Colder Than A Witches Tit In A Brass Bra!

The first time I ever heard that phrase, I absolutely loved it! I must've rolled on the floor laughing for a good ten minutes. It's clever. And a little NAUGHTY. And now that the temperature on our patio thermometer displays only a single digit, I can actually justify using it! I know, that's too much like a kid in middle school. Giggling at any hint of a bathroom term he's been given permission to say. (POOP! FART! Hee hee hee hee.)

BUT I'M FEELING A LITTLE REBELLIOUS TODAY.

So I'm just going to add this while I'm at it -

$#!#$%*(_))&^^%$#@!!!@@!!!!!!!!!!

That's for the guy on the highway this morning who BUMPED THE BACK OF OUR CAR - ON PURPOSE! - and broke two OTHER laws while he was at it, JUST BECAUSE HE THINKS HE IS THE ONLY ONE ON THIS PLANET THE HIGHWAY WAS BUILT FOR!!!! Ugh! You don't know HOW HARD it was to refrain that until now, but I actually GAVE THOUGHT to the minor children in MY car. You started it, Buddy! I know you are, but what am I?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO DALTON, GO SOONERS! O-U !

I spent my entire childhood in the great state of Texas, frolicking upon the vast miles of wide open plains, singing "the stars at night, are big and bright......," (not) picking the government protected bluebonnets, and dreaming of becoming a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader because that was the natural order of EVERY little girl there. Raised in the Lone Star State, with legends of the Alamo, and the Texas Rangers (the sheriff posse first and then the baseball team) and the sandy beaches of Padre where I more specifically lived all a of part of the internal makeup that made me proudly Texan. And rooting for the University of Texas Longhorns, partly because it was the natural expectation of my birthright and partly because it seemed so exciting in a place where football is bigger than the distance from border to border.
Then in my junior year of high school, I was carted north of the border courtesy of a job promotion for my Dad (who only five years later experienced his first layoff and was sent back south. Coincidence? Or an elaborate plan to rid of me forever? Mwahahahaha.) But by then I had met a boy, a die-hard arch enemy of the Longhorns and a crimson wearing wild man. I don't know how we crossed party lines, but like a Capulet and a Montegue, we were not supposed to be together. We kept a playful rivalry for years, specifically the years when OU was not so hot to trot for the first time in like, forever. In the early nineties. In our early marriage. But then our first born came along, a boy, and it only seemed right to let go and let him root for his Dad's beloved Sooners. And as our brood grew, and Bob Stoops came (he is a class act and expects all his players to be the same) and the boys enjoyed Saturday games together in Norman in the live action, and the reputations of the players of the past gave way to a bunch of super nice ethical guys that my boys could actually look up to, and we became friends with the team doctor and with a Heisman winner's dad, but STILL couldn't get special tickets because they are so hot, I began to embrace the whole thing. I bought a couple of T-shirts. I root for them anytime they are not playing Texas. And even then I feel like I win either way. I am a rare bird that some claim can not exist. But my husband has accepted me. And I have come to understand that taking a man's team is much like taking his last name. It just identifies you to the tribe that is your family.

So tonight we are celebrating my son's 12th year on Earth. In Sooner country. A crimson and cream child, born and bred. And like I was brought up surrounded by the legacy of the Six Flags of ownership nations, warm winters and starry wide-open night skies, he will forever equate himself with stories of schooners and land runs and Indians and oil. He's having a birthday watch party as the University of Oklahoma Sooners football team vies for the title of BCS National Champions, nine years after they last carried the title. They've had a fantastic season! They have lost only one game this entire year, and then by a very small margin.
I betcha' can't guess who beat 'em?

I'll be wearing red tonight, but I'm just sayin'. ;)

His Face

As I sit here and type in the early morning hours of the second day of the New Year, I find it a little depressing that I missed the first day entirely. I have been flat on my back for two days in the worst, most incessant pain I think I have ever experienced. I cringe and I cried to realize I had to get up to go to the bathroom and frankly I was just mad. I wanted to be able to make dinner for my family, to enjoy our rare shared weekday off, to clean up the incredible mess that has accrued in my absence.

But so long as I was up already, I decided to peek in on my son and leave a message on his dry erase board to greet him on his very first morning of being 12 years old. Or if I was to be really lucky, I would catch him still awake after midnight to wish him his very first "Happy Birthday" for this year. After all, I haven't been able to do a single thing to ensure he wakes up to the notion that he is being celebrated. But in the trail of light emanating from the hallway I did get to see that handsome unconscious face, and once again the world has been set right. He was born 12 years ago today, and my life has been improved ever since. For a few moments as I looked at my firstborn at rest and recognized remnants of the same baby features from say, 11 years ago, I have forgotten the pain that has had me wincing in anguish and instead I was able to concentrate on all the good my life - three really truly incredibly wonderful kids, a husband who works hard every day to give us the best of life's comforts, few but faithful friends, a clean kitchen because my children sensed my frustration, 15 years today of knowing and loving my Savior, and usually, good general health. I'm happy.

Happy Birthday, D.! I love you.