Mamma, Mia

My mom, she was the bomb. I still hate saying "was", by the way. But she really was. I guess a couple of weeks ago, a family friend, Perry Montoya (doesn't that totally make you want to say "my name is Perry Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die"?) That was a lot of punctuation right there at the end, wasn't it? I hope it was correct. Anyway, he called and said for Bingham High School's 100th anniversary, they wanted to put up a display of my mom's old Minerette clothes. Minerettes are the drill team for those of you uninitiated in the BHS-speak. She was Minerette president her senior year. She was very proud of that.

So the display is up, in all it's glory, in the Alumni room. If you're in the vicinity, swing on by and take a looky look. Also, be sure and check out Troy's mullet in the class of '89 SBO picture. He's a total ladies man, right Larissa? I think Jill has a pretty good legacy there as a cheerleader and a songleader, although I'm still not positive as to what the difference was. I, on the other hand, left a legacy of, well, zilch. Not a fan of the high school days. I was a gymnast and a diver, but then I figured out that a cool car and big boobs made life much easier than being athletic. Totally missed the whole "prepare for your future now" lesson in Humanities. Oops. Then there's Meg, the traitor. The first of the Brown family legacy not to graduate from BHS. But she paved her own road, and for all the right reasons. She still does that same thing today when it comes to life, so good for her. We love her anyway. So there you have it. Just because I know you were dying to know my family and our High School legacies. You're welcome.

Sucker Practice

Emma gets to play sucker, I mean soccer, again this year. She loves it. She really does. Me, not so much. I have such a deep appreciation now for all those years my mom sat through gymnastics meets, and swim meets, and diving meets, and cheerleading camp, and softball games, and even church volleyball games. I remember thinking that she probably had nothing else to do, so I felt like I was doing her a favor by getting her out of the house. How wrong I was.

Games aren't so bad. I enjoy the "competition" of it all. If you can call a group of girls swarmed around the ball laughing until they get their chance to kick it once a competition.

But the practices. Oh, the practices. Wow. Where to begin? First of all, the field we practice at is at an elementary school almost 30 miles away from our house. At 6:00 PM. Which means with traffic it takes us almost an hour to get there. Once we get there, we have to park. Usually a spot is around, but then there's the walk to the actual field. I kid you not, it is another 10 minutes. And mind you I'm pushing a stroller, carrying a diaper bag and a purse, Maggie usually has some sort of toy or blanket, we have to bring coats now, and what else? Oh yeah, the bulk of this 10 minute walk is through the mud. Stroller+Mud=Bad, bad things.

So by the time we actually make it to practice, I have had it. But we still have an hour to kill. And I use "kill" lightly. Last night, I don't think Gretta stopped screaming. You all know it, the Pterodactyl squeal she does. It's so pleasant. I'm sure it doesn't bother the other parents one bit. So we started walking the track around the field. Maggie takes off running, and takes a full on header onto the pavement. Blood, screams, and fat lips later, both kids are crying. What can I do? I laugh it off as one of those moments that is so going on the blog. And here it is. I keep my word.

I do love that Emma loves soccer. She is very talented. And I know she is healthy and happy. I guess in the scheme of it all, that's what really matters. So I'll continue my trek to practice every Tuesday night, and I'll do it with a smile, because that's what my mom did, and that's how it should be done.

And just so you know what kind of day it's gonna be at my house, I found a booger (not my own) on my mouse this morning. Yep, a click and stick kind of thing. Nice.