Ellie's Musings and Other Tales

Suck Up

2012-02-14T17:56:00.000-05:00

All day long folks in the office ask "what are you doing for Valentine's Day?" I debate whether I should respond "on a date with my secret lover Jackie Anglin (the girls have gymnastics- so that's a joke, kind of)" or "deciding which child to sacrifice to the Valentine's Day god, we're leaning towards the boy, more meaty, but the girl, she's got that innocent thing going for her."

Instead I tell them what I believed to be the truth. I say "oh, nothing, we're not much into Valentine's."

It's a made up holiday! It's an excuse to sell red roses at four times the market value, Victoria's Secret underwear at 3,272 times the cost of the raw materials and to allow Waffle House to enter the reservation business (I'm not making that up). It also means I'm going to have to spend approximately 82 more minutes on the elliptical than I planned this evening because you people keep laying out fat lawyer traps all over the office (i.e. chocolate covered EVERYTHING).

So, thanks Wes. Mere minutes after my final Valentine's Day Bah Humbug rant of the day, the copy room guy brings me these:

AND copy guy had heard my rant and gave me that smug grin that only copy room guys can muster. Yeah, I know, Wes is awesome. Jeez. Can't decide what to get him. Maybe a Snuggie from Walgreen's. Way to destroy my street cred.

Damn You, Pinterest

2012-02-13T20:16:00.003-05:00

I was seriously ok with buying cutesy Valentine cards from the local gift store for the kids to pass out to their classmates. They usually had a craft attached. They'd become finger puppets or monster mobiles or paper dolls. They were pricey, well made and, so I thought, unique and creative.

So why did I just spend 5 hours making this crap:

I'll tell you why. Because Pinterest told me to. Pinterest told me all the cool moms were MAKING their kids' Valentines. You're not trying hard enough if you're not crafting your way through every major freaking holiday. Want to throw the perfect birthday party? Better find a set of 100 printables on Pinterest. Otherwise, you're just a store bought mama. Hosting an Easter brunch? Well there's this blog with 14 different egg wreaths, a flower vase stuffed with Peeps (ok, that may be the only legitimate purpose for Peeps) and 17 different Spring inspired recipes to ensure your get together is just the bee's knees.

Therefore, after 9 hours at work dealing with other peoples' problems I rush home to snip, cut, curl and tie my children's way to Valentine perfection. And it's not just kids' stuff. I made a freaking magnetic chalkboard wall in my kitchen. Umm, psst, don't know if you've heard but THEY SELL MAGNETIC CHALKBOARDS AT TARGET!

Don't even get me started about the recipes. I've got like 300 pinned on my "Food" board. It's become an obsession. The thing is, I know I don't have time for this crap. You know you don't have time for this crap. So why do we continue to do it? Do you honestly think Susie that sits at the end of the pew from you at church is packing all those ridiculously adorable lunches where everything is cut out in the shape of a seahorse for her kids everday? Yeah, she did it once, then she lost the damn cookie cutter. Back to Lunchables.

You know what? I'm done. I'm swearing off Pinterest. Anything they say I can make, I know I can buy (and for less time, effort, and I'm seriously not kidding, less money-these crafts cost a freaking fortune). I'm going to go disable my account, right freaking now. Well, after I find a couple of upholstered headboard tutorials. We really need a headboard.

All Aboard the Oreo Express!

2012-02-02T11:42:00.000-05:00

Update:

Orient Express visit was fabulous. Mostly because our chef/hibachi master was high as a kite. He threw so much rice at us he needed another bowl. But...fried rice and hibachi shrimp were had. Cupcakes were consumed. Candles we blown out. A good time was had by all (especially our chef, who spoke Spanish as well. Multicultural awesomeness).

Ready:

Set:

Wish!:

Yeah, she and Aunt Mamie are demons. Woot Woot Oreo Express! Now onto the magical world of the Harry Potter Pizza Party.

Six years ago today I was starving and cursing my husband and sister as they chowed down on McDonald's biscuits. Apparently, the Labor and Delivery staff at Northside frown on people in active labor eating during the process. Horrible rule. The consequences could be dire.

That means, of course, that I have a six year old. I do not know how this happened. I, me, this one over here, the anti-crier, sobbed after kissing her goodnight. Her last night of being five. What is it about six? It's like she went from being my little secret to being a citizen of the wide world. My heart is about to burst from resigned sadness and ridiculous pride. So, we celebrate!

This morning she got her first real big girl bike...doesn't even come with training wheels.

Tonight we will join up with the gang (us, Mamie, Mr. Brian and Miss Carrie) and be dazzled by the Hibachi chef at the Oreo Express (that's the Orient Express for those of you who don't speak Ellie). But, it's not the Oreo Express anymore. Because, as she told me this morning, six year olds know its not the Oreo Express. That's what silly little kids say. Sigh.

Little Samson Gets Shorn

2012-01-28T13:31:00.000-05:00

Not sure what the ladies are going to thing, but we woke up like this:

That's his "why is this camera in my face pre-Honey Nut Cheerios" look.

Went and had a great time in the train room at Pigtails and Crewcuts:

"Not sure what we're doing here, but these trains are fantastic. Can I get some trains. I'd really like some trains. Hey, why are you picking me up? Traaaaaaaaaains!!!!!"

"Oh, Police Car? Not a bad swap."

""Wait a minute. Wait. A. Minute. What the heck? Why do I feel weaker?"

"No doubt the chicks are going to dig this. The hair, not the banana."

It's Good To Have Goals

2012-01-25T20:02:00.001-05:00

The 100th day of school came and went this week. They actually celebrate it. This is a new concept for me.

Anyway, like I said, celebration. Lots of learning activities involving the number 100. Several of the finished products came home in Ellie's folder today.

Here's the first:

Here's the translation: Win [When] I am 100 years old I wil[l] we[a]r erenges [earrings]. Win I am 100 I wil have rencls [wrinkles].

I think she's showing amazing patience and delirious optimism at the same time.

Here's another 100 day project:

If I had $100, I would buy lannd.

Now, before we dismiss this as evidence that a nearly six year old has no concept of the value of money, I'd like to direct your attention to the illustration. Very clearly, that is a brunette child (with fabulous flowing locks, of course) standing near a buck-a deer to those of you from the city. Her Daddy, Uncle Chad and Big Daddy just bought a piece of property in Ideal, Georgia. The sole purpose of that property is for the killing and subsequent eating of local fauna (and auspiciously the harvesting of timber but I will believe that when I see it). I can buy her theory that $100 can get you an acre or two in Ideal.

Plus, I admire her pluckiness. Reminds me of someone I once knew...

She's Crafty

2012-01-14T18:43:00.004-05:00

Been wanting a kitchen chalkboard for years, so I made one. Started with the side panel next to the fridge:

(Okay, so that's the panel next to the oven but I forgot to take a "before" before I started painting. They're iiiiii-dentical though.)

Bought these:

Both are made by Rust-Oleum. I researched the heck out of this and Rust-Oleum's chalk board paint is allegedly not the best, but I wanted to be sure it would work with the magnetic primer so I figured I'd sacrifice quality for knowing there wouldn't been a large scale disaster.

The magnetic primer runs about $25. The chalk board paint is less than ten. They come in quarts. I used all the primer, but I have a ton of chalk board paint left over. I'm turn everything into chalk boards. Jars, glasses, Wes's forehead. Everything.

I had them shake the snot out of the primer at Home Depot. It's paint with metal particles in it, so they all settle to the bottom. The can is heavy too. I stirred, stirred, stirred between coats to keep it mixed up.

It took six, count them, six coats of magnetic primer. Only 30 minutes of drying time between each coat, and then we had to wait 3 hours before putting the chalk board paint on top. To be honest, it's still not all that magnetic. Fridge magnets and alphabet magnets stick great, but that Leap Frog animal sound think will not stay.

Just two coats of chalk board. The tutorials I found on the intrawebs told me not to do more than that because then you'd lose something on the magneticism and you wouldn't want that. An hour of drying time between coats. Overnight to dry, but NO WRITING ON IT FOR 3 DAYS!

Here's what it looked like in process (the primer is pretty much black too):

I realized the top-top would not get used much. Carrie came up with the idea of putting a "welcome" saying or quote up there and just leaving it. So, I stole one:

Here's Carrie writing it up there. My handwriting is atrocious, good thing we keep her around.

And, here's the finished product:

The "quote" is off Local Three's menu, "Sit Deep, Stay Long." No idea if it's a quote from someone famous (other than the Local Three guys, they're sort of famous here in Atlanta), but I like it. I think it embodies our home pretty well.

Anyway, pretty crafty for me. Yay, weekend projects.

Proceed to Party

2012-01-14T13:30:00.003-05:00

Really, this needs no commentary

I Love It When a Plan Comes Together.

2012-01-08T09:46:00.002-05:00

I have a new found obsession with Pinterest. Better than Facebook, way more useful than Twitter. It's at least inspiring me to get organized and fancy the place up a bit. Plus, I love sticking recipes all in one place.

How awesome is it, then, that one of the first things I pinned, some of the prints from Old Try, this fabulous huband/wife team of Southern ex-pats up in Massachusetts, have finally ended up in my home?

The first print is self explanatory. The second is the coordinates for the Mason Dixon line. They have an accurate depiction of a Southerner's perspective of the line on their website. The last is the Georgia flag superimposed over an outline of the state.

Anyway, just happy to be putting my pins into action. Thanks D&Y for the perfect Christmas gift. Thanks Old Try for making such great prints. You can check out other pieces (pretty Alabama and North Carolina heavy due to their roots, would love the yellow hammer if I'd more of an affinity for my law school alma mater) at http://theoldtry.com.

Head. Pants. Now.

2012-01-05T11:13:00.000-05:00

I feel like there should be a child training service similar to those available for gun dogs. You know, where you hand the kid off for a few months and they come back knowing an important skill. With dogs, they come back knowing how to retrieve ducks, dove, quail, small children, etc. without being gun shy, barking or turning the boat over. With kids, they could learn to drink from a cup, clean their rooms, or, most importantly, tee-tee and poop in the potty. My guess is this service exists, but it is only for the fabulously wealthy or those that don't care if others shun them for not raising their own children.

Anyhow, here's how we're dealing with the lack of proper potty training professionals:

Naked little boy butt. Seriously cute, but potentially problematic (and before you ask, yes, his hand is where you think it is...he is a boy, afterall, oh, and that's the Georgia/Michigan State game on the TV, things were going well at this point, but that's for a different blog).

Here's how a potty epiphany happens in our house-

Me (or Wes): Harry, do you have to go tee tee in the potty.
Harry: Noooo.
Me: You sure?
Harry: Ok, tee tee in da pah-tee, ok. Yay! (arms over head)
Me: Yay! (arms also over head or this whole thing will get derailed)
Harry: (running to potty) tee tee in pah-tee, tee tee in pah-tee, ok.
(miraculously, tee tee in potty)
Harry: Yay!
Me (and everyone that has come into the bathroom to witness this miraculous event): Yay!
Harry: Flush da pah-tee, Yay!
Me: Yay!
Harry: Hey (to everyone in ear shot) Hawwy tee tee in da pah-tee, YAY!
Everyone: Yay!
Harry: Yay!

Repeat 15 times in one day.

This does not work for the poop. He steadfastly refuses to do THAT in the potty. Instead he brings us a diaper over and over until we finally relent out of fear of him developing some horrifying intestinal ailment and put it on him where he finally takes care of business. Fabulous.

Baby steps. But, at least his butt is cute.

Another One Bites the Dust (or, What are the Odds)

2011-12-21T21:43:00.004-05:00

Within 5 hours of the pulling of her first tooth, Ellie experiences a second loss. Really, it may be too much to bear for this tender five year old. Or, "hey, mom, I know the tooth fairy brings money, so if you lose your first tooth and then your second tooth on the same day that's gotta be worth a lot. Right?"

Ahh, capitalism. Nice to know I'm raising her right.

Man Down! Man Down!

2011-12-21T17:59:00.001-05:00

First tooth gone!

When asked how on earth this happened she says "I just pulled it." I ask "Why?" She says "I just did". I say "When?" She says "At school." "Was it exciting, did it hurt, did it bleed, " I ask. She says "Mama, you're silly."

Apples, trees. Something.

Life Motto

2011-12-21T13:28:00.004-05:00

There is no substitute for thorough preparation. Except for being practiced in the art of bullshit.

Leggings Aren't Pants

2011-12-20T14:01:00.000-05:00

Come on girls. You know it. I know it. We ALL know it. Stop pretending that you don't know it. Leggings. Are. Not. Pants. I'm not talking about those stretchy running pants that sort of look like leggings but are made of some hybrid of Kevlar and Spandex. Nor am I referring to Jeggings (although I could do a whole other post on that deal). The ~~item of clothing~~, ~~apparel~~, accessory I'm targeting here are good old fashioned, no doubts about them, leggings.

Here's what you can wear leggings with: dresses, skirts, tunics that actually cover your ass. Here's what you can't wear leggings with: ANYTHING ELSE!

Ask yourself this question: "Self, would I wear tights with this top that I'm calling a tunic even though it hits me right around my hip bone?" If the answer is "no you silly slut, you'd look like a slut." Then DON'T DO IT.

See, legging are tights with the feet cut out. Yes, I know they may seem different. Sometimes, they can even appear a little bit thicker, but, trust me, the minute the sun, flourescent lighting, incandescent lighting, moon beams hit your ass you can see through them the same way you see through tights. No one else needs to know that you are down to your "day before I do the laundry panties", and if you wear leggings as if they were something they are not (pants) then that's what you will be telling the rest of the world.

Also they accentuate everything that is imperfect about your ass area. This is true for everyone. Not just us fluffy ladies. If you're not perfectly svelte, you just showed your entire office that area of your body you've been willing yourself to ignore in the mirror for the past five years. If you are perfectly svelte, well, let's just say there are parts of a skinny girl no one wants to see either. Not to mention, any questions as to your virtue are answered right there with your willingness to walk around without pants on.

Before you try to argue "ummm, I looked in the mirror and everything looked fine," the mirror in your room cannot be trusted. (A) The light in your room is not the same as the light outside your room (B) You just got out of bed, so you're not communicating appropriately with your mirror anyway, and (C) We know you didn't really look at your backside, you just looked at your front, that is just a lack of preparation, people.

Here's a simple test: Put on your ensemble. Turn around. Bend over at the waist. Take a glance at your fanny. Do you see anything you wouldn't want to see with tights on? Yes? Put on some pants!

Snuggle Bunny Sunday

2011-12-18T13:10:00.001-05:00

What I needed to do today:

1. Laundry
2. Wrap copious numbers of Christmas Gifts
3. Find at least 5 teacher gifts
4. More laundry
5. Clean the Kitchen
6. Grocery Shop
7. Work on the budget
8. Catch up at the office
9. That damn laundry
10. Sweep up Christmas Tree needles

What I did instead:

1. Snuggled
2. Co-composed a concerto comprised entirely of Sing-a-ma-jigs
3. Watched Tom and Jerry's Nutcracker Christmas
4. Watched Garfield Christmas
5. Whispered the lyrics to I Want A Hippopatamus for Christmas
      a. Into a Walkie Talkie
      b. While said Walkie Talkies were less than a foot apart
      c. With my five year old giggling uncontrollably
6. Laid perfectly still under the covers to see if Harry could find us.
7. Snuggled some more
8. Got yelled at by DAD for not getting out of the bed
9. Discussed the intricacies and physics of Santa coming down a ventless fireplace chimney
10.Had the best Snuggle Bunny Sunday ever.

Very Serious Stuff...with a Side of Crazy Pants

2011-12-14T13:04:00.001-05:00

Warning. Foul language ahead.

There is nothing all that funny about this entry, but for my own theraputic purposes I'm going to lay it all out there anyway.

Last night, after finishing at Ellie's gymnastics class, she and I ran by Publix to grab some diapers and milk. Then we headed to the McDonald's on Whitlock to grab her a Happy Meal. Instead of going straight to the drive through, I pulled into a parking space to enter my Publix purchase into my phone since I did it with my check card and not cash...I'm very OCD about my check card purchases right now.

While I'm typing away a guy runs up to my car window, holds up a 9MM and proceeds to yell at me to get out of the car. I immediately think "if that asshole thinks I'm getting out of this car without Ellie he might as well go ahead and shoot me." I glance back at her and I'm about to yell at her to "unhook, unhook, unhook and get in the front seat with mommy" so that I could open the door and run with her when he sees her too and thinks better of what he's doing. He jumps the retaining wall between McDonald's and the next door insurance company and takes off running.

I gather my wits (sort of) and call 911. They catch him and his accomplice. Apparently, I was not the only target of the evening and they've got another guy in the parking lot across the street giving them statements and descriptions.

First off, I love, love, love the Marietta PD right now. They took care of me. They completely wowed Ellie and they made the whole thing as un-scary as possible. I do not remember the officer's name who dealt with us, but once I find out I am going to make sure the entire department knows that he is an asset to them and our entire community.

Secondly, my little girl is the bravest, most unflinching soul I have ever met. She and she alone, because my attention was elsewhere, noticed the car the guy got out of, the appearance of the driver, what color the car was, what the driver was wearing...everything. She made sure the police officer knew as well. She also let him know that her younger brother likes trains, chocolate Santas , sometimes hits, and she told him about her class on Italy that day and how Mt. Vesuvius destroyed Pompeii. What attempted carjacking?

Lastly, for the record, I'm not a nervous Nelly. As this was going on, I had my shit together. I had a complete description of the guy. Held it together and didn't sob uncontrollably to the 911 operator (also, by the way, fantastic public servant). However, now that I've had some time to reflect, here is what I thought about in the ten seconds or so of sheer panic:

1. Gotta get Ellie in the front seat!
2. Will it hurt if he shoots me?
3. If I just jam the door open will it hit him in the junk hard enough to make him drop?
4. He'll shoot me in the leg, right? Because these pants suck and I sort of like my shirt.
5. Dammit, will he let me grab the diapers? We're completely out.
6. Fuck the milk.
7. If I don't get her a cheeseburger, she's going to flip and I just know he's going to want my wallet.
8. Maybe that's not a gun, maybe it's a Zach Morris phone.
9. Nope, definitely a gun.
10.Damn, dude, pull up your pants.

Seriously. I thought all of these things. We're safe. The bad guys got caught. I'm still shaking. But, I saw last tonight how fabulous and fast our police force can be. I saw them show kindness to a freaked out mom and a little girl. I saw them frustrated by this kind of crime in our neighborhood. We walked away, me a little shaken and Ellie no worse for wear. I will never stop praying in thankfulness for that fact.

Voice of the Dawgs...DGD

2011-11-20T22:35:00.001-05:00

He has no equal.

You look out for us...you hear?

Tenacity...Thy Name is Bulldog!

2011-11-20T11:14:00.000-05:00

How do I miss Munson? Let me count the ways...

My favorite part is Gus' trepidation on entering the pool. Bulldogs are not the most graceful of animal. They are stinky, drooly and ill-mannered, but what I wouldn't do for one more couch cuddle with the Munk.

Shock and Awe

2011-11-16T08:39:00.001-05:00

I am not an Auburn hater. Until recently I had a lot of respect for the program. This, however, reminded me of why that tide turned (no pun intended) and made me damn proud to be a Dawg:

That's how you get payback.

Girls Love Me, Girls Adore Me...

2011-11-14T15:36:00.000-05:00

Harry hanging out with his ~~harem~~ "friends" at school today. Chicks dig the truck pants...

Am I 8?

2011-09-27T12:15:00.002-04:00

Harry loves to sing to me in the car on the way to school. Sometimes it's that "if all the raindrops were lemon drops and gum drops" song, but only because he likes the part where he gets to say "a-ah-a-ah-a-a-ah-a-ah-ah" really, really loud.

He's now picked up the tune to what I learned as Frere Jacques, but which doubles as: the blessing, that days of the week song, and, of course, Where is Thumbkin. That last one is going to get me in trouble.

For those of you unfamiliar, here's the first stanza (sung to the tune of Frere Jacque, or Brother John for the anti-French):

Where is Thumbkin (hold up your right thumb)
Where is Thumbkin (hold up your left thumb)
Here I am (make your right thumb wiggle up and down as if nodding)
Here I am (ditto for your left thumb)
How are you today sir (more right thumb wiggling)
Very well I thank you (switch to the left)
Run away (right thumb behind your back)
Run away (I'm guessing you've figured out what happens next)

Putting aside the wisdom of singing this song with movements while driving, you repeat the verse with Pointer, Tall Man, Ring Finger (yeah, that's a little much to shove into the verse, I bet there's a real lyric around somewhere), and then Pinkie. Harry loves it. Especially the "run away" part. He's really cute. I, on the other hand, am a pre-teen boy.

Everytime, and I mean EVERYTIME he gets to tall man I giggle hysterically. Seriously, there he is, my little two year old, flicking himself off in the back seat. That's funny right? Right? He thinks it's funny. Well, he thinks something is funny, because he laughs, and does it again and again and again. Driving to school is fun.

Start 'Em Young. Raise 'Em Right.

2011-09-19T19:49:00.005-04:00

Saturday. Coastal Carolina. Big Win (woo-hoo). Ellie bogarts my ticket and scampers off to Athens with her daddy. She was super, super, super bummed after the loss to the cocks last week, mostly because she was deprived of the opportunity to ring the bell. I am quite proud of the fact that she knows the bell is ONLY, and I mean absolutely ONLY rung after a win. If you ring it before a win or after a loss you will be personally responsible for the ills that befall the Dawgs, their fans, and every resident in the State of Georgia. She knows this. She gets the ramifications. She's a good little Dawg fan.

So she was thrilled beyond all belief to get to do this Saturday:

She rang the heck out of that bell. She told us all about it when she got home.

Meanwhile, on the back porch of 337 St. Mary's, Harry was learning a few lessons of his own*:

*Note, the beer was empty, or at least that's what Aunt Mamie says, but you know how she hates children, so....

Pretty top notch Dawg calling for a two year old. I like that he can bark WITH a beer bottle in his mouth. Stellar.

He can even do it covered in spaghetti:

Ok, so maybe the barking needs a little work. He sounds a little like a chimpanzee. I'll take it.

Rushing The Season

2011-09-16T13:24:00.001-04:00

Busted out the jeans today for the kids. Ellie rocked a pair of skinnies (I stand by my earlier assertions that those things are made for 5 year olds--she looked fabulous) and a fancy pants tunic she got from the Glovers. Harry fratted out in his whiskered blues and checked button down--monogrammed, of course.

After confirmation from my little sis that it was perfectly appropriate, I threw on the Frye boots. Gawd how I have missed you, my precious. I know it's going to be 90 degrees next week, but I don't care. The seasons are in: birds, boots, bourbon and ball (of the non-European foot variety).

Speaking of non-European football, for your viewing pleasure:

If We Lost, Why Do I Feel Like We Won?

2011-09-12T10:39:00.004-04:00

Not a win this weekend, but I am surprisingly not mad about it. Maybe I'm mellowing. Maybe the presence of these two made me appreciate the good things that happened Saturday.

This was Harry's first real game. He made it to G-Day this year, but that is not the tactical nightmare that the SEC home opener can be...and that's before you add in a five year old and a two year old. That said, they were both fantastic.

Harry ran around the tailgate for most of the day with a Georgia helmet on. He looked remarkably like AJ wearing his #8. I think we've done him a disservice by naming him "Blindside" at this young age. His skill set is improving.

Ellie somehow made it onto the Chi Phi lawn. After I told her "no." After I informed her that five year olds do not attend band parties. After she sobbed on the tailgate of Mr. Berta's truck for ten minutes because mommy wouldn't let her go meet Lil' P-Nut. "Who is Lil' P-Nut" you might ask; to which I would respond, "not really sure, I'm guessing the seven year old protege of Lil' Wayne, so clearly you understand my trepidation."

Despite my mandate, she got there. She came back. She said, "umm, mommy, that wasn't as cool as I thought it would be;" to which I responded, "Chi Phi never is baby... it never is."

At the game Ellie was concerned with two things, the score and cotton candy. We spent the day doing scoreboard math: "they've got 28 we've got 20 we have GOT to score eight more points, wait we need nine more points, is that right, ok." The agony she felt when they went ahead for good was epic and very charming. She wanted to know why we let them do that. I didn't have a good answer for her other than "Murray doesn't know when to take a sack." That satisfied her.

The cotton candy hunt took Wes on a thirty minute scenic tour of the stadium. Five minutes after they returned, the cotton candy vendor showed up next to us. Timing is everything...unless you're Mike Bobo. HEY-O.

Harry learned the cadence to "Goooooooooooooooo DAWGS! Sic Em! OOOO OOOOO OOOOO OOOOO," and said it over and over and over and over. He smacked all of our seat mates in the their heads, necks and backs with his pom pom over and over and over. And he cheered at the right times over and over and over. He said "wook, mama (or daddy) putball," several times, and he managed to stay awake, nap free, after a hard working tailgate, for the entire game with nary a tear. Troopers--both of them. Once back in the car, I could hear him whispering "sic em ooo ooo ooo ooo." Never give up!

The Dawgs played better than I expected but made several bone headed mistakes that cost us the game. They'll figure it out and we'll all simmer down and the boys will win some football games. If not, the offseason will be interesting. But that said, Saturday was one of those days that is burned into my memory. My sweet babies learning to call the Dawgs, my ever patient and flexible husband and 92,000 of our closest friends. Go Dawgs!

P.S. Ellie may be going again next week. She told us she doesn't want to go to anymore "big games." They take too long and it's hard to find cotton candy. Word. She says she likes the "little games." Coastal Carolina sounds perfect. May the cotton candy be plentiful and the game be a yawner! I'll have dinner ready when they get home.

Let's Try This Again

2011-09-09T10:59:00.002-04:00

Not sure what to expect tomorrow between the hedges, but here's the good news:

We won't see this:

Or this:

Or, God forbid, any semblance of this:

Regardless of how things go on the field (and I'm trying to be optimistic, truly I am), we will not be visually assaulted by Nike's misguided attempt at fashion this Saturday.

Get the picture, now, Dawgs in those red shirts, silver britches, and red helmet with the big G on the side.

Now, if we see something that looks like this ↑ (I'm looking at you #1, whichever one of you is wearing it) I will be eternally grateful to the football gods.

GO DAWGS!

WORST. GAME. EVER.

2011-09-06T10:20:00.003-04:00

Here's how Saturday went down:
1. Unreasonably hot tailgate.*

2. Unreasonably stupid ballgame.

3. Dead car battery at midnight after said unreasonably stupid ballgame.

4. Unreasonably long search for someone, anyone, with jumper cables.

5. One of five gameday buddies (for the record there where originally six gameday buddies in the car, we had lost one) , while attempting to climb over Suburban seat, puts her hand through ceramic dish decorated with the Arch and fried chicken grease.

6. Several good Samaritans come to our rescue. Chip, without hesitation, rips off his Georgia t-shirt (now that I think about it, not that big of a sacrifice given the recent on field debacle) and applies appropriate pressure to the spurting wound.

7. Paramedics are called.

8. A Downtown Atlanta resident of extremely questionable gender is flagged down on Marietta Street and wheels into the parking deck in his, er her, um whatever, awesome ride to save our bacon--car is successfully jumped off.

9. Paramedics arrive, provide some assistance and tell us to go on our merry way.

10. We arrive at Kennestone Hospital where I sit until the walking wounded's mother comes to take over for me. Twelve stiches to her palm later, she leaves. I am crashed out at home by this time.

Seriously, if the South Carolina game blows this bad I'm becoming a Georgia State fan. Seems less hazardous.

*Oh, and an unreasonably rambling and never ending walk to find the folks with our tickets because someone, and I'm not metioning any names here but it rhymes with Jes Pith, had not arranged for that little detail prior to the tailgating festivities. This resulted in the mother of all blisters on the back of my heel which is now adorably covered with a Curious George bandaid.

Yep. GO DAWGS!