Playing hooky

It's been said "Golf is a good walk spoiled." I say even a bad day on the course is better than any day (well most) in the office.

My friend Karen and I have been trying for a month to go golfing. We figure we're pretty evenly matched (or lacking equally in talent) since we both have clubs that have seen a golf course less than half a dozen times in the past 3 years!

At first we were thinking of going after work some night, but we've both been busy running to our sons' T-ball and baseball games and fulfilling other motherly obligations. It didn't look like it was going to happen anytime soon.

But then Jim had a brilliant idea. As a birthday present to me, he told Karen to take me out Friday afternoon and he'd pay for us both. You mean play hooky? Wow, we hadn't thought of that!

We did ask our bosses and they didn't mind so we were set. The weather was perfect yesterday. And I mean perfect -- so nice we couldn't claim heat exhaustion for pathetic putting and couldn't blame the wind for carrying our balls into the woods. It was all on us.

First hole my ball goes left and hers goes right. We figured we were in for a long afternoon, but we straightened things out ... a little bit.

We agreed ahead of time that we would use as many mulligans as we needed to in order to keep this fun and stress-free. We expected we'd use about one per hole but we came in way under that -- even after losing 2 balls each in the stinkin' water on the par 3. Still, we might call ourselves M&M (Mulligan & Mulligan) when we go out on tour!

In the end, we decided we did "not bad" for our first time out in a year. No, I won't tell you our scores but I can tell you the "not bad" would be "good" if we could turn our 8's into 6's and subtract bonus points for good behavior. Yes, good behavior. I only dropped 2 F-bombs (ask Jim, that's a huge accomplishment) and we didn't talk about work (that's even harder not to do).

I forgot how much fun it is to play hooky ... Not that I've ever done that before -- especially the day after my birthday. (I gotta grow up... Naahh!)

Off to the races

You'd think recovering from a broken shoulder (baseball injury) and getting braces would be enough trauma (or drama) for a teenager to handle in one summer. Not if you're Colin Reffner.

I've mentioned before that Jim's nephew is a race car driver. Yes, he's only 13. And yes, he really does drive a REAL car in REAL stockcar races. And he's pretty darn good, too, which he proved again tonight. Bear with me if you don't know a thing about racing, or don't care.

During qualifying, Colin had the fastest time among the 4-cylinder cars. This meant he got to drive around the track with the other fast qualifiers during the Star Spangled Banner. Colin drove and his dad, my brother-in-law Baird, got to hold the flag. Pretty cool.

They introduced him and he told the crowd about his sponsors and said he was dedicating the race to his cousin Matthew Grimm, who died in Iraq this year. That's more than cool.

They had two heat races for the 4-cylinder cars and Colin won his. So he got his picture taken in the Winner's Circle and had to start the feature in the back of the lineup. That's how they work things at Golden Sands Speedway. Colin stepped up to the challenge, though.

It was quite a race. Only a few laps into the 15-lap feature, there was a crash and Colin's 87 car ran straight into a car that had lost control. Thankfully, the damage was minimal and Colin could resume the race. After the caution, he was in fifth place. He quickly maneuvered his way into first and held that spot until the end!

It was back to the Winner's Circle again for his first Feature Win of the season! Way to go, Colin!!

Afterwards, in the pits, his "fans" lined up for autographs and pictures. I wondered if he'd re-injure that shoulder with all that writing! We could tell he was loving it -- as he should.

When he wasn't addressing his fans, I heard him telling him mom about his braces bothering him a bit. Funny, I forgot for a minute that he's still just a kid. A pretty cool kid with a big heart and big dreams and, now, a big trophy!

King of the hill

"You say it's your birthday. It's my birthday, too ..." That song, which I remember being performed by the "Geek" in Sixteen Candles (one of my favorite flicks), is so fitting when you have a twin! Happy birthday, Raylene!

We are both 39 today, still climbing that hill they talk about. I think my sister RoAnn said it best today when she told me to enjoy my year on top of the hill. Apparently when I hit 40 next year, I am over the hill. (That surprised me, coming from someone who turns 50 this year, RoAnn!)

I like the concept, though. I can be king of my own hill for the next year! What will I do with all this power?! I could treat this like New Year's and figure out what I can resolve to do or accomplish in the next year ... while I'm still young.

Frankly, I don't have to be young to accomplish things like "live clutter-free," "catch up on scrapbooking" or "fit into my clothes." I just have to resolve to do it. Make them a priority!

Not today, though. I'm using my "Get out of jail free" card ... my birthday pass. My only resolution today is to enjoy the aging process.

I love my birthday as an adult. I think it's because I always shared the birthday attention as a child. No offense, Raylene.

But I love today that there are balloons hanging over my desk for MY birthday. I love that people are stopping over for my "not quite older than dirt" cake for MY birthday. Tonight we're going out to eat with friends for MY birthday. Then I'll get some good-night hugs from my guys for MY birthday.

Next year, though, Raylene and I will hold hands and crest the tippy top of the "hill" together for OUR birthday! I can't face that one alone.

Major league fun

As much as I love Little League baseball games, it's a real treat to see the pros play.

A group of us from work went down to Milwaukee last night to watch the Brewers beat up on the Houston Astros. Sleep deprivation has prevented me from telling you about this sooner today.

The game was literally a treat from one of our clients who paid for a bus to pick us up in Iola, haul 21 of us down, seat us and feed us in a luxury box. I guess that is how the other half lives!

Our client was so generous they even supplied one heckuva baseball game! Despite the fact I am a Minnesota Twins fan, I can always appreciate a good baseball game.

The Brewers, who hold the top spot in the NL Central Division, got 9 runs in one inning, including a grand slam (very exciting), and went on to win 11-5.

Got home at 2 a.m. so was functioning on less than 4 hours of sleep today. That's OK. If that's how the other half lives, I can handle it for a night!

Berry nice

Where do cranberries come from? Before I moved to Wisconsin Rapids, I had no idea central Wisconsin was a hot bed of cranberry beds. Northland Cranberries is headquartered here and we have many, many growers for Ocean Spray.

This past weekend, our community festival -- formerly known as Grand River Fest -- took on a new name. It's now called the Cranberry Blossom Fest and the theme was something like: "Plant the seeds! Blossom in our community!"

The name change didn't mean that much to me just as long as the Mini-Donut truck was around. And it was! So was the Sno-Cone man (which made Carter's day). And, much to my delight, the Cheesecake-on-a-Stick chick!

We did the food thing Saturday. After my run, I felt like I deserved a treat (now you see why I don't make progress on the scales?) so we walked around eating mini-donuts. When it was time to go, I had to stop at the cheesecake booth. "I am so full," I told the vendor, "but I cannot pass up cheesecake on a stick!"

So I got a piece, took it home and put it in the fridge. It was my evening snack. M-m-m!

On Sunday, we decided to hit the parade. My candy dish at work was getting empty so I told Carter I was going to put him to work, catching whatever was thrown our way. Problem solved.

We also got a bunch of little bags of "Craisins" -- which are cranberries that look like raisins. After the weekend of indulgence, I decided I should put those Craisins on my cereal this morning. Not bad for something healthy.

Though nothing quite sticks to the ribs -- or the hips for that matter -- like chocolate-dipped turtle cheesecake on a stick! Where's the next festival?!?

Let's do the Boogaloo

I don't know what prompted me to sign up to run a 5K. I think it was the name: The Auby Boogaloo Scamper 5K Fun Run.

Named after some latin dance and held as part of the weekend music festival in Auburndale, I couldn't resist. Plus, they called it a "fun run." What could be better? So I mailed in my registration last weekend and there was no turning back.

Today was the big day. Thanks to the help of my coach and personal trainer Tamara (who loves making the blog), I hydrated yesterday, had carbs for supper and ate a protein power bar for breakfast. I was as ready as I could be.

Carter actually had a race first: The Mini-Loo, which was one time around the high school track -- a quarter mile. There were about 10 kids aged 9 and under. He smoked the competition, coming in at least 100 yards ahead of the next kid. Way to go!

My race was an hour later so I had plenty of time to get my nerves worked up some more. I don't know why I was so nervous. Since this was my first 5K race, I had no expectations. My only goal was to NOT STOP and to hopefully finish around 35 minutes (yes, I'm old and slow. I just wanted to do this to say I did it!) I also noticed quickly that I do not have a runner's body or anything close to it. I said to Jim, "I'm the only one with boobs!"

At the start, with close to 70 people off and running very quickly, I realized even more so I was out of my league but reminded myself to stick to the plan. Don't stop.

And I didn't. The way things were going by the halfway point, I thought I was in last place. Then I made the turn and realized there were a bunch of people behind me. That boosted my spirits a bit -- but didn't quite boost my energy. It was very warm and sunny and I was hot and tired. But I didn't stop.

When I got back to the school, I had to run one more lap around the track. I saw the time clock and knew I wouldn't have a problem making my 35-minute time. But could I do better? Coach Tamara had said I better not have anything left when I'm done. If I can sprint in the end, I saved up too much.

Well no problems there. I had nothing left but when I had 100 yards to go I saw I was under 30 minutes and I pushed as hard as I could to finish under 30 and I did it! Final time for me was 29:42. I couldn't believe it.

Later, when the results were posted, I saw I was indeed the old lady in my age category of 30-39. I finished 4th in that group but just may have been the first woman with a chest to finish (I may rename the race the Boobaloo).

Only the top 3 in each category got a ribbon, but I got a cool Boogaloo T-shirt and I can go into my next birthday this week armed with the knowledge that I'm never too old to try something new!

Ice cream, you scream ...

Not to age myself, but do you remember that commercial for Lowenbrau Beer in the '70s? "Tonight is the night, the night is kind of special, tonight -- let it be Lowenbrau."

In our family, Lowenbrau could be replaced with "Shivers." No, it's not a beer. It's an ice cream shop.

Most small towns have a Dairy Queen or something that emulates one, where instead of Blizzards, they have "flurries" or "hurricanes" for frozen treats. In Iola, they have Shivers.

When Carter started commuting with us 3 summers ago, it didn't take him long to get hooked on Shivers -- known for their Flavor Bursts! Flavor Bursts are vanilla cones with just a burst of another flavor -- like butterscotch, Cool Mint or Blue Goo -- that makes the cone look almost like a twist cone. M-m-m!

On the first day of Kidz Camp, we took Carter to Shivers as his "beginning of summer" treat. We told him then he should not ask to go to Shivers every night. We'd go on special occasions.

Well, so far, two weeks into this, he has asked every night. And so far, we have allegedly had 3 "special occasions"! Right. Just call me a push over. I can't resist my Cool Mint Flavor Burst!

Tonight will be a Shivers night. This time it's really a special occasion. Honest. We got Carter's report card in the mail yesterday and he is now officially a fourth-grader! Grades were very good. Comments about his behavior and sense of humor were good, too. We told him that was definitely worth celebrating.

So "Tonight is the night, the night is kind of special, tonight -- let it be Shivers!"

Space case

Maybe it's a boy thing, but Carter has this keen interest in science and outer space. In his room (on a good day), you will find a microscope, lab kit, telescope and a model of the solar system -- which he'll be the first to point out is inaccurate because Pluto is no longer a planet!

This week's theme at Kidz Camp is Outer Space. This is a conversation between our friend Tamara and Carter:

Tamara: How's Kidz Camp going?
Carter: Great!
Tamara: So what's the theme this week?
Carter: Outer Space.
Tamara: That's cool! So is it more fun than American Idol was last week?
Carter: Yes because I know a lot more about space than I do about singing.

Who's kid is this?

Swimming with the fishes

I basically grew up on a lake. Well, our driveway was right across from the Public Access road, so it was close enough.

It was just a little round lake. In fact, its name was changed from Pickerel to Little Mirror sometime in my late childhood. The swimming area wasn't big, but large enough to attract kids from miles around for swimming lessons each summer.

Lessons were always held early in the summer because I recall it was more than chilly during the first lessons of the day. And it was still weedy until, at the end of two weeks, all the swimmers had trampled or dislodged most of the weeds and muck in the swimming area. Yuck! It's no wonder kids these days prefer pools.

Carter is signed up for two sessions of swimming lessons this summer so he can hopefully get his swimming level caught up to kids his age. He gets to swim at the beautiful fitness and aquatic center in Iola. It has a shallow pool for beginners, a diving board, plus a twisty slide.

He's a pretty lucky kid. Thanks to swimming lessons AND Kidz Camp, he gets to swim twice a day during the week! I'd even say he was spoiled.

I can remember begging our mom to let us swim. I mean the lake is RIGHT THERE. We didn't even need a ride! It was so unfair to see kids we knew head down to the swim and we couldn't go. Whine, whine, cry, cry.

There were a few undesirable characteristics of the lake, though: Swimmer's itch (which I won't go into detail about); swimming with nibbling fishes and turtles (and occasional fear of snapping turtles); and the barrel.

The barrel was like a 50-gallon drum that was placed in the water years prior so we could use it as a "diving board." We'd jump off of it but couldn't really "dive" because it was placed out far enough from shore so its top was below the surface.

Eventually the barrel got old and rusty and I ended up cutting my foot on it one summer. I had to have 3 stitches and stay out of the lake for a few weeks. That was no fun, but we got a new barrel after that so more summer fun was to be had.

Today is officially the first day of summer -- which has always been my favorite season. Thanks to Kids Camp, swimming lessons and a REAL diving board, I think it will be Carter's, too!

Stepping up to the plate

There's a 10-second rule we follow when we golf. If someone makes a bad shot or misses a putt, we withhold comment for a count to 10 until they perhaps calm down and reduce the risk of getting a club thrown at you.

This can be applied to any situation in life really. Give people time to realize their mistakes and move on. Then, when it's appropriate, gloat!

So after two days of silence, I am going to gloat. Hey, a girl's gotta gloat when she can!

On Father's Day, Jim and Carter were set to go to the batting cage for some practice. They invited Mom with so they could show me how good they are. Carter had done exceptionally well their last time there so Dad encouraged him to challenge Momma to see who would hit more. The only stipulation was that I use the same baseball machine as Carter -- no softball pitching for me just because I'm a girl.

In the end, that didn't matter. I stepped up to the plate and swung at the first pitch. Ping! I hit it. Here comes the second pitch. Ping! And the third. Ping! Ping! Ping!

I think I missed two, according to Carter's count. He didn't have such a remarkable performance but he wasn't mad about it. I think he and Daddy were just speechless I could hit after not swinging a bat in like 10 years. I was speechless, too!

Of course, how long can a girl go, really, before she just HAS to talk?

Now I know what they mean when someone rises to a challenge and they say they "really stepped up to the plate." I did that ... and I swung! Of course, my back was aching a bit Monday but shhhhh ... don't tell them that. I want them to be impressed with the Ol' Lady just a little bit longer!

It was a dark and stormy night ...

Funny how certain dates stick in your mind. Obviously everyone remembers Sept. 11, 2001, but there were two other dates earlier that year that had a big impact on my life -- thanks to tornado season.

On June 11, we had the worst storm ever to hit Wisconsin Rapids. It wasn't a twister -- but straitline winds that uprooted thousands of trees and knocked out power for hours and hours. We lost some trees on our lot but our house went untouched.

It was the longest night of my newspapering career, though (except the night waiting to see if Gore or Bush won the election). After the early evening storm hit, we didn't have power in Wisconsin Rapids and had to drive to the newspaper office in Stevens Point to put out our paper. Long story short, it was sun-up before I was driving home. What a nightmare.

At least that's what I thought. But that didn't compare to the nightmare my sisters experienced exactly one week later on June 18.

Six years ago today the village of Siren, Wis., was leveled by a massive F3 tornado. The twister was responsible for 3 deaths, multiple injuries and the destruction of more than 200 homes, farms and businesses.

I was at work that night and first learned of the storm when it came across the Wisconsin news wire. Immediately, I started calling family members in that neck of the woods. Rayna and Paul lived on Mudhen Lake just west of Siren, but two other sisters, Romey and Raylene, lived near Grantsburg and could have been in the path of the storm, too. I had no way of knowing. And of course, no one was answering their phones or I was getting the "all circuits are busy" message.

It was maddening but nothing like what they were going through, I'm sure. In the end, they were OK, thankfully. Rayna and Paul had some damage but nothing like the devastation just 200 yards north of their home, where buildings were literally flattened and left as piles of Pixy Stix. Thank God they were OK!

We learned a lot about gratitude that year. Yes property damage can hurt you in the pocketbook, but losing loved ones can break your heart. Remember today (and every day) to be grateful for who you have, not what you have.

Father's Day

Today is the day millions of kids everywhere show their love for their dads with neck ties and tools. My dad is almost 80 years old. He doesn't need these things. In fact, I don't recall the last time I saw him wear a tie. But he does wear suspenders 365 days a year... yes, even with shorts!

I can tell, you'd love to meet LeRoy, wouldn't you? Well here he is at a glance, my father ...

F is for friendly. LeRoy is a social butterfly. Just about everywhere we go, he knows somebody. If he doesn't, he strikes up a conversation with strangers. He and my mom have made some great friends that way on casino bus trips and bus trips and ... well, that's pretty much where they socialize these days.

A is for answers. My dad has an answer for everything. If he doesn't know, he makes it up! "Why is that road closed?" "Well, it's probably because of this... or I'm sure it's because of that..." There's always a good answer. The worst thing is, I apparently inherited this gift of logic. I don't realize I am doing it until Jim says, "Thanks, LeRoy!"

T is for trucking. When I was little, my daddy drove truck. My favorite childhood memory with my dad is a road trip he let my twin sister and I take with him. Raylene and I got to take turns sitting in the front seat or back in the "sleeper." We loved the CB chatter and the truck stops. It was like the K-Tel "Keep On Trucking" album come to life. I always fancied I'd be a truck driver someday. Dad's CB handle was Lone Spruce and I'd be something like Little Pine or Pine Cone or Sap ...

H is for hands. Many would say with 7 daughters and 1 son that LeRoy was a saint. Admittedly, he probably had his hands full. But when it came to mowing grass, weeding the garden or hauling wood, he had many helping hands! We called ourselves slaves.

E is for enunciate. It's probably due to his Scandinavian heritage and living in the Northwoods, but Dad has trouble enunciating certain sounds. It's not as bad as Ole and Sven, but he can't get that "th" sound. North sounds like "Nort" and with sounds like "wit." All of us kids can recall the days when Dad would yell up stairs to get us to quiet down at bedtime. He was saying "Get to bed wit ya's." Instead, it sounded like "Get to bed, witches!" If he really was saying the latter, could you blame him?

R is for red. With his farmer's tan and sunburned face, Raylene and I declared in kindergarten that "our dad belongs to the Red Race." OK, this was long before the political correctness set in, obviously. But it was a "cute moment" at the time that my dad, and the rest of the family, hasn't forgotten.

Put them altogether, they spell FATHER. That's my dad.

They say anyone can be a father but it takes somebody special to be a dad. Happy Father's Day to all you DADs out there!

Scenes from American Idol ...

As promised, here are a few pictures anyway.



I'm going to Hollywood, Baby!!
















The entertaining "Is it time yet?" skit.

Who's the next American Idol?

Live from Iola, Wisconsin ... it's American Idol!

Parents of campers at the Iola Kids Club Camp were invited to attend the taping of American Idol this morning. Earlier this week, they got their "tickets to Hollywood." Today, in small groups, the campers took turns showcasing their talents in front of the other kids -- and moms and dads with cameras.

There was a mix of singing, jokes and skits. We didn't know what Carter was going to do ... it was top secret until show time!

He ended up doing a skit with three other boys where they sat on chairs in a row, reading newspapers and whispering down the line "Is it time yet?" Carter, sitting at the end, would look at his watch and say, "No!" Then they'd whisper back down the line and start it up again. Finally, Carter looks at his watch and answers, "Yes!" Then they all put down their newspapers and say "Good!"

If it sounds confusing, it is - or was. We didn't get the point. But we laughed anyway because they were so into their "roles."

Just like on the show, they had to face the judges when they were done. No worries there. They were all more like Paula Abdul than Simon Cowell, so there were no tears.

In the end, they were all declared winners and they took a bow. Good job, contestants!

By the way, I don't know if the FOX network in your area will re-broadcast the show so I'll post photos later!

Circle of Life :: Part 2

Most mornings, when that alarm goes off at 5:15 a.m., it takes a concerted effort on behalf of every slumbering cell in my body not to hit that snooze and roll over for another half hour of sleep.

Some mornings, I cave. But for the most part, I've been pretty good this summer about shutting off the alarm, putting my running shoes on, taking a few swigs of Red Bull, then heading out the door.

I must be crazy in my quest to get fit. But I find I am not the only one. At the same intersection each day around 5:30 a.m., I am guaranteed to run into (well not literally) the same bicyclist heading south, probably training for a race or something.

What does surprise me is when I round the corner for the last half mile, I cross paths with Mr. & Mrs. Retired Couple out for their morning walk. I always think: Why would you be up this early in the morning if you didn't HAVE to be?

Then I remember: Naps! If they feel tired by mid-morning or afternoon, they can take a quick snooze. One of the joys of retirement!

To me, it reflects this strange circle of life. When we're babies, we take naps, someone wipes our drool and changes our diapers. In our working years, we'd love to take a nap but we don't have the time to or can't clear our minds long enough to relax. When we're old (and I use that term loosely), we get to take naps again ... but we also need someone to wipe our drool and change our diapers!

Will it even matter then that I am trying to get fit now? I'd hate to be lying in a hospital bed when I'm 90, dying of NOTHING!

At least I know Jim will stick with me ... for at least two reasons. One, I've had lasik surgery so I'll be able to drive at night for a longer time. And two, I can cram enough Depends for both of us in one of my scrapbooking totes!

Ah, the wonderful circle of life!

One for the records

In case you missed it on the ESPN highlight reels, young Mr. Austin had quite a night at the ball diamond last night.

Carter had an 8 o'clock game so he was pretty excited to "play under the lights." On the way to the game, Dad asked him: "What's the funnest part of baseball?" After a few missed guesses, Carter said, "Hitting!" And Dad replies: "That's right. And in order to hit, you have to swing the bat!"

Now Carter has had a few hits this season but mostly he gets walked or he strikes out "looking" -- as in not swinging.

Last night's game started much the same. He had walked twice and struck out once -- plus had two fielding errors he was a bit pouty about.

In his team's last at bat, the Tigers needed 4 runs to tie and 5 to win. We amazingly got 3 runs in, had 2 "men" on and had 2 outs when it was Carter's turn to bat. No pressure, right?

I said to the mom next to me, "Wouldn't it be great if he could just get a good hit here and get those guys home?" I could tell Carter was determined to do this, too. He was swinging ... But missing.

He had two strikes on him. This is the type of moment a kid either dreams about or dreads. The next pitch was coming and Carter started swinging and I wanted to shut my eyes. But he hit it! He hit it! Over the head of the right fielder!

After tagging first, he headed to second and I thought, wow, he's going to get a double! The right fielder was throwing the ball in and just as the shortstop was catching it, Carter rounded second and ran right past him. I yelled out a "what is he doing?!"

The shortstop was throwing to third. The base coach signaled Carter to hold up. I expected to see Carter slide into third. But no, he somehow knew the third baseman was going to drop it so he rounds third and heads for home.

By now we're all screaming and laughing because we can't believe what we're seeing! The third baseman rifles it in to the catcher. Carter slides into home. Safe! An in-the-park home run! Game over. Tigers win!

Technically, Dad says, it's not a real home run since he reached most of the bases on errors. But we're still going to remember it as a home run in our memory banks (and our scrapbook, of course).

What's the funnest part of baseball, Carter?

What the hail?!

Central Wisconsin was hit with quite a storm while I was tucked away safely in "Tornado Alley" down in Texas.

Last Thursday, sirens blared, schools shut down and businesses closed for the afternoon in preparation for the wicked weather.

Not too far away, funnel clouds reportedly touched down and twisted through fields and communities. In Wisconsin Rapids, the storm came in the form of softball-size hail.

No, not golf ball or baseball, but softball. It's no surprise that huge chunks of ice falling from the sky dented cars and siding, and crashed through windshields, lawn chairs and roofs. It's a miracle no one was killed.

It's also a miracle, or pure luck, that the storm completely missed our house. We live only a few miles out of town and the storm system simply skirted around us. We didn't even get rain.

Last night, after my stepson Clay's baseball game, we stopped over at Jim's parents' house. My mother-in-law collected some balls of ice and kept them in the freezer for "show and tell." I grabbed some hail and held it in my hand. It really was as big as a softball. Unreal. You have to see it to believe it.

To see more photos, and I think it's worth your time, check out the photo galleries and reader submissions on the Wisconsin Rapids Daily Tribune Web site. Visit www.wisconsinrapidstribune.com. The golf course shots are cool, too. There was even a hole-in-one or two!

Happy camper

"School's out for summer!"

There's something about the 1970s song by Alice Cooper that gets kids riled up for summer. What do they have to look forward to? Nothing ... as in doing nothing. No studying. No tests. Plenty of TV time. Sleeping in.

That's most kids anyway. Not Carter. He still has to get to bed by 8:33 p.m. He still has to get up by 6:15 a.m. to leave the house by 6:45 p.m. In the summer, Carter "commutes" with Mom and Dad.

We are fortunate that there is a school-aged childcare program in Iola. For the past 3 summers, Carter has quietly and patiently rode the 45 miles to Iola (and Jim has no gray hairs from this), where we've dropped him off at a church there to play and make friends while we went to work a few blocks away. It's been a great experience. All the kids are 1st through 6th-graders so there are no diapers and no naps.

This year it's gotten even better. They've moved the program to the village's exceptional fitness and aquatic center. They're calling it Kids Club Camp. Same concept, different location.

Carter's first day at camp was "the funnest day of my life," he reported this afternoon. We expect we'll hear that a lot this summer. He gets to swim every single day in their cool pool with the twisty slide. Plus make things, play games and exercise. As a bonus, he gets to hear Mom and Dad gripe about work on the ride home each night.

What more could a kid want? I'll think he'll be a pretty happy camper. Now it's Mom and Dad's turn to learn patience, understanding, patience ... did I mention patience?

Scrap-topia

OK, my husband thinks scrapbooking is a cult and, after 3 full days with thousands of scrappers, I'm leaning towards agreeing.

Well, not really.

I got home today from the Great American Scrapbook Convention in Arlington, Texas. It was awesome! My employer owns and runs the show so I actually "worked" there and I didn't get to participate in the way I would have liked. However, I was still part of the buzz and excitement that surrounds a girls' weekend away to shop and crop 'til you drop.

Part of what I enjoyed was seeing all of the different scrapbooking T-shirts these women were wearing. Yes, that's probably the first sign (or one of many) that it is a cult!

One of my favorites was worn by a group of women from Texas who had been getting together regularly for a year to scrapbook. The T-shirt showed a scissors cutting out the shape of Texas and around the border it said: "Neglecting housework to scrapbook since 2006!"

Love it! Some of my other favorites (and you'd have to be a scrapbooker to understand them) were:

"If it's not in the scrapbook, it's didn't happen."
"Phi Kappa Croppa: A sisterhood of scrappers"
"Girls gone ('wild' was X'd out) scrapbooking"
"Life is simple: Eat, sleep, scrap"
"Holy Scrap!" (I bought some sweats with that phrase.)

And the tie-dye T-shirt I wore home on the airplane today: "You say psycho scrapper like it's a bad thing!"

OK, OK. I'm ready to be committed.

Countdown to Texas

When Carter and I went to Texas for Spring Break, we had a countdown on the wall for more than a month. Every night after Carter brushed his teeth, he could mark an X over the number, putting us that much closer to the day we'd go visit my sister and brother-in-law deep down in Pharr.

I found out 10 days ago that I get to go to Texas again. This time it's for work, but anyone who knows me knows that "working" at a scrapbooking convention will be more like play than work for me! Unfortunately, I won't get to see Rayna and Paul because Arlington is still a whole state of Wisconsin away from Pharr!

I'll be pretty busy anyway. They are expecting at least 12,000 scrappers at the Great American Scrapbook Convention. What is it? It's a convention to help educate consumers about scrapbooking products and how to use them. We offer classes from beginning to advanced levels, on topics ranging from paper and accessories to page layouts and imprinting. And there's cropping parties!

I know I will be busy WORKING and taking tickets or doing customer service, but I can still LOOK, get inspired or maybe even SHOP! Can you tell I am excited?

I didn't even have time to start a countdown. But I can tell you my plane takes off in less than 12 hours so I better get packin' and get some sleep (like that's gonna happen). Instead of counting sheep, I'll be counting down the hours to go ... 10... 9... 8... 7...

A grim fairy tale

Once upon a time there was a mad scientist named Snipe who liked to experiment with nature and things of that nature.

One June day he brought home a cute little caterpillar and placed him in a jar with grass and a big stick. He named him Timmy. Snipe’s Fairy Godmother placed cellophane over the top of the jar, held in place by a rubber band, and poked small holes in it so Timmy could breathe.

Every day Professor Snipe checked on Timmy. He knew one day he would make a cocoon and, later in the summer, magically transform into a butterfly.

As luck would have it, not too many days later, Snipe found another caterpillar. This one looked big and mean, with evil spikes and black dots. He named him Freddie. Snipe wanted to see how the two would get along. It wasn’t meant to be.

One night, while the rest of the house was sleeping, Fat Freddie beheaded poor Tiny Tim … and escaped! For days, Fairy Godmother was on edge, wondering when the creepy critter would crawl up her leg or out of her purse or some dark corner.

Then one day, she was doing her Cinderella chores and lifted the rug to sweep. There, not 6 inches from the front door, lay a Flat Fat Freddy. He was inches from freedom and a life on the lam – only to be crushed in hiding by Snipe or Big Daddy.

The moral of the story (and of course, there is one): Crime doesn’t pay. When you’re guilty, you can’t worm your way out of anything!

It's raining, it's pouring ...

As much as I love sunny weekends during the summer, there's something to be said for a "rain day."

It rained non-stop Sunday. Great for the dry soil but not so great for an outdoors Fun Fest at our church. It took some hustling but we got everything into the church basement -- everything but the dunk tank, where people would get wet anyway.

Carter and I were in charge of the Putting Green game. Three chances to sink a putt. I'd give the contestant a putter and place the balls, and Carter would retrieve them. Some of those kids had quite a back swing!

We had a good system until one of the guys from the Bean Bag Throw told Carter to challenge me to a putt-off. Carter made 1 out of 3. I made none. I'm convinced it's harder for a golfer (or golfer wannabe like me) because we think too much! Oh well, I saved my skill to win the Cake Walk later!

Overall, it was a fun way to spend a rainy day inside. When we got home, we capped it off with some popcorn and a movie ... and cropping time (that's what we scrapbookers call our work time). I finally officially finished my 2005 scrapbook so I felt a sense of accomplishment for the day.

It helped that I didn't have to fight the lure of the lounge chair on the back deck! So I guess the rain helped "crops" everywhere.

Music Man

Carter has developed an appreciation of classical music. Classic rock, that is. He definitely gets that from Daddy because Mommy is practically banished to her tower if she wants to listen to '80s music.

Typically we're listening to the classic rock station on the car radio. It used to be that when Jim asked Carter "Who sings this?", he'd just throw out guesses like Styx or The Who or Steve Miller Band. Sometimes he'd actually get it right.

Then he fell in love with The Wall by Pink Floyd. And what kid wouldn't love a song with lyrics like "We don't need no education..."? He subsequently got a Pink Floyd T-shirt and poster from Santa and The Wall CD from the Easter Bunny. Not your average third-grader.

Now we hear him singing along to songs in the back seat and we just smile and listen.

This morning on their way home from baseball practice, Jim was flipping through stations and Carter suddenly said, "Dad, turn it back. That was 'Crazy on You.'"

The other day when I had a song from a commercial stuck in my head, I said, "Carter, help me think of a new song!" Without hesitation, he started singing, "Who are you? Who, who, who, who..."

What did we expect? Mary had a little lamb? I guess I'll keep my '80s music to myself and sit back and enjoy the classics!

We want a pitcher ...

Undoubtedly, some of the most excruciating moments as a parent are watching our children perform under pressure. Whether it's a spelling bee or running a race, all eyes are on our child and we want them to succeed.

Carter made his debut on the pitcher's mound this week. As I mentioned previously, this is first year he is in "real" baseball, where the kids, not the coaches, pitch. Just in case there's some hidden talent to uncover, the coach rotates all the kids in all the positions.

I knew from practices that Carter was not gifted in the pitching department. Jim had reported that his pitches went wide or fell short of home plate. Carter had come home declaring, "Guess who's the worst pitcher on the team? Me!"

So I was worried when it was his turn in the real game. I found myself shielding my eyes like I do when I don't want to see a gory scene in a movie. But it wasn't so bad. Thanks to a very generous strike zone, he did throw some strikes but ended up walking in a run. (For you non-baseball folks, that means four batters in a row got on base and the fourth one was walked, sending the man on third home for the score.)

That was the end of it. They called in another kid from the bull pen (well, not really) and he was done. We were worried how Carter would react so we didn't mention pitching or anything to do with it until we got home.

We expected some sort of tantrum about the pressure and how he doesn't deserve to play, etc. Instead he walked in the door and said, "I need to work on my pitching." Dad says, "We can practice that." Carter says, "Sure!"

Wow, a positive attitude and a willingness to change -- and improve. Those are the home runs moms and dads really love!