling her college coach to tell her that she can’t go to Tuesday School because she has pee poop because she drank a bad batch of Mommy juice probably isn’t a good idea. So, we’ll allow this growing up thing, for now. That’s only because I know eventually, they’ll slip and come up with another funny term.
That’s how I roll.

There’s a show on PBS my kids watch called Caillou. That’s the name of the kid. I think it’s a Canadian show which explains a lot. No offense to the Canadians. But the name must be French or something. What else would explain the name that sounds like a sneeze?
Caillou is a whiney bald kid. More importantly, his parents are enablers. But they don’t show that part. They show the kid responding perfectly everytime. I’m sure they are good people, but really. Their responses to the kid are always so patient and well thought out. It’s really bad parenting if you ask me.
Today Lucy was watching it and I was rolling my eyes at the dialogue:
Cailliou’s dad: “Rosie is sick with the flu.”
Caillou: “The FEW?”
Caillou’s lame dad: “Close. It’s the FUHLUE. That’s short for N_FLU_INZA.”
Are you frikkin kidding me?
Then, Caillou’s daddy says, “Rosie has a fever. Sometimes when we are sick, our body temperature rises. It’s a way for our body to tell us we need rest to fight off the sickness.”
Pish posh Caillou, Sr.
That is all nice and ridiculous and all. But really. I’m the better parent. I taught Lucy how to barf in the bowl. I need my own show.
That’s how I roll.

Max and Lucy,
I worry that one day you will have to endure all this. It’s not all fun and glory. It will never end. However, there are many more benefits to being tall and standing out for it than not. For example, your dear mother is crazy and somewhat forgetful. But when someone talks about me, it’s not ALWAYS, ‘Hey, you know that dumb broad?” No, no, the beauty of it is, it would go something like this,
“Hey, you know that dumb broad in marketing?”
“Which one?”
“Oh, you know, the smoking hot TALL chick?”
“Oh yeah, she’s so tall!” See there, it’s got it’s benefits.
So, dear kids, ultimately, it’ll pay off. Until then, mommy is happy to scrap in the parking lot of the gym to defend your presence in the locker room. When you’re twelve and playing in a YMCA basketball league and some lame ass dad is in the crowd slurring loudly, “We want to see that kids’ birth certificate” I will proudly whip out my wallet sized_copy and teach that punk a lesson. Because, by golly, chances are, I’m bigger than that future idiot in the stands. And if not, I’ll be forced to assault him with witty insults. And Lucy, if you are anything like now, there will be that force to be reckoned with.
Love, mommy
I’ve received an email from more than three people, and feel compelled to share with the world. Well, I’ll share it with you. So without further ado, I need to thank the pals who take time out of their day to look out for me. Thank you for thinking of me, and my poor son, who I am sure, will outgrow this kid. Thank you for forwarding it to me. It’s great inspiration that while my kids are jumping from the formal antique couch to the stairs and back, indeed, that’ll be great movie clips for ESPN.
This poor kid looks like he’s sick of the “Hey, can you do a trick for us you big ass performing monkey?”
Here’s the email I’ve been getting: This could be your son in a few years.
By the way, my kids are approaching 4 years_old, and standing at 45″ tall. For those of you less than tall people out there in denial, that’s just 3″ shy of 4 feet tall. They grew out of their church shoes in a two week period. And when I say grew out of them, I mean, I couldn’t force their foot to go in the shoe, at all. A trip to the shoe store and a measuring of their feet later, they are in shoes that are two full sizes too small. In this last year, that is the second time I’ve figured out their shoes are two sizes too small. You’d think that since I did this entire song and dance, standing at 6′ at 12 years old myself, I’d have a grip on it. But no, I’m stunned everyday.
I wonder if this 6’8″ little leaguer kid is any good. Growing that tall that fast can really slow a person down. That’s my explanation of my own experience anyways. I’m not a great fan of baseball, but the kids are signed up for T_ball this fall. I’m hoping for an indoor sport. And Max is dribbling, shooting, batting and pitching with his left hand. God Bless him.
I smell a beach house that we can name “college fund”.
That’s how I roll.

A couple of months ago, thanks to my sweet online girlfriend, we all went to the circus. Ricardo is okay with my new girlfriend because she makes a great cake and serves him big pieces. Apparently, the circus really is the greatest show on earth. I was impressed with the show. But prior to the show, they let you go check out the animals as well as get on the floor and watch the actual three_ring part. While checking out the animals, Julz and I were absolutely fascinated. Oh sure, they were elephants and zeedonks, and dogs and stuff. And fine, they were all saved from some kind of inhumane thing like endangerment, poaching or abuse. Blah blah blah. What us moms were most impressed by was the Elephants would poop and pee on cue. “That’s right kids, we ALL poop!” And if that wasn’t enough, they did it in buckets. Truly, this was worth the price of admission to witness. Considering we had three 3_year olds with us, all fairly recently potty trained, Julz and I stood in potty_training envy. The trainers would put the bucket down, pat the elephant’s hip, and mumble command, and thar she blows. Teach us your ways oh great trainers. But the trainers simply were not available for comment. It’s an ancient secret apparently.
Still, it reminded me of the calculations I came up with to inspire me to potty train. And yes, I call it potty training, not toilet training. Get over it. Can you imagine the trial and error of potty training a frikkin elephant!?
And so, I found this. I wrote it to inspire myself to teach the kids to potty on the toilet. Changing the nastiest of diapers, two at a time is much easier then teaching twins to potty on the toilet. Trust me. But after calculating, and a promise for an mp3 player for motivation, I finally did it. Okay, fine. WE did it. Because trust me, you don’t want to be outnumbered when potty training. Ricardo and I tag_teamed. We survived. But here’s some things you may have never thought of:
Sometime in March of 2005
Okay, it’s time. It’s come to this. I have come to a crossroads in my life, I’m walking in blindly, no clue what I’m doing, and I’m petrified. I’m scared of the unknown. Are they ready? Uggh. I imagine this is what all coaches feel like an hour before the most pinnacle game of their career. You want to win, you want to be successful, you’ve prepared your team all you can, time has run out, there’s no turning back, it’s time to give it all you’ve got. Sigh. And deep down, there’s just a little fear of failure, for you and for your team. I’ve got more than my pride on the line here. I’ve got budget costs, and liberation on the line here. Up to this point, I’ve been blessed with a talented team…accelerated, if you will. But when it comes to this, there’s no predicting if they’re ready. You see, it’s potty training time. Oh gosh. Hold on, I need to grab some Tums or something.
Sigh. So, it comes to this. There’s two of them, one of me, (during the day), and a VERY delicate matter to deal with. I can barely keep up with if I have them both with me, let alone, who’s running around the house with no diaper on. Oh goodness. So far, there’s only been one other time when I’ve been this petrified, and I was probably more so then, when they let me leave the hospital with TWO BABIES… I just couldn’t believe they let me leave, didn’t they catch on I had no clue what I was doing!? And now, I’ve come full circle with the no clue thing again. Up to this point, I’ve been going by my pal’s motto __ “Fake it till you make it” And I’ve faked it pretty good, enough to fool myself that I’m a pretty good Mom. So, I’ve made it! But I don’t think I’m the best potty trainer. Simply because I just don’t want to do it.
I absolutely do not want to do this. There’s a few things I don’t want to do: 1) Swim with Sharks 2) be an offensive lineman, 3) ice skate in the olympics, 4) eat sushi, 5) potty train. (Not necessarily in that order). But I’ve managed to drag my feet this long. I got some advice not to start potty training until they were 2 1/2, no sooner. That from a mother of four. I’ll take it. I’ve got 4 more days of feet draggng. The emotional dread of anticipating the process keeps me from any attempts of starting early, so Mary, thanks for buying me a little more time! Are you sure it’s not 3 1/2!? Heh heh.
When you do the math, and look at the big picture, it’s exciting. We are looking at the last $13 bag of diapers that lasts us on average, 5-6 days. I’ll do the math for you. 10 diapers a day for the both of them in the last year. That’s 70 diapers a week, a little more than one bag. There’s 52 diapers in the size 6 bag, that most of you will never use on your kids because you’ll only go up to 4s or 5s….but my kids, as you can imagine, are huge, the size of 4 year olds. So, in a month, we’re looking approximately 6 bags of diapers…rounded up with tax, that’s about $85 a month for diapers. (Yes, ladies, I’ve figured that’s a manicure and a pedicure, or a nice hour massage with a good tip….I’m making plans for incentive already.) I know we used more diapers per day when they were a year old and younger, but I can’t possibly begin to calculate the size and cost and frequency, so let’s just stay at this figure for the sake of it.
So, 10 diapers a day (if you’re a math teacher, this would be a VERY realistic way to do those if, then problems and it may keep some girl celebate for a little while longer too) 10 diapers a day for the last 2 1/2 years is 9,125 diapers. I’ll round up to 10,000 for a clean number and give props to Chris and I when we were changing 20 diapers a day when they were infants.
HOLY COW….. 10,000 DIAPERS!!! THAT’s RIDICULOUS! Hug your mother. Right now. Just stop what you’re doing, call her, go to her….HUG HER. $85 a month times 30 months, that’s $2,550…and again, for argument and posterity sake, I’ll just round that up to $3,000. THREE THOUSAND BUCKS! Let’s add in wipies…nah, that’s just $150. We’ll keep it at $3,000. Have I talked anyone out of having kids? Let me know, I’ll help you set up a budget. You just take all the things you enjoy now, throw them away, and provide for the kid(s). And in the end, it’s all worth it, because your kids ultimately become the best thing you’ve ever had. Enough of the sappy stuff, I’m still freaking out about potty training.
Okay, thanks for reviewing this with me. It’s a whole new ballgame now. Not to mention the liberation of ME to not have to change any diapers. I’m sure for a long time now, it’ll be a new painstaking process of ungodly amounts of unnecessary trips to every bathroom in the free world. (Avoiding port_a_potties at all costs. I’ll let them discover those on their own.) I now have monetary incentive and ultimate liberation from diaper changing for the rest of my life or until I become a grandmother.
So far, here’s my game plan: Yesterday we took the kids to Target. But this time, it was a trip just for them, they didn’t have to get in the carts, they got to walk like a big boy and big girl and we marched straight to the undies section, they picked two packs out. Then we went and got little potty stools, and fun soap, and a Bear in the Big Blue House video. They were so excited about the underwear, they had them on their arms on the drive home. They want to wear them so bad. But I think I’m going to let them beg me for them until potty training day…Friday, March 4….pray for me. They’ve been going on the potty every now and then, but I think they get it about the undies, so they’ve been going lots, and asking to go lots today. Ofcourse, they just like to play in the water when they wash their hands….ugh. Okay, positive motivation. Think happy thoughts. Pixie dust…
That’s how I roll

It’s occurred to me in the last several days that my family is looney. They are nuts. Certifiable. For example, I come from a long lineage of some fun, and some not so fun alcoholics. And I’m a firm believer that everyone needs the 12_step program. Be it for chocolate, over eating, drugs, you purple people and cat lovers could use a good program too…
I also come from a long line of doom on the marriage side. A few months ago, it was brought to my attention that it was national marriage day. I couldn’t think of a soul to call on my side of the family to celebrate with. Oh wait, I just thought of one. As a matter of fact, my grandmother once told me, “Your dad is my favorite ex_son_in law.” Of all the things to say, that really was a nice compliment.
What I’m most proud about is that we’re out about it. We’re here, we’re crazy, and we’re here to stay! Sure, there may be a lot of fun to jab at with us southerners on Jerry Springer just layin it all out there. But there’s something to be said for that. We lay it out there, we laugh about it and then we eat. Bring it on, Dr. Phil. BRING IT.
I’m currently in a land where, ahem, we just don’t do that. We don’t talk the evils of feelings, or honesty, or dare we ever lay blame or laugh at something dark from the past. And so, I stick out like a sore thumb here. As if being a giant with a twang wasn’t enough. Some tread lightly around me, others have taught their children to stay away from me, some knock back a few lemon drops with me and then go home and shame me to their family. That’s alright, hunny. Whatever makes you feel better.
Today, I almost doubted myself about…my…self. And now I’m mad at myself for almost doubting myself. You follow? I know I can be obnoxious. I am well aware that my laughing early morning or late nights breaks some kind of quiet code with the home owners association. And clearly, I have lost my mind to have delved out this much information about my uterus. But lets face it, life is funny.
I’d rather have it my way. Just lay it all out there. Laugh obnoxiously. Let one rip hunny, a gut wrenching, no_need_for_ab_workout laugh. Pull that stick out and laugh at yourself. If you don’t, I’ll simply have to laugh at you, and that wouldn’t be fun, now would it.
I’m not your average girl. Not your average wife, mother, sister, daughter or friend. I don’t even know what avereage is, but I know I’m not it. But I’m just honest, because if you’re holding something back, or tweeking the truth then you’re doing something wrong. And if you’re denying that, then you really are doing something wrong, and you know it.
All I’m saying is, put the func back in dysfunctional. Laugh at yourself, and others, just frikkin let it go. If you don’t laugh at yourself, someone else will. It’ll probably be me, by the way. And I have no shame. That’s all I’m sayin.
That’s how I roll.

Yesterday was just a funny day. It just seemed like it kept getting better. So, here’s the top six funny things that happened to me yesterday:
1. I talked to one of the wittiest coolest literary geniuses of our time who I’m proud to call family today. It’s always a joy, sir. Always a joy. Check out his greatness at: www.brainsalve.blogspot.com
2. My kids insisted on helping bring in the groceries. For my control_freakness, this was hard to let happen. But even when they were lugging the gallons of milk in moaning, “Oy” because it was heavy, it was pretty cute. And even when they dropped it, it was just cute. That’s probably because it didn’t spill or break upon landing. Had that happened, it definitely not have been funny and my control_freak issues would have been validated.
3. Yesterday, I’m walking into the gym with my kids, and we get behind an elder with a cane. Some guy is holding the door for him. Clearly, they are not together. The guy was just being nice. So, we patiently waited, and as soon as the elder with cane hobbled in and cleared the door, other nice guy let go, allowing the door to shut on my very able_to_open_a_door self. It’s not like we were that odd pace from the door or something. The guy had a cane. We had time to catch up and snag a door opening for us. The funny thing about that is that when you’re pregnant, this never happens. People will stop their cars and come running to hold a door open for you. They’ll let you have the good parking spot. But once those kids are out, which, by the way is when you actually NEED the assistance, you’re on your own. Odd, and funny.
4. Max: Mom will we go to college?
Me: Yes you most certainly will.
Max: Will we have to go by ourselves or will you drive us?
Me: I’m sure you’ll drive yourselves.
Lucy: But Mom, I don’t know where college is to drive there.
Me: I’m guessing we have time to figure it out and get you a map, honey.
Max: I want to drive a race car to college!
Lucy: I want to have a police car!
Me: I’m sure you’ll get your wish about the police car and college, honey.
Lucy: Yay!
5. As noted in the previous post, the “health club” sells tequila, beer, rum, vodka, cokes (diet and regular), as well as rice crispie treats, M&M’s, and snickers bars. I’m fairly sure there are donuts and cookies too. Clearly, these people have no clue the type of no_will person they are dealing with.
6. Ricardo went to a bachelor party the other day.
Me: Did you go to the casinos or a strip club?
Ricardo: Neither. We went to Hooters.
Me: Well, atleast they have good wings there!
Ricardo: Yeah, I jacked them up.
Me: Sounds good.
Ricardo: Our waitress was 8 1/2 months pregnant.
For a wife, that’s the best possible bachelor party a husband could ever go to.
That’s how I roll.

It’s just the perfect fit. I went online, met some people. And I met the one. Now, there were some signs before, but today, today, it was just solidified. God spoke to me, “SHE’S THE ONE!”
I’m at home today and I get a call from Julz, “We’re heading to the gym, get your butt up there.” So, I go. It’s just nice to be needed like that. I was happy to loaf out in the yard while the kids played and learned about things like gravity and big wheels and it’s effects on their appendages. Sometimes, you’ve just got to let those kids figure it out for themselves. But, I got the call, and so, we went.
I thought I’d be the perfect girlfriend and pack up a nail polish bag and after a tough 20 minutes or so on a cardio machine we could go out to the pool and do our nails while sipping rum and cokes that indeed, the gym provides for you. But no, in my haste to tend to the call of duty, I left the bag on the kitchen counter. I felt like I let my girl down. But she so picked up the ball later.
I talked the whole time to her, because that was my job in college. I wasn’t a fast runner, but I could go the distance. So, my job, which I did well, was to talk to the other teammates while running so much in fact, it would drive them batty, forcing them to run faster and make their times. I was great at that! Not so much the sport I played, but the distance running, I was a jewel. So, I just reverted back to that duty and chatted until she just couldn’t take anymore. She mumbled something through her gritted teeth like, “Whew, I’m tired and just can’t go anymore.” We did some abs, we lifted a bit. And then she said it. It was like sweet nectar:
“I’m feeling a little light headed, do you think they sell chocolate here?”
Lucky for Julz, it’s also a family gift to sniff out all accomodations for chocolate. And yes, indeed the “Health Club” has Snickers, and M&M’s. We kept lifting a bit and then decided we were done. “What else do you want to do?” “Hmmm, I’m good for now.” “Ok, let’s go.” And with that, we headed downstairs. I aimed for the locker room, and she, to the snack bar, citing, “I was serious about the chocolate!” Hell hath no fury like a woman in need of chocolate. So, she snagged some M&M’s and even SHARED them!
I later found out that she shared them only so she had an accomplice in the act of chomping on chocolate in our workout clothes. Isn’t that BRILLIANT!? I’m so proud of her. There’s nothing better than the lingering of chocolate in your gums while basking in the steam room.
So, you’re probably wondering, “So, let me get this straight, you went to the gym to do some cardio and your toe nails. But instead, you did some cardio, ate chocolate and then hit the steam room.”
And to you I say, “YES I DID.”
That’s just how I roll.

For New Year’s Eve last year, I resolved to try something new. I’m sure I also resolved to lose weight and stop yelling at my kids, too. Three_quarters of the year is over and I’m just getting started.
Admittedly, I’m not the most adventurous woman. My idea of adventure is vaccuming two days in a row or swaying off the recipe and doing something on my own. Yeah, it’s crazy, but apparently, you can change things up when you cook. Who knew?
When my niece was here, she picked up some free tennis classes at the gym. I noted that someone wasn’t working her hard enough when she’s bee_bopping out of class full of energy, she tells me, “Hey, they have adult classes too.” I laughed hysterically, and told her I wouldn’t put someone through that pain. She dropped it and we both thought nothing of it. But it just stuck in the corner of my cobwebbed mind: free tennis lessons, this is your chance.
I kept it in the back of my mind because well, I’m a very slow learner. It took me about 8 years to figure out volleyball. Two of those years I was figuring it out were while I was on scholarship, go figure.
I dated a boy in college who played tennis. He was pretty good. He had no idea that while he was playing, I could never keep up with the score. Which, by the way, I think you all can agree with me that games and sets and matches are just ridiculous. Add on increments of 15 (what’s that, anyways) and LOVE. It’s just too much. Which is why they keep it on the screen when I watch Wimbledon and think, “I could so play that.” I was paying people to not tell him that I couldn’t keep score. I was also paying them to fill me in if he won or not. He always did. So, that was easy.
We thought it would be fun for him to teach me how to play. So, we took a bucket of balls out to the courts. One bucket empty of balls later, he decided it would be best for our relationship if we never played nor mentioned that session again. It was detrimental to our relationship. It was later determined that other women were detrimental to the relationship too, but I’m sure, mostly, it was how bad I was at tennis.
So, here I am, totally over THAT guy, with a New Year’s Resolution, and a free class to take advantage of. Yesterday was my second class. I’m going once a week. I was pleasantly surprised that “Joe” the tennis instructor let me come back. I dragged Ricardo and Julz (online girlfriend) to this week’s class. Ricardo is an all_star athlete and mostly, I’m so proud of him. Give him 5 minutes and he could be on the Olympic Gymnastics Team specializing in the vault. He’s just amazing like that. So, I was proud of him last night when we were learning serves and overheads and he’s nailing the tennis pro on the other side of the net. Good times. Julz has played before and rocked it out!
Me, I feel I’m competitive, but not enough to win. So, there it is, I’m a competitive loser. Still, I’m having fun, burning a few extra calories and learning something new. You play any sport with me and two things will happen: One, I’ll shlep up most of it and get one good swing or shot in. And two, you’ll have fun and laugh at some point. And if you’re playing against me, you’ll probably win. Mission accomplished.
It turns out, tennis is fun, and in my old age, it will only take me 4 or 5 years to figure it out. Being tall definitely has its advantages. Tennis master still has to be broken in so that he’ll laugh at my jokes. But we’re all still learning, now aren’t we?
That’s how I roll.

Remember that sweet little girl who told me that love cured her barf?
Here’s the beauty of balance. Yesterday, Lucy opted to experiment with a full bottle of syrup. One_fifth of the syrup is now left. I think Farley helped her clean it up.
I discovered it on my way to pour myself a cup of coffee. When my foot stuck to the floor, I knew exactly who to ask.
“Lucy, why is my foot stuck to the floor?”
“Because I tried to clean up the syrup I spilled. I cleaned it up!” And then she ran, as she should have.
I thought it was fairly comical because a) I’d already had one cup of coffee. I was approaching my caffeine fix and 2) I’m not the one in the house who mops the floors. Ricardo is. However, I realized quickly that the entire floor was a tar pit and I couldn’t bear it. So I did my best. It wasn’t great, because, like I said, I don’t do mopping.
That’s when I saw the brand_new syrup bottle, almost empty. Wow. Where did it all go? I went to find Lucy and as I rounded the corner, I saw it. Syrup dots all over the carpet in the living room. And that, my friends, is all it takes to release the Faye Dunaway Oscar_winning performance in Mommie Dearest in me.
Thankfully, for Lucy’s sake, we still have the carpet cleaner we borrowed. Maybe we should just buy it.
That’s how I roll.