My Son, Future P.I.M.P.

So yesterday, at our second Halloween/Birthday party for the weekend, Clint wanted to go play outside. I let him out, and the birthday girl, a seemingly innocent four year old, followed him out there a few minutes later. I’m watching them through the sliding glass door (it was frickin’ cold yesterday!) and I see Clint waving his finger and yelling at the little girl. I’m about to go out there and tell him to stop yelling at her when the little girl unzips her dragon costume (revealing that she has no shirt on underneath), flashes him, and rezips the costume. Then the two run off and play together happily…

Reaction of the little dragon girl’s mother – oh my god, my daughter is a hooch!
Reaction of Tony – Yeah! That’s my boy!

Seven Phone Numbers and a Funeral

So “the Maneater”, my youngest sister, calls me today with an update on her life as a single girl. She tells me that in the past week she’s had seven guys ask for her phone number. Wow – I say – where? Well, she tells me, two of the requests were at a funeral…

In my family weird shit happens at wakes/funerals. It’s gotten to the point where we actually have a contest now called “Quote of the Wake”. Had the rest of us been there I’m sure being asked out at a funeral would have won the quote of that wake (or funeral, as it were). I’ll share a couple of other winners from this past year…

My 2nd cousin’s wake. Sister (and that part is key to understanding just how wrong this is) of deceased asks my brother-in-law if he’s still playing professional football. When he tells her yes. Her reply: “Really? Oh, can I get your autograph?”

Runner up for the same wake – my grandmother (the deceased’s aunt) is overcome by grief and literally is in the casket hugging the dead (grandma wasn’t real tall, so it took some effort). Quote of the wake: my mom as she’s leaving “and one of you kids keep your grandmother from climbing in that damn casket again”.

Grandma’s wake – one of our possibly homeless cousins tells my sister “You guys should be honored - I actually showered today for this.”

Runner up for Grandma’s wake – the same cousin asks me if I’m having any more children. No, I say – how about you? “Oh no, I’ve been spayed.”

Here Come the Irish!!!

I’ve been wanting to share the experience of a Notre Dame game with Tony for many, many years now and finally got the chance. It was an amazing weekend!!! Kolbs and Mark were there, Annie Oakley – my forever partner in crime, was there, and Csizbooty and Mr. Giggles (oh yeah, that nickname isn’t going anywhere!) were there. Of course, lots of memories were discussed. I’m not sure I should pick a favorite, but having the old “I’m not a Ho, I’m just friendly” quote make an appearance was a source of great amusement for me.

Our seats were in the far endzone (great view of touchdown Jesus). Unfortunately that meant we were right next to the UCLA students and band. Apparently UCLA allows strippers to moonlight as cheerleaders. I know I saw a couple of dollar bills floating down in their direction…maybe their routines were meant to be raise tuition money. If that’s the case they are probably very, very successful.

But I digress, back to the game. Basically the Irish offense looked like complete crap the entire time. Defense saved us from getting too far behind, and came up with a critical three and out stop with just over a minute to go. Then, like a flashback to the early 90’s, we won the game with a last minute touchdown. THAT was thrilling. The coolest part for me was sharing it with Tony. The memory of the smile on his face and the two of us jumping up and down celebrating after that touchdown will stay with me for a long, long time.

BP Chicks are Hot (old, but hot)

Oakley, Ms. Friendly, Conviser Kolbs, and Moi

What Notre Dame means to me

Before college I was shy, quiet and perpetually (had to get that word in!) concerned with what people thought of me. I was painfully shy in high school (since I'm such a loud mouth now no one ever seems to believe me when I say this). I had my circle of four or five good friends that I was comfortable with, but that was it. I was always very aware of the fact that I wasn't secure enough to express myself. And it sucked.

But from the moment I stepped on campus I felt, for the first time, completely safe to be me. Sounds corny, but it is the truth. I felt empowered, comfortable, and at home almost immediately. Notre Dame is where I grew up. It’s where I discovered my own self-worth and self-confidence. I’ve definitely evolved since graduating from college, but most of that has been superficial. In essence, Notre Dame is where I stopped being afraid to be me - and I haven’t been scared since.

What made me decide to write the ND post...

We were flying out to South Bend on Friday morning. The weather was crap. Which meant the turbulence was crap. We’re bouncing along (which I hate) and so to help ease the tension (and the excessive squeezing I was doing to Tony’s hand) I started listening to my iPod. It was on random play. Suddenly, we rose above the clouds and the turbulence stopped – all I could see was the sun glistening off the wing, the soft white of the clouds below us and clear blue sky stretching out for miles and miles. It was absolutely breathtaking. And this is what came over my headphones:

Who doesn't know what I'm talking about
Who's never left home, who's never struck out
To find a dream and a life of their own
A place in the clouds, a foundation of stone
Many precede and many will follow
A young girl's dream no longer hollow
It takes the shape of a place out west
But what it holds for her, she hasn't yet guessed

It’s never been one of my favorite songs. But nothing else would have fit the moment quite so well. That’s when I figured I’d better write about what ND truly means to me. Not the typical stuff I usually write for my own self-amusement. But my honest feelings about this place.

Crazy Aunt Becky

My conversation with Jake yesterday morning during breakfast:

J: Mom, I want candy for breakfast.
S: Jake, you can't have candy for breakfast. Remember, you need healthy foods to help you grow big and strong. Candy is a treat - it's not a healthy food.
J: Does Candy have sugar in it?
S: Yes, it does.
J: And does sugar make you crazy?
S: It can. Sugar can make you act kinda crazy if you get too much of it.
J: Oh.
Jake pauses.
J: So who gave Aunty Becky all that sugar?

My Husband's Mistress

So I’m downloading a few photos I recently took and look at what I found on the camera. Pictures my husband obviously didn’t want me to see…of his true love…his damn truck! First of all, who takes pictures of their vehicle? Do you see pics of the silver bullet (aka my lovely minivan) on this site??? Uh, no, and you never will (although I have become a minivan convert). And check the location of the truck – ON MY FRONT LAWN. Okay Mr. “steph, don’t run over the sprinkler heads when you back down the driveway” what is a half-ton pickup truck doing on our front lawn?

I know you guys think I’m joking, but I’m not. He asked me the other day to confirm the day we bought it so he could figure out how old the truck is (perhaps he is throwing it a birthday party). He washes it at least twice a week, and waxes it regularly. He changed the oil at 1500 miles for “performance” reasons, but note that he certainly didn’t volunteer to change my vehicle’s oil at 1500 miles. He volunteered to take the boys out “to the park” a few weeks ago but somehow returned with a specialty parts catalogue for the truck. When we’re in it we have to park a mile away from any other potentially door dinging cars. Any free time he has is spent on the truck, and although I haven’t caught him yet I think he might be talking to it. If he could have “relations” with it I think it’s possible he would leave me. Fortunately for me that tailpipe is pretty hot, so I’m thinking that my marriage is safe.

What the hell is that???

Yeah, I know, that’s what we were wondering. I discovered these lovely fungi (that is the plural of fungus, right?) growing in our yard last week. Later I asked Tony if he’d noticed them and he replied “you mean the penis’ growing in the flower bed?” I asked why he didn’t remove them, and he countered with why didn’t I remove them. Ultimately I think the answer is the same for both of us…we’re afraid sperm might come shooting out if we touch them. Given my fertility history, I should be exempt from touching anything that even remotely resembles a penis or in nine months I could be giving birth to a mushroom. However if I tell him this I have no doubt he’ll add it to his arsenal in our ongoing “which one of us is getting fixed” debate.

Just a typical day here in crazyville

“Come on out poop – I’m trying to poop you!”

A typical day in my life. I made the mistake a few days ago of “talking” to Clint’s poop. My strategy to potty training mirrors the parenting method that Tony and I agreed upon, popularly known as “whatever works”. So when Clint was trying to poop last week, and asked me to help him get the poop out, I started yelling at the poop “come out here you silly poop” or something like that. Option B was to try some manual assistance, which wasn't happening. Little did I know that he would now think that it’s normal to talk to one’s own poop in an attempt to coax it out. So my three year old talks to his own butt. It could be worse, not sure how, but I know it could be worse.