in which green girl brags a little

So far 2013 is a great year.  Saturday night the Packers POUNDED the Vikings into submission.  Season 3 of Downton Abbey has begun.  I worked out the kinks and planned an awesome girls getaway weekend for my pals.  I beat Mr. D in a game of bowling Friday night.  I single-handledly fixed the air pressure issues in the Momvan's tires.  I taught preschool on Sunday on the fly and I arranged for Jess Riley to join the Bumble Book Club next month to discuss her newest work, All The Lonely People.  I helped Mr. T accomplish half of one of his required Boy Scout merit badges and we had FUN!  I got a complement from Mr. D because the boys' ball handling skills have already improved thanks to my daily dribbling in the kitchen requirement. 

And then there's the matter of Mr. G.  He's a bit of a sports nut, chattering away all day about the NFL, dribbling, throwing, shooting, hitting, catching at every opportunity.  Over the weekend he played in a basketball tournament, his second one.  I missed his first because Mr. D and I had to do a zone defense--Mr. T was in a different tournament across town during the same time.  Anyway, Mr. D told me Mr. G didn't play all that great.  He turned over the ball more than once, had poor handling skills and barely even took a shot.  No matter, he had fun, his team took 1st place and heck, he's only in 2nd grade, right?

Saturday we watched Mr. G play in his second tournament and the kid poured it on.  He forced countless turnovers, grabbed rebounds, made fast breaks, sunk free throws.  In short, Mr. G was a basketball studmuffin.  It was amazing to watch.  I'll be frank here, I adore my sons, but my first two are mediocre athletes--we're all gifted in different ways here at Chez Green Girl.  It's incredible to be the mom in the bleachers watching one son who owns the court and another son who passes off the ball as soon as it lands in his hands because he's so nervous about what to do next.  Talk about extremes, right?  I'm gobsmacked to discover I have a kid who is fast, aggressive, skilled and understands the game.  As if that weren't good enough, he was pissed when I told him it was time to go home.  "What?  Don't I have another game?"  "No, buddy.  Each team plays 4 games in this tournament and that's it.  Everyone's going home."  "So I'm DONE?!?!"   He was so mad to be finished.  Back home he grabbed a basketball and worked on his lay ups in the driveway.  Who is this kid?

But the coolest part about watching Mr. G this weekend was the chemistry he shares with his whole team.  Seven boys, all buddies who play baseball together, too, and they come from the nicest families who cheer on the whole team with enthusiasm.  Each of these kids is polite and mild-mannered.  One is kind of hyper, but none of these boys have ego issues or act bratty or mean ever.  All of these boys are friends outside of sports and I truly enjoy their parents, too.  When these seven boys walk onto the court, a switch flips in them and they change.  They become aggressive and intense and competitive!  Their coach is a pretty mellow guy, so it's not because of him that they act this way.  They don't have the kind of attitude that would get them in trouble, but they play so rough and hard--you'd hardly recognize them from the way they act everywhere else.  In 2nd grade they play as a team, build each other up, and demonstrate a lot of athletic talent.  It's going to be a lot of fun to follow these boys through the next ten years of sports. 

I'd post a photo of this team, but I didn't get permission--so here's a gratuitous shot of Mr. G who is happy the Ravens advanced in the playoffs this weekend.

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harvest

Every September for as long as I can remember we make at least one trip to the apple orchard up the road to pick our own.  We pull the old Little Tykes wagon through the rows of trees and I always bring my camera to record the annual event.

It's become a tricky business keeping up that tradition when karate, Boy Scouts, cross country, flag football, Awana and homework fill our schedule to overflowing.

But last week, Mr. T's coach cancelled practice because of Homecoming festivities, so we hit the orchard right away after school.

An early heat wave followed by a late frost decimated most of the orchards in Wisconsin.  Many orchards lost 90% of their crop--imagine!

It was probably the hardest we've had to work to fill our bags, but we managed to bring home 53 pounds of Cortland and Jonagold (my personal favorite, next to Braeburn apples).  We're not "an apple a day" kind of people.  We're more like "2-3 apples a day," so 53 pounds will not last for the whole winter.  Thankfully Washington State had a bumper year for apples, so we can supplement our habit with imported apples.

We snuck in our trip in the nick of time because a few days later they closed the orchard for the season.  It's apple crisp, apple bread, apple pie, apples sliced, apples dipped in caramel, apples schmeared with peanut butter, apples chopped into salads, apples baked atop pork chops around here.

We also have our own stuff to harvest back home.  Not apples or pears, though.  Our trees were bare this year.

Pumpkins and gourds?  We have PLENTY.  And sunflower seeds, tomatoes, beets, carrots and onions, too.

That's the bounty from our pumpkin patch that we share with our neighbors.  Five flats full.  Our biggest harvest ever.  And I grew even more in my own garden from the seeds I saved last fall. 

Spill it, reader.  What was your bumper crop this year?

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good day!

I've mentioned my neighbor gal, J, who's about the most fun neighbor in the whole wide world.  (Which is saying something because we have really great neighbors out here.)  She's the one who I joined at 3:00 a.m. to watch the Royal Wedding.  We share a pumpkin patch, garden produce (she grows the best cucumbers), children and advice.  She's a Bumble Book Clubber with a LOT of history knowledge, so we rely on her when we read stuff by Philipa Gregory.  (Seriously, she even has a ginormous family tree explaining the Tudors and we make her bring it to meetings as needed.)  J tells the best stores and has a really funny sense of humor.  She's craftacular, she enters stuff in the county fair and she always makes me laugh.  And she's a prize-winning cheesecake baker.  The woman has a gift in the kitchen.

In short, I have an award-winning neighbor who is the best kind of girlfriend.

J was on TV this weekend--I'm so proud of her I have to share:

Blueberry recipes

Blueberry recipes

Doesn't J totally deserve her own cooking segment?  Down home, Midwest fabulousness.

Here's the link to the news site for the recipes.

Good neighbors doing good things.

Spill it, reader.  Who's your favorite neighbor?

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hoo boy, do I owe you pictures

of that vigorously blooming prairie, baseball players, wetland restoration projects and other fun stuff.  But I'm busy with Olympic viewing, 3 busy boys, the grand finale of the baseball season and keeping the pantry stocked.  Life is overwhelmingly full right now, but here are some highlights:

*  Watching Mr. G crush a triple during his baseball tournament AND snag a fly ball in the outfield.  I'm totally bragging here, but I can't help it.  My boy can play.
*  Running with Mr. T, who is a natural.  He pushes me now.  I've no hope of keeping up with his stride.
*  The neighbor lady bringing back "extras" from the baking she entered in the county fair.
*  A pool full of kids, a yard full of kids, a house full of kids.
*  A party with the other baseball families from Mr. G's tournament team--just a great group of people, we're awfully lucky to count them as friends.  They're great sports, full of good humor, generous, kind, thoughtful and cheer everybody on.
*  Just the best group of coaches--for all the boys this summer.  Each one of them taught my sons something, each one of them was encouraging, supportive and taught good sportsmanship.  And Mr. G was particularly blessed with all of his coaches having a great sense of FUN during practices and games.
*  All the extra ways people pitch in to make a parish festival run well--from grooming diamonds to painting faces to selling 50/50 tickets.  Don't tell the Republicans, but community organizing is healthy in Happyland, Wisconsin!  They got volunteers out in force on many fronts for the weekend.
*  Oh!  Those Olympics!
*  3 boys wanting to know how to do "those strokes" and practicing together in the pool.
*  The first tomato from our garden.
*  Rain.

Spill it, reader--share the goodness in your life.

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mvp

We coerced Mr. T to go out for boys softball this spring (although I think he played us for fools, bargaining for gaming privileges in exchange for playing ball). He ended up having a swell time, beginning his season with a hitting streak that lasted until late in the season.  Mr. T was that kid his team could count on to get a base hit, and often an RBI, every time he was at bat.  Years ago Mr. T wasn't a bad ballplayer, but in Cadet League baseball he became afraid of getting hit by the ball and quit.  Softball had him back in our yard this spring, playing catch with his brothers and wanting to improve.

The Rockets was a fun team of boys, laid back and playing for pleasure.  Sure, they were glad to win, but under their excellent coaches they kept a positive outlook each week.  Their 8th grade leaders kept things level and upbeat.  Whether an all-star or novice, each boy contributed to the whole team's success.  I enjoyed watching the games mostly because Mr. T enjoyed playing every single game.  While he's not the most effective defensive player, Mr. T brought energy to the dugout, too.  His trademark move became pumping both fists in the air each time he'd get on base.  Teammates and parents counted on watching him do it after a while.  Saturday night they wrapped up their league tournament--they made it to the finals.

 


As evidenced by the scoreboard, the Rockets did pretty well.  The crowd cheered, the mosquitoes stayed away, our team played a solid game without any errors.  Mr. T even fielded a ball and threw a kid out at first base!

At the end of the game his teammates named Mr. T MVP.  Rejoicing and laughter ensued and Mr. T had a great finish to his debut season as a softball player.  He went to bed feeling like the luckiest guy in the whole world Saturday night and I went to bed feeling pretty dang proud of him.  And now he's thinking he might--just might--go out for baseball again. 

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delivered from evil

I confess, I've been tempted, SORELY tempted to do some wicked things.  Yesterday I was driving home with Mr. G in the Momvan when this woman began aggressively tailgating me.  On a county highway.  Where there were no other drivers.  I was traveling at the excessive speed of 62 MPH (posted speed was 55), and she insisted on staying about 4 feet from my rear bumper.  I kept waiting for her to pass me, but she didn't.  I kept waiting for her to jump into my trunk because it was obvious she really, really wanted to be inside the rear of the Momvan (if her proximity were any indication), but she didn't.   She just wanted to drive uncomfortably close to me.

I really, really hate tailgaters.  They make me nervous.  It's a terribly unsafe way to drive.  They endanger themselves and others.  I kept glaring at her in my rear view mirror, but she crept closer.

Then I noticed how she swerved erratically from time to time and kept looking down.  At a phone?  At a cheeseburger?  At a copy of Tailgating for Idiots? 

I tried to keep my cool.  I kept talking to Mr. G and tried to squelch the urge to tap my brakes. If I braked--hard or quickly, this woman would end up embedded in my tailpipe.  Oh, the temptation!  I could get revenge on this nasty tailgater AND score a new van out of the deal.  But my kid's safety ruled out this tactic.

When I noticed a cluster of cars coming towards us, I slowed down--impossible for her to pass now and frustrating as heck to follow me at 53 MPH, right?  The posted speed limit reduces to 45 MPH, so I coasted past the sign at 40.  The road widens at this point and I made sure to hog the center, preventing her from blowing by on my right.  I puttered towards the intersection at 35 MPH, feeling slightly vindicated because I was making her suffer.  Then I watched her tear into the subdivision just before our intersection.  I resisted doing the truly evil thing and slamming on my brakes on that highway.

This morning I had another chance to choose goodness instead of evil.  Mr. D was heckling me a bit and I escaped to avoid him.  The phone rang and I ran to pick it up.  On the line was a solicitor--asking for Mr. D.  Oh, how I wanted to hand the phone to him!  The devil on my shoulder urged me to pay him back with a little quality time listening to some stranger's pitch for a donation.  I closed my eyes and allowed the glow of human kindness to shine through my clouded emotions--and I told the caller Mr. D was unavailable.  Goodness prevailed once more. 

Spill it, reader.  When have you made the choice to be good lately?

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stinky

Jax found something dead in a ditch and it became his new favorite toy ever. Our dog smells like a rotting corpse. And he keeps dragging various sections of this dead animal to different parts of the yard, so you never know when you'll encounter the stench of decaying flesh. And I swear, he rolled every inch of his furry body over the smelliest bits of whateverthefrickdeadanimal it was so he could carry it with him wherever he goes. Which naturally makes a girl think of e. e. cummings because it is April, which is National Poetry Month, which leads to me wandering around outside quoting the words of dead men in reference to dead animals in my yard.

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

And speaking of smelly--my sons all wake up with the most powerful breath on the planet. They could peel paint off a wall with their morning breath. Because I worry about them offending their classmates and teachers, I'm always nagging to brush your teeth every morning before they leave the house. I tell them I don't want you to be the stinky kid nobody wants to sit next to. They tell me I don't care, Mom, it doesn't matter. Well, yesterday I learned they are right. It doesn't matter.

I subbed in 3rd grade (and yes, I rocked the lessons on perimeter, writing with adjectives, qualities of good leadership, levers, renewable and nonrenewable resources with a huge eco-women emphasis on reducing our use of plastics, and a bit of art with paint at the end of the day--holla!) yesterday. People, those kids STINK. Almost every kid in that class who talked to me about knocked my socks off with their fetid breath. Apparently when all the kids have stinky breath, no one's going to take offense, which is the logic my children have been using all school year. And I guess I've put my kids at a disadvantage by insisting on good oral hygiene because when your own breath is minty-fresh, you totally notice when other people's is funky. Maybe I need to rethink our morning routine ...

KIDDING! But I should buy a super-sized box of breath mints to help that poor teacher out. If I had a dime every time I wanted to offer one of these kids a piece of gum or something just so my eyes wouldn't water when they talked to me...

Despite their poor oral hygiene, they were a good class, cheerful and focused and willing to work hard.

Spill it, reader. What's stinky in your world today?

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fresh & tidy

As you can see above, I've finally invested in a proper header--you dig? That, friends, is the work of The Blue Ridge Gal, divine goddess of design and proprietor of two of the sweetest pups you'd ever want to meet. Diane's one of the fun bloggy people, if you haven't met her yet, you should. She puts a bit of perk and punch in your day.

Speaking of fresh & tidy, check out my laundry room! Two years ago I painted it, but ran out of paint (and patience). Can you believe I'd be so lazy? It's true. To fully appreciate how bad it was, behold:


Like most neglected spaces, I did what any self-respecting slob would do, I kept tossing more junk into the room:

And it got dirtier and messier and more horrible.


This project's sat on my "to-do" list for TWO YEARS, but I finally got after it this week and I'm so pleased. Fully coated, scrubbed down (even below/behind my washer & dryer, where I found a missing hammer, several Nerf bullets, a book and some stray socks) this room is now a thing of beauty.


We got rid of several old/outgrown pairs of shoes, tossed out a bunch of crap and I even bought a bench.

Here it is, all lived in and useful once more.


It feels good to cross that chore off my list.

Speaking of crossing stuff off, here's Mr. B who passed his first TnT handbook at Awana Tuesday night. I could not be prouder, nor could he. He worked pretty darn hard memorizing a BUNCH of verses and working through the sections. Plus he's cute, so why not post a picture of him, right?


Spill it, reader. What have you felt proud of lately? And more importantly, do you know The Blue Ridge Gal, Diane?

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launched! part II

Saturday was the Appleton book launch for Whipped, Not Beaten--the one I helped coordinate and to which I invited all of my friends & family & the hygienist who cleans my teeth. We had door prizes from home party lines, recipes from the book and chocolate treats to eat and drink at Atlas Coffee Mill--just the cutest place on the river. Behold:


Cornerstone Press sent a contingent to handle all book sales, publicity and other stuff I'm not privy to knowing about:


Can you tell they were a creative and fun staff to work with?

My fellow writers, you should be so lucky as me to work with people this enthusiastic about your work.

They set up a lovely display of books.


And then my peeps came and filled the room with good wishes and glad tidings.

I wanted to talk to everyone. PTA moms, dear friends, karate co-kickers, former colleagues, Cubbie leaders, bloggy pals, family, even Kristy who does my hair (and who told me my hair looked fabulous and she'd even thought of calling me that morning to offer to blow it out for me).


The Bumble Book Club was well represented, naturally.

After an hour of signing books and talking to people, Per gave a little introduction and I started to speak. And I looked out at the room FULL of people who had been so generous and supportive to me, all of that LOVE and I immediately choked up and got tears in my eyes and I swear if I hadn't pulled it together I'd have launched into a 5-minute sobfest. Thankfully I got a grip and proceeded to speechify.

With my hands, because that's how I talk. I use a hybrid sign/slang language to get my point across.

I talked about the journey from conceiving the book to writing it to getting rejected a gazillion times to finally getting published. I talked about the people who made it possible, especially grateful to these guys:

And then I read a little and wrapped it up so I could get back to mingling and doling out door prizes

and signing more books.

It was memorable and perfect and awesome. I'm thankful to everyone who came, to everyone who helped make the event run so well, and to everyone who bought my book for themselves or as a gift to someone else.

Now, to answer your questions:

1) I wore a Title Nine shirt, an Eddie Bauer skirt from a zillion years ago when I was still teaching, Target tights, a Vintage Pearl necklace, Lori Anderson earrings and a bracelet I bought in Ireland years ago. Oh, the shoes are Clarks and ADORABLE, trust me.

2) You can still buy books. Online at Cornerstone Press or locally at the Atlas Coffee Mill, the Freedom Pursuit store and Book Worlds all over the area. It will be at Pages & Pipes after the holidays. The B&N corporate office in New York did not choose to carry this book, nor hundreds of other titles published by independent and small presses. I have no further comment on the politics of publishing at this time. No e-book is currently available.

3) Sure, I'd LOVE it if you review my book on your blog, at GoodReads or anyplace else that seems appropriate to review a comic novel about home parties and romance and public radio. Let me know what you need and I'll gladly supply it for you!

And to all of you who have bought copies already, thank you THANK YOU for the support.

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cover story

Finally got to see the cover of Whipped, Not Beaten. I have to confess I could hardly wait--and when it arrived in my inbox Saturday afternoon, I actually closed my eyes when I clicked the PDF open to see it for the first time. Nervous? Totally. I wanted to love it--I was terrified I'd hate it.

Let's unpack that terrified bit. You see, a book cover is usually another reader's visual impression of your work. Sometimes a writer designs their own book cover, has strong opinions on what it should look like. More often, the design is in the hands of another person--someone they've never met. Such was the case with Whipped, Not Beaten. Some person named Cassandra Kollock was reading my book this fall and designing a cover that reflected the words I'd written.

Until Cornerstone Press got involved, the only people who had seen Whipped, Not Beaten know me, so there's this expectation and inherent kindness and generosity as they read it. I imagine it's tough to separate the writer from the writing, even when it is fiction. When I met the crew at Cornerstone, I was so flattered that they found the book funny, current, relevant and likable. They laughed out loud while reading it! That's high praise.

But the cover--the "face" of the book--it represents so much--how would the designer conceptualize it? Would they go for something photographic? Something symbolic, like a wire whisk and a mixing bowl? Would the cover look cheap and self-published? I hoped they'd stick to something minimal--too fussy would not appeal to me. Would they fixate on some odd, insignificant detail and pull it to the cover? I so wanted a particular shade of blue, not royal, not dark, not light, but a turquoisey-robin's egg blue--but I never gave any input on the cover design.

Book covers are designed to lure a reader--they're intended to grab your attention and I think of the book covers I love. Particularly, Jen Lancaster's, Wendy Holden's, Tiffany Baker's and Lauren Groff's.


The cover can make all the difference for a prospective reader. Plus, the cover designates a book as funny, serious, tragic, light, compelling or creative. It reveals the theme, the genre, the general storyline, the author's intent. How did the book designer see this book? How did Cornerstone Press want to represent my work?

I opened my eyes and gasped.

They'd chosen the exact right color of BLUE! The font was a brilliant mix of frothy and fun, cursive-y for "Whipped" and bubbly for "Beaten." The cover image was exactly funny and feminine and incorporated a mixing bowl and rolling pin.

I. Loved. It.

It's a book I'd pick up to read the back cover of while standing in a bookstore.

It's a book I'll be proud to hold up and own. This book cover, attributed to my work, makes me appear more stylish and comical and funky than I am in real life.

I showed it to my husband and he said, "It looks kind of like a comic."

I told him, "That's because my book is funny. See? The cover tells you that my book is funny." (I thought to myself, If you'd read it, you'd know.)

And then I got all Sally Field for the rest of the weekend. They think I'm funny! They really think I'm funny. You like me. You really like me!

Are you dying to see it now? They have to make one small change and then I'll post it here. Meanwhile, spill it, reader. The best complement someone's given you lately.

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progress report

It's good to take stock every now and then--just when I think I've become a total slug, accomplishing nothing but keeping up with the laundry rotation and stocking the pantry, I step back and reflect. Back in January I made this list:

To date, I've scratched off most of my goals for 2011. I exceeded 100 trees planted. We've attended 3 cultural events this year and I've got 3 months remaining to bring Team Testosterone to one more play, concert or museum. I eliminated a number of piles of junk in my house--all of the living room cupboards got cleaned out, the basement is tidy and I even tackled one of the huge piles in my bedroom. All that really remains are those darn photo albums...
I made homemade bread, edged the garden and read almost 30 books so far this year. The laundry room still needs attention--forgot I'd written that down. I didn't compete in a karate tournament. That last one was tricky--there were 3 possible tournaments this year and one took place while we were in the OBX on vacation. Another was yesterday. I really wanted to spar, but with less than 2 months remaining until I earn my 2nd degree, I figured it was stupid to risk getting hurt. Now if I do enter a tournament, it'll be as a 2nd degree, making the competition even tougher. It's disappointing to realize I won't achieve this goal, but I have to concede some of the reasons were beyond my control.

Speaking of karate stuff, my 3-mile run time Saturday was 27:35, so I shaved a little time off. I may get to the 26 minute range yet. My muscles feel like a giant bruise today, but overall the training went well this weekend. No new injuries, just the same old soreness/stiffness.

In other updates, remember I mentioned a professional request for one of my manuscripts about a month ago? I learned Friday that my book was selected for publication. Stay tuned--I'll be promoting the crap out of it over the winter.

We have an abundance of apples, so things will get saucy around here soon.

And that is all.

Spill it, reader. Have you made some noteworthy progress lately?

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of daffodils and dirt piles

My name is Green Girl and I have a daffodil addiction. I add a new variety each year, about 450 daffodils bloom here in the springtime. My fantasy is to have 30 varieties, thousands of yellow flowers in the spring, and the way these bulbs naturalize, it's not too far-fetched a fantasy. I dug up a few patches last fall that hadn't bloomed and discovered they'd multiplied exponentially, so I divided and moved things around, adding 75 bulbs to new spots. This fall I'll purchase another new variety (or two) and divide some more crowded clusters. Behold! Daffodilpaloza!
The peach insides of these creamy flowers are unique,

but I especially like the dark yellow insides of these jonquils. So cheerful.

Standard all-yellow and pale yellow,

delicate rims of dark yellow in the center,

and peach-colored with double-ruffled inside petals. Definitely the most unusual and showiest.

The sustained warmth made my front bed explode overnight. I swear I could have sat on the porch and watched them grow, the hostas burst through the soil, the tulips budded from scrawny green stems.

A little forsythia brightens up the beds, too.

Formerly this bed was my original vegetable garden when we built. Then it became a strawberry patch when the berries overtook things. Then I got a bright idea to amend the soil with dirt from the creek bed, which brought in enough stinging nettle to burn the Taliban into submission. I've since moved all the strawberries out to their own spot in the potager and will plant this with vegetables once again--peas, green beans, tomatoes and peppers.

This mess is the potager--memorize it well, friends. When you see it again it will be greatly altered in appearance.

Signs of industry are everywhere this time of year.

The dirt calls to me. Can I help myself? I dig dirt.

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oh the cleverness of me!

Last weekend I got a tour of a friend's new house. It was gorgeous (naturally, as all new houses are) with some really unusual wood work and fixtures. From the outside you'd never guess how impressive the inside would be. At the end of my tour we wound up in a bedroom where the central vac lay coiled on the floor. "Sorry," the woman apologized. "I was in the middle of cleaning." I assured her there was no need to apologize and then marveled at her vacuum--the hose was covered in some kind of satin quilting with velcro and ties. "What is that on your vacuum?"

"I bought it with the vacuum. It's a casing to protect your woodwork from the plastic hose."

Brilliant! And of course, I immediately wanted one.

But alas! Back to school and cat expenses have drained my wallet. What's a girl to do?

Apply her Yankee Ingenuity, of course.

I grabbed 3 pairs of old tights (yes, I save them--for tying things in the garden) and snipped off the very tips of the toes. Then I pulled them along my vacuum hose and secured it along the way by tying it with yarn. The tights are slippery enough to slide across the floor and around walls, but heavy-duty enough to get dragged around the house. I tried out my New! Improved! Central Vacuum and it works swell! I don't even get that loud noise of the hose ridges scraping against the wall when I turn a corner anymore. Hooray for cheap fixes! I didn't think it possible, but I love my vacuum even more now. It is my favorite appliance.

Behold! The Sleek Midwestern Black-Tighted Vacuum Hose!

Especially this week. It's "Bring a Friend Week" at karate, which translates to "Bring Your Posse to the Dojo" if you are one of my kids. Every night we're trekking a crew across the field and home to enjoy snacks (oh the baking this week!) and playtime before schlepping them in the Momvan to karate. My floors are full of Major Crumbage. But all the boys are having a blast. It's good to have friends over--we haven't since Labor Day weekend with school starting.

If that isn't chaos enough, my mind is still spinning from another great episode of Sons of Anarchy. I totally want to write episode reviews, but I fear becoming a copycat blog by writing a weekly review. Yet, if my devoted readers are fans of the show, it could generate great discussion. I'm so torn...let me know what you think. The entire Jemma/Tara ordeal won the award for "Worst Day with Your Mother-in-Law EVER." And WTF Jax? At the end I swear he'd have made a Very Bad Choice had he not been interrupted. And after that whole heart-to-heart with Opie about women. OH THE DRAMA. Once again I fell asleep grateful that Mr. D isn't a member of a motorcycle gang running guns for a living.

It's the little things, isn't it?

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from left field

Even though we were triple-booked last night, things went pretty smoothly.
* Mr. T took good care of his younger brother during Mr. B's game.
* Some other dads pitched in and helped guide the team through their first game.
* Coaches on both teams cheered for all the players, good sportsmanship abounded.
* When one little guy ran past the base and didn't return to tag up, his coach lifted him up and carried him over the distance of two paces so he wouldn't get tagged out. No one cared because it could be the only time this kid gets a base hit in his whole life. It pleased me that no one questioned the play. Besides, our first baseman is so ADD he wasn't anywhere near the base when our pitcher threw him the ball.
* The kids were all well-behaved and WON!
* Mr. B. hit the ball off the machine's pitch his second time at bat!
* Mr. G hit the ball with his usual grace and power (the kid's got his dad's gene pool).
* While playing "pitcher," Mr. G caught the first hit and threw it to first base for the first out on the first play of that inning. The entire crowd cheered at his athletic prowess and I admit I felt unbelievably proud.

I leave you with this recap of one part of my night because it is equally frustrating and hilarious.

Dear Parent A,

It was a surprise to see your kids at the game last night considering how they missed both pre-season practices and no one called to explain their absence or courteously inform us of their intention to stay on the team. Fortunately I had their t-shirts ready in case you showed up.

During practice Mr. D covered the fundamentals of throwing, catching and hitting the baseball. Since you first appeared 5 minutes before the game, we had insufficient time to explain these concepts to your son and daughter. Why, Little Jimmy even had his glove on the wrong hand! How silly! It was nice of you to send them each with a glove, water bottle and hat, but teaching them how to wear their gloves would have been helpful. When Mr. T first went out for soccer years ago, I didn't know how he should wear shin guards so I asked somebody for help. You know, so as not to embarrass my kid when he showed up for his first practice. I try to have a rudimentary understanding of all the gear and equipment and pass that knowledge on to my kids when they go out for a sport.

Anyhoo, Little Jimmy and Little Sally didn't learn how to throw or catch in those few minutes before the game. We slated them for the outfield because we weren't even certain they'd show up. Turns out it was probably best for their safety to keep them in the outfield. At least they had their gloves on the correct hands when they went out there.

Speaking of heading to the outfield, you probably noticed how all the other players ran when switching from dugout to field. They all responded to my verbal cue of "Hustle up! Get to your position!" with speed and enthusiasm. Except for your kids. They sauntered to the outfield like my 85-year-old grandmother shuffling across the hospital hallway after she broke her foot. Little Sally came back to the dugout twice, once for a sip from her water bottle and again for her pink Old Navy baseball cap. When I called out, "Hustle up, Little Sally and Little Jimmy! You're a ballplayer and ballplayers hustle!" you were considerate to step into the dugout and inform me that your children don't like to run or move fast. May I again tell you that this might prove problematic in playing baseball.

It was fine that you brought your kids to the game without their own bats, we had plenty. I was happy to show them the proper way to hold a baseball bat and explain how to swing it (remember, across the body, not up and over their heads like they're chopping wood). We'll worry about lining up our knuckles and standing parallel to the plate another day. I'm just glad we got their hands on the right end of the bat. Little Sally took some passionate swings at the ball after it landed behind her in the dirt. And plenty of players on both teams had to hit off the tee when their 3 tries at machine pitches didn't work out. We'll cover hitting the ball instead of the tee with your kids another time.

And bathroom breaks are fine! However, in general, most kids can make it a whole hour without taking one during a game. If this happens again, I do hope Little Jimmy remembers that his job is to wait by me when he returns and I'll send him back into the game between plays. He missed most of the 3rd inning because each time I looked down to send him in, he'd wandered out of the dugout to go sit by you.

Much of this confusion is common in new players, but I confess it surprised me to see your children so unprepared for their first machine pitch game--I know they played two years of tee ball, so I assumed most of this knowledge would transfer forward. Hopefully this letter clarifies a few finer points of the machine pitch league and how coming to practice or at playing a little catch in your back yard will help your kids participate more fully in our games this season.

All best,
Green Girl

P.S. For future reference, none of the other parents sat in the dugout--alone or with their toddler. I was very pleasant about your error in judgment on this point. Mr. D probably won't be.


Happy weekend!

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It was a banner day for Team Testosterone yesterday. All three of my sons got baptized! At our church we do "believer's baptism," kicking it New Testament-style with the addition of a testimony of faith before the pastor immerses you in the water (not the Jordan River, however). It was so cool to hear each of them share their faith in Jesus and their favorite Bible verse (I John 4:10, John 14:2, John 3:16, in order of their picture above) in front of everyone gathered to watch. Then they each got "dunked" in turn, their profession of faith public. I had never planned on all three of them doing this together, I really wanted this to be their individual choice about obedience. God is so good to me--to give me these sons who are growing bold about their faith in Him. I was one proud mama, indeed!

And then I yanked on my garden gloves and got after the business of spring planting. Glorious day! During my breaks I sat on the front porch inhaling fresh-cut grass, tulips and lilacs mixing together in an intoxicating perfume. Mosquitoes nibbled at my ankles while I read a manuscript for a friend, birds sang and the children played without fighting. Clothes flapped in the breeze on the back clothesline, the crab apple trees unleashed their full show of blossoms and Mr. D ran down a couple acres' worth of dandelions leaving swaths of green behind his Brand New Lawnmowing Machine. His team split their double-header Saturday with a team vying for first place in their conference, so his spirits were running high, too.

At dusk I went to bring in the clothes, feeling deeply satisfied with the entire weekend. I pinched open the final clothespins and grabbed Mr. D's heavy Carhart jacket off the line when a deep sting shot up my right thumb. WTF! I shook my hand free and watched my thumb slowly swell to twice it's size. Yelping, I flipped the jacket over and tried to find the cause. I never did see what stung me--wasp or bee, but it got me good and deep!

A banner weekend--three boys baptized, a huge win for the baseball team, first mosquito bites of the year, lilacs blooming and the first bee sting of the year.

And a winner! Fannie from This Isn't What I Ordered is the lucky winner of April's FABULOUS--M.K. Graff's mystery novel The Blue Virgin. Congratulations, Fannie!

Spill it, reader. What banner-worthy things happened to you this weekend?

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