Push-Ups: Mishy-Mashy-BOO!

I did not intend to go back on my promise of three entries a week so soon. But this was the week that got away from me! The entirety of my Friday passed in the company of my married daughter, driving to Fort Campbell on "official Army business" -- mainly mundane paperwork necessary for processing her into their system and facilitating her move to Germany to join her husband. That little hop, skip and a jaunt ate up six hours of our day before landing us in downtown Nashville. 2nd Avenue to be exact. Home to my husband's place of employment. Did you know that there are two, TWO, genuine Starbucks coffee machines which grind and dispense said magic bean brew, along with a pretty righteous hot chocolate, located on the 2nd and 3rd floors?! Talk about your cush assignments!

I think I'm in LOVE!

Sweet stimulating nectar . . .

There was a family dinner at The Cheesecake Factory at the mall for the wealthy, a.k.a. Green Hills, which allowed for a couple of nice shots. Honestly, aside from the Pear-Sake martini which allowed my inner fatigue to come rushing to the surface, the meal was rather lackluster, and I find that the namesake dessert of this establishment does not meet with my picky palate's approval any longer. But the company was a delight . . . though we missed my boy, thanks to the ever-popular double-header which marks baseball season with an exclamation point! We're making memories to bank against the future years'-worth of Sarah-absence soon to be upon us.

A post-game group prayer. Wonder who prayer harder? The winners or the losers?

I ran into the mall to purchase cologne for my hubby and happened across this window display for a designer purse.

Those are darts. My daughter and her boyfriend play in dart leagues. Reminded me of them. Sorta.

In no particular order, a shot of a game played today.

Those storm clouds deposited generously in about 20 minutes from now! And they kept right on playing!

Our dinner club with full bellies on board.

Saturday continued with the busy-ness. Though I slept-in until 8AM. Well, let's say I remained in bed, tossing and thinking and wishing I could return to slumber until 8AM; Hank woke me up three times between 5:30AM and my eventual rise-and-shine. The REM's just never did reengage. After online research for an insect growth regulator (poison for killing fleas in most stages of life) to combat what the single dead flea on Ashley's bed most likely represents (miss a week with Frontline and see what happens?!) and checking Southwest's ticket prices for our Colorado trip to my niece's wedding in June, I sacrificed an hour for Starbucks and Wal-Mart with Ashley. Followed by a quick visit to my neighbor's house to give her little boy a few get-well goodies in sympathy with his newly broken arm. I'm not sure he fully appreciated the juice boxes, Teddy Grahams, Goldfish crackers, stickers and Sharpies for cast-signing, "I can tell there's no Legos in that bag!" Hey! I tried. Kids can't help their brutal honesty. Don't worry about it . . . as it seems that most adults lose the ability to exercise true honesty. Let your kids express the truth while they may! (Sorry, let me just kick that soapbox outta the way!)

Then it was off to another town for a ball game. And back to our town for what became a late-afternoon and all-evening new car-testing bonanza which resulted in the trade-in of Sarah's thirsty Xterra for a car payment on a Ford Focus with enough gas and maintenance savings to offset the cost. (I'll try not to sicken you with the dollar amount we pay for fuel in the Yukon and Chevy Silverado that we still own outright!) This will now be the car with which my hubby commutes to and from work. And what we use on the weekends to drive hither and yon. My husband has never owned a Ford, much less wanted one, "My motto: I'd rather push a Chevy than drive a Ford!" but the comparable Chevy and Honda models lost out for a variety of personally practical matters. And I think that saying applied to trucks. I'm just glad it's over. I'm not pleasant during such types of large purchases. The nausea is only now subsiding after an 11 o'clock 2-mile walk and a bout of snacking with my son and his buddy. The blogging also helps. So would another pear martini.

Now THAT'S what I call a cast!!!

He landed on his elbow from an 8-foot fall off of a swing in full motion. The damage required surgery at Vanderbilt.

So, who is the flea-bitten one in this shot?

The remains of a game.

Letting go of my middle child in stages.

I was on the verge of tears after signing away her very

first car. Oh, you can ju-u-ust make out the replacement in the back left. I'm not ready. YET.

I know. I know. An incredibly exciting life I lead. Replete with scintillating and titillating episodes. Be still my beating heart. Slow down, oh drama. Calm the waters, Moses. Er, wait? What was that last one? It's late. After 1 in the AM. I'm fading fast. I'd best skedaddle off to bed. Wouldn't want to nod off during Pastor Rodney's informational and heartfelt sermons. That's my son's job. And the older gentleman across the aisle. Us middle-aged folks are supposed to remain upright and wide-eyed. It's in the church attendance handbook somewhere.

Perhaps next week (which is officially THIS week unless you live on the West Coast and read this blog, in which case I have 1/2 hour to squeeze into my official self-imposed deadline) I'll get around to finishing the entry I started on my laptop during the hour drive to today's baseball game. It's a good one.