Rolling in her grave

My brother is recently divorced, so as he and my sister-in-law were doing what you do when you divorce, we passed along some furniture to him that we didn't have space for in our house.

One of the pieces that I loaned him is a table that was given to me and Matt from his Great Aunt Bunn.

I had never met Aunt Bunn but I sure love the pedestal table from the Civil War era that she gave us. (Let's just say that I knew I was always her favorite.)

Yesterday, I happened to be at my brother's house.

I think we can all agree on who got the mad decorating skills in our family. 

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Of dares & dives

The other day, I received an unusually odd tweet out of the blue from someone that I don't know. It went something like this.

The tweet ended in "...or back down?"

This is why my husband tells me to never, ever meet up with people I meet on Twitter. I think he means because he knows they will get kicked in the balls.

{ I had to stretch to see how I could relate that to this next story. Somehow, I think I have failed. But, read on anyway. }

So last night, I took the kids + one of Audrey's friends to the pool. By the time we had gotten there, the crowd was pretty sparse. However, creepy Dad + his two daughters were in the deep/diving board end with my kids. I was sitting on the edge, preventing any drownage and looking pretty, in my 13 year old boy body with the bonus beer gut and jiggly thighs.

The kids started trying to dive, which, as of last night before the pool, none of them knew how to do. { Why do I find that so odd? Dunno. But, I do. }

Ian began with his attempts, and since I knew he was the only child that would give any thought to listening to me, I decided to 'coach' him. The other kids watched what he was doing, and as predicted, they only listened to about half of what I had to say.

Then, creepy Dad said, "If she knows how to dive, maybe she should show you herself."

He. Dared. Me. Right out there in front of God and everyone.

I should have kicked him in the balls, but instead, the sunglasses came off. Bikini top readjusted. And, away I went. I dove. Although my kids said it was more of a belly flop.

All of my bodaciousness popped out of my top, the top fell down to my waist, and the whole time I was thinking, "Creepy Dad, you dirty, dirty man."

When I surfaced, I made sure Creepy Dad wasn't wearing goggles.

Oh, and by the time we left, all four kids were diving. Thanks to my demonstration. And, creepy Dad.

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Hey! Lookey here! The brown bar to click! Won't you for old time sake? Mwah!

No mercy

Ian's sixth birthday is two days away.

If you haven't been able to figure it out yet, this is the kind of Mom I am.

Even for almost six year olds, birthdays are also teachable moments.  Wait until he begins the process of learning when he comes home to see this, 9 feet off the ground and out of his reach.

Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha.

my garden is bitchin'

Those are zukes and I prune them back about every day. Out. Of. Control. We shall eat you soon, my pretty little zucchinis.

Cucumbers and spinach. It doesn't look pretty. Controlled cuke chaos. I cut up $2 worth of cukes this morning (2 whole cucumbers) from the grocery, and I have about 20 growing on these 3 plants. Holla!

I need to do some research on the baby spinach. They are growing, but like I said, it ain't pretty. Or consistent.

Things like this amaze my simple brain. Last night, that was not wrapped tight like a snake, and it was short. (TWSS) This morning, that tiny little support strand looked like this. A climbin' we will go!

Psst. I write, you click on the brown bar. XXOO

Obama + a baby

I love it. I love them, as a couple.

Throwing caution to the wind

Last night, Matt decided to make homemade ice cream. He made the list of what he needed from the grocery store after checking the pantry to see what we had on hand.

As he is throwing everything together in a big bowl, he says, "I am questioning myself now on this evaporated milk that was in the pantry. It expired in March 2010."

I made a 'pffft' sound and told him not to be silly. "It isn't that old," I said.

"You know I said 2010, right?", he said.

Mixing. Mixing. Clumpy. Whisk. Whisk faster. Clumps all gone.

Ice cream was made, and it was thoroughly enjoyed by everyone but me. (It just doesn't taste well with my bala de plata, if you know what I mean.)

An hour later, Matt says his stomach hurt, but just a little. I laughed.

Ian had zero complaints.

Audrey says her stomach hurts, but I tell her she is overexaggerating and it is likely just PMS.  I give her something to make it all go away.

When going to bed, Isaac says his stomach hurts. But, he thinks he is just hungry. (Dude, you just ate ice cream.)

Goodnight John-John. Lights out.

Audrey comes back into our room. Crying. Stomach still hurts. She doesn't know... she doesn't feel like she is going to puke. Just hurts. I then tell her she is just being the queen of all drama queens and send her off to bed. Momma is tired.

12:30am. Lights on. And... she is puking. Of course she is puking.

She spent the night on the bathroom floor.

The one time I give up being the cautious one, we poison our daughter.

It is now 9:00am the following day, and Ian is standing next to me, begging for some of the homemade ice cream.

Hmmmm.... decisions, decisions.

That fateful day

At the end of my junior year of college, my younger sister, Cathy, and her friend, Amy, came up to Kent State for "Little Sibs Weekend". As I get older, my memory gets fuzzier, but Cathy and Amy were right around 17, I think, and they would have been juniors in high school.

That weekend really wasn't meant for Little Sibs activities. I actually don't even know if any existed... after all, we had an off-campus party to go to!

Before we went to the party, I gave some strict rules. No drinking. No drugs. No talking to any 'boys'. No leaving the party. Before we left for the party, I had put my dorm room phone number on a piece of paper and tucked it in Cathy's back pocket. Sort of like, "If found, please call..."

This was 1993, which meant no cell phones.

The party ended up being two parties - one in an upstairs apartment, and one in a downstairs apartment, just separated by the stairwell. Good times going between both. Lots of people and lots of space to lose two teenagers at their first college party.

I vividly remember a card game going on in the upstairs apartment with a bunch of guys. Cute guys. One on the end in a baseball hat and navy shorts with white polka dots.

I don't recall much else about the actual party, but my memories start back up when... I open the downstairs apartment door to go upstairs, and see my sister, Cathy, and the dude from the card game and his friend, Brian. All giggles and smiles.

Dude from the card game is wearing one of Cathy's very large hoop earrings, and he has traded his small hoop for it, which Cathy is wearing. Brian tells me that Cathy is going to leave with them... they are heading to downtown Kent to the bars. Nah, it didn't matter that she was only 17... she was going to use his ID... which was a fake.

Surprisingly, I did the responsible thing, and put the kabosh on that field trip. I was very dramatic with barking the orders of leaving the under age girls alone. I yelled at them, I yelled at Cathy. But...

Somehow, me and card game dude ended up talking all night. He told me I was beautiful, and I was even more 'beautifuller' in his baseball hat, which I was wearing around throughout the night.

By this point, I was falling too madly in love with my future husband to care about the whereabouts of Cathy and Amy. In the end, they didn't go far... not so sure which college boys they ended up sucking face with that night, but no matter.

Fast forward to the next morning, which had Cathy and Amy heading back to our hometown because Cathy had to show up for her post at Dairy Queen. (Ends up that she showed up, and they fired her. Second sister of mine to be fired from Dairy Queen. Hmmmm... me? Never fired.) 

I was depressed. Pretty sure that I would never see the card dude again. I knew his name, but Matt White? Kent State was a campus of 27,000. How would I ever find him? Keep in mind, there were no campus directories to access, no Facebook, no internet. He would be gone forever. :::sigh::: 

However, by that evening, he had called me. (At some point, the night before, he had asked how to spell my last name. I was the only Mayle at KSU that year. M-A-Y-L-E. Holla!)  He had asked me to meet him at a downtown club/bar. (I found out later that he had also invited about 5 other girls he had recently met to the same bar. Arrogant SOB.)  We sucked face a couple of times. And, I didn't think the 'relationship' would really go beyond that night.

He called the next day and invited me on a 'real' date. To a gymnastic team awards banquet. (Matt competed at KSU.)  I agreed to go. Why he asked, and why I agreed to go, neither one of us knows, still today.  Because, trust me, that was all sorts of weird.



Our first 'date'. I actually think he brought the camera,
because his Mom wanted a picture of me.
{Notice my Put-In-Bay and Ray's Place posters in the background.}


I still recall Matt strutting up the street to pick me up at my dorm. My friends and I watched him the whole time out the window, unbeknownst to him.

And... the rest? ... well, that is history. I ended up marrying the most awesome husband and father.

Thankfully, he has left that strut (and all of the other girls he had invited out) behind. A little bit of me will do that to you.

I gave birth to poker playing monkeys

After the park, you of course play poker with the boys, like real men.

Are you dizzy from all of the picnik applications I used? Just another day in boredomville.

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Do you LIKE the white words on Facebook yet? Do it here. You know you want to.



My affair

We haven't slept together {yet}, and he isn't an iPhone, but damn! How I love him! Plus, he looks hot in pink. I cannot stop playing with his... apps.

Has anyone seen my summer?

I am a big proponent of schedules. I schedule everything. Spontaneity is really not my thing.

Spontaneous decisions of mine either don't work out in the end, which proves that spontaneity isn't all it is cracked up to be, or I chicken out when I decide to get all spontaneously wild and crazy.

Leading up to this summer, I had a plan... a vision... a schedule of sorts... for how my days off from work would look. It went alittle something like this:

Wake up 'early' by my standards, getting a morning walk with Rico in, come home to the kids still sleeping and Matt diligently working in the office. Then, my daily cup of joe before I catch up on some housework. Off to the pool by late morning, where I would leisurely sit until a touch before dinnertime with my well-behaved, sunscreened, cooperative children, who can fend for themselves in a very large body of water. Then, I would come home, have a cocktail while cooking dinner and then enjoy the feast while sharing with everyone the wonders of our day. The kids, of course exhausted from their day, would scurry up to shower and would then snuggle until bedtime, which would occur at approximately 8 pm. I would read until I drifted off to slumber.

I am three days into my very romanticized summer. It was been all sorts of awesome, these three days. I seriously could get used to working much less than I aready do, outside of the home. I could put up with just about anything as long as the sun is shining, I can step outside in the breeze, and I am in 100% cotton all day long. (We may not live in the most appropriate climate for my temperment, I do declare.)

However, my summer days, all three of them so far, haven't quite fallen into place like I had scheduled.

• Morning beds in a cool air conditioned home are way more comfortable than I recall. Silent house. Sun peaking through our curtains. Morning bliss.
• Could someone tell me why the only other two 'responsible' human beings in our house don't seem to be present when I wake up, in case I want to walk the dog?
• Kids don't always want to go to the pool for six hours a day like others do. Dudes, it is the pool? Sick kids. What is wrong with you? At your age(s), I would have killed for that gig.
• Kids who start out at the pool in a life saving device, eventually (and rather quickly) learn how to 'swim' (aka: survive without drowning for 15 seconds while unattended) , although their feet are about 2 feet from still touching the bottom with their head above water.
• Well-behaved, cooperative children < - - an oxymoron no matter how you slice it.
• Has anyone seen my husband or Audrey? He claims he is 'working' at Panera... and she is just anywhere but here.  
• I do however, know where all other moms and their children are. At our pool. Skinny moms. Evenly tanned moms. Moms with tight stomachs and asses. Athletic moms. Moms with kids who don't need supervised 60 seconds of every minute of the time they are at the pool. I am all about 'playing' with my kids, but man, oh man. Being a poolside mom is exhausting. And, I have not had one bloody mary poolside yet. Pfft.
• Children's summer showers are way overrated. My boys have been out of school for 5 days, and I bet we have squeezed in a whole 1.5 showers.
• WHY are these kids not tired? It is becoming perfectly clear to me that they are entirely way too active during their normal school day, because they have not had to adjust whatsoever to this new summer schedule of fun, fun, fun in the sun. Could be the mega dose of vitamin C with the kick ass weather we have had in Ohio this week, I suppose. Whatever it is, it needs to end. Time to start adjusting for the back to school schedule. Never too early to prepare. 

I have suffuciently conquered the cocktails, dinners and bedtime reading in my schedule.  And, I must say, that with practically nothing yet following 'my plan', these three days have been like a freaking stay-cation.

I heart summertime.

Drunk tweeting

I don't... but if I did...  this is what it would look like, thanks to this website. { plus it kills a good hour of otherwise productive time at work }

Hombre!!

I am getting my wig pimped today. Hombre!!

Yes, I just had it done differently last month. Which made me wonder many times I have had my hair colored or cut in the past couple of years.

My hairs must be exhausted. And, I think I have a hair addiction.

Thank goodness for Andrew, is all I have to say... well, and for a husband who could really care less about my hair.

Me with Sherrie and Griffin, circa June 2008
WHAT was I thinking with this color? Blech.

Mayle Girls, Labor Day Weekend 2008
Darker.

Me and Ian, July 2009
And then darker yet.

Us, January 2009
Then, shorter and lighter.

September 2009
Super short and super dark.

More Mayle Girls, Thanksgiving 2009
Longer and lighter.
(Sherrie, your hair looks fab here, btw!)

Me & Kim, March 2010
Longer. And u.g.l.y. Bad 'growing' phase.

Me & Jerry Faust of Notre Dame fame, May 2010
Longer & darker

20-year class reunion, August 2010
And, then lighter.

Me & Colleen, October 2010
Longer and darker.

Me and Matt, November 2010
Shorter and DARK.

Me & Courtney, April 2011
Longer and red, which was supposed to be carmel.

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I know this is stupid post that doesn't deserve a vote. It is about my hair for goodness sakes, but if you do feel so inclined, please click on the brown bar to vote, won't you, hombre?