A Dear Charles letter, Living on in Infamy, and Adventures in Dadhood (with Hump Day Hmm call)

This post serves a variety of functions, as you might guess from the title. I have been rather prolific this week (which either means I am Virginia Woolf level angsty or Janet Evanovich level chipper) so if you haven't been here at my blog at least twice every day this week, you better scroll down. I'd hate for you to miss what could be from your POV the Best Post Julie Ever Wrote.

A Dear Charles Letter

Dear Charles Barkley,

I think I love you. Who doesn't love a nice looking man with a big bank account and a hilarious sense of humor? My husband and I would like to know if you are interested in marrying us (he's also a fan of big bank accounts and humor, and he love love loves sports).

Of all the sports out there, I like basketball best (after hockey, that is). And you, of course, were one of the best. I lost track of you because, well, to be honest, I leave the sports station viewing up to my husband, who takes his responsibility there very seriously. He watches your show often. So it was no surprise to him, like it was to me, that you are one hilarious guy. You shone brighter than any Hollywood star on Letterman last night. Thanks for the big laughs.

We have a lot in common.

We're close to the same age, and suffer similar aging issues. My metabolism also has slowed down! So I understand! I've also noticed that working out only makes me tired and that I have to do twice as much of it to get half the results. I also never play basketball these days, and share your blown out knee issue (and can raise you two blown out ankles, too). (But listen, my husband? If he sees a ball and net? It's like a compulsion. So take that under consideration.) If I had to run a race, I also would choose someone over 60 to compete against. Choosing someone almost 70 was brilliant. Just like you, it chaps my hide when people refer to sports as glamour matches. Unless Tyra Banks begins officiating, I think they are tests of skill not glamour matches.

So listen, consider our offer, will you? We're really nice, and we come with two cute kids (accessories included, potty trained), a very handsome labrador (acessories also included, also trained), and two cats.

Sincerely, Julie

P.S. If you heard I sent a similar letter to Adam Oates, well, it's just not true. He left us to go play for the Wrong Team (by which I mean nothing sexual at all, I swear).

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Living On In Infamy

Last night we had a community town hall meeting. It was a near record attendance, all because the board put "sidewalks" on the agenda. As a community "leader" it's sort of my job to always go to these and let me tell you, it was by far The Most Interesting meeting in my experience. The president of the board said, "Wow, how do I keep this level of interest? Maybe next time I can put 'axe murderer' on the agenda." I said, "I suggest putting 'reforestation' on and that will get you attendees." I got a round of applause (in support) for that so he agreed to put "add more trees" on the agenda in case "reforestation" was too big and confusing a word.

This speaking up (and out) was not limited to that one suggestion. It will surprise you to learn I had something to say on just about every topic.

I came home with a bad case of soapbox remorse.

My husband attempted to console me by saying, "It's okay, hon, you just can't help yourself. And at least you're always eloquent and loud."

That's love.

After the meeting the board slipped out the back door as fast as possible to avoid some of the Still Highly Emotional About Sidewalks residents. I scooted to the side to hand off my email to one of my neighbors so we can coalesce into a powerful force that somehow convinces a large and "does not give a shit" power company to bury all the power lines. I mean, Hurricane Alley. Who leaves power lines hanging in the sky in Hurricane Alley?

I then hustled to the back to catch up with a couple of friends I haven't seen in a while (not since the Dog Club Drama, actually). She was talking to The Guy Who Sat In Front of Me and who had some ideas I nodded along with. We introduced ourselves and then his friend keeps saying my name over and over out loud.

"Julie Pippert. Julie Pippert. Hmm, I swear I've seen and heard your name before. Julie Pippert. You don't look familiar but your name..."

I swear to you, I had a mild panic attack. OMG, please don't say you read my blog. OMG please don't go home and Google me. Weird. I've never worried before. I don't know why I did just then!

I laughed it off with a joke to him, "Oh boy I can't imagine I'm that notorious in this town, yet!"

He shook his head and said my name again, adding (warning?) that it would come to him.

We gossiped for a short bit and then all headed home.

So imagine my surprise when I see that Jenny quoted me on her blog---a huge blog hosted by a major newspaper. Of course I am suffering from a bad case of big-headeditis and have a high fever of flattered now. I mean, it's Jenny.

But that is when it hit me: I have a big mouth, and my tongue in hinged in the middle flapping at both ends pretty much all the time. I do not keep a low cyber or real profile. And this isn't the first time a reputation has preceded me.

I just hope it hasn't messed up my friend's BBQ-Beer plans.

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Adventures in Dadhood

I can ask my husband to write this himself until I am blue in the face, all to no avail, but maybe he'll at least comment, if nothing else, to correct me (he's good that way).

While I was off fulfilling my crown duties as Queen Wannabe of the Community, my husband took the kids to gymnastics.

I winced on his behalf because Persistence had a bad case of the Screaming Constipations. This was a chronic issue with Patience, but is rare to never with Persistence. I can only think it's a yogurt overdose. Anyway. Bad case. I had my doubts gymnastics would happen.

Plus, shortly before they left, Patience and Persistence put on socks and did Sock Skating on the marble and wood floor of the entry hall and living room. Persistence skidded, lost control, fell and slammed her face into the doodad table in the entry hall. Always by the eye. Why is it always by the eye? I iced and arnica'd it, but there was still clearly a slam mark.

So he takes a swollen eyed yelling child with the Screaming Constipations to gymnastics. Do you love his optimism or what?

He said she spent the entire time hiding under the stairs screaming. He coaxed her out and took her to the car, where the poo finally made an exit, well 60% of an exit. (Kyla, what's your word for it, when you, the parent, need to intervene?)

So my husband, in the car, helped. What he really did was pull out the cork holding back the flood. What followed (and I hope he chimes in here soon) was a Poop Explosion. All over the car, the parking lot, my husband, Patience, and so forth. Publically. In the parking lot of the gym, as parents streamed by coming and going.

When he related all of this to me, hours later when I got home, I could tell he still had a bit of the skeeves and horrors.

Isn't parenthood fun?

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Hump Day Hmm

Since I already wrote my piece on Monday, I'm keeping the channel open for the rest of you to post your responses to the Hump Day Hmm question: What has the experience of being forgiven been like for you? I'll create a host post with links.

copyright 2007 Julie Pippert