All by myself

I'm getting a taste of what it's like to be on my own this week. Carter is Up North and Jim is on a business trip to New Orleans. Whoo-hoo! Party on, right? Not quite. My bachelorette days are far behind me.

I didn't realize how much of my daily routine is tied into other people. Both yesterday morning and this morning, I grabbed two bowls to set up cereal for Carter and I. But he's not here. Yesterday afternoon I was going to call Jim to see if he was ready to leave work. But he's not here.

I was looking forward to some "freedom" this week to get some things done around the house, mainly, without interruption (I'm serious!). But I realize that just because I am the only one around doesn't mean I have more hours in the day. I did get a quick walk in last night -- that is one of my goals this week.

It was kinda of freaky going to bed by myself, though. I'd hear a noise and wonder what it was. It reminded me of when I was a babysitter as a teenager and all the mysterious night noises would freak me out after the kids were in bed and the house was silent!

I slept terribly! This morning as I was pouring milk into my cereal, Sylvester comes bounding out of Carter's room and into the kitchen. I say, "It's just you and me kitty." Then I think, oh my God, this is my future. Some day I am going to be one of those old ladies who talks to their cats!

At least I know she won't talk back this week or give some sarcastic response or question whether I'm right. Just silence and an occasional purr ... but sadly, no "I love you."

I'd have to say bachelorette-hood is not what it's cracked up to be.

Fair play

Word on the streets Up North is that Carter took the Polk County Fair by storm yesterday. He is staying with Grandpa and Grandma Hedberg on the first leg of his trip and they had to go pick up their entries (baked goods, house plants, antiques) at the close of the fair.

My sister Renell met them there so Carter had someone "brave enough," as he put it, to go on a few rides. Though he claimed the Tilt-A-Whirl did her in, I haven't gotten confirmation on that.

He then turned to the many games of chance along the midway. Apparently all his dart playing in Grandpa Austin's basement has paid off. He was able to pop a lot of balloons for a lot of prizes that I can't wait to see. He also cleaned house in some fishing game and the ring toss.

Who knew he had this hidden talent for carnival games?! I guess county fairs are his thing. With his newly shaved Mohawk, he probably fit right in with some of those carneys, too!

Separation anxiety

Carter has officially started his "Up North Vacation." Last summer he spent a week getting passed around from aunt to aunt and grandpa and grandma with his home base at my sister Romey's. He decided it's something he must do every summer now.

Yesterday, we attended a wedding for my cousin's daughter in the Twin Cities area. We decided it would be the perfect place for the hand-off since some of my family would be there.

It was a beautiful day for an outdoor wedding. We enjoyed some family time at the marina park before the reception, which was at the exquisitely decorated Prom Center. There was a ton of food and dancing -- always a lot of dancing at a Hedberg wedding!

Carter was kind of mopey and we weren't sure if he was thinking about how much he would miss us or if he had too much junk food and it unsettled his tummy. We're thinking he had to get some food out of his system because later he was a happy camper when they brought the chocolate fountain out!

After 10 p.m., Carter headed up north with Grandma and Grandpa and Romey and Rick -- after many hugs goodbye and promises of good behavior (hey, Jim and I didn't make any promises!).

Jim and I stayed in a hotel in Hudson last night and this morning hit a golf course called The Badlands just east of there. Hey, how else do modern-day parents cope with separation anxiety?!? We were so distraught we had to go 18 holes instead of just 9. We're feeling much better now -- thanks for asking.

Now, when summer comes to an end, Carter can tell about his Up North Vacation and I can say I finally went to the Badlands. Everybody wins!

Blinding me with science

(Yes, it's another blog with an '80s song for a title. Deal with it and move on, please!)

Carter asked me the other day how old he would have to be before he could be a scientist. I may have told you before that he's a little into that kind of thing. "I just want to be a scientist so I can know everything about everything!"

I told him he probably will have to be an adult before he is a real scientist, but he could join a Science Club at school to start. "They don't have a Science Club until junior high," he set me straight. "They only have Chess Club at Grant Elementary."

OK, nothing against you chess moms, but I'm wondering how much of a nerd I want my son to be. Thankfully, he doesn't want anything to do with chess. But I am learning I can do little to stop him from traveling that road to Geek-dom.

Before we headed out the door this morning, I saw Carter was carrying a book under his arm. Turns out it was an encyclopedia! "Is it OK if I bring a different encyclopedia each day to look at in the car?" What parent would say no to that?

So on the way to work today, I learned about the surface temperature on Mars, how many days make a year on Jupiter and how many elements are made out of metal. I guess that's better than hearing about what Pokemon he's defeated on his GameBoy.

Maybe he'll start his own Science Club! I just worry the initiation will have something to do with shaving ...

Identity crisis?

Every time people hear that there are 8 kids in my family -- 7 girls and 1 boy -- they always say, "Your poor brother!"

I don't understand. It's not like we forced him to play with Barbies or something. In fact, I'd say most of us girls were tomboys. We enjoyed biking and camping as much as the next boy, but we were not immune to "boy chores" like mowing or hauling wood. All of us, Ron included, participated in cleaning and baking as well.

Jim and I have tried to do the same thing with Carter. He loves being Mommy's helper. Just because he's a boy doesn't mean he doesn't like to craft with me or bake with me. (All these great male chefs had to spend some time in the kitchen, didn't they?)

Carter also puts his own clothes away and is slowly learning the washing and folding part. He figures he's owed an allowance if he gets to that level of participation in the laundry process, but we say, no, this is about learning responsibility, how to take care of yourself.

When he gets to college and "real life," he'll need to know how to do his laundry and make his own meals. It's not something only girls need to know. Everyone needs to be independent some day. I don't think he'll get that concept just yet -- especially when Mom still cuts the crusts off his sandwiches (guilty as charged!).

At least he's not afraid to like some "girly" things. He claims his favorite color is pink. He's been begging us to get him one of those shirts that says: "Man enough to wear pink!" Yikes.

Apparently he's ready to become a man. This is a boy who was absolutely thrilled that on his school supply list it said he gets to bring deodorant this year. He seriously cheered when he read that. He's growing up too fast!

This morning on the way to Iola he says, "Mom, I think I need to start shaving soon." The first vision that popped into my head was him cutting his precious face. So I asked, "Why?" and he said, "Look at the hair on my legs!"

Oh boy ... er girl ... er, uh oh!

Introducing: Not Me

Some days at work I feel like I am back home, living in my parents' house as a child again. Some days things go wrong. And some days they are looking for someone to blame.

You'll never believe this. I mean, the coincidence is uncanny. But we have an employee here named Not Me. That's the same name as my imaginary childhood sibling!

Something would go wrong -- a dish was broken or flowers pulled -- and Mom would ask "Who did this?!?" Somebody always chimed up: "Not me!" Marlys was always quick to respond that she had 8 kids and would certainly know if she had a 9th! And, in my family, its first name most certainly would start with an R anyway.

Blaming Not Me was a pretty tough sell when there was only two of us at home. Either my twin did it or I did it. If we both said "Not Me!" then one of us was lying (to avoid a spanking, no doubt).

I distinctly remember a doughnut incident where Mom wanted to know where half a dozen powdered-sugar doughnuts went. I knew I only had one. And Raylene said she only had one ... finally she 'fessed up to having 1 1/2 then 2 ... then 2 1/2 until finally she said she ate 3. Apparently, Not Me really ate the other 2 -- or maybe it was Dad.

In most cases, neither one of us relented and changed our stories so we both got a spanking in the end! At work, we try to cover our ass to avoid "spankings" in the form of documentation or discipline or just plain embarrassment.

Unfortunately, adults rarely end up 'fessing up to anything if they can get away with it. So as a manager, I occasionally have to take one for the team. After all, I am ultimately responsible for what they do and don't do. I just hope their "powdered-sugar doughnuts" were worth it!

The dinner date

Carter had his first "dinner date" last night. Mom totally approved - and in fact, I was there when he asked her out.

It was about a year ago that Carter first met my friend Tamara, a new employee at work. The three of us played tennis one day after work and Carter took an immediate shine to this girl from Montana.

The next time he was in the office, he stopped to talk to her. I could tell he was a bit anxious. He has this nervous habit of shifting from one foot to the other, rocking a bit with hands in pocket, when he's trying to muster up courage. And he did.

He asked if she'd like to go out to eat sometime. She said yes, but since she was new to Iola, she asked where he'd like to go. Carter's reply was something like: "I hear Subway is the best place in town." (That's pretty close to the truth!)

So they set a date -- or agreed to one. They finally got around to going last night ... it was one last "date" before Tamara gets married Labor Day Weekend!

Afterwards, Carter said he had a good time. They each got a personal-sized pizza and couldn't tell whose was whose so they shared. That's what people do on dates sometimes.

Tamara reported this morning that he was a well-behaved child (sitting in the back seat since he's not yet 12) and perfect gentleman. She said it was liking talking with an adult. When she told him she was moving away after the wedding, he said it seemed like she just got here, then later asked how she's enjoyed her time in Wisconsin.

Sometimes there's a mind of an adult in that 9-year-old body! He's inquisitive, yet respectful, and I'd say he's got the mindset of a "modern" man. After all, he let her pay!

Dream cars :: Part 2

I have been asked to publish a retraction -- or at least a clarification.

According to Jim (hey, that should be a TV show!), Jeeps are not impractical. For the record, he has been eyeing the new four-door models which could seat our family of 5.

So there you have it. They are really quite practical and family friendly. Purchasing one in no shape or form reflects a mid-life crisis -- even if the bumper sticker states: "It's a Jeep thing."

Why do I feel like I've been relegated to the bottom of the "I get to ride shotgun" list?!

I hope you dance

It was Mark Twain who said: "Dance like nobody's watching; love like you've never been hurt. Sing like nobody's listening; live like it's heaven on earth."

Twain shared a lot of inspirational wisdom but not enough to get my "guys" out on the dance floor! I think it's genetic. Women, by nature, love to dance. And, at the risk of stereotyping, men don't.

We went to a picnic and D.J. dance last night. The D.J. also provided karaoke. I asked Carter if he wanted to sing a song or request a good tune. He didn't want to sing in front of a bunch of strangers but said I could request "Cotton-eyed Joe" -- a song we like to Jam to at home.

After I made the request, I think Carter thought he'd have to sing it or something because he disappeared and went off to pout. I finally convinced him he didn't have to do anything but come back and join the party. The song came on and I just danced with one of my girlfriends.

I guess I don't care what I look like when I dance. Hopefully it's not like Elaine on Seinfeld. If it is, who cares? It's fun and it's good exercise! Jim claimed he was going to save his dancing for next weekend when we go to a wedding. But he finally joined me for dance -- a polka, of course -- and we definitely worked up a sweat. We're good at that!

When the lights were turned down and the D.J.'s flashing colorful lights came on, Carter finally took it as his cue to come out and dance. I showed him some funky moves and he had a ball. "I forgot how much fun it is!" He ended up dancing almost every dance but the slow ones -- he said those were for Mom and Dad.

I think he may want to learn a few moves before asking his aunts to dance this next weekend. He already knows my favorite -- the chicken dance -- so that's a start. Now we can move onto the polka, the electric slide and the macarena ...

Hey, we have to seize the moment. As Lee Ann Womack says in her song about life, when you get the choice to sit it out or dance, dance! I hope you dance ...

TGIF .... or M or R

Did you know July 18-24 is Fruntimmersveckan (Week of Women) in Sweden? Fruntimmer is an old Swedish word for woman so they are celebrating wonderful Scandinavian women like me!

Six women have name days during the week and that is why the week is called fruntimmersveckan. The name days for the week begin with Fredrik on July 18th followed by Sara, Margareta, Johanna, Magdalena, Emma and Kristina.

I think if my mother, a full-blooded Swede, knew about Fruntimmersveckan she would have chosen those names instead of our R names: Rayna, Romey, Renell, RoAnn, Rachel, Robyn and Raylene. So instead of Margareta day today it would be Renell day (then do we say TGIR?).

I do like the name Johanna. I have learned through my family tree work over the years that that is the name of my great-grandmother and great-great-grandmother on my mother's side.

The other days of Fruntimmersveckan are pretty names, too. I noticed they didn't use the names of some of my other great-grandmothers -- Augusta and Gunhild. Those sound more like names for sturdy, hard-working farm women -- and they were.

I'm proud to say there were no delicate flowers blooming from my family tree. Until me that is. I don't work a farm. I don't work a garden. Beyond knowing how to operate a push mower, there's nothing sturdy about me. At least I can live up to my "flighty" name!

Happy Fruntimmersveckan, everyone!

Here comes the bride ...

Ahh, young love. It is so sweet, isn't it?

My friend Tamara is getting married Labor Day weekend to Travis. They are "good people" and an adorable couple, clearly in love and clearly best friends.

Her other friends -- us girls at work -- threw her a surprise shower/bachelorette party last night. Yes, a surprise party. The most amazing thing is that 10 of us could actually keep a secret. Though Tamara says we didn't do a very good job of hiding the fact that we were up to something. We were acting too strange, she said.

I've never thrown a surprise anything and it's been a dozen years since I've been to any type of bachelorette party. I was clearly out of my event planning league but I applied some creativity (clean creativity) to the gift area.

I asked the girls (I call us that so we sound young) to give me some words of advice for the new bride. We then incorporated those into gifts from her registry. For example, "Remember it is not all about you or me; it becomes we" was printed on a tag attached to a mixing bowl. The advice to "Take time for yourself, even after kids" was attached to a cooking thermometer and timer.

You get the idea. I think our favorite to shop for was "Never compromise. The woman is always right!" Since Target was out of wooden rolling pins, we settled on a nutcracker! Tamara loved it! (I don't know if Travis will.)

She also was a great sport about wearing her bachelorette gear while we all sipped our drinks out of amusing straws, which I will not picture here.

My friend Jana asked if we'd make the blog and I said no, but then changed my mind when I realized my mom does not have a computer and would never read this! (Unless my brother prints it out and tattles.) It really was not wild or out of control but it was a great girls night out to talk and laugh ... without thoughts or worries about work or kids or hubbies or home.

When I did get home (by 9:30, Mom!), I found my neglected hubby lying on the couch, icing his aching back while waiting for the laundry to get done in the drier. And he asks how my day went!

Some advice for the bride and groom from the Austins: They say there is nothing like "young love," but in my book, nothing tops growing old with someone -- especially your best friend.

Par-Tee girl

Ask any golfer and they will tell you they love the game and hate the game -- in the same sentence. We love it when our long game and short game are on. We hate it when we're shankin' and slicin'.

Last night, I loved it!

We had a golf fun night for a group of us at work. It was a scramble format. Those are always fun because you always pick the best shot and move forward from there.

For some reason -- and I won't question it -- my drives were really on last night. I was shooting out of my mind. We actually used my drives on half the holes, so that was cool. The crowning moment, though, was when I sunk a 20-foot putt for a birdie (for you non-golfers, that's a good thing!).

On the last hole, our group was one over par and we really, really, really wanted a birdie so we could finish at even. For our second shot, we had to get over sand and water to get to the green. I belted out a beautiful shot and it was heading for the green. It made it over the water (yeah!) and was coming down and then plop! It landed in the sand trap just to the left of the green.

My co-worker Noah said: "Great shot, Robyn! That was just 5 feet from brilliant!"

Wow, 5 feet from brilliant? I decided right then and there that should be the title of my book some day. Aren't we all just that close to doing something incredible?

Some of us have been there. Ask any parent. When we look into the smiling face of our children, we see brilliance. When Carter does something that makes us smile (which is quite often), Jim and I squeeze each other's hand and say, "We done good."

And despite some close to brilliant shots last night, we didn't finish at even par last night. However, we did have the low score at one over. So I am loving golf again ... until the next time!

Dream cars

Whether they realize it or not, everybody wants a dream car. What makes a dream car? It depends who you ask. It's pretty subjective, depending on a person's taste (or lack of it), their knowledge of cars or maybe even their background. Money, however, is no object. These are dream cars after all.

Jim has been hinting for at least a year that he wants our next vehicle (the one after one of the current ones dies -- keep fingers crossed) to be a Jeep. I tell him he is too young for a mid-life crisis vehicle. It's so impractical. It can only seat two and the gas mileage would require one of us to get a second job.

I guess part of me is just jealous of his dream because I know he'll get one in a stick and I'll never be able to drive it!

I've always been partial to a Mustang or Corvette -- something hot and sporty in this one particular shade of orangish-yellow I like. (Not that I've been thinking about it.) But these days I'm thinking something a little "taller," something I can sit in to see over the dash. Something practical (sort of) yet sporty and manageable in size (more like a Toyota Rav4 than a Hummer).

Today Carter found a dream car or two or two hundred. I took him to the Iola Old Car Show. We cruised around the grounds on our staff golf cart and he got to see a cool Dodge Avenger and some '57 Corvettes. He used my employee discount to buy 6 car books and was thrilled to meet the guy who authored half of his purchases.

Thumbing through the books on the way home, I kept hearing "Wow!" and "Cool!" coming from the back seat. When we pulled into our garage, he informed me he now has 254 dream cars (I think he counted every one in the Ferrari book!).

The big boys like the cool cars they see on TV mainly. They also think our minivan rocks! I kid you not. At some point in time, while they were young and susceptible, Daddy convinced them that the Windstar rules the road.

Every time he'd pass someone, he'd whisper loudly: "Winddd-staaarrrrr!" Now, all the boys do it unison when we're on road trips. I just smile and think to myself how great it is they still humor Dad even if they've stopped believing.

Or maybe they haven't. What makes a dream car? One man's Windstar may be another man's Ferrari.

Dream on ...

The wall

Since I embarked on this blogging thing, I have gotten some warm fuzzies from my family and friends about my writing. I mean it's what I do, sort of, for a living. But they haven't subscribed to any newspapers or magazines I've ever worked on, so they don't know what I've been doing with my life.

In my opinion, they haven't got a chance to read what I would consider my "good stuff." But now, hopefully, they can at least see why I love writing ... love this low-paying career (ha!). I like it when the words somehow come together to tell a story, maybe inspire someone, and occasionally entertain. It makes me feel good if I can make others feel, period.

My sister Rayna has caught the blogging buzz as well. She has embarked on a personal project to improve her quality of life physically, emotionally and spiritually. She calls it her PES project.

We have a lot in common. She is finding it somewhat freeing, too, to write about her challenges and her triumphs. I think we're both after the same thing. We both want PEACE with our PES projects. Just because I keep things on the light side, doesn't mean there aren't serious things going on in life, nor does it mean I am avoiding them.

I can joke about the fact that I am such a loser I can't win the Biggest Loser contest, but it's a serious goal for me to be healthy. I've spent too much of my life NOT that way, trust me. 2007 has not been my year for progress, yet. I weigh the same as I did back in January! All this effort has been for maintenance?!?

In Rayna's blog today she talks about walls. I think I have hit a wall, too! Lately, my life has become an excuse festival for not exercising or eating right. I'm too busy, too tired, too sore from kickball, it's too hot, too rainy ...

I've discovered the best way to get over a wall is a good ladder ... sturdy support from loved ones and someone to push you onto that first rung. Last night I got that push when the 3-year-old son of one of my friends said, "Robyn, you have a baby inside you!"

I started climbing that ladder this morning!

Friday the 13th

You know it's going to be an interesting Friday the 13th when the first thing you see in the morning is cat puke on the carpet! Or I could say, my day can only get better, right?

Carter asked me why people are superstitious about Friday the 13th. To be honest, I didn't know. I could have pulled a LeRoy and made something up but instead I Googled it. Now I know why I didn't know.

There is no valid reason in history for a Friday the 13th to be bad luck -- it's just a mix of religious sorts thinking Fridays are bad luck since Christ died that day -- and 13 is unlucky because that's how many were at the Last Supper.

Doesn't seem to apply to modern-day concerns. For me, July 13th has proven to be an unlucky day -- though it was a Tuesday back in 1993 when it happened. That was the day I was hit by a car.

It started out as a normal day in Menominee, Mich. I was a reporter for the Menominee Herald-Leader at the time. Our newspaper deadlined around noon so the typical routine was that after we were done, Cindy and I would sit out on the park bench in front of our office building, where she'd have a smoke and I'd look across the park at the boats on Green Bay or watch the cars go by.

It wasn't uncommon for people to honk or pretend to swerve when they went by, then wave and yell "hello." Cindy knew everyone.

Something was different this day. A car had pulled up to the corner to our right. When it turned left it looked like it was still turning toward us. It took a split second to realize this person wasn't joking around and swerving. This car was coming head on.

Cindy and I stood up in unison and I sort of pushed her to the left. The next thing I know, I am on the ground and the car had taken me -- and the park bench -- out. Our building had huge, huge windows, but thankfully I was thrown into the brick wall between them or I would have gone through. That would have been a mess. The way it was -- I was knocked out of my shoes and my earrings (I always thought that was weird.)

The other weird thing, a miracle really, is that I didn't break any bones. I had a deep-tissue injury to my shoulder so I had to wear a sling for a few weeks. My backside and side were totally black and blue and purple. It was tough getting around awhile (a little bit worse than the day after a kickball tournament).

Later, reading the police report, I discovered the 17-year-old driver had a suspended license and the reason he kept turning was that he was looking in his backseat to be sure his bucket of minnows hadn't spilled. When he faced front and saw he was heading for us, he panicked and hit the gas instead of the brakes.

He had no insurance and neither did his parents. I tried suing for medical expenses but after I moved away, my 44-year-old lawyer died of a heart attack and we never got the case anywhere. Talk about bad luck!

Yes, 13 can be unlucky. I have been forced to make an honest living and go to a monthly back-crackin' appointment. I guess the lucky one is my chiropractor. He sure drives a nice vehicle, thanks to me!

The circus is in town

Our sleepy village of Iola is being overrun this week with fans of old cars, muscle cars, unique cars ... just about any car (except my Honda Civic.)

This weekend marks the 35th year of the Iola Old Car Show, started as a little picnic and chicken roast. Now, it overtakes the Krause Publication grounds where Jim and I work. We're talking acres and acres of cars and roughly 125,000 visitors between now and Sunday.

It's a circus around here -- including the tents! We can't park in our parking lot -- that's reserved for show cars, including the million-dollar Duesenberg -- and we need to wear a wristband just to get into work. A wristband? When do the rides start?!

I'm not a car nut, but as editorial director over our automotive magazines, this is my first year of "real" involvement with the show. I'll be working our booth today and tomorrow, so I will get to interact with the interesting cross-section of visitors.

"People watching," hands down, is the best part of the show for many of us non-car geeks. That, and the food. That probably will take over as "the best" for me ... I hear they're serving cheesecake on a stick this year!

And the votes are in ...

Well I caved to public pressure and gave Carter a Mohawk. Actually, I was just catering to the wishes of the voters ... who I thank so much for participating in the Democratic process!

I must confess, I cheated a bit. As soon as the electric clipper was in hand, I knew I wasn't going to give him a "real" Mohawk -- just something closely resembling one. And something I could easily cut down to the same length as the rest of his head if I needed to.

I was trimming the sides and part of the top when suddenly, the buzzer (as Carter calls it) quit buzzing his hair. It was broke (seriously!) leaving a 2-3 inch-wide path of hair down the middle of his head on top.

I assured Carter that all was not lost. We could still use gel and spike it up like a Mohawk. And we did. And he loved it! He had no qualms about venturing into the public eye.

The reviews were mixed. At Wal-Mart (where else) a woman came up to us and declared what a handsome boy I have. She asked Carter how many girls were chasing him and he responded, "Too many to count!" Apparently a Mohawk boosts the charm level.

The neighborhood girls had a different opinion. Madison from next door told Carter he looks "hideous!" Girls don't sugarcoat things these days.

Despite that, Carter still went into Kidz Camp today with the new do -- and all reports indicate they thought it was cool.

Tonight he asked me to buy a new buzzer, though. He says the shaved part is already starting to grow back! So what do you think? Should I shave it even shorter?

Just kidding. I know better than to ask YOU!

Alive and kicking

Snap, crackle, pop ... While that used to be associated with the sound of Rice Krispies, it sounded like my bones this morning when I tried, after several attempts, to get out of bed.

I realize I am older now, but sometimes I forget that just because my youthful enthusiasm is in high gear doesn't mean my body has gotten (or can get) out of low gear. Case in point -- our kickball tournament yesterday.

Yes, kickball! Remember the fun we had playing that in grade school? Jim remembers playing on the blacktop at St. Lawrence and I remember the grassy field at Oak Hill elementary school.

A group of us at work thought we'd relive those memories and formed a team for an adult kickball tournament over in Scandinavia (near Iola). What we forgot was that grade school was 20 or 30 years ago for some of us! A fact our bodies remembered today.

We quickly realized in our first game that it is not as easy as it looks. It is hard to kick that ball and keep it on the ground. And it is hard to throw quickly or accurately. It didn't help it was in the 90s yesterday either.

We dropped to the losers bracket after the first game and then started to strategize. In our second game we had a guy kick first in the "batting order." I then bunted to advance him and the pattern worked out well. We scored 3 runs in the first inning -- the only time we scored in that game, but it was enough to win.

In a double-elimination tournament, we felt the pressure in the third game. I did especially because I was pitching and they weren't kicking balls -- only strikes. So I had to roll strikes. Again, not as easy as it looks! The game was quite a showcase of defense. We were tied zero-zero at the end of 7 and went into extra innings!

Honestly, we didn't have much left to give. It was our third game of the day. We were hot, old and tired. But we hung in there. The other team finally scored a run in the 11th inning and we couldn't reciprocate. That was the end for us.

As we did in 6th grade. It was time for us to take our balls and go home. The only good thing is that as adults, we go home to air conditioning!

Lucky 7's

Today's date is 07-07-07 ... lucky 7's day. Those superstitious types who freaked out last year when the calendar read 06/06/06 will have something to smile about today.

Believing the triple appearance of the number 7 will bring luck, many people are planning important events for today -- like getting married or going to the casino.

Why is the number 7 even considered lucky? Apparently it's because of its frequency and favorable appearance in the Bible ... 7 days of the week, 7 levels of heaven, etc. This probably means we really shouldn't associate 7 with luck in gambling.

We did buy our weekly Powerball and Megabucks tickets today as usual and, like everyone else, hope for a little luck tonight -- even though our personal "lucky" numbers are 17 and 28. Though if they were so lucky, I'd be cruising on a yacht somewhere and not sitting in 95-degree heat typing.

Maybe 7 is my lucky number. I am the 7th of 8 children and my shoe size is 7 1/2 so that is extra lucky by a half!

Actually, I'm guessing of all people, my parents feel that 7 is their lucky number. They have 7 darling daughters. Yes, they are lucky to have us. I bet even if they don't win a buck at the casino today they feel like millionaires ... I mean the kind of millionaires who prefer the simple life with a rotary phone on the wall and no yachts or cable.

All kidding aside, they do value their children (all 8) and their grandchildren above all else. Whether it's 07-07-07 or any day, I feel very lucky to be part of the family I was born into and the one I have created! What else really matters?

Warning signs :: Part 2

Warning to my sister RoAnn: You probably don't want to read this.

When I was in Texas this spring, we drove through a park on the Rio Grande river, where American children played on one side and we could see Mexican families picnicking on the other. Just your typical spring day on the border, I guess.

Then I saw the sign -- one of those "Slow Children At Play" signs I mentioned yesterday. Though this one had an additional warning: Watch for snakes. I quickly snapped a photo and put my car window up! Oh those poor slow children!

You see, I have this thing about snakes. I HATE THEM! They give me the creeps and I feel all creepy crawly just writing about them. It's no wonder I was freaking a few weeks ago when Jim mentioned we have snakes (or at least one) on our property -- in the yard, maybe under the deck. I practically put myself under house arrest a few days but then I foolishly put them in the back of my mind.

The other morning, after a run, I was on the walkway to our front steps and deck when I glanced down just in time to see a neon green snake slither across my new Nikes with matching neon green swooshes!! I let out a scream that Carter said gave him a heart attack. Jim, meanwhile, was in the computer room and didn't hear a thing.

There's nothing he could have done anyway. Though I see we have some sort of garden hoe by the front deck now that I guess is perfect for slicing and dicing snakes. I hope I never have to see that! But I don't want to see any slimy accessories on my Nikes either!

Step carefully this summer!

Warning signs

One of the first things we learn in driver's education is to pay attention to those bright yellow and orange warning signs.

When we were kids, we'd drive through a construction area and if the sign said "Low Shoulders," my mom would drop her shoulders and say something like, "Oh, my shoulders are so low!"

Mom is always good for a pun. I, on the other hand, just use these opportunities to further cultivate my sense of sarcasm (which needs no help).

My favorite: "Slow Children." Oh, those poor parents of those slow children. Are the kids so slow they can't outrun a car or are they behind in school?

The other day I saw a red sign nailed to a telephone pole that said "Brats Ahead." I laughed right out loud. I thought my sarcasm had been matched. Then I realized I'm in the middle of Wisconsin and somebody was selling bratwursts (or br-ah-ts, as we say). I'm guessing if my mother would have thought of it, she would have posted such a sign, warning the world about her 8 hooligans.

We do have sort of a personalized sign down the road from my parents. There's a curvy hill with a "Dangerous Curves" sign. My husband calls that stretch of road "Hedberg Curves" -- certainly in honor of my sisters, not me!

That should be a warning sign ... but I'm not sure for what!

Let freedom ring

It's Independence Day. A day to celebrate our freedom with flags, barbecues and fireworks.

Do we ever really think about our freedoms with a real sense of gratitude for the men and women who have fought for them? I'm as guilty as the next person. I love having the day off and, until recently, didn't give it much deeper thought.

For a time after Sept. 11, we were all patriotic, flag-waving Americans. Again, I'm guilty of jumping on that bandwagon. It wasn't until I had a family member in the service, that I truly appreciated what was being done on behalf of our nation.

The conflict in Iraq has turned my nephew Matthew into a freedom fighter. It also quickly turned a boy into a man -- one who, I imagine, will forever be haunted by the images of violence and death and memories of his actions as a U.S. Marine.

I was thrilled to learn the other day that Matt is finally back in the states -- to stay -- after tours of duty in Iraq and, most recently, Afghanistan. Naturally, my sister Renell and her two daughters are pleased to have their Matty home. Much more so, I'm sure, is his bride of less than a year. They can now move on with their lives together.

It is with a grateful heart I think about what Matthew has endured and thankfully survived. I think about my nephew Tony, a recent high school grad and new Army man, and what he has yet to experience. And I proudly wear my red, white and blue today. America thanks you!

Talkin' about my generation ...

And the marathon of milestones continues at the Austin residence! Today is Jim's birthday!

Jim enjoys the four days between our birthdays because, for a short time, he is only 4 years older than me instead of 5. I think the only time I will appreciate that is when he is about to retire and I can think, for a short time, that I only have 4 years to go!

At our age, a 5-year difference is not a big deal. Who cares if he was in sixth grade when I was in first, right?

Technically, though, we are from two different generations. He is at the tail end of the Baby Boomers and I am among that young Generation X crowd (just barely).

I certainly don't bring this up to pick on the old man (I mean that's what some people call their husbands). We have agreed that for the most part, it doesn't make a difference. However, I have mentioned it once or twice on our trips Up North.

Any time we go to Luck or places nearby, Jim is thrilled to tune in a radio station called Moose Country -- all classic country, all the time. I mean we're talking Eddie Arnold and Jim Reeves and names I only remember from my parents' stack of albums. Jim knows the words to every song -- and I mean EVERY one!

Without exception, there'll be one brave boy from the back of the van requesting Dad keep the music to the speakers up front. To which Dad replies, "What? You want me to turn it up?" On go the iPod headphones.

Since I'm such a loving and supportive wife -- as many of us Gen-Xers are -- I keep my headphones off and let him sing to me. I mean, that's romantic, right?

When it's a song that's not the obvious Johnny Cash or Merle Haggard, he often says, "I'll give you a dollar if you can tell me who sings this." No surprise, I am consistently clueless. I'm still hoping to earn that dollar one day... But I hear guys from that generation have a load of patience!

Happy birthday, hon!

A hair-raising question

For some reason, Carter has been begging for a Mohawk this summer. And I can't emphasize the word "begging" enough.

When I ask him why, he just says it will look cool. Last night I reminded him that yes, it would look cool to the kids at Kidz Camp from 8 to 5, but what about when you go other places like the store or church?

He still thinks it would look awesome. So I asked him if i should take a poll on my blog. He said sure, I could ask people: "Should Carter have a Mohawk so he looks cool this summer? Or should he keep his same boring hair?"

What do you think?

What happens in Vegas ...

You know the current commercial blitz: "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." I should add, "unless you're a blogger" because we share everything -- just about.

Five years ago today it was 112 degrees in Las Vegas. Jim and I stayed cool in the backseat of a limo on the way to and from The Little White Chapel by the Courthouse where we became Mr. & Mrs. Austin.

There are so many little white wedding chapels, their names sound alike and they're probably pretty similar with their services and appearances, too. I can't remember why we chose this particular one. I think because it had the photos and video included at a reasonable price, plus roses for me ... and there were no Elvis sightings there. Instead, Reverend Ron married us at noon in a 5-minute, 13-second ceremony and had us on our way back to Treasure Island to enjoy the afternoon.

Not too much fuss or glitz for such a major event. But that's OK. We're not the glitzy type! In a way, the flight out and back were actually more eventful.

At that time, we were approaching the first Independence Day since Sept. 11. Naturally, security at the airports was heightened. When we got to the ticket counter in Minneapolis, we handed the attendant our driver's licenses and she said to Jim: "Do you know your license expires before you come back?" How would we know that? How many of us, really, look at our license? We usually just hand it to someone else to look at, don't we?

We thought we might have to reschedule our trip and fly back on the 3rd instead of the 4th. Instead, they declared him a "selectee" which meant luggage searches and body probes (practically) at every security checkpoint. Since we were flying somewhere in the U.S., they said we'd get back but Jim would be targeted for the same security measures on the way back. Good to know. No use packing neatly when they're going to rip through everything anyway.

We were relieved when we were safely back in the Midwest on July 4th. As it turned out, I did not marry a terrorist -- just a select person of interest. And boy is he interesting!!

What? My lips are sealed. Some things that happen in Vegas have to stay there!