Beauty at the Ballpark: Kyle's Kamp Patient Ambassadors

At Kyle's Kamp our biggest event is our Memorial Day Wood Bat Tournament for travel baseball teams.  This year almost 100 teams from 8U-15U participated raising over $300,000 for Children's National Medical Center's Pediatric Oncology division.  As the last team received its championship trophy Monday night, I could almost hear an audible, "That's a wrap!" from a whole host of volunteers who made the tournament happen.

Unfortunately, the over thirty children who served as Patient Ambassadors for teams in our tournament as well as in our High School Diamond Dreams games, can rarely ever utter the phrase "That's a wrap!" when it comes to their journeys in fighting cancer.  Even when treatment protocols come to an end, these families continue to live with some element of fear that their battles might start all over again.

In addition to Kyle Hahne, the namesake of Kyle's Kamp, all of us involved in this organization are daily inspired by the memory of Gavin Rupp, a 13 year old boy who died of brain cancer in 2013 and said,

"Before I had cancer, normal just felt kinda boring.  But normal now, is like . . .  kinda special." 

Gavin's wish to feel normal was not unique.  Children with cancer are thrust into incredibly abnormal days of scans, biopsies, chemotherapy treatments, hair loss and radiation.  Through an ordinary, normal game of baseball - the game that both Kyle and Gavin love - Kyle's Kamp seeks to bring some light into a child's life when it is marred by darkness.  Our teams share the experience of playing a game of catch, running the bases and spitting sunflower seeds through a chain link fence with children who often have not experienced the blessed gift of a "normal" day in a very long time.

READ THE REST HERE.
(and don't forget to watch the video below or at the Kyle's Kamp blog)

Stitch Fix Box #3: AKA I'm no Kim Kardashian

Well, friends.  It's that time again.  My 3rd Stitch Fix box came.  My fashion photographer was home to get a couple of photos, but then he ditched me to go outside and ride his bike so I had to be left to my own inadequate selfie taking skills.

I have to admit that although it is still a huge thrill when my box arrives,  I was less than thrilled with the items this time.  I mean it wasn't like I hated anything in it because honestly, I don't hate a lot of things.

Except for ISIS and grapefruit and those subscription cards that fall out of magazines. 

You'll be happy to know that none of those things were in my Stitch Fix box.

Here's what was:

Leighton Metal Bauble Necklace

This is the first piece of jewelry that I've received from Stitch Fix.  I would like this necklace a lot if I spent my days standing perfectly still.  It's pretty and interesting.   The problem is that I can't handle this necklace because of my lack of the Kody Factor.  You see, my son told me recently that my friend, Kody, was the most totally chill mom and I am not even close to as totally chill as she is.  And I think he's right because in the 2.5 minutes that I had this necklace on,  I kept fiddling with it to get all the baubles lined up in place and set in the right position on my top and it was driving me mad.  I was really having a hard time being totally Kodyesque chill.  I sent it back and took a deep breath.

Collective Concepts Mars Split Neck Blouse

I kept this top.  It has really great colors and fits perfectly.  I think it could be dressed up or down.  It is a bit sheer, but with a black tank, it worked great.  Bonus is that it is machine washable and I hung it to dry.  It was so lightweight that it dried very quickly and no iron was needed.  This is huge in my world because I obviously do not have time for ironing what with the fact that we always need to LEAVE IN ONE MINUTE, PEOPLE! ONE MINUTE!

41Hawthorn Ackley Split Neck Blouse

This is where we realize that I have not attended the Kim Kardashian School of Selfie Taking.  If you did not know that Kim was a selfie taking expert, now you do because I saw her on Kelly and Regis (or whatever his name is) yesterday.  You'll be thrilled to know that Kim has added a coffee table book of selfies to her long list of contributions to the betterment of mankind.  She is moments away from a Nobel Prize, y'all. Also, she told of how when she met Kanye, he went through her closet and threw out all of the clothes he thought weren't stylish enough and she cried because the pile was up to the ceiling.

Well, Kim, life is just tragically difficult sometimes, darlin'.  It sure is.    

Anyway, in Jenn's school of selfie taking, you can barely see the top because in addition to not possessing Kim's other noteworthy physical assets, my arms are too short for selfies.  Also, my head is gigantic and I'm wearing my glasses because I forgot to take them off because I'm old and I can't see a darn thing.  Anyway, as far as the top goes, it was fine and fit well, but in this case, I utilized my mantra: what would Kanye do?  I sent it back, cried for a bit and then went around and acted like a pompous jerk for the rest of the day.

41Hawthorn Abrianna Longsleeve Knit Cardigan

I think my Kim and Kanye rage has me spent.  So let's make this quick.  I liked this cardigan.  The material was soft and lightweight.  It's navy and would be a good basic to have in the closet.  But I sent it back.  I have no supporting details for why I didn't keep it.  I just didn't.  It's free country. 

Kut from the Kloth Siena Capri Pant
I didn't get a photo.  This post is getting really bad.  These were cute.  They fit well.  I sent them back because I don't need another pair of black pants.  Also, Kanye didn't like them on me.  He said they would look much better on Beyoncé.

Even though this wasn't my favorite box I still love getting a special surprise from Stitch Fix each month.  On the list of things that show up in my life each month, it is really in the top spot.

If you want to try Stitch Fix, please use my referral code!
https://www.stitchfix.com/referral/4559584

Happy Tuesday that Feels like a Monday, Friends!

These Many Moments Wrapped in His Grace

There is a ritual here on Fridays called {this moment}.  Well, that's really only true if you're a person who has a very loose definition of "ritual".  The idea came from a blog called Soulemama by a writer who takes beautiful photos and then prompts other bloggers to follow along and link to their own photo of the week, showcasing a special moment. The only words are to be these:

{this moment}:  A Friday ritual.  A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week.  A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

The image is to speak for itself.  It should tell of all the emotion of a moment in a single shot.

Well, I'm not good at consistency here. I'm not a great photographer.  I'm not really good at being able to pick just one moment. You know what else you might guess I'm not very good at?  

No words.

I need words.  I need to roll them around in my head and figure out the one that suits the situation perfectly.  I need to speak them out loud and write them down in margins of notebooks and fill up blank screens with them.  I need to listen to them and sing them and analyze them.

It makes the Husband so tired.

But for me, it is enormously frustrating when I can't find the words adequate for a situation.  There are times when I am desperate for the right words and they elude me.  And I really hate that.

Sometimes I look for words to soothe pain.   Like if I'm spending a Saturday night in my pjs texting with a sad friend who just cannot make time go backwards.  My fingers beg God to pull something out of them that might help.  Or if I'm holding my breath as a grieving father shows up to bravely speak in front of a stadium full of people in the hope that his story might affect change even though the memories of that stadium are just about more than he can bear.  Or if I'm averting my eyes as a boy walks the same path that his deceased brother walked only a year before - again to show support for children in the same battle as his brother fought..  What are the right words there?

Is it courage?  Is it sacrifice?  Is it vulnerability?

And sometimes I want exactly the right word to express happiness.  Like if I'm watching a boy who has played baseball for over ten years have a season like he has never had before and grow into a man of confidence in front of my eyes.  Or if I am watching that same boy handle victories and disappointments with grace and character.  Or if I am setting myself up for an ideal photo with the other kid after he played at Nationals Park and the background is perfect and it's going to be a sure-fire framer. But then it gets photo bombed by one of his best friends.  And I realize that the photo bomb makes the picture absolute perfection because HOW AWESOME ARE TEENAGE BOYS?  What are the right words there?

Is it pride?  Is it perseverance?  Is it triumph? Is it joy?

Sometimes I look for the right words to describe moments that make my breath catch in my throat.  Like when I see my boy stand captivated by an empty major league field.  Or when I discover gratefully that sometimes in the childhood cancer community we actually DO hear miracle words like normal range, no evidence of disease and remission.  Or when I stand back and observe a group of teammates learn lessons that far exceed how to hit a curveball as they show grace and favor to a sick child.  What are the right words there?

Is it awe?  Is it compassion?  Is it gratitude?

There aren't words adequate to describe the depth of emotion that happened in the past week.   In the dark of my family room as I shared my heart with a friend.  On the floor of my son's room as we talked about lessons that life teaches us whether we want to learn them or not.  In the bright sunshine at all manner of baseball fields: a majestic major league park where children walked the same path as their heroes, a high school field where players celebrated victory and a little league diamond where a curly haired girl took the hand a red haired boy and instantly melted my heart into mush.

I couldn't pick just one picture of one moment expressing one word this week.  There were many moments and many photos.  And a picture really can be worth a thousand words.  They tell tales of loss and pain.  Of hope and promise.  Of joy and laughter.  Of gratitude and awe.  They tell the story of a multitude of spectacular moments and ordinary days weaved together into a life full of God's infinite grace.

[Some images(the best ones, actually) thanks to Carly Glazier Photography]

(Other Images from Christine Remy, Nancy Stopper, Regena Williamson, Holly Henderson & Jenn Skinner's Iphone)

What Happens When I Read the Newspaper

Well, apparently, it's already Wednesday, people.

And I still haven't sufficiently recovered from the weekend.  The Kyle's Kamp Memorial Day Tournament Opening Ceremony event at Nationals Park that I had a very small part in helping to plan was wonderful last Friday.  Even though I was nervous, it was a beautiful, emotional day.  And of course, it was.  Because our God is faithful and He had His hand on the day and made it perfect.  In fact for the last few days, after perusing adorable photos and talking to attendees who loved every minute, I have been walking around with my head in the clouds.

So as the week began, with that big event behind me and all of the Kyle's Kamp Diamond Dreams fundraising games coming to a close as well, I had grand intentions to be back to blogging and running and taking care of the house and planting flowers and just, you know, tearing it up at being the best mom and wife that ever walked the planet.

But the thing is y'all,

SO TIRED.

I mean my head is still in the clouds in more ways than one.  Like my whole brain is clouded up.  I'm fuzzy and confused and all the tasks seem to be REALLY HARD.  Pushing the button on the toaster to cook waffles this morning was just about MORE THAN I COULD BEAR.  Yesterday I put on my running shoes and told myself I would just lie down on the porch for a quick second.  And then I woke up an hour later with my running shoes on a pillow on my couch on the porch.  No where near the pavement.  And I'd like to tell you that I jumped up and got after it.  But instead I went up to my bed and slept some more.

This morning dawned and I did make myself go for a run and finish the laundry and make dinner for a friend and those activities just about did me in.  So, I decided to sit on the couch to read this thing they call the "newspaper".  It's odd.  There are all kinds of things going on in the world.  Serious, important things.  And they write about them in The Washington Post which happens to show up on my driveway every morning.  So, I flipped right to the Style section.

(Look.  I know what I'm capable of and what I'm not on any given day, 'kay? Today, I'm not up for the front page)

I read exactly one article in the Style section and then I had to hop over here to my computer and tell you about it because it appears that I am not the only one with my head in the clouds.

(Stay with me.)

It seems that Hermes has just opened a store in DC.  Hermes, as you know, if you're not my husband, is the company from whom you can buy a purse at the bargain price of $10,000.  If you want to treat yourself to the crocodile one pictured on the front of the Style section today you can get it for $129,000. Which for me, would be a purchase that would result in my spending my days living under a bridge with my handbag because life is about balance.

Anyway, the very subtle, simple people with Hermes decided to have an understated dinner to celebrate their opening at some auditorium with 120 guests who sadly missed out on the spicy sausage and hot dog extravaganza that was held on my back porch Sunday night instead.  This is how the Hermes dinner is described:

"The company presented an evening of culinary theater choreographed and costumed by Belgian artist Charles Kaisin (who recently dazzled Hong Kong with a 35-foot golden goat constructed from 13,500 origami horses for Chinese New Year)."

Um.  Listen, friends.  I speak a little bit of Spanish and I am flat-out fluent in English and I had to read that three times.  WHAAA???  All I know is that the making of golden statues brought the wrath of God back in the Old Testament, so Charles Kaisin might want to tread lightly with his goat.  Also, I completely forgot to choreograph and costume my hot dog cookout. TOTALLY slipped my mind.

Also, I want you to know that if you're in the market for some stuff that falls on the floor of the Hermes factory, the Post says Hermes sells "a mystery box to customers starting at about $250, which includes a unisex trinket crafted from workroom scraps of leather, silk or the like".

Well, now.  I thought about this for a second, but ultimately decided that I don't need a delivery of any sort of unisex trinket when I have three minor children in the house.

Lastly, you should know that at the dinner "60 waiters imported from New York - one for every two guests - marched out in synchronized precision to deliver the meal.  They changed costume with each course:  silver origami masks, golden welding suits and, finally white cumulus headdresses lit from within."

Let us just break this down, readers.

First, I want to know how waiters are imported.  On a cargo ship?  Is there some sort of Port Authority that greets them at the dock?  Are they packaged in dry ice or styrofoam peanuts?  How does this work?

Secondly, I would like to take this time to apologize to the friends we had over after the baseball game on Sunday because we really decided on it at the last minute.  So, I was just wearing a plain ol' sundress from the JCrew outlet.  Even worse, I had not picked up Steve's welding suit from the dry cleaners which is why he was wearing Under Armour shorts and a Red Sox shirt.  This is what happens when you have a spontaneous cookout.  The children's silver origami masks were some where deep in the hamper and had to be replaced with Little League hats.  And I hardly had time to import any waiters.  I suppose I could have called in some guys from the local Applebee's, but what with most of their wait stuff in the middle of final exams, they really needed all hands on deck.  In retrospect, my Sunday evening cookout was really a pathetic excuse for a gathering of good friends.  I am filled with shame and regret.

Finally, the Washington Post was gracious enough to share a photo of the imported waiters because it is crucial that the American public be properly informed about the happenings in the nation's capital.

Y'all.  This is exactly why I needed to read the paper today.  The waiters and I are totally on the same page with our heads in the clouds.  I have decided that Cloud Headwear is going to be all the rage in Summer 2015.   It is only a few days until the Memorial Day block party.  Can someone please recommend a reputable milliner?

(Photo and quotes from The Washington Post article by Robin Givhan on Wednesday, May 20th's edition)
(Just in case, they might get mad.  As if they ever would find themselves at my dinky little blog.)

Waiting on the Geniuses Daybook: May 13, 2014

Outside my window:
I am at the mall waiting on the Apple Genius people to text me that they are ready to show me their genius-ness and fix Kyle's phone.  So no window, but a bunch of skylights.  It's sunny up there.
I am thinking:
about summer plans - mission trips, basketball camp, church camp, VBS, vacations and whether or not I have missed the deadline on every one of them because each time I think to sit at the computer to sign up, I have forgotten why I'm there and I end up looking at patterned shorts from JCrew and summer dresses from Anthropologie.  It's a problem.
I am thankful:
for a Mother's Day weekend full of my boys, sunshine, baseball and meals that I didn't have to cook or clean up.  And this morning, I am so thankful for all of the high school baseball teams who have so graciously welcomed child cancer patients and their families into their dugouts and onto their fields while hosting Kyle's Kamp Diamond Dreams Games.  Teenagers can be pretty awesome.  It's shocking, I know.  But it's true.
In the kitchen:
there are cookies I have baked for a Bake Sale that Drew's team will be having this afternoon to raise money for Children's National Medical Center's Pediatric Oncology division.  Need a cookie?  Who doesn't?   If you're in my neighborhood, come by Giant from 4:30 pm-8:00pm and look for some cutie pie baseball players.
I am wearing:
cuffed jeans, sandals, black tshirt, jean jacket.  I am mere steps away from JCrew and Nancy just texted me that they are having a sale.  The fact that I am not in there running up my credit card is only the power of Jesus right now.  The Geniuses better make it snappy.
I am listening to:
mall traffic
I am going:
to be singing songs of thanks and praise when I don't have to make school lunches every morning this summer.  School lunches are causing me great despair lately.  Only 21 more days give or take. 
I am reading:
 A book about friendship called Nobody's Cuter Than You by Melanie Shankle.  I am only allowing myself a chapter at a time which is really difficult, but I don't want it to end, so I'm pacing myself.  Melanie's books and her blog make me laugh out loud, miss my Texas college days in the late 80s and early 90s something fierce and remember what a treasure it is to LAUGH LOUD and HARD and OFTEN. Her writing always reminds me of the decision I can make each day to choose joy and light.  There are terrible, tragic, serious things we come across everyday and they can become overwhelming.  I can spend my days angry, bitter and confused or I can look for the good things OF WHICH THERE ARE MANY (I'm yelling at myself, if you can't tell) and I can work to know what God would have me do about the rest.  Melanie Shankle's writing reminds me that our every day life can be ridiculous and hilarious and full of joy.  And she writes all that ridiculousness down.  I am so grateful.  Get the book, call your girls, plan a face to face date.  Look them in the eye, make them laugh until diet coke comes out of their noses.  CHOOSE JOY.
 A quote for today:"We absolutely need our Girlfriends because no man wants to hear all the words we have to say in the course of a day." - Melanie Shankle
I am hoping:
for another beautiful, memorable day at Washington Nationals Park this Friday where Kyle's team is blessed to be playing an exhibition game for the 2nd year in a row after being among the top fundraising teams for the Kyle's Kamp Memorial Day Tournament for Pediatric Cancer.  Young ball players getting the chance to play where the big leaguers play.  It does not get better.
I am learning:
that busy-ness is draining and soul sucking and damaging. Even if the busy-ness is due to doing wonderful, meaningful, important things.  EVEN IF.  There are friendships and relationships that suffer due to my need to set some sort of world record in the number of tasks I complete each day.  This busy-ness, this feeling that I MUST respond to every text and every email within seconds of receiving it?  It's ridiculous and damaging.  Last week, I was racing through Target like my cart was on fire.  I almost ran directly into a friend who I hadn't see in the flesh since December.  She is crazy busy.  I am crazy busy.  We stood in the aisle and talked for 15 minutes about our children and our parents and schedules.  We didn't use a cell phone signal to connect.  We used our eyes and our ears and our flesh and blood selves.  This was 15 minutes that I am certain each of us could have filled up by crossing off a few more things on our to do list.   I think God cemented our feet in that aisle and didn't let us move an inch until I had wrapped her in a giant hug.  Y'all.  I need to stop for a minute and I bet you might, too.  Look each other in the eye.  Listen to each other. It was 15 minutes out of a crazed, hurried day.  15 minutes of grace.  I needed it desperately. 
I am praying:
fervently for faith and clarity in the midst of a ridiculous onslaught of new childhood cancer patients in my world.  In the past month I have heard of three children from my own neighborhood diagnosed.  This is not a result of my being surrounded by this simply because of the volunteer work I do.  I could have never heard of Kyle's Kamp and still have been hit with this news.  This is by virtue of just living in a regular ol' community.  I can hit my knees in fear and "chicken little" this situation or I can listen hard to find what God wants me to do.  Please, please pray for Michael, Elizabeth, Matt and so many others.  My heart is bursting.  I need it to burst with faith and action rather than anger and fear.  I have some choice in that.
On my Ipod:
How Can it Be?  by Lauren Daigle and I Am Not Alone by Kari Jobe.  I can't get enough of these two songs.
I am wondering:
if my buddy, Mathias, who passed away only five months ago knew how much I needed this sky yesterday when I left our high school's baseball game which honored his memory and his family.  I cried on and off most of yesterday remembering how vibrant and alive he was only a year ago when he came to our Diamond Dreams game.  I held it together almost the whole evening as we honored his brother, Troy and as I left, I noticed this sky.  Actually, I'm not at all wondering if Mathias knew his family and friends and I needed this sky.  I am certain he did. You can be so close to us if we choose to believe it, Mathias.  Thanks for showing up.

I am pondering:
"...I wonder, are we all so overwrought with grief at the thought of a little boy gone too soon, that we're seeing things?  Wishing? Grasping? Trying to see connection and significance where there is none?  Or could it be that at times like this, when the unimportant falls away like chaff to the ground, we are finally able to recognize what God is doing in the world around us every single day? . . . Everyone will lose in this world and signs of comfort reminds us that there is great love even in our darkest moments" - Anna Whitson-Donaldson in Rare Bird (just so you know.  I don't think it's the first thing - the wishing or grasping.  I think it's the second thing - great love, the greatest most complete love that there is.  The love of a God who will never ever leave us alone.)
A verse for today:
"Your love, Lord, reaches to the heavens.  Your faithfulness to the skies." - Psalm 36:5
One of my favorite things:
The crack of the bat

A few plans for the week:
My Stitch Fix box came!!!!  Look for a post next week!
A peek into my day: 
Praying to not to look like an idiot when hanging with the geniuses.  Might be a futile prayer.

An Important Mother's Day Link & A Little Throwback Thursday

We're only a few days from Mother's Day.  A day when we, mamas, are to revel in the admiration of our families.  When we want to pat ourselves on the back and rest in the fact that we are doing EVERYTHING EXACTLY RIGHT.

But the thing is I'm going to have to make some GIANT strides in the next few days to feel anywhere in the vicinity of A FEW THINGS KINDA RIGHT by Sunday.  The last few days have had some rough moments.  For the littlest one and me.  The littlest one who isn't little anymore  And it's not because the littlest one is any different or more difficult than his brothers.  It's because I had deluded myself into thinking that by now, I would totally have this mothering thing down.  By now, I should have mastered patience, consistent discipline, and calm control of my emotions. 

NOT EVEN CLOSE, SISTER.

And the worst mistake I make when I have a frustrating parenting day is that in my head, I imagine that my children's missteps and my inability to adequately deal with them have become COLOSSAL FAILURES WHICH WILL HAVE FAR REACHING CONSEQUENCES FOR THE WHOLE OF THEIR FUTURES AS WELL AS FOR THE FUTURE OF SOCIETY IN GENERAL. 

I go there.  I really do.

Deep breath.  One day in the life might sometimes change the course of an individual's future.  But generally, that's awfully rare.  And certainly, some back talk and selfishness from a 10 year old does not guarantee that I'll be visiting him in prison one day.  

This is why Ann Voskamp's writing at A Holy Experience is such an extraordinary blessing to me.  As are her stunning photos. If I could give a Mother's Day gift to all the boy moms I know, I would give you THIS.  And honestly, even if you're a girl mom, please take time to read it. Read the whole thing. I hope it will calm you and bless you as much as it did me.  I should just copy and paste the whole thing here for those of you who won't take time to click.  In fact, I just about did.  (Everything in bold from this point forward is all from Ann)

After reading this during a week of butting heads with the littlest man I stepped out on the porch to watch as he attempted to mow the lawn for the first time by himself.  He was so excited to do this work.  He felt so grown up and responsible and he was so proud of himself.  And even though only a day before I was sure that I was failing miserably at this gig, I stood on the porch and watched him and the words of Ann came back to me.

It's all going to be okay.  At least for this day, there is time.  There is time for mistakes and time for apologies.  Time for consequences and time for giving a little grace.  There is time today for teaching and correcting and for praising.  Time is fleeting and I can't go back and start over.  But, I am blessed to have this day to keep trying to remind my child that he is good and strong and smart and hard working.  And that I am good and strong and smart and hard working and most certainly not perfect.  I will not ever get EVERYTHING right.  But, we'll have grace and forgiveness and the blessing of today.  And we'll be grateful for all of it.

There are good young men who simply need someone to tell them that they are that —- who need someone to tell them a dozen times a day, “You’re good at working hard and loving large. You were made for this.”

There’s a reason why children begin as seeds. It’s okay — it’s okay —- that growth and change take time — it’s supposed to

A road always looks one way — until it makes a U-turn.

There are young men who are of great worth, not because they do good yet, but because they are made in the image of a Good and great God — and that alone makes them great young men.

There are young men who need time. Oak trees don’t happen over night. Growing in grace and wisdom and stature isn’t an immediate download — it happens the way a tree grows up: over decades.

There are good young men out there who need to be unearthed from low expectations, and made over by relentless grace, and strengthened with daily doses of iron: the nails of service and the Cross of Christ.

The only way to raise kids — is by never giving up. 

AGAIN, not one phrase that is bolded in this post came out of my head.  All are the words of the amazing, Ann Voskamp.  GO READ THE WHOLE THING NOW!

Happy Mother's Day, Friends.

A Look into the Mind Under My Brows Today. And also, Hugh Jackman

I think they should change the phrase April Showers bring May Flowers to April Craziness brings May Full on Need to be Institutionalized.  Just about everyone I know feels the same way.  There's a lot on my mind these days and I can't seem to remember what I am supposed to do first.  Like if my brain was a filing cabinet, it would be as if some toddler just came in and took all the files and threw them around.  I've been running around lately with a constant furrowed brow trying to figure out how to get everything done.  Which is really not a good look for anyone, unless you're Hugh Jackman.

How are you not following this?  Please stay focused, Reader. 

See, I took a glance in the mirror yesterday and the term "knitted brow" came to mind.  And then I was trying to decide if "knitted brow" and "furrowed brow" mean the same thing, so I went to The Google and looked it up.  And actually "knitted brow" did not come up.  The Google asked if I meant "knit your brow" because The Google is there to be helpful and also to make you feel stupid.  But I didn't have time to feel stupid, because that made me think that "knit your brows" must be related to that new eyebrow threading craze which really freaks me out especially when they do it in the mall at those kiosks in front of God and everyone. 

Have I lost you again?  Hey, eyes over here, ok? 

Anyway, if you ever decide to type "knitted brow" or "knit your brow" or "furrowed brow" into The Google, you will, shockingly, not see my face, but you will see this.

You're welcome.

(I know.  It's a wonder that my kids get anywhere on time or have clean clothes to wear or food to eat what with The Google being so accessible for my time wasting behavior important information gathering. And I'll have you know that if any one out of three of my kids has any one out of three of those things during the next month, I'll be calling that a good day.)

Hugh and I are both concentrating very, very hard.  We are a mite confused, but we will figure out how to make it all work.  No worries, mate.  And we (or at least, Hugh) will be looking devastatingly handsome while we furrow or knit.

Now that we've set the proper expectation for this post, I will proceed with a few other things that have been going on in my mind right beneath my knitted/furrowed brow.  Sometimes I have to get all the gibberish out of my head, so that I can get to the important matters on my list.  Also, I just feel like I should show you a few more examples, besides Hugh, that The Google served up just to emphasize my knitted/furrowed brow point.  As if there is a point. 

*Bathroom Remodeling
There is nothing that sends me more into superfreak mode than decisions about home décor and remodeling.  I like pictures of beautiful bathrooms and kitchens and whatnot and I desperately want to pull off what I see in magazines in my own home.  I just don't want to be a part of any of the decision making.  So when we decided that we have to do something about our master bathroom, I started to get an eye twitch because TILE, FLOORS, CABINETRY,COUNTERTOPS, MIRRORS, LIGHTING, ET AL.

This tendency to panic in these situations is why I think God gave me a mom, a sister and a best friend that are very talented and calm and don't feel the need to curl up on the floor and cry whenever they are in the vicinity of a home décor showroom.  My God-given friend, Nancy, walked through a tile showroom with me today and helped me figure out what I liked in the way of flooring and tiles.  And I'll have you know that I felt so much better and didn't even have to sit down and put my head between my legs.  Until she mentioned that there would be grout color decisions to make.  Who in Sam Hill knew that there were different colors of grout?  Nancy said I would not believe the number of grout colors from which I could choose which caused my furrowed brow to come back and I looked at her like this.

*Grey's Anatomy
I am not up to date on my DVR, but I do understand that the McDreamy dies after saving four people and trying to telepathically direct a group of inept surgeons to save his life episode was not a dream.  This is a turn of events that is very difficult to bear.  The only thing that makes me able to handle this with the strength and grace of Jackie Kennedy is if I consider what would have happened if they had ever killed off Coach Taylor on Friday Night Lights.  Like, say he was impaled by an angry Longhorn steer after saving Riggins, Saracen, Smash and Buddy Garrity from some sort of cattle stampede.  I can't even imagine the face I would still be wearing had an episode like that been written.  Probably sort of like this.

*Beyoncé's Dress
Y'all, one of my favorite things in the world is to check out celebrity fashion.  I love the Oscars and the Golden Globes and I used to record Joan Rivers on The Fashion Police on E! after every awards show.  So, when I heard that the Met had its Costume Institute Gala on Monday night, I couldn't wait to see photos of some of the dresses.

(Let's pause for a second to let my dad take a deep breath as he realizes that the Political Science degree that his daughter received at The University of Texas with his hard-earned money is going to great use these days)

Luckily, Nancy and I went to get manicures yesterday and something like Access Hollywood was on the tv there talking about the gala.  And they showed Beyoncé, who I think is one of the most beautiful people in the entire world, in her dress.

First of all, you can't tell me that she doesn't have an enormous headache.  Secondly, you can't possibly give me an adequate explanation for this dress.  WHY?  I was sitting behind Nancy so I couldn't see her face and we really couldn't talk, but I could see Nancy looking up at the screen and just shaking her head.  And I pictured my friend's furrowed brow in my head.  I imagine it was something like this.

So, that's all folks.  I gotta go do some important things.  And I think I'm going to need to purchase some of THESE while I'm at it.

How do you solve a problem like Maria?

This will be a post about betrayal. It will be difficult to read, as it is difficult to write. If you've ever been betrayed by someone, you'll get it.  Or maybe you'll think that I am being overly dramatic and petty.  You might even think I'm a little bit insane and also, a terrible person.  By the end of this post, you might not want to read my blog again. 

We'll see.

I want to tell you about my friend, Maria.   My friend, Maria, is wonderful.  She's kind and smart. Maria works with a lot of special kids - many who have deep emotional troubles.  She genuinely loves them and mentors them and wants the best for them.  She's also really funny.  Like she makes me laugh so hard I have to be careful with my Diet Coke.  I deeply value a friend who can make a carbonated beverage come out of my nose.  Maria has three boys who are some of my favorite kids in the world.  They're respectful and polite and adorable.  So, she's a good mom, too.

But let me tell you something else about Maria.  Maria has become a problem.

I know you're saying,  "What could be the problem with Maria?  Maria sounds awesome. Everyone should have a friend like Maria."

Hold up.  I'll tell you.

I'm pretty sure that not long ago, Maria and I were on the same page (or at least in the same chapter) in regard to the ALL BOYS MUST HAVE A DOG issue.  I have been living with great guilt and shame over the fact that my poor, neglected, deprived boys are growing up - as we speak - without a dog.  But I have so many legitimate reasons that it just doesn't make sense for us to have a dog.  We're too busy. We're never home.  Most weekends, we're at ball parks all day long. Sometimes we are hours away from home.  Lots of parks don't allow dogs.  The dog will be sad and lonely.  It wouldn't be fair to the dog to have a dog. For us to have the dog.  Not the dog to have a dog  You get it.

Everyone assumes I am a dog-hating-meanie-pants.  And it's not true.  Listen. I had a dog - more than one dog -when I was growing up.  Do you want to know what else I had?

A toaster.

I'm waiting for you to stop gasping.  Are you still there?  Hear me out.

Look. I DON'T HATE DOGS any more than I hate toasters.  If ever I was to have a pet, I would definitely want it to be a dog. I just was a bit preoccupied as a child and preteen with things like MYSELF.   When I was growing up, our dogs were well taken care of and loved by my brother, sister and parents.  I just didn't really engage much with the dogs.  Honestly, I was too busy engaging with my bangs and imagining that my boyfriend and I were singing a duet of Endless Love.

Anyway, stop hating me for a minute and let's get back to Maria.

A few months ago, Maria's son, Jack, told Drew that his mom said they might get a dog in the summer. And I just nodded my head, sure in the knowledge that Maria would not betray me.  I was thinking, "Oh, poor, naive little Jack and Drew.  They've just not clued into the lies subtleties of mom phrases like maybe in the summer."  

(See also:   We'll see;  Five more minutes;  That pottery you made in class is the best piece of art work I've ever seen;  Of course, I think you'll get a scholarship to play both baseball and basketball at the University of Texas)

So even that day, I felt sure that I would still have a constant inner voice telling me I was causing distress and a lifetime of therapy for my boys.  Still, it was a great comfort when I could point to other families whose boys seemed to be well-adjusted and mentally sound individuals in spite of their dog-less homes.  Maria's family was one of those.

WAS one of those.  Until the betrayal.  Because just look what showed up on my phone only a few weeks later.

Y'all.  Maria's youngest and his new puppy dog are making the same face.  I CAN'T EVEN.

I went over to see Maria's dog a few days later and I almost wept at how cute he was with his Little Rascals circle around his eye and the way he hid under the table and stared out at me with LITERAL PUPPY DOG EYES.

I got this one, too.

That's Maria.  The betrayer.  Look at her.  She's smiling as if she has no shame.  Can you even believe it?

This is what I got last week.

Please make it stop.  HE IS SO ADORABLE THAT MY EYE IS TWITCHING.

Maria has gone completely off the deep end.  She has jumped ship.  If Benedict Arnold wore running shoes and drank Starbucks, he and Maria would basically be the same person.

These photos are killing me.  I am losing sleep over thinking about the dog issue.  Then, just this past weekend, the Skinner boys collectively had nine baseball games in two and a half days.  Three were at our local parks, three were an hour and a half away and three were two hours away.  I settled into reminding myself that not having a dog right now is exactly the right decision.  So there.  I think.  Maybe.

Then my phone chimed with a text from my friend, Holly.  And this showed up.  This is Drew at Holly's house with her dog.

So now, I have more than one problem. In addition to THE MARIA PROBLEM, I need to know,

How do you solve a problem like Holly?