Go! Team

I wore a Yankees cap sleeve t-shirt to church yesterday.

As I entered the sanctuary, the greeter handed me a pamphlet and jokingly stated, "We don't allow that shirt in here."

I responded, "Well, I'm not planning on taking it off."

His face turned bright red and he began stammering. Oh really, that's not what you meant? Oops. My mistake!

It's like shooting ducks in a barrel.

Bad Day: #1

When we first got our cat, I packed quickly in the pre-dawn hours for a meeting in Houston. The next day when I went to put on my suit, mere moments before heading to my client’s corporate headquarters, I realized that Stinky had used it as a scratching post. It answered the “How on earth did she get up there?” question I had asked when I saw her on the top shelf of my closet but posed the “How on earth can I be seen in public without making a fool of myself?” question that I’ve been known to ask myself throughout my life.

I took scissors to my suit and cut off the million and one frayed strings hanging from it. Deep breath: everything is going to be okay. Famous last words.

That morning, we entered the boardroom where we were to present. I was the only woman in a room full of men with the exception of my key client who was the lead on this project.

I sat down at the long mahogany table, opened my binder, and in a blindingly fast instant that will forever be seared in my mind, a tampon that had somehow nested itself in my binder edge, came flying out at the speed of light, skyrocketed across the table, hit my client’s chest with a thump and landed in her lap. She didn’t even flinch. I just about died. Inexplicably no one else at the table saw a thing.

It wasn’t until we got into the car to head to dinner that she and I began to laugh so hard we could barely speak. We had suppressed it all day. My coworkers were having a field day. Who notices a pockmarked suit when there are flying tampon diversions? Thank God it made a beeline for her and she handled it so well; otherwise, I think I would have seriously considered never leaving the house again.

Is it . . .

better to blow kisses to someone or receive kisses that someone else has blown to you?

There are a lot of kisses flying through the air when I leave the house almost every morning.

When I get home at night, there is often a rush to hug me, as well. But lately, Son #1 is on the computer and cannot be bothered to come up to greet me.

And this morning, he kissed his hands and threw the kisses at me over his shoulder without even looking away from his bowl of cereal. It was still really sweet, a bit of a surprise ambush that I didn't see coming until it hit, but the writing is on the wall.

I need to savor these moments because someday soon they'll be over.

I already got the "Please don't call me Scootchie in public" request recently (although it's still allowed at home) and the "You embarrass me sometimes" statement after I asked a "Who wants ice cream?" question to a group of kids at our house and then snapped my fingers, pointed my thumbs at myself and responded, "This girl."

So, for now, when Son #2 wants me to leave work in the middle of the day to have lunch with him in the cafeteria and play during recess, if I can, I will. In a few years, it will no longer be an option.