Of Sex and Shamrocks

Back when we learned that Alison would have a sexuality lesson during her 5th grade year, Jeff and I offered to talk with her beforehand. We could do it at home, just the three of us, or just she and I. Whatever she wanted.

She looked me dead in the eyes and declined, saying, "Look. I only want to have to learn that stuff once."

Well, once is upon us.


We had actually braced ourselves for the lecture yesterday. Alison and I were going to attend. A parent is required. Two are optional. We opted for me, and Alison was a little worried. "Madison says they're going to show us how to make a baby!" she reported on Monday.

On Tuesday, she "OMG, Mom. We had better not have to sit in the same room with the boys. I do NOT want to have look at their junk getting hair on it, and I'm pretty sure they don't want that either."

On Wednesday, I didn't work out and pick her up as I generally do: in sweaty sweats and sneakers. I had on slacks and a sweater set, fully prepared to face down the sex teachers. The lecture starts at 6:30 so we'd planned a quick snack and then something fun after it ended at 8. I was sure I'd need a drink. I'm pretty sure Ali was thinking ice cream.

Turns out we would have been a week early had we gone, a fact we learned before we actually drove over to the off-site sex center. Frustrated, Alison said, "Let's just go now and get it over with."

Alas, they don't teach sex 24/7, so we have another week to wait. In the interim, I've been informed that it's not a dressy affair.

"Can you just wear a Billy Currington tee-shirt and jeans? None of the other moms will be fancy," she asked.

I agreed. I really do want to make her as comfortable as possible. We haven't decided yet if I get to sit WITH her or if I'll be shunted to the back row. That'll be determined on-site, after she gets the lay of the land. For sure, neither of us will be anywhere near anyone with different body parts, hairy or bald. That much is clear.

So last night, ran an errand that Jeff would have done while Ali and were off being educated. That left he and Ali to take a walk. (It was chilly. I was happy to be in the car with a heater and a radio.) They took a small ball, as is their good weather walking habit, to entertain themselves with along the way.

Alison has recently been watching a lot of the aptly named, "Annoying Orange" online show that features animated fruit who take part in highly annoying and often inappropriate antics. One of the recent episodes that has gotten repeat play features a leprechaun whose delicate parts are abused. "Oooh! Me Shamrocks!" he'll exclaim, sending Alison into giggle fits that last for days.

During the walk, Jeff got smacked with an unexpected bounce. So of course, he doubled over and cried out, "Oooh! me Shamrocks!"

Alison doubled over too. But in laughter. Minutes later, she, too, fell victim to an errant bounce.

"Oooh! Me Shamrocks!" she exclaimed.

"Alison, you don't have any shamrocks," retorts her father.

She immediately doubled over again. "Ooh! Me pot of gold!"

I'm not sure she needs that sex class...

Hot Chocolate

So the other day, my good friend Kirsten gave me a bag of chocolates, which I've been studiously ignoring for a week.

Alison, however, asked for two of them. No, she didn't want to eat them. She's still firmly in the "anti-chocolate club." (I don't understand it either.)

But she wanted to take them to school. I thought she wanted to give them to her friend, Ty, who like most normal people, does love chocolate. When I picked her up, I asked her how he liked them.

"Oh, I didn't give them to Ty. I raffled them off at my lunch table."

I almost stopped the car. At Christ the King, the kids aren't allowed to trade food. If someone forgets his or her lunch, the kids are allowed to volunteer stuff they don't want from their own lunch to the hungry kid, but otherwise, it's keep your lunch to yourself.

"You did what?" I asked, bracing myself for the conduct cut to come.

"I raffled them. I had each of the girls give me stuff from their lunch for a chance to win them," she said. "Madison won."

I forget what all she got, but it involved Skittles and hard candy, I think. She said she even convinced Madison to shave off parts of the truffles to share with the other two girls at her table.

"Why didn't you just share them with everyone to begin with?" I asked. I didn't have to look in the rear-view mirror to see the eye-roll. Her amazement at my naivete filled the interior of the car like one of her father's flatulent episodes.

"Duh. You get more stuff if you raffle."

I fear my little liberal is turning Republican. Please send help. I think there's time to save her.

PS: The photo today is of Jeff wearing a tee-shirt Alison made when she was about 2and still a staunch Democrat. See how her little green handprints have grown? She'll be 11 in a few weeks. I'm still liking her even more with every year. I might still like her if she changes political affiliation, but I'm going to try to get her back to my side before it comes to that.

I don't know if you've ever noticed, but Easter is a very chocolate holiday. It's hard to find stuff for Alison. Her basket contained some Peeps, (not that her braces really allow her to have them) a couple of iTunes gift cards, jelly beans and a musical card, along with a little cash hidden in some plastic eggs.

She forked over her folding paper to settle a prior iTunes debt with me, and later in the day, she helped Jeff with our annual Indians ticket distribution to earn more money, shaving off one week of her iPad debt to her father. She's been paying him off for her portion of the Christmas gift with her allowance. (This, of course led to her indebtedness to me.)

She has two more months to go to pay off her iPad. She's been on the installment plan since the morning of December 25. Her birthday will get her a little more booty, so don't feel bad for her. Come to think of it, her grandfather sent her a 10-spot with her Easter card. She didn't volunteer to pay me back until Jeff reminded us of it this morning. I haven't seen that ten-dollar bill since.

Ooooh. She IS a Republican.

Bikes!

It's a two-wheeled world right now with the warmest March I can remember.

The flowers are blooming, the magnolia is bursting out all over and vacation is within sight. We usually leave a frosty Indiana behind when we take off for Spring Break, but I'll be OK leaving for a while regardless of the balmy weather here. A break will be good for everyone.

I was fortunate to have a quick start to the weekend, which was good because I rode my bike to work Friday morning and was able to make it a leisurely return trip and still pick Alison up from school on time. Saturday, Ali and I rode north while Jenna and Amer rode east. We met in the middle, which just happens to be Huddles, home of our current favorite frozen yogurt. After a little lunch and mother-daughter fun, the girls and I rode south with a little side trip in Broad Ripple.

We'll have to return Jen this afternoon, but it'll be another bike transfer so it will still be fun. We'd keep her if Amy could bear to give her up, but we've tried that before. There seems to be little interest in a full-time, one-girl trade from Team Tokash to Team Reed.

When they were small, we all used to play together, but I'm becoming increasingly unnecessary to their good time. They get plenty of time alone, but I still try to infiltrate their twosome when I can. I have discovered that my success rate skyrockets when my credit card is showing. Or if I have food. This morning I bribed them with a walk to Good Morning Mama for breakfast with a soda chaser from the vegetable stand across the way.

"I like to get these old-timey bottles," says Ali as she worked the bottle cap opener. "I take off the label and let people think I'm drinking beer."

Jenna's bottle was stamped with Cocoa-Cola Light so there was no disguising it. But the novelty of it all wasn't diminished at all. Ali had talked up the soda possibility on the walk in, telling Jenna that my favorite soda of all time -- Moxie -- was available there.

"What's it taste like?" Jenna asked.

"Gasoline," I said, delighting in her gasp.

"Gasoline?! What does gasoline taste like?" she said, horrified.

"Terrible," I said.

"Why do you love it?"


"Oh I don't. I just like the fact that it makes me think of Lisbon Falls, Maine, where Ali's Uncle James lives."

"Oh. Is he the tall one? I remember him."

That led us to a discussion of the word "moxie" and that got us all the way to the restaurant where all things breakfast were devoured.

I kind of hogged the girls while Jeff did most of our weekend chores and may have dabbled a bit in his baseball draft preparations. He managed to get tennis and basketball in, so I don't feel too bad about his weekend.

I've done little to prepare for vacation, but Alison is already packed. I'm going to have to get on that. Right now, though, I'm going to eavesdrop on the girls.

Last I saw them they were sharing a container of raspberries, and I heard this from my almost daughter: "Look, Ali! They have little hairs. They're going through puberty!"

Oy. I can only imagine what I'll learn.

Time Traveler

Alison and I took a walk into Broad Ripple this morning and she spent the "to" portion telling me about her DragonVale adventures. It's a game she plays on her iPad, which began on mine, so she has a double dose of dragons for whom she has strategic breeding plans (no actual copulation is involved), food production and revenue streams.

I could recount to you the types and monetary value of her 35 dragons and dozen or so habitats... OK. I know you're fascinated, too: There are sky dragons and water dragons, earth dragons, swamp dragons and fire dragons and ice dragons and.... Names run the gamut of Gusty (wind dragon) to Rubble (he's a mountain dragon) and my favorite, Tsunami (a water dragon.)

It's a mile into Broad Ripple, ergo I know a mile's worth of dragon lore. Don't you wish you were me? :)

Part of the deal with breeding dragons is that you have an incubation perior that can last from minutes to days depending on how exotic your dragon is. Back when my iPad was her only path to the world of dragons, I'd often find the clock was off. Sometimes by days. It was really annoying. I'd reset it only to find it off again next time I checked in.

And then I discovered that Ali was time traveling. She started doing it when she was playing another iPad game called PocketFrogs. Turns out these critters have an incubation period, too, and Alison was manipulating time so she could hatch her batches of frogs in record time.

She'd tried it with DragonVale, but it turns out that dragons are smarter than frogs and they smack you around if you try to hatch a dragon out of the proper time sequence.

"You're kind of tricky," I said.

"No, I'm smart. There's a difference," she explained, quite seriously.

It was funny to me that we were talking about time travel because it's the subject of my latest Book Club book -- 11/22/63.

The book itself is fascinating, depressing, uplifting, often hard to put down, but sometimes difficult to keep at.

If you could change history, would you? Should you?

I know there have been times in my life that I would love to have a do-over because I did it so badly in round one. But, with apologies to Darius Rucker, it was the mistakes (and some right calls) that brought me here to this.

"This" being a long walk hand-in-hand with my daughter on a cold winter's morning. Sure, my mind might have wandered a bit during the detailed dragon descriptions, but my heart didn't.


It couldn't. A little, gloved hand had a firm grip on it.

I wouldn't take a trip back and risk missing that.

In all sorts of stitches

We are thankful at Chez Reed for many things this holiday weekend. Among those things:

Friends
Family
Health care

Let's start in reverse order. It had come to my attention (actually I knew about this but have been too lazy to fix it) that some people aren't on my photoshoot list on my laptop. So when I send the weekly update from upstairs, the people who live in my downstairs PC address book get left out. So I was trying to fix it while sitting at the kitchen counter.

Ali was cleaning her fish tank. Jeff came through and decided she needed to work harder. They were at the sink addressing the fish poop she'd left in the tank when she'd thought she was done. And then, a crash, a curse, a scream.

I twirl around to see Jeff holding a flailing, bloody, barefoot Alison. Approximately 1.5 gallons of fish poop-laden water and a pile of aqua aquarium rocks were rushing at me.

He was worrying (loudly) that she'd get her feet cut. She was panick-stricken and temporarily deaf. We got her out of the splash zone and I see what appeared to be a handful of slight cuts from arm to foot and a six-foot-long gash on her wrist. Maybe it was smaller, but I'm just reporting what I saw.

She was in the direct line of fire when the glass bowl had slipped from her hands and Jeff caught it quite firmly against the stainless steel sink. Hence, the crash, the curse and the scream.

My brothers have often used Super Glue for various cuts and scrapes, and we had some in the kitchen drawer, I opted, however, to dip into our health care plan.

Six Band-Aids, a bucket of tears and some terse exchanges after the fish bowl explosion, we were ready for a trip to the Immediate Care. That's when my cousin Lori showed up. We'd been expecting her. She was not expecting the reception. But like the good sport she is, she drove Ali and me to the Immediate Care Center while Jeff stayed behind to pick up glass and rock and fish poop.

Alison ended up with three stitches though she'd asked the doctor for "Instant Skin" instead. (She's been reading a lot of Harry Potter.) We'd told her she might not need stitches, but could instead have "liquid skin," a kind of FDA-approved Super Glue.

I'm sparing you some of the drama of how we went from flooded kitchen to stitched and wrapped wrist. It went on for a while. Hours after her recovery period in bed where she was resting her injury, she developed a distinct limp. It shifted from foot to foot as the evening wore on, so there was no follow-up trip to the doc.

This drama was preceded by a fabulous evening out with our friends Patricia and Patrick Jackson and followed by a fabulous evening in with our friends Duane and Kirsten Jasheway, all of whom we don't see enough.

The Jacksons get the prize for driving the farthest -- I first met them back in my Evansville news reporting days. Alison adores them both, and I suspect she and Patricia have some sort of mind meld.

We met for flatbread pizza at Napolese. If you haven't been there yet, you should go. Well worth the points, even on a holiday meal weekend.


So we laughed and reminisced well past Alison's bedtime.

On Saturday, Duane and Kirsten brought a sugar-free, fat-free chocolate pie that's been calling my name all day. I'm sure we had a lovely evening and talked about many sophisticated and silly things. But my mind is on that pie...

All this friendly frivolity, of course, was preceded by Thanksgiving. Team Reed doesn't often host because we rotate among my siblings and aunts, but it's always fun to do when we get the chance. I'm happy to report no trips to the Immediate Care Center were necessary on Thursday.

Jeff is still working a lot, so much of the day's planning and cooking fell to me. Always a risk. The gravy had more of a kick than it should have and the sweet potato souffles were better the next day, but it worked out and we had a great visit with most of my family.

Jeff deep-fried a turkey, I baked ham and turkey breasts. Yes, I confused cilantro and parsley, but the soon to be famous "green turkey" was kick-ass!

We all did miss our Aunt Joan, though, who passed away last week, joining Uncle Ed. You may remember him from previous posts that involved blowing things up with Jeff. They were two of our favorite people. Reportedly, their ashes are now resting side by side. His in a plain black box. Hers in a Depression glass cookie jar. Seems so fitting for the two of them.

We started the weekend on Wednesday with a visit from the Ogdens, and Ali just spent a few hours with them today. It's been a ton of work lightened with laughter and the warmth that comes from being with people who like you despite yourself. We're lucky to have all of them and all the ones we didn't actually see this week, but keep in our hearts. You know who you are.

And now, I think I'll have pie.

She Shoots, He Scores

Yesterday on the way home from school, we passed a school friend/neighbor on a walk with her mom, brother and a friend of his. I had Ali and Amanda in the car because we were going to a party at Amanda's house later.

The girls lean out the window to say hi and learn the group is headed to the park. Ali and Amanda are invited to go, but they have to change first. The group keeps walking. The girls and I head in.

Deh. Deh. Deh.

I've never let Alison walk to the park by herself. Or with a friend. Yeah, it's less than a block away and I can catch glimpses of her from my window if I was inclined to spy. I can even see parts of the park from my backyard. If I was inclined to spy.

She's 10. She's with Amanda. They're going to the park where another mom will be there. Jeff just looks at me like I'm a mad woman. "They'll be OK," he says.

Deh. Deh. Deh.

They dash outside before I can change my mind. I watch them go down the road. I spy from the window to be sure they actually get to the park. It's a beautiful fall day. One of the last we'll get for a while. They're out in the crisp sunshine.

My heart is pounding out the Jaws rythm.

"Hey, honey. Want to go for a walk with me?" I ask, batting my eyes.

It worked for about a quarter second. But like the good man he is, he shrugged into a jacket. We strolled down the street. I saw her little red hair flaming in the sun as she played tag, yelling and screaming with her friends.

We turned the corner and kept on walking.

This morning she brought back up again a subject she's been on for a couple of weeks. "Hey Dad, do you think you would want to go to the Y with me and practice some basketball?"

As loud as my heart was beating yesterday in fear, I think his was pumping about to burst with pure ecstasy. But he kept it on the down-low.

"Sure, honey. I think I could do that."

Now, Jeff's in the middle of a pretty big case at work. He's been burning the midnight and weekend oil for a few weeks and there's more to come. But nothing was going to get in the way of his working out with Alison. And I mean nothing.

I dropped them off at the gym and went to the grocery only to find them an hour later still at it. Ali was sweating. Jeff was just shining.
I think he fell in love with her all over again.

If she's smart, she'll ask him for a dog again today.

It's good to be king

Jeff demanded that we not make a big production of his birthday this year. I'm not sure if it's that he doesn't fully embrace this particular one or if he's just so preoccupied with work that it wouldn't matter which birthday it was.

We've had mini-celebrations here and there all month. Jeff and I went to a couple of concerts -- Matthew Sweet on on a school night (!) and local bands, The Love Me Nots and the Vulgar Boatman -- earlier this month. Matthew Sweet played his "Girlfriend" album, which turns out to be the album every divorced or ditched man in America (JMR included) has used to get through the rough patch.

The LMN and Boatmen also have a connection to the former Mrs. Reed. She introduced him to the boys in the band. Interestingly, Jeff has maintained great friendships with them all, and they all seemed happy to see him at the venue.

Said former Mrs. Reed was at the last concert. I have never met her, though based on all the stories, it seems appropriate that it was October when I caught my first glimpse.

She was not friendly. I was prepared to be polite. OK. I was prepared for a cat fight in the bathroom and a little disappointed that I didn't even get a chance to miaow.

I will admit that I was never so glad to fit into single-digit jeans than I was that night. I had new, high-heeled boots on and I might have also had good hair, but I'm never sure about that. All I know is she hugged a table all night and I, well, let's just say I had something more malleable in my hands...

With those same two hands yesterday, I made Jeff birthday brownies. they are anywhere from 4 to 5 points. They would have been three, but I added Ghiardelli chocolate chips and walnuts. It is his birthday... and no, I didn't have one.

Ali described him alphabetically and with art. He is: "Amazing, Best, Creative, Dangerous, Entergetic (sic) Funny, Great, Helpful, Independent, Jeff, Kind, Loveable, My Dad, Nice, Outstanding, Protects Me, Quite (not), Really Awesome, Stupendous, The Best, Under 60 Years, Very Cool, When does he not help me never), X-treme, Y so Tall, and Zany."

Sadly, Jeff spent most of his birthday at work yesterdy and he's there again now. It'll be this way for a couple more weeks, so we might celebrate some more if we can remember what he looks like by then.

It has, for the milestone that it is, been a bit unspectacular. Until Andy came by and made my sporadic mini-celebrations fade to a dim ember, that is.

Jeff is now the Bourbon King.

So I guess it was a successful birthday celebration afterall. Long live the king!

No means no!

So last week there was near universal agreement that I am a sleep-over pushover.

I'll take that. It's true.

I don't know if it's the idea of last week or what but I was much less agreeable this weekend. Ali had a sleepover Friday with Amanda, and they switched it up Saturday to be at our house.

Jeff and I had gone out Friday (after a Tuesday night date) again to Radio Radio for a concert. It was fun, but as we all know, I'm pretty boring and two concerts in the same calendar year, let alone week is way beyond the envelope for me.

Saturday, Ali had a belt advancment test at taekwando, I had a baby shower in the afternoon and Jeff had to work. That evening, I had a surprise birthday party and a last minute opportunity to see good friends who'd gotten sideswiped by summer and kids. Then, we had a request to have another child over on Sunday.

So I started the weekend a little bit worn out. The threesome of Alison, Amanda and Dominick is a good one, though it is generally fraught with sporadic fights and appeals to a higher being. And demands for candy. Lots of demands for candy.

Jeff had to work. It was a lovely Fall day, so I left the kids to the Wii and television and mowed the back yard. They had zero interest in seeing the Prodigal Sun.

I'd gotten the front yard done on Saturday and had no gym time at all, so I was happy to get outside. Afterward, I built a fire in the chimenae and settled in for a cozy read.


Two chapters in:

"Mo-om, can we go to Snappers?"

"No."

"Can we go to a bounce house? No! Laser Tag!"

"No."

"Mo-om, can we play in the car? We're bored. There's nothing to do."

"No."

Somehow Alison ends up in the car. Amanda and Dominic pound on the windows. "Miz Reed, will you unlock the car?"


In my head, I'm shouting, "Reading here!!!!"

In my voice, I say, "Alison, get out of the car."

The alarm starts blaring. I sigh. I go save the neighbors' hearing.

"Mo-om, can we roast marshmallows?"

"Sure. Go get them and the skewers."

"Where are they? I can't find them. Mo-om."

"Miz Reed, where are the skewers. Can I have some water?"

Then a game of tag ensues with the marshmallows as the prize. Finally, they start roasting. Which was hilarious. Many marshmallows were sacrificed.

I give up on reading. I suggest a walk into Broad Ripple to feed ducks.

"Nah. We don't want to go outside."

I leave them to their Pixos, TV, lap top and Wii. I check the paper. I check Facebook and email. I check on why Amanda suddenly fled to Ali's room, left Alison to referee the fight between the other two and denied requests for candy.

Later, bored again, they decide that walk would be a good idea afterall. I see them in the front yard and check downstairs. I force them to return to the family room, turn out lights, the TV and pick up three or four hours worth of crap and dirty dishes on the floor.

I grab the loaf of bread intended for the ducks. Alison wants to carry it. Dominic whines that he wants to have it. Sixteen steps onto the Monon Trail, Dominick informs me that it's too heavy. Could I carry it?

"That would be a negative," I say, shooing him along. He has one hand on the bread and the other holding up his pants. I shake my head. A third of the way there, I make him switch with one of the girls. They fight over who has to take it. Then, they fight over who gets to have it last.

Three-fourths of the way to the ducks, Amanda asks me when it's my turn to hold the bread. "That would be never," I say.

We get to the ducks. Dominic is afraid of the geese. Alison claims she'll protect him. Dominic eats some of the bread. Then says he needs some water. I tell him he can hold out til we get to Kroger. There's probably a water fountain there. (Turns out there isn't...)

We get to Kroger. They ask if we'll buy candy. Can we rent a movie? Can we get doughnuts? No. No. And no.

"What do you want for dinner? They shop. Dominic can't decide. I tell him the clock is ticking. We buy sweet Italian sausages for grilling. Dom is still pondering his culinary fate. I inform him that I can take him home and he can have dinner there.

Dominic discovers there's no water fountain. The girls try to hide from him in the store. Which means I can't find them either. I hate that game.

I get just enough food to feel my muscles flex. We set out for home. Dominic remembers that he left his jacket with the ducks. I sigh. We go back to the canal, retreive the jacket.

"Do we have to walk all the home?" he asks.
"Yes."
"Can we have sno cones?
Can we go to BRICs?"
"No. We're going home to have dinner, remember?" I say.

"Will dinner be ready when we get home?" Amanda asks me.

I took a deep breath, swung the bag of groceries that contained most of said dinner.

"Remember when we went to Kroger and we decided you'd have sausages and we bought them and put them in this bag right here?" I ask.

"Oh. So it won't be cooked, I guess," she said.

"Right."

Actually it was a fun afternoon. They're more hilarious than they are annoying. And I was happy to have them here. In between the piles of boredom, they seemed to have a good time.

I, however, am exhausted and will soon be finding my bed, my book and a remote. Should anyone want anything else from me, I have one word...

Thinner but Boring

So I'm at a crossroads in a part of the country where I never thought I'd be and I might need some guidance.

Weight Watchers says I've reached and maintained my weight goal to the extent that they gave me a little gold key and pronounced me a Lifetime member.

I don't know quite what to do with myself now. I wonder if mountain climbers who reach the peak get up there and say, "Well, hell. What now?" like I'm doing right now.

I know it's not enough to reach this level. I have to stay here. I know full well that I have the capacity to backslide into the culinary sins of fried food and full-fat ice cream faster than a felon just released from prison where he discovered Jesus.

I'm tempted to set a new, lower goal because I've gotten used to my somewhat restrictive diet. I've perfected my whine. I am so used to trying to lose that the idea of maintaining scares the, uh, pumpkin out of me.

Most people at work don't even try anymore to convince me to try the yummy treats they bring in. (For this I am deeply thankful.) Jeff's been great and for the last three weeks has been a WW believer. He's so into it now (dropped 10 pounds in three weeks) that he's teaching me stuff and shopping for low-point stuff like a lo-cal champion.

Don't tell anyone, but Weight Watchers is not all that restrictive once you get past the desire for foods that, truth be told, aren't really all that great.

Sure, it's nice to think about pie and chocolate cake and piles of ice cream. Pizza. Lasagna. Al Fredo sauce. Pumpkin rolls.....ahhh pumpkin rolls... Donna's yeast rolls and butter. Bread sticks...

Sorry. Got distracted there for a minute. Sure I fantasize sometimes and breathe deep when someone's having fried chicken. But there are few things I've learned from my 22.5 months of Weight Watchers membership.

1. I like being thinner way more than I enjoy chocolate. I know! I wouldn't have believed it myself two years ago. But it's true.

2. While I will occasionally indulge in a Dexatrim when I will be faced with great temptation (parties, traveling, vacation) chemicals aren't the answer. There's no quick fix. It's eating less and exercising more until you get to a point where you don't dread shopping for swim suits or when you finally get to the point where you're just not going to go up another size.

3. I've never been addicted to drugs or alcohol but I do think sustained weight loss has got to be something close. And like other addicts, no one can make you decide to really kick the habit. You have to do it. And you have to do it for yourself.

4. The gym is not a torture chamber. Well, if it is, it's at least one you emerge from better than you when you entered. And once you get to a point where you don't flinch when you pass the mirrors, you're home free. Don't tell Kelsey Taylor but I get cranky when I don't get to go to the gym.

If I can just stay in my WW world and focus on eating, or not eating, I don't have to work on other areas of my life that could need improving. So here's where your guidance comes in.

I might be thinner than I've ever been in my life, but I'm B.O.R.I.N.G. and I need help to overcome it.

I need to develop an interest in something that will energize all of us in the TeamReed family, not eat into the gym time and not expose me to too much culinary temptation.

Temptation lies in bars, wine festivals, beer gardens and street fairs where there's more grease per square inch than oxygen. (See why I'm boring?)

It's getting colder, so hikes and bike rides will be getting scarcer. While I can drag Alison with me, she's even less inclined than I to brave the cold. She has inheirited, I fear, my exultation in the couch, a book and snacks.

Music is great. But it usually comes with beer. Maybe I start there. I'm taking Jeff to see Matthew Sweet this week for his upcoming birthday.

Maybe we should go to a concert every month. My smart friend Angela has season tickets to the local theater. It forces a date night. Maybe that? Both will involve wearing grown-up clothes and makeup, getting a sitter, a little 5-hour-energy.

I think I need an after-hours coach. I'm good with school stuff, work stuff, yard work, working out and getting through the dinner hour. It's the prime-time viewing hours and the weekends when I want to stay home and veg out.

If this keeps up, I'll be a thin old lady with no friends who's only activity is running out to catch the leaves when they fall on the lawn.

Is there a class for boring people?

Sleepover Weekend!

We had an all-Jenna-all-the-time-weekend, so it's taken me a little bit of time to get things back in order. We got her Friday afternoon and reluctantly gave her back on Sunday evening. We would have LOVED to keep her longer. Although I'm not sure I could keep up the pace.


Sleepover Itinerary
* Friday pickup at school -- Jenna first so Ali could show her off at CKS.
* Ali was waiting in the 2nd floor window overlooking the parking lot when we got there.
* One block from home, I let them stand up in the car and poke their heads out the sun roof. You would have thought they were Princesses in the Indy 500 Parade.
* Papa John catered, Roderick from the Wimpy Kid amused and there was no need for me in the family room.
* Saturday morning dawned bright and beautiful for Jenna's soccer game. We attended. Jeff paid attention and gave Tom a great play-by-play text, complete with pictures.
* It's possible that Alison and I might have read during times when Jenna wasn't on the field. It's been a while since Saturday and my memory is foggy.
* Sadly, the Azetecs were felled by the Falcons which meant we had all afternoon to play together instead of one of us having to focus on a white ball and all kinds of confusing rules.
* On the way home, we stopped in at the Farmer's Market and come home with pulled pork BBQ, mums, apples, pear tomatoes and pumpkins.
* We get home, snarf down the BBQ and some apples.
* We get on the bikes to feed the Broad Ripple ducks and visit Broad Ripple Ice Cream (BRIC)for dessert.
* Jeff makes us bike to 86th Street before he'll give the girls ice cream.
* On the way to ice cream, we spy a school of fish as we cross the river. At one point I thought they might actually have been rocks, but they did move around. We even saw some turtles splashing around and a hawk overhead. It was a brilliantly blue fall day -- the perfect temperature, Jenna claimed, for bike riding.
* We get home, just in time to get dressed again to visit the Jordan YMCA for swimming (girls and Jeff) and a workout for me.
* Jeff visited Kroger after I rescued him from the pool.
* The girls and I set a record tossing her giant tennis ball without dropping it --
171 catches. The lifeguard was not impressed.
* Back home again to find dinner and Harry Potter.
* Girls crash on the couch and don't move until Sunday morning dawns.
* Jeff trots off to basketball. Ali and Jenna are head to head on the couch watching something horrible or obsese cats on the laptop. Breakfast is unnecessary.
* I have coffee, read the paper and plant mums.
* Breakfast gets taken care of without me.
* By noon, we're back on the bikes bound for BR Nails and a pedicure courtesy of Miss Amy's suitcase surprise. "Are you sisters?" the pedicurist asked. "No. We're friends. Well, we're best friends."
* Properly pampered, we go back to the ducks with leftover cookies to share. To escape an aggressive goose, we move downstream. Our plan goes awry and inspires a mass migration from the flock when they figure out there are still cookies to be had. (Go west young duck!) The sky was full of feathers. It was pretty spectacular; well deserving of another visit to BRIC.
* Once home, the girls break out the paint and glitter and set about turning their pumpkins into a vampire and a black something or other.
* After lunch, the girls decide they need one last swim.
* When informed we'll be making another trip to the Y, Jeff informs me that we are not compelled to grant their every wish. I'm still mystified by that. It was a sleepover weekend! Someone needs to explain the sleepover rules to him, I guess...

Model Behavior

I was sitting on the couch the other day, minding my own business and occasionally wondering where my daughter was. We'd been joined at the hip since I'd gotten home late Tuesday night from a 4-day work trip that had robbed us of our weekend, but all of a sudden, she'd put down her book and disappeared.

Then, I heard a clunking noise coming at me. I looked up to see the child formerly known as Alison coming at me. "Hey, Mom. I've been in your closet. What you do you think of my look?"

When she was a toddler, Alison was forever wearing her dress up clothes, which consisted mostly of frilly skirts and silky tops with my cast-off heels and maybe even a hat or two. She'd drape herself in beads and trip around, more often than not forgetting that you could see her Dora the Explorer panties under her sheer net skirt. She'd dress up to go climb the tree in the front yard.

She's had had an interest in my jewelry closet for a while, but mostly as storage space for her collection. This was her first actual foray into my things.

I was, in equal parts, horrified and over-joyed.

I love my little tomboy.
I'm not sure I'm ready for a real girl, certainly not one who is so close to actually being able to wear some of my stuff.

Several of my heels fit her perfectly. The length on some of the skirts and dresses was actually nice. Unlike some of her girl friends, adolescent hormones have given Ali only a passing glance, so none of the dresses or blouses were form fitting. "If I don't hold on tight, you can see my junk," she said.

Wearing a little black dress with a bit of a plunge, she said: "Mom, why are their fake, uh, things in here?" she asked, clutching at the bodice.

"Well, sometimes a girl needs help," I said.

She's been wondering when she'll see some development, but the idea of "help" resulted in a big, "gak!"

She ended up calling a halt to the dress-up when her little Ogden friends called offering a sleepover. Jeff had gotten home by then and his reaction was 100 percent appalled.

"You know she's not that far off from actually wearing stuff like that," he said, as if he was a Navy Seal revealing government secrets to al Queda.

"Yeah. I know," I sighed. Happily for us, she returned in torn blue jeans and tee shirt, happy to kick a ball around in the yard with Alex. She hit the friends-over jackpot when Dominic called, so she's been tearing around with him for a couple of hours. Soon, Amanda will be here and I'll be needed only for food and drink.

But it'll be fun to hear them being silly kids. I'll get her back later and I'll snag every second I can.

Cookie Boss

We've been watching a lot of Cake Boss lately. Cousin Rachael turned us on to it a while ago and Alison has DVRd every episode she can find.

Ali can credential everyone who works at the Cake Boss -- Buddy's -- shop and she's committed several of the episodes to memory. She told me the other day she might need to go live in Hoboken and work for Buddy as a means to learn her new future job -- cake and cookie decorating.

This morning, she must have been plotting her future again when my friend Carey came over.

Carey reminded me of her upcoming fundraiser for Melina Kennedy, and because it's during the week, I asked if I could bring Ali, who'd just emerged from the family room and her beloved television. I told her what we were planning to do.

"I can make cookies!" she informed Carey, who, good person that she is played right along. But Ali was serious.

She trotted over to give her potential client a sampling from last weekend's batch and told her how much her friends like it when she makes them cookies.

Carey nibbled, pronounced it great and agreed to let Ali bring a dessert.

After much debate, the Cookie Boss decided on flags because it's a government event; stars because there are stars on the flag; and a girl because Melina is a female candidate for mayor of Indianapolis.

Avowed chocolate hater, she even agreed to use chocolate for the hair and eyes to accurately depict her honoree. (She's watched a lot of Cake Boss; I was mildly shocked that she didn't suggest doing model donkeys out of fondant and modeling chocolate.)

Later, as she was decorating, she looked up, icing dripping on the counter instead of the cookie, she looked at me and said, "Hey, Mom. Am I gonna get paid for this?"

I explained to her the concept of an in-kind contribution. She wasn't sold.

"So basically, I'm being kind but not getting paid?"

Yes, I laughed. Out loud. But it was a nice laugh and I tried again to explain the various ways one can show support for a candidate even before you vote. Despite her disappointment over the compensation plan, she didn't waver in her work. And she seems excited about going to the event.

I've been on political sabbatical for a while now, but I really like Melina. I'm not trying to turn Alison into a little political junkie but she's seen more than her fair share of Power Puff Girls episodes. She needs a little better image of a mayor and some real-life girl power, if you know what I mean.

Truth be told, she's going to the even to show off her wares rather than to learn about how city government could/should be run. But it can't hurt her to see a room full of vibrant women who want to make their community better.

So anyway, if you're in town and you want some kick-ass cookies, or if you want to hear from the woman I hope is our next mayor, let me know, and I'll let Carey know.
I'm pretty sure she'll let you come.

You'll have to work out your own in-kind contribution...

Mall Rats

After a bit of a stressful week at work, I was really looking forward to the weekend.

It got started off right with a bit of community service. No, we weren't wearing orange, and we weren't chained to each other. Instead, we stood outside Lucas Oil Stadium and asked Packers and Colts fans to give a little bit up for Claire's Comfort for Kids.

It's a great program inspired by Claire Helmen, daughter of Jeff's boss and sitter of Alison. Claire has curly red hair, is long and lean, and when she Alison out and about, everyone thinks they're sisters.

Anyone who knows me knows I'm the worst person to ask to raise money regardless of the good cause. If I ever find myself on a street corner with a cardboard sign, rest assured I'll be dead of starvation in a week. It's just not my thing.

Joanne Joyce, another volunteer, on the other hand, is a pro. She was taking her collection bucket into the lines waiting at security, loudly implying that the Packers fans were showing up the home crowd.

Jeff and Ali were at one spot and I was at another with another woman and two boys who put me to shame. Their exuberance got me to at least call out to the crowd. When I took Ali off to a bathroom break, we were stopped by some scalpers trying to get us to buy tickets, and I got a buck out of each of them!

Further inspired, I went to work at my station. When I joined back up with TeamReed, they weren't doing too well. So I got Ali to follow my lead. "Wow, Mom, you can get people to do stuff!" she said.

I almost choked and told her I'd been shamed into by the boys. Instead, I told her she could do it, too. She's claiming to be shy these days. But with only a little push, she gave it a try and lo and behold, the dollars started coming her way. The more she collected, the louder and braver she got.

By game time, we were tired, but our buckets were much fuller. We'd collected some phones for domestic violence victims, too. We did so well, I thought we deserved a reward and the captain decided it would be to have Dairy Queen (gasp!) before dinner.

With Saturday came a pool party courtesy of one of Jeff's co-workers and then a sleepover for Ali, and dinner and a movie for Jeff and me. We almost pulled of a P.Jackson-squared dinner, but couldn't make the times work.

Sunday, while the East Coast was pounded by Irene, it was a beautiful, clear summer morning in Indiana. Karin took the kids to see the Keystone Towers implode. Jeff and I watched it from bed. And then I tackled the back yard and finished up my front yard chores.

Around noon, Ali came home and we got to keep the Ogdens for a little while. They would watch TV and play the Wii 24/7 if you let them, but I thought they needed time outside the house. Our healthy outing ended up being the Castleton Mall.

Ali had let her ear holes grow back -- I was more focused on her braces, I guess and had forgotten about the ears. So back to Claire's we went.

As we walked into the mall, Alison started channeling a drama queen and fretting over the coming pain. She was holding onto one of my hands and one of Hannahs and trying to find a way to hang onto Alex. Then she started squeezing.

"You do know that's my credit-card signing hand," I said.

"Quick, Ali, use both of mine!," Hannah said.

The redhead moaned and fretted and whined about the pain from the parking lot through the food court. At the main mall hallway, I debated aloud whether to turn left or right.

"It's this way, Mom," she said, pulling me toward the earring shop. Yeah. She's scared. So we go there in fine shape. Hannah kept a watchful eye over the care of my right hand.

Before it was over, we caught up on a late birthday gift for Hannah at Hot Topics and found an early one for Alex at the Lego store.

Thank goodness they took such good care of my right hand...

School Daze

After 10 years of embracing her curls and the wild look, Alison wanted to straighten her hair for the first day of 5th grade.

Maybe a decade is too strong. It did take her a while to actually have hair. Anyway, she's been accepting her femininity in fits and starts lately. Sometimes I want to help her get there. Other times I want to keep my innocent tomboy just as she is.

Fifth graders wear either skirts or uniform pants rather than the jumpers she's had since kindergarten. Last year she declined to wear her jumpers in favor of pants, and while I insisted she get one skirt, she's starting off this year in pants, too. She's still putting off a trip to the hair salon for a real hair cut, and she's now a brown belt at taekwondo, so she's more tomboy than girly girl. At least this week.

She said she wanted straight hair mostly to give her classmates a shock her first day back at school. Another tomboy kind of thing, right? I pondered what else was motivating her, but decided to just let it lie.

Then, she suggested she might need another spray tan like we'd gotten for Jen's wedding, but darker. Yeah. I think she's been watching a little too much iCarly or something. She wants to look cute!!!! That's a GIRL THING, dammit!

She doesn't ask for a whole lot, though, and it seemed like a fun thing to do. I always take the day before school off work, and we had to start our day with a visit to the orthodontist. That first day of braces tightening is painful, so the idea of a spray tan and some bona fide girl time seemed like just the way to bounce back from that.

We had an opportunity to swim at the Riviera Club with a bunch of her school friends, too so that was just icing on the cake -- albeit icing that ate into my carefully orchestrated plans. You can't spray tan and then swim or you lose all your color. I'd planned for the spray tan to be sandwiched between the orthodontist and lunch.

But Ali's mouth was really hurting, so she had some Tylenol, tomato soup and TV at home while I took care of a bit of work. We didn't get to the pool until after 1. It was 5 before we left, and the salon closed at 6:30. So we dashed home, we got her showered and I slathered her hair down with straightening solution.

We got her sprayed down and then came home to blow out the hair. Then out came the flat iron and another straightening product. An hour later, it was like we had a different little girl. She didn't seem quite so little. And she seemed way more girl than I'm used to.

I did take the opportunity to actually see her hair to trim it up evenly. When it's curly, it's like trying to measure a barrel of snakes. Not that I'd have any part of that, but still, it's hard. The only good thing is that it's so curly that you can't tell how raggedy it is.

School got off to a good start. Everyone oohed and aahed. Not that I got the full scoop -- she was a little too cool to really dish with her mother.

This morning, she wanted to snuggle on the couch and watch TV and read. I might have gotten to the couch before she did. We got caught up in Cake Boss and that led to wanting to make cookies. Then she decided we should make one for every kid in the 5th grade. We cut out boys, girls and school bells, but she was the decorator, and she wanted to make each of the kid shapes to match her classmates.

At one point while she was decorating, she ran in to show me she'd started one for Jordan. It already had hair, eyes and a mouth. Sht told me she was going to use chocolate icing to show his skin tone. I remarked that she maybe should have started with the skin first.

She shrugged, trotted off and said, "Eh, live and learn."

It's going to be a good school year.

Sugarland

When you're in a situation where people die or are hurt and you are not in danger yourself, pretty much anything you have to say is meaningless. But here I am, still reeling from watching that stage rigging collapse at the Sugarland concert. And I can't seem to stop thinking about it.

Going to the show was my birthday splurge. Jeff spent a lot of time and a fair amount of money getting seats that would make it great: not in the Sugarpit because I wanted to wear big-girl-shoes and wouldn't want to stand that long in them; not in chairs on the ground because I'm too short to see over anyone standing in front but not so far away so we couldn't see anything. Being old, short and lazy were good things last night.

We were in Section 5 -- nearly dead center and just 18 rows up. We were actually 17 rows up but another couple was in our seats, so we agreed to take theirs, one row up. Then, the couple next to us at the last minute, found a way to go lower so we actually had four seats on the bleacher with a railing in front of us. Room to kick off my shoes and dance around if I wanted. There was a fence between the grandstand and the track, with the stage beyond that.

We were close enough to see everything but the detail work on Sara Barellis' dress (opening act) but far enough, as it turned out, to be out of danger. We were also out of reach to get through to help after the steel fell.

Jeff noted the lightning off in the western distance before I did. I was hoping the weather predictions were wrong and refused to acknowledge it at first. I love Jennifer Nettle's crazy big voice, and I wanted to witness Jeff coming into the fold. Kristian Bush is an amazing guy and it's always a happy surprise to hear his voice because he's great, too, and I think people sometimes forget that.

The stage was huge. I counted at least six semi-tractor trailers that were parked behind the set up along with buses and other big vehicles. Just the carriers took up huge room. We talked about how elaborate it was and how much work it would be to set it all up.

Anyway, we were waiting, me less patiently than Jeff, for the band to take the stage. Jeff was watching the weather. I was watching the Indiana State Police guys who seemed to be on patrol. I idly wondered if they were looking for some criminal because they seemed on edge and watching for something. But I knew I had no outstanding warrants, was pretty sure Jeff didn't, and I was focused on the band.

There was an announcement that bad weather seemed to be coming and they were hoping the crowds would wait out the rain in buildings nearby should it come down. People all around us in the grandstands were filing out to try to stay dry. No one down on the track seemed to care. I think those of us who stayed were all just hoping so much to hear the band that we ignored our good sense.

The nice man left the stage. The lightning got closer. The sky darkened to a color that was deeper than indigo but not quite purple. There was a slight breeze, which was nice after the heat. And then, all of a sudden, it wasn't.

We watched as what we thought was a wall of rain come whooshing at us. But it was dirt from the track, not rain that was blowing at us with the force of a freight train.

We saw the rigging tilt to the east. I remember grabbing Jeff's shirt and saying, "Jeff, I think that's going to fall. Those people there." And then, as if we were stuck in a silent, slow-motion movie, the rigging creaked and kept tilting until it all crashed onto the ground.

Jeff grabbed me, told me to get my shoes. He dragged me down the bleachers, skipping the walkway 28 seats to our left. It wasn't chaotic as much as shocked in our area. No one shoved or screamed or was crazy. We all made room for those in wheelchairs, and everyone exited in the ways we'd come in. As we came to the stairs down -- away from the track, I looked over for a way to go left and get down to help hold up the rigging as I could see folks on the ground were doing.

But there was no way to get to the track. In my head, I knew we'd be in the way and that a barefoot, short girl wouldn't be much help even if we could have gotten down there. But I wanted to.

Instead, thanks to my taller, stronger, smarter husband, we got out of the way and didn't add to the confusion. As we ran for our car, parked on the infield behind the staging area, the wind kept blowing. I think I have State Fair dirt embedded in my scalp. It was like being in a sandstorm in the Gobi.

We live only a few miles from the fair and I've been in and out of that thing for years. But I don't think I could have gotten us out of there. The phone lines were jammed. The one thought that did get through was that Alison was at the Ogdens and she might see news coverage. We were headed there when Jeff's phone went through.

If Ali has a bad dream, it's usually about Jeff or me dying. She worries about it a lot. We talked with her on the phone, she said she wasn't worried anymore but had wanted to hear our voices. After we talked, she was OK and wanted to keep with her sleepover, so we went home.

It was hard to settle down. Liquor helped a bit. But as the news coverage of the collapse rolled out, our fears were confirmed, and it just got more and more sad.

My heart goes out to the families of those who lost loved ones, and to the Sugarland family, too. I was at the gym this morning, cycling away and listening to the Incredible Machine album. I heard Jennifer Nettles sing, "Stand up, stand up you boys and girls. Stand up and use your voice." and I had to fight back tears. It was so awful.

I just kept pedaling and telling myself "There's no crying at the gym. There's no crying at the gym." But it's so sad. So awful.

Thank you for all the check-in phone calls and posts and texts and tweets. We are so thankful to have been out of the line of danger. But so terribly sad for those who weren't.

Oh. Deep breath. Keep Indianapolis in your hearts, everyone.

Wanna see what I've got?

We've had a great long weekend with James and David here. I'm not even dreading Weight Watchers Wednesday, it's been that much fun.

They got in Thursday afternoon so Jeff and I took them to Santorinis for lunch where the portions are huge, the food is good and the service is great. Jeff had doubleheader softball so Ali and I took them to Pei Wei for dinner. Did we need to eat again? No. Was the food great? Yes.

Friday, it was opening day at the Indiana State Fair, and we got to take Jenna with us. We love Jenna, and it's always a blast to have her. This move, however, was high strategery because Alison loves fair rides and even with four of us, we knew we needed a ringer.

We got to the air before the Midway opened at noon so we saw a fair sampling of the animals. We even saw dog racing, a sport I don't normally condone but these were tiny dogs, there was no gambling and the guy running the show was a former champion frisbee dog guy. So he's got to be a nice guy who's good to dogs, right? I hope so.

We invested in all-you-can-ride wristbands for the girls, and before we left in the 5o'clock downpour, the ISF was paying them to ride.

If you are waffling on whether the wristband is a deal, we missed the super bargain early purchase opportunity so paid $25 a piece. We tried for the $17 version but our store was out by the time we got there. By my count, we would have used 92 tickets had we paid by the ride. The tickets, bought in the bigggest increment were $60 for 55.

For the first time ever in our fair-going history, we had two ride delays for vomit clean-up -- none from our group.

Before we could have any fair fun, we had to break Jenna out of her summer day camp. As always, the girls quickly took up where their last conversation had left off whether that be months or days apart. And just as quickly, they lost interest in me as anything but a chauffer. So I did what any normal mother would do: I turned off the tunes and eavesdropped.

From the backseat:

"Ali, did you watch a gross tape in 4th grade?"

"No."

"I did. It was gross."

"Oh. I think we have to see that in 5th grade."

"Do you know what it was about?"

"Yes," says my daughter who disdains personal conversations even with her best friend who revels in them. "You don't have to say the word."

"You mean puberty?" asked Jenna.

"Oh. No. I thought you were going to say 'sex,'" says Alison, opening the door.

"We see that one this year. Last year, the girls and the boys watched the puberty one separately. This year, the boys will watch the girls' tape and the girls watch the boys' tape."

"Aaack! What kind of school do you GO to? I do NOT want to have to see boys' junk. And what kind of BOY wants to see a GIRL'S junk? Blech."

Jenna dissolves into giggles. "I know! Right?"

We get home a few minutes later.

"Hey, Jenna. My Uncle James and Uncle David are here. Want me to show 'em to you?"

"Yeah!"

Off they trot. I heard later that proper introductions were made, but the novelty of having her uncles in did not diminish. The next day, Amer came at dawn to drag Jenna off to soccer practice. Ali comes out to say hello.

"Hey, Miss Amy, my Uncle James and Uncle David are here? Want to go look at 'em?"

Amy held herself back until that evening when everyone was upright.

I hope the boys had as much fun as we did last night. All our friends are ready to move to Maine just so they can hang out with them more.

Summer Camp, Boot Camp and random thoughts

We're childless for another week, and once again she had no trouble sending us off on our way from her old friend (Helen) and her newly found friends with whom she'll share a Kickapoo cabin at FlatRock River Camp.

I know this is a good thing. I've encouraged her indendpendent streak. I even like it. Except when I don't.

Before she went, I asked her if she thought the boy she'd gone on a "date" with to the weekly camp dance would be there and if she thought she'd go with him again and if she thought he'd try to kiss her. She informed me that she didn't know if he'd be there, she has little interest in kissing but if she did, she wouldn't tell me because "You'll just blab it on the Internet."

She doesn't read this blog, but some of her friends do and they tell her about it. I told her that if she tells me it's a secret, I never share -- not here and not anywhere. She seemed to accept it as believable. I'm hoping so because I'm fairly certain her opinion on boys and romance is going to change. She actually brought a skirt and fancy top in anticipation of the dance, and she's lately been interested in shopping.

I've actually been encouraging the "no romance, no how, no way" concept. But I know it's only a matter of time.

I reminded her today that when she gets back from her sleepaway camp, she'll have rock climbing camp at the Jordan Y but on Wednesday she'll skip it to go to Raccoon Lake with Elizabeth and Traci. This on the heels of a week with her cousins in the country and a week in Maine.

"This is the best summer EVER!" she chirped.

Indeed. You could do worse than have the life of Alison Reed.

Next week, I've committed to a boot camp exercise class at work that I couldn't normally take and pick Ali up on time from her day camp. We normally split delivery and pickup, and Jeff's work arrival is later than mine, so he's generally the one who delivers her to wherever she's headed in the morning. I asked our fitness instructor, Kelsey, who is my friend (unless I'm in agony and cursing her) if I should plan on doing my usual Monday strength training as well as the boot camp.

"Um. Probably not," she said.

The Angie's List garden needs more weeding. "Think I'll be in good enough shape to weed after the class?"

"Um. Probably not," she said.

Great. Can't wait for that....

Random stuff:

The heat wave claimed James and David's pool in Maine. If you've ever wondered what it would take to melt super heavy duty plastic, it's several weeks of 90-degree heat in a row. Ali and I, who covet their pool, had a moment of silence.

A hawk has moved into our neighborhood and sometimes hangs out in the trees in our yard. One day, it was playing tag with another hawk from our yard to Debbie's next door, across to Jason's and back again.

I thought perhaps it was a love match, but I haven't seen Hawk No. 2 since then, so now I'm wondering if I witnesses the early stages of raptor-i-cide. Who do you call to report on that?!

Karin and I witnessed a woman yesterday who was wearing black tights that were so wrongly sized that her panties make them look like control top panty hose. Except that you knew they were panties. I've committed my share of fashion sins, and I'm sure there are more to come, but please. Even though they're called "tights" your circulatory system shouldn't be jeopardized. And panties are UNDERwear. They should be under there, not out there.

I had book club Friday and we talked about The Paris Wife -- a book about Ernest Hemmingway's first wife and the craziness that led up to their divorce. It's got me on a Hemmingway kick and I'm being encouraged to read Loving Frank, about his mistress. I'm fairly certain I'm going to need a vampire book in between. They may be biters, the vamps, but they're loyal to their mates once they find them....