I have been trying to figure out what the hell to blog about today and I’m at a loss.

I could post some more retro wedding pics, but despite the dated look, I still get depressed staring at my waist and boobs.

I loved my boobs. Pre-baby boobs. C-cups that were perky enough to go without a bra in a cute-ass tank top.

So, no retro-pics.

I could post some “here we are now” pics, but I’d just get depressed about the missing waist and the sad boob-like mounds of flesh. They are more like bombs now.

So, this blog is really not about anything. Sorry to waste your time. But I had to put something here….

Today, my beloved Fishdog and I are celebrating our 13th wedding anniversary.

Here’s how I met my perfect man…

The prologue to our story is that I dated a boy off and on for 4 years. It turned into a fairly unhealthy relationship. Basically, we became so used to each other, it was hard to imagine not being together. And, I realized that at 23, I was way too young to be settling. So, I kicked him to the curb.

Fast forward 3 months. The ex is pseudo stalking me. I’m on a date with a bartender and the ex shows up. I’m thinking, Wow, could this get worse?

No. It got better.

In walks the Fishdog. When I first saw him, I thought maybe it was the hangover causing all that woo-woo stuff going on inside me. It certainly wasn’t my date who was doing that to me. And the only feelings I had about my Ex at that time aren’t printable.

But, everytime I looked at this new guy, the woo-woo stuff happened.

I find out he’s one of my college buddy’s oldest friends. He had just graduated from college and had moved back into Little Rock.

He and I chatted for a while that night and when I left, I told my friend that he was the man I would marry.

And 15 months later, I did.

897

I took my kids to the skate park this morning. I sat under the pavillion with my copy of Don’t Look Down and settled in to read.

Only one other kid was wearing a helmet. I make my kids wear their helmets when they’re skating. But apparently I’m only one of a few.

Another mother was sitting near me and we struck up a conversation. She commented on how amazed she was that both of my boys wore their helmets. She said she would NEVER make hers wear a helmet unless the park required it.

“Why not?”

“I wouldn’t want to embarrass them in front of the other kids.”

“Embarrass them? What do you mean?”

“Well, if nobody else is wearing a helmet, I can’t make my kids feel uncomfortable because they have to wear a helmet.”

“So you’d rather pay for the hospital visit and possibly the long-term care of an incapicitated child due to a head injury than make your kid wear a helmet?”

“We have good insurance.”

I swear, I don’t understand people. My kids will wear a helmet as long as I can make them. I’m the parent. If they don’t wear their helmet, they don’t go to the skate park.

And you know what? The other kids could care less if my kid has a helmet on or not.

Sigh.

I really, truly don’t understand people.

I took my kids to the skate park this morning. I sat under the pavillion with my copy of Don’t Look Down and settled in to read.

Only one other kid was wearing a helmet. I make my kids wear their helmets when they’re skating. But apparently I’m only one of a few.

Another mother was sitting near me and we struck up a conversation. She commented on how amazed she was that both of my boys wore their helmets. She said she would NEVER make hers wear a helmet unless the park required it.

“Why not?”

“I wouldn’t want to embarrass them in front of the other kids.”

“Embarrass them? What do you mean?”

“Well, if nobody else is wearing a helmet, I can’t make my kids feel uncomfortable because they have to wear a helmet.”

“So you’d rather pay for the hospital visit and possibly the long-term care of an incapicitated child due to a head injury than make your kid wear a helmet?”

“We have good insurance.”

I swear, I don’t understand people. My kids will wear a helmet as long as I can make them. I’m the parent. If they don’t wear their helmet, they don’t go to the skate park.

And you know what? The other kids could care less if my kid has a helmet on or not.

Sigh.

I really, truly don’t understand people.

Dear Terry on Survivor,

What the hell is wrong with you, man! You could’ve kept Sally and changed the entire dynamic of the game. Courtney and Bruce would’ve come to your side–they were already halfway there! But no…that’s not how you played it.

And I don’t like it.

I think you’re into this to see how big your ego can get.

Sure, it’ll be fun to watch their team fall apart…but wouldn’t it have been more fun with Sally there?

Dammit. My two favorite players are now gone.

Hmmm.

Maybe Sally and Austin will hook up and make cute little Survivor babies. If that happens, then i’ll forgive you.

Sincerely,

-Mel
No longer your biggest fan.

Dear Terry on Survivor,

What the hell is wrong with you, man! You could’ve kept Sally and changed the entire dynamic of the game. Courtney and Bruce would’ve come to your side–they were already halfway there! But no…that’s not how you played it.

And I don’t like it.

I think you’re into this to see how big your ego can get.

Sure, it’ll be fun to watch their team fall apart…but wouldn’t it have been more fun with Sally there?

Dammit. My two favorite players are now gone.

Hmmm.

Maybe Sally and Austin will hook up and make cute little Survivor babies. If that happens, then i’ll forgive you.

Sincerely,

-Mel
No longer your biggest fan.

My oldest son is 12.

Last night we were watching LOST together and I happened to just glance over at him. His legs are longer now, and he’s taking on that gangly look of a teenager. He’s letting his hair grow so it’s now shaggy and in his eyes and he reminds me of the boys in the late seventies early eighties who drove Camaros and listened to Molly Hatchet.

My heart stopped.

My baby isn’t a baby anymore. He was a 5lb 6oz little tree-frog when he was born. But when I look at him now, I don’t see the baby.

I was having this serious moment of melancholy over my baby growing up, when he decided to rip one that blew a hole in my chair. Then he sniffed and started laughing.

I made a God-awful face and said something similar to “You’re not right.”

and he said, “What?” (and he added something else, which I refuse to print here)

Well, that set my melancholy at ease. He’s not growing up that fast after all. LOL