Correction!

Okay, okay.  So in the interest of keeping it real and representing truth, honesty, and the American way (though a few campaign commercials cast dubious dispersions on the very nature of the aforementioned triple threat) I must correct yesterday's blog.  In particular, the equine moniker my parroting husband used on me after listening to one of the tongue-in-cheek judges chastise a poorly executed performance on "Dancing With The Stars."  For the record, I'm a bit perturbed to have to mention that . . . that SHOW . . . in two separate blog entries!  That's entirely too much air time in my atmosphere.

It was not a 'trick pony' but a 'SHOW pony' that my husband called me.  Wow!  Big difference there.  Sound the alarms.  Ring the bells.  Clang the sirens.  Arrest me, officer, I got it wrong!  And, to further my abject humiliation -- not really -- concerning the entire affair, my sweet babycakes has decided that I'm due for a new nickname.  I told him that our cousin, and my very good friend, enjoyed that particular blog and thought him quite funny.  "I'm going to start calling you SP from now on, 'cause you are my little show pony," he whispered with a grin, holding my hand to keep me from leaving his side as he vacillated between an MMA match on the tellie and his wife of over 21 years.  THANK YOU, Len Goodman, a.k.a. Mr. Crankypants, a.k.a. head judge of that popular-to-the-masses reality competition.  (Yeah, that's his name.  I know.  I Googled him.  If I had to remember his name to save my life, I couldn't!)

Right now, I'm multi-tasking, as I blog and hold an amusing one-sided conversation with my brother.  His meds have kicked in and, after roundly cursing the phone for not staying in his hands, he has drowsed off, leaving me hanging on the other end.  "Gary Way-y-n-ne?  Whadda you doin'?"  Mumble, mumble.  Zzzz, zzz.  Or, as he's known to those passing life's time in a manner similar to his, 'Scratch.'  So called because of his affinity for tattooing -- himself and others.  It's been his main business, or hustle as the terminology goes, for the past few years . . . but he's gonna have to ditch it if he wants to program clean and get out of the hospital.  They don't approve of such clandestine hobbies -- needles, blood, transferable diseases, possibility of infection.  But I digress.

As of tomorrow morning, there are two days left in the countdown to my Sarah's 18th birthday.  There's much work to be done between now and then.  You have no idea how much it thrills me to know she desires a 3-layer coconut cake with lemon curd filling and a light whipped frosting.  Because it happens to be MY favorite cake, too!  I can almost taste the tangy curd right now.  Yes, I do believe I am actually salivating in anticipation.  Perhaps, along with the batter I'll concoct, I might be able to manufacture a bit more time?  If anyone out there has a perfected recipe, I'll take it!  There's a slice of delectable birthday yummy goodness in it for you.

I'm beyond pleased to report the sheer autumnal perfection of today's weather.  You wanna know why?  Because yours truly spent three midday hours standing, sitting, walking to and fro, at my son's high school, as a volunteer baseball parent, to sell parking tickets for the TSSAA volleyball tournament being hosted on grounds.  Make sense?  You betcha! 

I marched back and forth across the intersection under my watch, bedecked in camo pants, the cute STAY FRESH t-shirt with a dancing carrot, tomato, and celery stick across the front, and an already well-worn Denver Broncos cap to shade my highly sunscreened face.  It was all fun and games for about the first hour.  I even had a couple of good catch-up conversations with parents I don't see all that often.  The middle hour was fine.  My Girlfriend kept me company with Facebook, texting, my Scrabble and dictionary apps.  But that final stretch of 60 minutes seemed ready to pitch a tent and camp out for the week!  The temperature suddenly increased enough to cause me to glow in that lovely Southern lady way.  Never was a reluctant suburbanite happier to return to her laundry piles and dirty counters.  Never, I say!  I did my part.  I'm glad I helped out.  Thank goodness it's over. 

Did I mention I felt I needed to volunteer for another 3-hour stint tomorrow?  If you're a SHS baseball parent and you are reading this blog, and feel I may have cheated you out of a chance to catch up on your farmer's tan and Vitamin D intake, please feel free to leave me a message.  Most humbly will I step down!