Too many headaches for me.

"Can you bring me home a Diet Coke and a masseuse?"

"I might be able to bring you home a Diet Coke."

"You could be my masseuse."

"Ha Ha Ha"

"What is so funny," I ask myself. "Did I sound like I was joking?"

I really could have used a massage tonight, but I guess a Diet Coke will do. A little caffeine....a little quiet, a little less shoulder tension, a little less pain in my head.

Maybe he will realize I was serious. Maybe not.

Steve and Ian

Here is a link to a photo album the team mom made of Steve and Ian's soccer team. They are so cute! Check it out.

http://secure.smilebox.com/ecom/openTheBox?sendevent=4d5449344d4467784e6e77784e4451344f5467780d0a&sb=1

Shellie

Do you ever have one of those moments when something sounds really weird to you? I don't ever write Shellie. My name is Michelle, and I sign everything Michelle. I say hello, this is Michelle .... I am calling for ..... I never call myself Shellie or very rarely. Just when I meet someone casually. The point? It is really weird that people call me Shellie.

This would be one of those moments when my husband would just look at me and shake his head. He would say something like, "What do you want them to call you? or Wouldn't it be "weirder" if they called you Bob?" As usual, he does have a point.

Sincerely,
Shellie

Your Keys Stuck Where?

You need to visualize this...Stage: Baptist Church, Worship Music, Lots of People

Back in the day when I was a single mom....

I was on the divorce diet. I looked really good thankfully. It makes the story a little less painful. My kids and I had decided to go back to the church where we had gone when we first moved to the NW. It was full of little old ladies, and I needed to be loved on. It had grown a little and there were people just below my age that I had never met. You know, the ones who have one child, nice clothes because they were smart and went to college, nice butt because they have one child, nice hair that is not colored from a box found in the clearance isle, and their nails are done. She was sitting behind me with her husband who apparently went to the gym everyday.

I had walked in a little late and everyone was standing. I threw my keys down on the chair and finished the song. Announcement time: I sat down. Announcements over: I stood up. I started singing. I noticed nothing. I felt nothing. Then I heard my keys drop. Where did they drop from you ask? I was asking myself the same question. I looked back to find some obvious answer. There wasn't one. When I had sat down my keys must have stuck in my butt. Yes, you heard me right. It took a few minutes for gravity to jar them loose. That is when I heard the jingle.

In truth, I am glad I was the ones with the keys in my butt. If I had been the people sitting behind me I would have never recovered. I would still be laughing.

OK, share some love. Leave me acomment. I feel vulnerable. :-)

Your Turn

Today I wanted to tell you about my most embarrassing moment. The thought was provoked by Coral coming home from Speech and Debate. She had to write a 3 minute speech in 1 minute about her most embarrassing moment. That caused her and I to talk about mine....which by the way is pretty funny... after 10 years and the fact I don't ever see these people anymore.

But, first you share yours. Tomorrow I will share mine.

Come on girls! I know you have some good ones for me.

Backhoe

Is that a cr__ck ho? (Insert "a" to keep the Google freaks away)

What did you say?

Is that a cr__ck ho?

A what? (I know the high school is right down the street, but...) Oh! It is a backhoe.

I am convincing myself that he just miss pronounced this word and didn't say it because he heard one of the many teenagers hanging out at my house call someone this. Just in case it was the latter, I sat the teenagers down and gave them a lecture on a 5-year-old boy's ability to remember things he has heard.

Coral

Coral loves me. Coral came home from school a few days ago and detached me from my computer chair and took me to her job. She walked me upstairs. Fortunately, she didn't admit me to the retirement home even though I felt like I belonged there or at least a padded room somewhere. School was getting to me.

When we arrived, a massage therapist met us at the door. Coral surprised me with a massage. It was wonderful. One hour of quiet. One hour of no shoulder tension. One hour of forgetting I was a wife, mother, student, etc., etc. I was just Shellie in a room with nice music, plastic palm trees, straw mats, and little white lights. Mmmmm. Relaxing.

Thanks, Coral. That was a very kind thing to do.

Kindergarten

Ian's first day of Kindergarten.

Baseball

Grandpa George played baseball on Labor Day with Ian.

Ian's comment?

"You are so good, Grandpa George."

He loved it.

Thanks, George. Glad your kneecaps are alright, and Ian's for that matter.

Assessments?

"Hmmm, your kindergartner gets stuck between the numbers of 12 and 13. Our assessment is that you failed in the first five years of his life."

Today Ian has a little assessment before he starts school on Thursday. I guess it is routine, but this is only the second person I have enrolled in kindergarten, and I don't remember if they did that with Lindsey. I am not sure what they expecting. I think he is really smart for his age, but I doubt if they will be asking him questions that use words like rambunctious and all the other big words he likes to use. I can't remember what they are right now because there are way too many medical terms running through my brain. It is a good thing I am not being assessed.

Update: It was almost as bad as I said above. For some reason I thought kids went to Kindergarten to learn their letters, but apparently I should have kept him inside for the last four years and taught him the names of upper and lower case letters as well as all the sounds they make. Oh well, I would choose to do it the same way again.

Don't Ever Chuckle With The Bistra When Your Wife Is In The Room

I ordered a coffee today. I really don't do it very often because it is spendy. I love it. Don't get me wrong. I would be there everyday if I could. The point is that I like my lattes, and because I live in a society that tells me I can have it however I want it, I order it how I want it.

I ordered a grande, iced, 2%, vanilla latte. "Do you want whip with that," says the cute little bistra who obviously does not have whip on hers. She is way to anorexic. No, thanks. (Yuk...)

I looked over at the counter, and there is my latte with whipcream all over the top, and it was so thick I knew it was whole milk. My thighs screamed in dispair. I can deal with the whole milk thing, although I shouldn't because I paid money for this over-priced, trendy drink. I just don't want fat globs on top, thank you. When Steve goes to get it, I tell him I want the whip off. Sorry, but I just can't see stirring all that fat into something that already has way too many calories in it. I would rather eat chocolate later tonight. I don't want to blow it all in one setting.

The lady actually asks if I changed my mind with a snooty little look on her face. They kind of chuckle. No, I didn't change my stinking mind. Your co-worker wrote it down wrong, and I simply want it right. Why is it my fault? I know what I like. I know what I order every time. I am a pro at ordering. I just want a grande, iced. 2%, vanilla latte, no whipcream. And I want you to serve it to me with a smile on your face because you have a job that requires customer service skills. Be friendly for goodness sake.

We walked outside, and I snaped at my husband, "I really don't like it when you guys act like you need to do what ever you can to tame the b--ch." I actually say this. See if he ever chuckles with the bistra again. Poor guy. Maybe I just need some midol.