The Longest 16 hours ever. AKA My boys’ first sleepover…

By some miracle, my kids have managed to make it to the ripe old ages of ten and twelve without me being subjected to a sleepover.

Last night that streak ended…and so did my sanity.

For the last three years, my kids have “organized” sleepovers that have always managed to fall-through. Usually in the form that my child and the other children made all of these plans, but forgot one crucial component: forgot to ask their parents! Sometimes I was asked and the other mother wasn’t and sometimes it was the other way around. So, last week when I was asked if two Hooligans from a few blocks away could come stay the night the first night of Christmas break, I said, “Sure.” Never in my wildest dreams thinking it would happen.

Oh, I was wrong.  IT happened.

Now, before I give you all the dirty details, I will openly admit that I know that overall this was VERY MILD compared to what some people endure, but for me and my first experience, I was ready to pull out my hair–not not just the grey ones.

Here’s a rundown of events:

5 pm–Hooligans arrive. I start making pizza.

5:20–Hooligan #1 poops something the size of a baby in our toilet. This hooligan will forevermore be referred to as Pooper.

5:25–Eddie informs me that Pooper is ticked because Henry and Hooligan 2 commented on the size of Pooper’s deposit. Pooper threatened to go home. (Sounds bad, but I would have been fine with that.) I talked to the boys about remembering we’ve all been constipated before. It’ll be OK, let it go.  (Clearly this kid let one go.)

5:30–kids leave-relief floods me…

5:37–kids return with a TV… they take it upstairs to Eddie’s room…

5:45–pizza cut and served

5:50–kids take their pizza and several cans of pop upstairs. My jaw drops and steam starts spiraling out of my ears. My kids KNOW better than to take food upstairs. We eat at the table only. Taking a deep breath, I mentally dislodge the stick from my backside. This isn’t the end of the world. Besides, it might be better they eat upstairs where I don’t have to hear them belching and smacking their food. It’ll be OK. This just gives me the perfect excuse to make Eddie clean his room top to bottom tomorrow.

7–kids come ask if they can use the big TV in the living room. I surrender the remote and go make myself useful in the kitchen, then decide to go to my room.

8–they start rummaging through all of the DVDs in the closet with such great noise I’m sure our closet neighbor heard…and they aren’t that close. I peek my head out to see how bed the mess is and there is a trail of DVDs from the hall closet, across the living room, to the other hall, up the stairs and to Henry’s room. I swung open the door and declared, the DVD-brick road needs to be cleaned up NOW.

8-1:10–kids are up and down, up and down, up and down the stairs. They have decided to watch their DVDs upstairs but keep coming downstairs for more cans of pop… I can’t say for sure, but I think they each had on average five cans. Note to self: you didn’t hide them well enough, Rose!

1:10–I have had enough and I hear someone rooting around in the pantry. I get out of bed and put a stop to it. “But Mom, Pooper’s STARVING,” says Eddie. Gritting my teeth, I tell them, “I’ll make a big breakfast in the morning. It’s after 1 am. It’s time to be sleeping. No more food and no more pop. Go to bed.” I followed them upstairs and told all four of them it was time for bed.  Do you think they went to bed? NO!!! They giggled, stomped, talked loud, thundered up and down the stairs until 4 am. At which point I went in there and about lost it. They’d all written all over each others faces with colored Shapries. I was horrified to find that Henry had a strong similarity to Satan. Telling them all in as calm of a voice as possible that it was time for them to GET SOME SLEEP then I went back to bed as if that was actually going to happen.

4:30–I hear what can only be the front door. I bolt out of bed and swing my door open in time to realize Pooper has decided he’s had enough of me being bossy–he’s going home. Oh and Hooligan 2 is going with him and since he brought his TV, Playstation, and enough clothes to stay for a week my kids are going to help him carry his crap home. I said no. It’s dark out there. Nobody leaves until the sun is up. Fortunately they didn’t argue. But decided they wanted to go jump on the trampoline…with flashlights. I quickly found a movie for them to watch on Netflix, parked them on the sofa with popcorn and told them not to get their butts up until the sun was up.

5:55-ish, Eddie comes to knock on my door. Pooper called his mom and said he had her permission to walk home.

6:15–I walk out to find my boys and the one remaining Hooligan are passed out on the sofa.

9–kids wake up, Hooligan doesn’t like the cereal I have and decides to go home.

Sleepover OVER.  And looking around at what could only be described as tornadic activity that has swept through my kitchen, dining room and living room there will NEVER be another sleepover again. My kids, however, don’t realize this because they’re already trying to plan another and I hate to say it, but that won’t be happening!

 

As I said, I know others have had it worse, so here’s my QUESTION: Please, oh, please, tell us all about your sleepover from hell. I really want to hear someone else’s experience. Misery loves company, you know.

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You’re killing me, Smalls!

One of my all-time favorite movies is The Sandlot. One of the best lines: “You’re killing me, Smalls”! I often find myself saying that to one of my boys. Last night, I said it to each of them.

Last night was their Christmas program (yes, they go to a public school and yes, the school called it that). We live about a mile from the school and along the way is a Dollar General, the only place within about 10 miles to buy food.

So, with those details in mind, here’s the story that transpired within less than the two minutes it takes to get from our house to the school.

As soon as we got in the car a funny smell wafted to my nose. *sniff, sniff* “What is that?”

“What’s what?” Henry, my youngest, asked.

“That smell?” I take another sniff and wrinkle my nose. Something does NOT smell right. “It smells weird, but I can’t place it.”

“Oh, it’s me,” cackled my twelve-year-old. “I put a dab of your pain relief cream on my hands.”

“Why?”

“Because I think it smells good,” he said.

“Seriously? Are you trying to tell me you want some cologne for Christmas?”

“No. I don’t want the girls all over me. I just like the way this smells.”

It smells like Menthol. That is NOT a good smell. Resisting the urge to bang my head against the steering wheel, I muttered, “You’re killing me, Smalls.”

About this time, my youngest goes, “Mom, I need to bring food for the party tomorrow.”

Now I want to bang my head against the steering wheel for a different reason. I didn’t bring any money. Why? Honestly, it was simply because it was so warm out that I forgot my coat at home that had my cash and debit card. Spotting, the Dollar General up ahead, I reached one hand into the cup holder and pulled out my spare change, shook my head and said, “You’re killing me, too, Smalls.”

The lady in Dollar General giggled right along with me when I apologized to her for buying not just one, but two bags of cheese popcorn with an array of quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies. Seriously, I love my kids–as is obvious by my humiliation of buying snacks with sticky change–but sometimes I swear they’re killing me! 😀 😀

QUESTION: What have YOU done for someone you love that you never imagined you’d do?

Tenzi!

This past July I went on a small vacation to Branson, Missouri to see a handful of live shows and most importantly walk through the craft malls because I, Rose Gordon, am a Craft Mall Junkie. So much so, I actually have to set myself on a timer when I go in one so I make sure to keep walking. Even if I leave without buying anything, I am the sort who has to look at every single booth and think to myself, “Would I use/decorate/love/hate that?”

Branson has four, maybe five of these malls–all so large you could seriously spend half the day in each. I did not. I was a good girl. I kept moving to “beat the clock” and I even did one better by bringing along cash, knowing that when my cash was gone, I was done. (Yes, I went so far as to leave my debit card securely locked away at a different location so I wouldn’t be tempted.)

Final hour in Branson, I had done sooooo good. I hadn’t lingered too long in any single store and I still had money! I was on a roll!

Then, I saw it…

Tenzi. 

In every store I’d gone in–even ones that weren’t craft malls–I kept seeing these plastic square tubes full of colored dice. The first time or two I didn’t really pay much attention, but after seeing it for about the 10th time, I thought “Wow, these people sure do like their dice. Maybe this is like Vegas for the family oriented people.”

“Want to play?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. “Play what?”

“Tenzi,” said the lady standing behind the counter. She pushed ten red dice at me. “Pick ’em up and roll ’em.”

Obediently, I complied.

“Get your sixes,” she said.

So I did.

“I want to play,” said this teenage girl.

The lady pushed her a set of ten dice and the girl took off rolling and separating them.

“What now?” I asked hesitantly. There’s nothing worse than be the person who doesn’t know what’s going on while everyone else does.

“Keep rolling,” the older lady said, rolling her color and moving her sixes aside.

“I just keep rolling and pulling out the sixes?” I asked, totally confused.

“Yes,” the older lady said at the same time as the little teeny-bopper shouts “TENZI!!!” right in my ear.

I looked over at her dice and all ten showed the number six. Her face showed a smug expression.

“Sorry,” her mom said, poking her head around the side of her. “My kids played all night last night.”

I nodded slowly.

“It’s not really fair that I beat two old ladies,” the girl said.

Her offhanded response struck a nerve. I’m not old! I might be 31, but I’m not old! “All right, girl,” I said in a voice I barely recognized as my own. “Game on.” I pushed my hair behind my ear then grabbed my dice.

The girl started giggling and it sounded like she said something akin to “Yeah right.” She picked up her dice. “Shall I go easy on you and start back at sixes?” Her mocking tone stoked my competitive fire, but let me know that I didn’t fully understand the rules!

I looked at the older woman who’d first trapped me into playing this. “How do we play?”

“First round, everyone starts out looking for sixes. The first person to get all of their dice to read six, they say, ‘Tenzi’ and the round is over. The next round whoever had their sixes starts working on their fives and everyone else continues to roll of sixes. There is only one winner per round…”

“I think I have it.” I nodded to the girl who was staring at me like I was a moron. “GO!” I tossed down my dice and started frantically looking for sixes. I scooped up the remaining numbers and rolled again, and again, and again, each time moving aside my sixes. “Tenzi!” I hollered, trying not to laugh at the shocked look on the girl’s face. She’d had nine fives and was trying to roll her tenth.

She grabbed her dice. “GO!”

The next six minutes were the most satisfying six minutes of my entire trip as I trounced a sixteen year old girl in a game that solely consists of rolling dice. I know, I know, it was immature of me to challenge someone to a game. But let me tell you, there is an inexplicable euphoric feeling at whooping the butt of a cocky teenager–even if it is just in rolling dice. (Even her mom seemed to be reveling in the moment!)

I am so immature in fact that I whistled all the way to the checkout with a my very own package of multicolored dice.

Here’s what it looks like:

I’ve been told you can find it in certain toy stores or I found it on Amazon. It’s super easy to play and my kids LOVE it. (In fact, they beg to play it.) You can play it at the table, on the floor, coffee table, etc. Anywhere with a flat surface. I mentioned the easiest way to play. But someone has written a book with 77 Ways to Play.

QUESTIONS:

1. What are your favorite boardgames?
2. Have you ever stooped to my level to act immature in order to prove your point? (Come on now, I know some of you have!)

 

 

 

 

 

Visiting the “Draft” file…

I spent a good part of Monday afternoon reading through the 123 (no exaggeration!) blog posts I’ve drafted but haven’t published. Some turned out to be great stories that I’ll publish with a word of warning that the content came from the draft file. Then there were several wonderful titles that got me super excited to read what in the world I’d blogged about, only to open the post and see nothing, or just a few words or sentences. So, because misery loves company, I’m going to share some of these titles with you all so you can all be like me and wonder “where was that going?!”.

• Yard Sales vs. Rose Gordon (The only line in the post said: Yard sales for the win!)
• Backhanded Compliments (The only line in this post read: No matter who you are, we’ve all received one of these little jewels…)
• Let it Go! (Not the song)
• My Favorite Things (Yes, because you ALL have been waiting with bated breath for what I love. As if I’m Oprah. Good grief.)
• In My Former Life (Actually, this one has a LOT of content. I write it when I was 27–I’m now 31–but I might post this one one day when I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel.)
• From the Marshmallow Man to a Beast! What’s a mother to do?! (This was from two years ago when my son started wrestling at school and got his butt handed to him. That didn’t last too long. 😉 )
• Candid, Blunt and…well, perhaps a little TMI
• Didja Know #10 the definition of a Nincompoop
• Wicked Wednesday!
• Didja Know Facts about Humans (Contrary to the cute kid in Jerry McGuire, the human head weighs approximate 12 pounds.)
• The Truth about Passions of a Gentleman (Ooooh, so many things this post could have contained, but probably didn’t.)
• Wanna be my friend? Probably not.
• Looking into 2015
• Sometimes I wonder…
• A Day in the Life: Humble Pie (I dearly wish I’d written something–ANYTHING on this page to know what I was talking about because I am quite certain that since the date I wrote that heading I’ve eaten a lot more humble pie.)
• Ten Year Reunion?
• Unspoken, but not unimportant, rules among authors
• End-of-Year questions for teachers and moms (final plea as homeroom mom). This was the year an alien had inhabited my body and told the teacher I’d be delighted to be the homeroom mom for a gaggle of kindergarteners. 
• Research
• RT Anyone?
• Kids + Outside = Resistance, “no fun”, and a tinge of whining! Why, oh why?
• Awkward confession…totally off topic.
• Seeking suggestions.
• I need help… (yes, yes I did and still do!)
• A writer’s confessional
• A writer’s biggest reward
• Let’s talk spam, and I don’t mean food.
• No title
• Advice on friends from Edward Banks
• Poor Bob
• A candid discussion and a few revelations
• Come laugh at me!
• Authors are human, too. At least this one.
• Writerly Woes
• Oh. My.
• Scandalized. (Another Florida escapade.)
• An Impromptu poll (AKA I need help again.)
• Inside joke for those who’ve read Intentions of the Earl (I’d love to share with you all where I was going with this, but alas, the contents were blank.)
• Oh help us all…I’ve been asked to act as host.
• Drawing lines–Warning Touchy Subject
• It’s tough being a writer… (So tough, I seemed to have given up on this topic after writing the title.)
• In regards to my books, please note:
• Guilty pleasures
• A hot date
• 10 things you probably don’t know about me (Seeing as how I only got to #5, I’m going to take that as a hint that I’m pretty dang boring.)
• Hard lesson: old manuscript copies do not make suitable scrap paper.
• Not a fairytale wedding
• Do romance novelists have a more stellar romantic life than everyone else? (I can answer that without a post: no.)
• Ever wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole?
• Honest chat
• Perceptions
• Men can be such babies
• Henry and June, Part 2
• Right on!
• Unconventional
• Where did you come up with THAT?!

 

There were many other fully written blog posts that might require a little polishing and posting. Turns out I blogged more than I originally thought I had. 😀

 

Long time, no blog

For those of you who don’t know (or remember me :-p ) my name is Rose Gordon and once upon a time I wrote historical romance–mostly Regency-era.

Here’s a few visuals…

Me at RT in Chicago 5 *gulp* years ago.

 

 

And when I wasn’t slaving away to write about unsuspecting fellows and their over-scandalous counterparts, I was on here blogging about nonsense like…

Jezzie–the mannequin head my family and I pass around.

 

(The time I fell through the attic on Thanksgiving.)

 

(Crazy stuff I’ve found–and maybe bought…–at the fair or craft mall.)

I also shared on here about my failed attempts at crafts:

Held crazy votes:

 

Or shared stories about my kids:

(100 “signed by author” stickers, plus autograph for 100th day of school; and my kids fighting over a stuffed enema…)

So many of you supported me when I raised $10,000 for MS and looked like an idiot while doing it!

On the bike for the first, but certainly not last, time for the weekend. (Picture blurry to protect the guilty…as well as the innocent.)

Let me share some seriously scandalous “swag” I’ve picked up at different conventions:

 

I had so much fun writing over 600 blog posts whether they were stories about the craziness in which I live, a man’s POV of my books, hosting contests and so much more. I have missed out on so much by not posting very consistently for the past three years. A fact I wish I could change–but some things aren’t things you post. Or at least not things *I* could ever post.

Many don’t know that about 3.5 years ago my world tilted on its axis when the happily-ever-after I believed I was living fell apart. I have gone through fire after fire since and in my own opinion, I think I’ve emerged a much different, and perhaps stronger person.

Am I ready to write romance novels again? No. Maybe one day, but not today.

Am I ready to start blogging about the craziness that I now face with boys who are 10 and 12 and have entered into their first year in public school? Oh, absolutely. (Funny sidetrack: on Halloween my kids left for the school bus 10 minutes earlier than they needed to. Why? Because they could and I was in the shower and couldn’t tell them, “Oh, hell no.” When I got out of the shower, I noticed I had received about 5 texts from my kids. “Mom, we’ve been down here for 5 minutes and haven’t seen a single bus. I don’t think they’re having school today. You know, Halloween is a holiday.” Oh, my poor kids who’ve always been in a church school or heaven help me homeschooled for an overwhelming year. I wrote back: “Wait for the bus. You left 10 minutes early. The bus doesn’t even get there until 7:40 and you usually leave at 7:30. Writing me at 7:25 to tell me you haven’t seen the bus and you think there’s no school in observance of Halloween will be posted to Facebook if you two argue when you get home tonight. 😀 Love ya!”)

So, if you’re up to following my blog to follow more about me and my shenanigans, my crazy parenting, unusual finds, ridiculous signs, craft fails, wild tales and other craziness where truth is stranger than fiction, than please stay tuned and subscribed. (After all, it IS called Rose Unscripted.)

If you followed my blog as a means to keep up with my writing progress and being informed of new books only, I will by no means be disappointed if you’d like to unsubscribe.

Again, I want to thank you all. Whether you’ve been a follower since I started blogging in Feb. 2011 or have subscribed recently, it doesn’t matter, I just appreciate that you’ve enjoyed my work enough to sign up!

I’m sorry, what?!

I personally do not like being sung to for my birthday by a whole restaurant (or anyone for that matter). However, my kids, like most kids, do. I have all sorts of pictures of my kids at various restaurants wearing sombreros or crowns or holding a scepter or some other trinket to signify they’re the Birthday Boy.

Recently it was that time of year again and I was a little (okay, very) disappointed I didn’t get to go to dinner with my baby this year who is entering into his last year of single digits! (Yes, I’m officially old.) Instead, my parents took him and his brother out and sent me a picture of him with a cookie about as big as his face–no joke.

When he got home, I realized it was fate’s working that kept me from being able to attend because I’d have made an ass out of myself had I been there.

“Mama saw that huge cookie! Did you eat it all?”

“Yep, every bite,” boasts the child as he bounces off the walls.

Great. Now he’ll never sleep. “Mimi just sent me a picture of the cookie–” shows him the picture on my phone– “was this when they sang Happy Birthday to you?”

“No.” Shakes his head wildly and bounces around a little more. “They didn’t sing to me.”

“They didn’t?!” I purse my lips and give him a look that I’m sure of disbelief. This kid LOVES attention. “Please, don’t tell me you didn’t want them to.”

“No, I wanted them to. They just said they they don’t sing to kids for their birthdays because it makes all the other kids in the restaurant jealous and they get upset.”

Excuse me, what?!?!?! Had I been there and the waiter/waitress had said that to me, I’d have spouted some very unkind words. That is utterly ridiculous. Life isn’t fair. We all have one birthday a year. The other 364 days of the year are NOT ABOUT US. Deal with it. For a place–a family pizza parlor at that–to have instated such a policy is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, seriously? I hate to tell on myself, however, I think in our efforts to validate everyone’s feelings about every little thing, we’ve neglected not only common sense in some situations, but are taking away the very things that will  help our future generations learn how to function in a society.

This just amazed me and not in a good way.

Are you man enough?!

Eddie aka Kindergarten Casanova is now in 4th grade!!! Crazy how time flies, huh? 

Well, as it would happen he has a gal pal again this year. Shocker! He is quite smitten with this one and is always asking to invite her places. In turn, she is always extending invitations his direction, too. 

We first knew love was in the air when she came to his 10th birthday to play laser tag. Since then, it’s skateboarding on the bike trail. Weekend showings of Disney movies. Picnics at the parks. You get the idea.

On Friday they have a field trip and he reallllllly wants to sit next to her on the bus. I mean this attraction is so strong he’s strategizing four days out how he’s going to pull this off. I suggested he ask her earlier in the week and secure their seating arrangement. His solution was just to stand real close to her at line up. Bob suggested what we were all thinking, “if you hold her hand while lined up, you’ll definitely not be pushed out of the way.”

To which he replied, “I’ve already proved to her I’m man enough to hold her hand!”

“Huh?!” I couldn’t contain my curiosity. 

“Yeah, she held out her hand said I could hold it if I was tough enough to and I did.”

Oye. 

As I write this I have one child cackling as he tries to read it over my shoulder and the other one threatening if I post this on the internet he’s going to lock himself in his room and not come out for 100 years! 

Ahhhh motherhood! 

What the…

My kids are crazy. They come by it naturally, however. 

The other day I went to get a loaf of bread from the freezer in the a garage and my eye caught on what appeared to be a plate in the freezer. 

My first thought was that someone was snacking in the garage (an odd place to snack, yes, but in my 10+ years of motherhood I’m not surprised by much anymore) and decided to put the plate in the freezer for safekeeping–then forgot about it. 

What greeted me instead when I pulled that plate out was…

  
A once half-melted Reese’s peanutbutter cup on a tea saucer in the freezer. 

I’ll admit I cringed and considered throwing it out. I mean YUCK!!! It just looks nasty. But I didn’t. I remember saving things (not just candy) and hiding them and whatnot as a kid only to have someone come along and find it and without knowing what significance it held to me…toss it out. 

So reluctantly–and with a shudder– I slid my plate back into the freezer. 

And it was a darn good thing! Just that night while we were watching a movie, my son got up from the living room and went somewhere. Then I heard him behind me in the kitchen, pressing buttons on the microwave. 

I asked him what he was doing.

“Microwaving a piece of candy.”

“The one from the freezer? Did it get too frozen for you?’

“Yes! It was melting so I put it in the freezer but now it’s too hard.”

“Yep, looked pretty solid when I saw it while getting  some bread out.”

“And you didn’t throw it away?”

Trying not to scowl or cringe or curl my lips up in disgust because frankly I was still a little disturbed about the whole thing, I sucked it up and said, “No, I thought it might be important to whoever left it there and they might come looking for it.”

“It was and I did!” Then he carried the plate to the family room. “It’s the last piece of myValentine’s Day candy. A Reese’s from the box  you gave me. I was saving it for last and it melted…”

I’ll admit I was flattered by his words and actions. To me, it was a melted Reese’s that should have hit the trash. To him it was a treasured piece of candy. 

I think this falls in the “don’t judge a book by its cover…” category. Except: “don’t judge candy by its state”
Have a blessed Thursday!

Basketball AKA “Getting your butt handed to you” ball

[Warning: for a reason I cannot place, I have been on a tare all week. It could be my impending “officially old” birthday that is fast approaching… Nonetheless, I have been a little bit of a loose cannon this week. Be warned, somewhat of a rant and sarcasm fest straight ahead.]

My 10 year old son plays basketball–and I do mean plays. He’s not the worst kid on the team by any means, but that’s not saying much.

There are only eight boys on the team. Of these eight, only two have proven in a game they can make a basket and only about four have made baskets in practice. Typically their games end with final scores of 2-34 or if it’s a good night 4-29 (meaning defense picked it up, too).

I know, I know, they’re ten and it might seem like I’m picking on them. But, I assure you, I’m not. Even at the game, I give my son and his fiends a big cheesy grin and even a high-five if they don’t think it’s too embarrassing to be seen with their mom.

But that’s the thing: they act embarrassed that to be seen with their parents…yet it doesn’t faze them a jot they just got their butts handed to them?! The other team is over there cheering and hooping and hollering at their victory (okay, this has died down a lot since the start of the season too as it’s become expected that they’re going to cream this specific school) and our boys finish and they’re not sweaty, not upset, nothing. Just chatting about Legos or the concession stand or a book or whatever. Anything except basketball!

And before anyone wonders, yes, my son WANTS to be on the team. I did not push it. He asked if he could and I made it work. Can’t speak for the other kids, but mine wants to be there. (Boggles my mind, too. 😀 )

This week as I sat in the gym tapping my bootheels on the floor at halftime my mind drifted back to 16 years ago when I was in school and wanted to be on the basketball team. I was 13 and in the eighth grade. I went to a little church school of about 200 kids spread out from 1st to 10th grade (insurance and licensing costs go up drastically for 11th & 12th grades in private schools) and they had a boys and girls basketball team for 7 & 8th grade and a boys and girls team for 9th & 10th.

Now, I wasn’t one who had aspirations of making it to the WNBA, however, I could make a basket. Well, about one in two..or three. But it could be done. I showed up for basketball and did my laps and pushups and drills and all that crap. I looked around and thought, “Eh, I’m a shoo in.” I  wasn’t that bad and believe me, there were girls there who made fewer shots than I did. There weren’t many of them, mind you, but there was at least one. Not only that, never in all the years I’d attended that school had anyone not made the team. Sure, a few girls had more play time than anyone else, but nobody didn’t make it on the team.

Until that year.

That year, I think some 23 girls started out in practices and after three weeks it was down to 21. Two got cut. I was one of those two.

Shock overcame me and I couldn’t voice my question, “How the heck did Shari make it, but I didn’t?” Instead, I stood stock-still next to the other girl who was also being “excused from practice…indefinitely”  and stared blankly at the man who’d just informed us. I knew I wasn’t going to make history in the world-wide game of basketball, but I didn’t expect to make it the basketball history at that school, either!

I don’t know about the other girl, but I was literally paralyzed in disbelief for what felt like a good 10 minutes. The longer we stood there, the more that “coach” (I’m using that word loosely–he was the father of my nemesis so I have a feeling that played a part, too) kept running his mouth trying to justify his decision until finally the stupidest reason I’d ever heard for someone being cut from a middle school  basketball roster came out:

“What it comes down to…” He rubbed his hands together. “Well, Rose and Michelle, you’re too short.”

I was flabbergasted. Yeah, good players are tall. But this isn’t the WNBA or even college. These are a bunch of 7&8th grade girls. We’re all short!!

Moreover, what exactly am I supposed to do about that? Walk around on stilts?

 

 

As that delightful memory came back to me the other night I had to laugh. I always laugh about that night, to be honest. It’s so stupid that it’s funny. But the other night it was even funnier. I grew up in a time when you were cut off sports teams for a reason that was totally ridiculous and even if your parent threw a fit, it didn’t get you back on the team and only 16 years later, my son plays during a time when nobody is cut off for any reason no matter how they play and they’re all given equal playing time.

I don’t necessarily agree 100% with either circumstance. I personally think kids who show motivation and initiative should be given a chance to play–even if they’re not the best. BUT, that shouldn’t mean that the whole team should just accept and celebrate that they’ll never win because everyone needs to have equal playing time.

Okay, there’s my story and thoughts for the day!

Have an awesome afternoon!

Texts from my mom…

It’s Monday morning and as such, we are all in need of a little laugh to kickstart our week. What better way to do that than with a few texts my mom has sent me…

1. A little backstory, she’s awful at math. So bad, it’s only college algebra that stands between her and a degree…
   
2. If there was ever any doubt she loves her grandkids…Doubt solved. And yes, I’m a meanie… “Just delete it.”
3. And finally…the very best way to say Happy Valentine’s Day to your daughter…

If ever you wonder why I’m so scandalous, I think that speaks for itself!

Have a wonderful Monday!!!