Subway Took Away My Agency

I'm not sure about other moms, but I have made decisions for my kids pretty much since they were born. I was trusted to come up with a name that would keep them from being bullied at school. I chose Pampers when Huggies weren't quite right and the Kirtland brand was really wrong.  Bottle feeding was best for my kids when nursing just wasn't possible. And, I even chose to let my 9-month-old eat cheerios off the floor (or any other surface) one day when I had the stomach flu and he had to fend for himself. Oh the scandal!

 

Tonight Subway took that power away from me.........almost.

 

Cole and I went to Subway and he asked if he could have a soda tonight. I'm a knee-jerk, say no to everything kinda mom, but I'm working on saying yes more, even if it's not the best choice. Cole had been very enjoyable and cooperative all night so, yes, I said yes.  I said yes, knowing that the Kid-Fit Meal comes with a juice or a milk, but I've been able to substitute a soda before. No worries! Well, SURPRISE! Not a chance. Not only that, but the sandwich is smaller, 2 inches if it's a mile, and they'll be no cookie or chips with that.  Of course, I'm welcome to purchase additional items but there will be NO SUBSTITUTIONS!

 

At this point, I'm shocked but still very cooperative and trying to take the high road.  "Can you please help me? I told my son he could have a soda tonight. How can we make this work?" NO SUBSTITUTIONS!  I tell the nice young lady (no really, she was nice, and performed admirably throughout) to please call the manager. Ya, I know I'm being a little stubborn here. To purchase an extra drink would have cost me a whole two dollars, but I just had a great run, have some killer endorphins racing through my system and am feeling a bit feisty.

 

So, my food is all ready to be rang-up and we're calling the manager. BTW, I'm still very pleasant, talking to the other young lady working and trying not to be "that lady". After explaining the situation to her manager, I am put on the line, with the not-so-nice manager. NO SUBSTITUTIONS! Then she goes on to tell me this is the Kid-Fit meal and a soda is not a fit drink for my child. Perhaps I need to consult with her on all my decisions regarding my kids. Or maybe she and I can discuss the chips that are directly at eye level with my healthy and very active 6-year-old. Or the chocolate milk, she is forcing on my child, that has upwards of 180 calories and is placed so high-up in the refrigerator, I need to reach it for him. He could grab a Pepsi just fine.

 

Well, I asked if all the local Subways had the same owner and the unfortunate answer is yes. I was hoping to change my patronage to a different store.  This is sad news for Lewis County Washington. The saddest news being that Mr. Lewis County Subway owner refuses to participate in the "Janu-any" $5 dollar foot long promotion. Tell me you didn't just sing the little commercial jingle in your head? Nope, not here, and no soda either. Not if your kids also would like the cool little bag their 2 inch sandwich comes in.

 

There is a first time for everyone. And today was mine. I actually walked out of Subway, leaving my food (and my sons) unpaid for and sitting on the counter. Then proceeded to drive to Quizno's, more than happy to pay the five dollars it probably cost me in gas, seven-miles away. They were more than happy to let Cole have a soda, Rootbeer, if you're wondering. He asked for Mtn. Dew, but I thought that was going a bit too far in my irresponsible parenting. The owner of Quizno's also informed me that he delivers, so next time I don't even have to spend gas money.

 

I chose my Free Agency

NO SUBSTITUTIONS!

 

Ironman - Till I Collapse

 I may set a watching record for this in the next 9 days. But I better not collapse!

A Changing of the Guard

This is Athena. I love her, she has taken very good care of me and she has a cool name. Athena, the Warrior Goddess, pretty much everything I ever needed in a bike, a cool name to get me from A to B. She's not too heavy, she shifts when I tell her to, she's orange which is super cool, she has never dumped me (well once, but that was rider error) and her wheels go round and round just like the school bus. Well, I guess that's her problem, I have put myself in a situation that requires more Ferrari and less school bus.
As previously discussed, I will never sign-up for an Ironman, which makes perfect sense, except that I did sign-up. Ironman Arizona to be exact, November 18th is my day of reckoning. If only one of you readers had been there to talk some sense into me. One of you was, Miss Trina, but all she did was force me to stay in line and take pictures of me as I paid slightly less than 8 bills to torture myself. She was entertained, I was in tears and I was still one-year from racing.
You have 17 hours to finish an Ironman race and the one thing I knew for sure was, "I am gonna need a faster bike!" Fortunately my awesome hubby knew this better than me and was willing to foot the $$bill$$. I present to you..............

This my friends is Medusa or Scarlett, I haven't decided. She came up with both names while we were spending quality time together. Both have a little evil in them, remind you of anyone, and both sound fast and strong. OK, maybe Medusa is all evil, but it took a pretty strong man to subdue her so it will do! She is my Ferrari. She even comes with a battery pack (it's a shifting thing, not a gonna get me anywhere faster thing). She is so cool and let's face it, sexy! She almost shifts before I tell her to and she makes a cool noise that sounds speedy. What's with the names? Well, the way I see it, if anything is gonna spend that much time with my unmentionables, it better have a name. Medusa sleeps next to Ryan (not between us). She has new hot red shoes to wear on her rider and she dropped Ryan on some rolling hills the other day. So she rocks! In his defense, he is not in riding shape and has spent all of zero minutes on his bike this year, but still, I take what I can, when I can. I believe she will be good to me, as good as Athena.
I still love my Athena, she is tried and true. I'm thinking of getting her some cross tires and tooling around with the kids on her. I hope Scarlett will be as loyal. So far she has. I hope she keeps me safe and gets to me to the finish line on time. OK people, FINE, I know I still have to run a marathon after 112 miles with her but the more time she can give me for the 26.2 mile death march, the better!

Here is to safe and fun riding for the next 181 days. Yes, I'm counting. I hope I'm still smiling at the end of all this!

I Guess Size Does Matter

I am not one who has ever been intimidated by size. Never did I choose a book based on the amount of pages. In fact, the bigger the better for me. I love to get lost in a book and have it overtake me. In life too. I always dated tall men. I liked to hang out with the short ones, they have more fun. But my mom taught me, tall, dark and handsome. So you play with the short ones and marry the tall ones. Which I did. And of course, I always assure my Mr. well, ............................ that he is perfect! Anyway. Recently I learned, SIZE DOES IN FACT MATTER!

Yes, the first size worthy thing that has ever intimidated me. The Count of Monte Cristo, all 1,462 pages of it. And the print, tiny, tiny, tiny and smudged and tiny. Too big and too small all in one binding.

This pic doesn't really do the print justice but it was awful. Initially, I reserved it at the library to broaden my mind and read one of the classics. I checked it out and almost turned it right back in. No way am I gonna get through that. And to be honest, I didn't want to try, I have only two books I have never completed in my life and they haunt me. I didn't want to add a third. Anna Karenina and 1776 by the way. The fact that my mom had survived The Count on her Kindle gave me hope and I dove in. Edmund Dantes captured my heart right away and finish I did. Although I must say, I think Comte de Monte Cristo got a little diabolical in the end. Plus all the characters? I read the book boggled that this book was written long hand in the late 1800's. How in the world in Alexander Dumas keep it all straight? Tons of characters and most of them with multiple names and titles. Very impressive. I thought about the Harry Potter series and would be willing to bet even Madame Rowling had a spreadsheet of all her characters, potions and spells all neatly arranged and easy to access.

So, in the great debate of size I guess my hubby is right. Size does matter!

Sick

"I cannot go to school today", said little Peggy Ann McKay. "I have the measles and the mumps, a gash a rash and purple bumps......."

Like little Peggy Ann I would like to fake going blind in my right eye and a temperature of one-o-eight. It sounds wonderful to lie in bed all day. Children banned from my room because I am toxic. A book in hand and full control of the remote. No Bubble Guppies, no Phineas and Ferb, no American Choppers or hunting shows. Total bliss, right? Wrong!

The problem with Peggy Ann's plan is.... Being sick, sucks! This time around I preferred the floor to my bed to writhe around, which meant the remote didn't have line of sight to the TV, and I couldn't use it without getting out of my preferred ball. Also, have you ever, ever noticed how many food commercials there are? For one suffering from severe nausea, I would rather watch my life flash before my eyes then see a mouth-watering ANYTHING! Also, reading while the world is spinning, while in a ball in the corner of my room, with bad lighting does not work so well. Especially if you are reading a book printed 30-years-ago in a terrible and tiny font. (The Count of Monte Cristo, if you must know.) The only acceptable way to pass the hours was in sleep, which I did a lot of (gratefully). I even still managed to sleep at nights as well.

Things are looking up for Peggy Ann and I. I was able to feed my children, which meant they were no longer fending for themselves when Ryan wasn't around. I believe the Lucky Charms and Cup-o-Noodles are gone. Unlike Peggy Ann I will not be going out to play, yet. Us grown-ups need extended recovery times.

http://kjapoemaday.blogspot.com/2007/10/sick-by-shel-silverstein.html

Pacific Crest Long-Distance Struggle

OK, it's a long-distance triathlon or a Half Ironman, either way, it's a struggle. I speak from experience. As Frohlein Maria would say, "Let's start at the very beginning"

In 2008 I ran a Marathon. In my training Coach James kept telling me the race doesn't start until mile 18 and for the life of me I couldn't understand. The race starts when the gun goes off, duh, what does he know? I remember mile 18 and I remember going "aha, James isn't so dumb after all." A marathon does in fact start at mile 18, or in the vicinity thereof. My other 'aha' moment also came at that mile post. "I will not be doing an Ironman.....ever!" So I did a half.

Pacific Crest Weekend Sports Festival is in Sunriver, Oregon and it is amazing. I love the energy of the Athletes Village, the weather and the beauty. It can't be topped. The race starts right above 4200 feet, and just goes up from there. Problem!

So what does my marathon have to do with this race? The day before race day I had an epiphany. You see, I was worried about the swim from the word "go" or "register," whichever you prefer. I figured I could at least limp through the rest, but swim with the fishies, this is a problem. However, I do have a lake in my backyard, and I can honestly say I had zero fear of the swim or the fishies during the race. Practice, practice, practice and little fear facing helps. I also got drug up enough hills by Ryan, Monte and James to survive cycling up Mt. Bachelor. My epiphany was regarding the run. For six months I prepared to run 13.1 miles. Not a problem considering I've ran a marathon, I can do 13, easy. I barely remember the first half of my marathon, it's a no brainer. The thought went thus, "you don't have to run the first 13.1 miles, you have to run the second 13.1 miles and those SUCKED! And that was when I started hoping for a mean stomach flu to attack me, thus enabling me to lie in bed all day Saturday. It wasn't to be!


Saturday morn, we loaded up and I was very mellow, even Monte's attempts to pump me up with various mixed music didn't work. However, when my request for Miss Miley and "The Climb" was played, I sat and cried. I don't think it was fear, but the line about there will always be another mountain to climb and I can see Mt. Bachelor ahead of me was just overwhelming. Even if I did bow out of the race, I would eventually sign-up for another and that would be yet another mountain to climb. I did freak out a little walking into the water before the countdown. I told Ryan I didn't want to do it and I was scared of being last (truly that was my biggest concern, I could just imagine all the race officials having to stay late for me). My loving husband, said he knew I didn't want to, but to suck it up and do it anyway, then he walked his butt out there and raced. (I caught him 7hrs and 58 minutes later.) So the tears were coming, I was freaking, 5,4,3, I put my goggles on 2,1, and I swam. The best part of the swim was about 3 minutes out, I was sighting and breathing and looked over and saw people treading water, panicking, off course, breast stroking, backstroking the wrong way, and here I was swimming. It was awesome, at least I was ahead of them. That was all I needed to boost my confidence and swim on......slow and steady.

My bike was good and I am very happy with my time. I came into the race extremely worried about it. I had recently rode Mt. St. Helens and the volcano kicked my butt. I let it get into my head and psych me out. However I was strong......slow and steady. I hoped for 4 hours, and was scared of 4:30 or more. 4:08 it was and I love it! 38 miles uphill and the rest is downhill. I was so proud of myself, I barely touched my brakes coming down and even pedaled most of the time. This was huge for me.

Then the run!

It sucked, it was hard, it re-enforced the prior conviction that an Ironman just isn't in the cards. The pain of running at 4200 ft. after cycling is intense. Some can pull it off, but for me, and most of the people I talk to, it's just something you have to experience to appreciate. The legs simply don't do what you tell them to do. There must be a disconnect somewhere because the mental can't completely override body. I did end up doing a run/walk combination. After 3 miles of mind and body arguing I simply solved the problem. My watch beeped at me every 20 minutes to eat. I simply decided that at the beeps I was going to walk for 5 minutes, then I had to run for 15. It worked great! I didn't have to negotiate anything anymore with the stumps because the mind was strong enough to know that we (legs + brain) can do anything for 15 minutes. Don't get me wrong, there was still arguing (it sounded like my kids whining) but the watch was in charge, and nothing can argue with a beep!

I did finish the run, slowly and steadily (race theme #1). It was awesome to come around the bend, hear the announcer, then to hear my family and friends yelling "go Carlie!" There is something about that moment that makes tears spring instantly to your eyes. I'm not sure if its the family and others yelling just for you, or the mere sight of the finish line and the end of the torture, but it is amazing! My girls, Isabel and Taylor, hopped the fence and crossed the line with me. That was definitely pretty cool. Hopefully they got a sense of mom's hard work and it can translate into some future success for them.

Now for the amazing part (yes, more amazing then me completing this race.) Ryan also raced. He and I had the exact same run time, 2:41:33. I don't think we could run together and have the exact same time, the finish would be a second or two off. I think that is pretty awesome! However, should I call AASports and see if they have our times to the hundredths? I think I won because I am listed first in the run time rankings? It would be nice to hold that over his head!

A huge thanks to all my "team" supporters, The Pope family for use of husband to train with and daughters to babysit. The Zobrist family for that awful St. Helens climb and daughter to babysit. James Williams, my trainer and Zing 3 coach. James makes me believe I can do things I have no business doing, then I go and do them, it's crazy. Also to James' wife Natalie for babysitting (race theme #2) and finally to Ryan. He kicked me out of the door to train more times than I can count and for making me start the race, I may have gone to breakfast otherwise.

BTW, 28 people finished after me, I wasn't last! Woot! Woot!

Some Great Family Pictures!

Our girls are posers!

My seven-year-old beauty!


Wishful thinking little girl!

Pictures were "just so hard"

The pictures were taken in Grandma and Grandpa Andrews' backyard, where Curtis and I grew up! We couldn't imagine anywhere else being as special. My cousin Sydney took the photos and she did a terrific job. I follow her blog, please check it out. If you live in Utah give her a call, you will be as pleased as we are!

Just Do Your Best

Just so you know, I was the perfect child. Raised as basically an only child, my parents were on easy street. I didn't want play dates, or dolls, or even, heaven forbid, Barbies. I just wanted to dance and dance I did. I was that hard-working, not so talented child, but I loved it and always, always gave 100%. Practice, competition, parade, or performance. I lived for it and never forced my parents to utter the words, "as long as you do your best, I will be happy."

Nope, never!

Isabel has recently taken up competitive gymnastics and she is oozing potential from every hair on her precious head to a perfect toe point (one I never had). She did one handstand her first day of recreation class and was pulled aside for the "join the team talk" from Coach Peter. Poor me, I didn't see it coming! I should have run her out of the gym screaming nooooooooooo at the top of my lungs. You see, competitive gymnastics is 100% harder on mom than talent-ridden child. Let me just take one moment and acknowledge (for Jenny's benefit) that this is level 3, not even USGA sanctioned competitions. I get that, I know that, I've sat through 3 of these nightmare events and held my apprehension at complete bay, knowing that this in no way counts as official gymnastics torture. Until the last one.

We had the talk, "just do your best", "we love you whether you stay on the beam or not", "as long as you smile, you're number one". But here's the problem, she didn't do her best, she didn't smile and no she didn't stay on the beam. And it was all downhill from there.

Beam was first, thank goodness, get that torture out of the way. She fell early on, but finished strong and we were sure she would bounce back. Floor, ugh, not bad, but no smile or enthusiasm. Then came vault. Let me just say, she's become very good and very strong here and she had two FANTASTIC practice vaults. When her turn came, we all had to yell at her to crawl out of the ball she was in to get up, then she did some unrecognizable run, jump, somersault, flail thing. Good thing you get two turns at vault right? Coach Michelle had a talk with her, went over the vault with her and gave her that almighty pat on the bum. Isabel, my talented daughter proceeded to repeat, but with significantly more flailing the first vault. At this point I was hoping she would come down with the stomach flu on the way home, puking all over my car explaining why she was so out of sorts. Bars were last and simply put, more flailing.

I was at a complete loss for words. She knew, I knew, she knew that I knew and we both knew not talk about it. What do you say to your 8-year-old when she just flat out didn't............didn't anything, try, smile, do? This was gonna take some help, specifically, a double bacon cheeseburger, large fry and Biggie diet coke from Wendy's. I like to call it cheap therapy.

Once I sucked all of that down, I ventured a little backseat conversation with the girl. I can't say that we solved anything, but I am proud to say that my daughter knew I still loved her after all was said. It wasn't fun though, calling her out on the not trying, not smiling thing. But she is almost nine (gulp) and accountability is big in our house. The silver lining in this fiasco, is we're done for the year, no meets until next March. I may recuperate by then.

Later, I finally asked my mom why she had been smirking all day. Was she enjoying the turmoils of watching me parent or just in a really good mood. Her answer? Apparently, I wasn't perfect and history had just repeated itself.

Grease becomes High School Musical

I have a very distinct memory of my father and I. It happened before our basement was finished, but we would still gather down there, play pool and listen to music. I remember dancing on my dad's feet and him singing "Hopelessly Devoted to You" from Grease. You know the song right? Olivia Newton John, heartbroken, pining for the fabulous "Danny" or still very hot John Travolta.

Flash forward to the new Grease. That's right High School Musical, in this case, the third. Vanessa Hudgens and let's face it, a little bit cute, "Troy" dance on the roof of their high school singing "Can I Have This Dance?" In my house, history repeats itself. Taylor loves dancing with her daddy to this song, and I love that he humors her, often.

Dads are special, I believe they are what can save a daughter from herself. A good dad can teach her how a man should treat her, he can be her knight in shining armor, when some dumb boy breaks her heart. A daughter needs a daddy, and I believe my girls have won!

BTW, I can't get this to rotate. If you can, please call me or just fix it if you know my info, hint, hint Alison!

What happened to Invincible?

Until March we were invincible. There had been challenges, arguments, changes, aches and pains, but still, invincible. Ryan and I were a team, undivideable. Well, we still are, but to let him walk out of the front door each day, sends panic ripping through me. Being seperated from the kids makes me jittery. My cell phone is always attached to me, and each ring makes my heart skip. I think I may have a case of the "crazies." I have been told and preached out loud to others, don't let the "crazies" take over. But they are sneaky and they come at you out of nowhere!

In March we became mortal. Ryan yelled my name and told me to call 911, mortality struck. When he calls my name from another room, the crazies enter. The other day, calling me to the phone, the sound of my name in his voice, put me to my knees in tears...........to confirm babysitting plans. I am not a fan of mortality. I liked being invincible or as Ryan says "invisible."

Friday, he called.

I could hear it in his voice, trying not to say my name, but it came out anyway. Awakening the crazies. "I'm fine, but I cut my hand and they are taking me to the emergency room, it's bad." Followed by me hearing the nurse say, you need to get off the phone. Then nothing. Well, from him at least. Every emotion came flooding back and the crazies started me swirling down the drain. Enter my mother. She is the plug in the tub, the hook that goes down into the yicky pipes and fishes me back out. Of course, I am still in the tub floating in crazy, but with floaties.

I'm also amazed at my ability to mother. Once I had my kids around me, I was towelled off and out of the tub. Completely sane. Almost the whole family safe in my midst. We are made to protect and nurture our children. Keep them from circling the drain amid the crazies. I find this the easiest part of mothering. The day to day stuff wears at me like a rolling rock, but I can protect them. I can, unfailingly, make them feel safe and secure in disaster, in emergency. They may just find me a little scary on Wednesdays around bedtime.

Ryan is fine. Unless you can't stand the insides of a human being there is a picture of his "hand"iwork. But for a while there, when the crazies were in charge, only the worst could possibly happen. Thank goodness for my intermittant sanity, thank goodness for my mother, thank goodness for my children that force me to cope, and thank goodness Ryan will be fine!

Mortality is scary. It seems to lurk in the corner since March, ready to strike again. The crazies dwell in mortality, but "don't let the crazies take over!"

Greetings from Winlock

We are all doing really well here. The only thing lacking is sunshine. A couple of fun pics of Taylor behind the boat. She did not want to waterski so you have to look at the tears of torture then the beautiful smile!

Movin' On

I'm just not sure I am ready for this. It's the plan, I know! We've been praying for this for almost two years, but really? Can I seriously survive in Winlock, Washington?

You know how when you are travelling and you stop to get gas and wonder why there is a gas station in that bizarrely weird place. Well, drive another mile or two past the gas station and you will find a town. Or in my case a forgotten town. I should not be so brazen about my new home town. I have yet to meet a cross person in good ol' Winlock. From the hardware store to Don who bags the groceries at the IGA, they are all so nice. It's just, well, just kinda not a lot going on.

But the time has come, and they tell me change is good. Character building and all that crappola! Hopefully all this new character building doesn't come with the 20 pounds my last bit of character did. I have asked a certain few of you to keep tabs on me and do an intervention if they see me starting to swell. I am going to have to ask for a bit of an extension on my pending intervention. Moving sucks to put it politely. I think I have eaten out for two-weeks straight, and I am staring down the barrel of another 2 to 3 weeks. Ya, I know most places have a "light" option, but lets be real here for a moment and acknowledge that the bacon double cheeseburger with special sauce is so much better than cardboard wrapped with flour cardboard.

Now for the good news. I found out today, my kids will have 18 kids in their class next year! Ha, eat that ARE friends! LOVE

Things Austin Taught Me

Dear Austin,

We miss you so much! There are not many more words to say then that. Since I know you think middle-age moms blogging is funny I cannot help but dedicate one solely to you. I started "writing" your blog Friday, March 19th around dusk but I just can't verbalize all the emotion and deep thoughts I have had. I want to say so many things to you and have multiple last conversations, I also have lots and lots of questions. When my time comes, you better be waiting for me! You are going to be bombarded!

Because I want your post to be perfect I will dispense with the tears and sadness and try solely for Austin humor and teachings. One little thing though, Cole keeps saying you "sneaked" him......are you?

*******************************
1. Yoshida's is the only acceptable Terriyaki Sauce.
2. Put a dollup of ketchup on each Tator Tot.
3. When the boy doesn't call my girls back it's because he was busy building a potato gun.

4. When he still doesn't call, he is napping.

5. When she is sure the boy hates her, it's because he tripped over the potato gun on the way to the phone and started shooting stuff.

6. Taking a "big dump" is much more fun for a two-year-old than going poop.

7. Corn is double the fun, enjoy it going in, enjoy it coming out.

8. Take time to build a really excellent sandwich.

9. Immeasurable joy in life can be found during berry-picking season.

10. Craigslist, ebay, SCORE.

11. Stairs are for so much more than their intended purpose.

12. Boys do not have a built-in "stupid alarm"

and finally............

13. When Cole says "I have an idea" confirm all insurances are in order!

LOVE YOU AND MISS YOU!

SERVE WELL!

Austin's Laugh Forever!

Not sure we're doing it right!

We have started reading the Book of Morman with the kids (any predictions on finish time?) and read tonight about Nephi killing Laban. Ryan had the brilliant idea to act it out. Very exciting in the Langhaim household. So, Ryan-Nephi is kneeling over Taylor-Laban and grabs her hair and starts to "slash" her throat. At that exact moment Cole comes running in guns ablazing and shoots Taylor-Laban dead. The timing was absolutely perfect. Needless to say, we were laughing so hard, not much reading happened after the great double-slaying.

White, Always White

WARNING: Opinion expressed here!

Recently on Facebook we ladies were asked to post the color of our bra in support of Breast Cancer Awareness. Awesome! Fun! White.....always white. Ya boring, I know. Yesterday, while entertaining myself with some internet browsing I came across this quote, "it made me vomitously sick" (is vomitously even a word?) so naturally I clicked on it. I came upon an article berating this act of bra-discovery. My favorite line was thus "I am vomitously sick of a serious illness like breast cancer being reduced to twee pink ribbons and strollathons." And here is my question.....Why not?

Why can't I smile, post my colors and still support breast cancer awareness, survivors and research without reducing the cause? Who are these people that are so incredibly miserable in life that they too can't have fun and raise awareness. Why must we fight in sadness? OK Carlie you say, you are healthy, your mother is healthy and you have not had first-hand experience with this awful cancer that attacks a woman's body. You're right, I have not. But I have seen the smiles on the survivors faces that cross the finish-line of a race, pushing a stroller with a pink ribbon. I have met women that have faced this disease and came out happy and grateful, not miserable. They may be lop-sided, flat, newly enhanced or they may have lost the battle and their last act is to post their colors, but they find a way to smile, tell their families they love them and say "fight on!" Because I acknowledge my bra is white, I will remember to do my self-examination this month, and possibly another woman will do hers, find a lump, and catch it early enough to win her fight. It's just a guess but I think she'll be grateful to tell you her color.

I do not believe we will win any fight in this life by living miserably and nay-saying. One of those things I actually remember my dad teaching me is this, "if you crash your car, you can either be happy or sad about it, either way, you will still have a crashed car." I think there may have been an explicative thrown in somewhere but it's a great lesson for any problem.

My mother-in-law lost her battle with breast cancer 23-years-ago, I have not met her. I look forward to meeting her. However, ask my kids about her, they remember Grandma Sharon, and I am pretty sure I know why. Before my kids came here they had a chance to meet their grandma, talk to her, sit on her lap, and yes laugh with her, planning all the awful things they would do to their dad here on earth to give grandma a good laugh in heaven. She's smiling and so should we.

Did He or Didn't He?

I find myself concerned about all the Tiger drama of late. Now don't get me wrong. If the guy did in fact stick his club in someone else's bag, he should be penalized (more than 2-strokes), disqualified, kicked in his personal Titleist's by my MMA coach (he kicks really-really hard) and castrated. Sorry folks, I couldn't find a golf analogy for cutting ones.................OK I'll stop.

However, I have neither seen nor heard a specific confession from the guy. Well, he said he has not been true to his values and some other unspecific things like that, but he hasn't admitted to getting his head-covers confused (that one was a little bad). When you are Tiger and choose to keep quiet, then you are guilty until proven innocent in our good ol' media world. And, these women that are stepping forward claiming affairs, really seem awfully trashy and have some sordid affairs in their history as well. Maybe if they work really hard on our all too-willing media friends they can get themselves that nice little paycheck from Tiger's next win. Yes, there will be several, I am sure.

As for Elin bashing in the car window, maybe she was trying to help him, maybe she was suffering from PPD and wanted to kill him and he was running for his life (we women can get pretty crazy due to hormones), or maybe she was actually trying to kill him for hitting to the wrong green. Either way, I hope her swing was a awesome as his.

As for my thoughts, I hope they can figure this all out without bowing to the craziness of the guilty media verdict. If he is guilty, he will receive his reward, if he is innocent, or maybe not quite as guilty as we think, I hope the family will prevail. It is far too precious to let others make that choice for us. Hopefully, no matter the truth, a lesson has been hard learned and maybe we will all look for a better lie on our own fairway.

Singing About My Cookin'

Cole's role in all of this is to finish the song! It's even his favorite going to bed jingle.

Family

"Fish On"

We left the house at o'dark-thirty and drove to the Coast to go on our friend Stephens boat for a day of Tuna fishing. Any of you that know me, know that I am scared to death of fish, the worst being the tiny live-bait fish you actually pay good money for before putting out into the big-wide ocean. They creep me out, all wriggly in the net, then you look in the holding tank and there are millions of them circling-waiting to jump out on me. I did survive this part, but no, I never baited my own line or touched any of the little demons. That's what I bring the men for.

So, barely past o'dark-thirty we headed out, over the Columbia River Bar, to sea, where we did find Tuna. They are so beautiful when they swim by the boat with their deep-blue sparkle and strong tail flashing. Now, about that beautiful-strong tail, it creates a problem, especially when you have to be as strong as the 3-6'3"+ guys on the boat. Those suckers can swim, fast and hard. After reeling in the first 2, you practically cry when you feel the tug on your line and hear the line whizzing out of the measly pole in your arms, and are forced to yell, "fish on!" Then you start the fight. Pull, reel, pull, reel, pull reel, getting close, I see it, yell "got color" then the beautiful sparkly thing you worked so hard to see, gets a second wind and dives while you watch helplessly as line goes out making that, now annoying, whizzing sound. Pull, reel, pull, reel, pull, reel. My arms hurt and my stomach is bruised from wedging the pole into it because I don't have big strong biceps like the sweaty burly men beside me. No way will I complain, or ask for a belt though, must "man up" and I do.

Sometimes it really gets fun, when you all have "fish on" and the fish decide to mess with us human types. They start swimming circles around each other, causing me and sweaty-bloody-burly men to do some form of a square dance with poles and invisible fishing line trying not to tangle up. Like I said, this was fun! I am sure if the Tuna didn't have some hook stuck in its throat it would have a great laugh at us do-si-do-ing.

34 times we did this, and for those of you who don't know, that's a great day of fishing. OK, I personally didn't reel in all 34, I am probably responsible for 8ish, but today I feel all 34. If anyone ever needs a really good lower back and bicep workout, get a guide and go out. I highly recommend it. For all the pain, there is nothing like the rush, when you hear a line start whizzing, then another and suddenly you're there in a school of Tuna for a couple of hours near tears, covered in blood and wanting more.

If You're Wondering Why We Love the Lake

That is Austin impersonating Superman and my hubby whirling him into Neverland. And yes, I video'd it.