Friday, June 28, 2013

TMI Fridays: Corn Fed Girl

Whew!

Life has been busy in the land of Corn Fed Girl!

Don't you LOVE it when people talk about themselves in third person?
She loves long walks on the beach, thunderstorms and cuddling- but not too much cuddling because she starts getting hot and sticky.

First and foremost, I love summer.

Instead of sitting inside my tiny house, feeling like the walls are closing in on me while I loathe winter, I have been spending copious amounts of time in my gargantuan yard and garden, working on beautifying my environment while getting a farmer's tan. My veggies are growing strong and healthy and my yard is full of colorful blooms. My shoulders are brown and my ass is glowing white. I'm eating homegrown salad and drinking real lemonade. I'm in my element.

Aside from gardening, my days are full of:

Coffee first.... then
ponies, swimming, trips to the mountains, riding, hiking, kid wrangling, dog walking, photography, karate, T-ball, BBQ's, an occasional pathetic jog, camping, planning my trip to BlogHer in Chicago, weddings- so many weddings, facebook, phone calls with my girl Sarah, attempting to keep my house clean, the smallest acceptable amount of personal hygiene, preparing meals and naturally, LAUNDRY.

SO MUCH LAUNDRY.

Then I made this on my porch:



And then my truck broke.


I've also been writing. Just not here as much.

Here's a quick run-down of where I've been and where I'll be:


Keesha Beckford, one of my I Just Want to Pee Alone co-authors, featured me in an interview on her blog Mom's New Stage. She penned "So She Thought She Could Cut Off My Stroller", one of my personal favorite essays in I Just Want to Pee Alone. AND she's a gorgeous dancer! I wish I could be a dancer! Instead, I watch So You Think You Can Dance while sitting on my butt and pretend like I can do those lovely things with my legs. Check out our interview HERE.





While at BlogHer 2013 in Chicago, I'll be part of the 15 Kick Ass Blogger Pee Alone Book Signing at Bongiorno's on Friday, July 26th. Click this link to buy your tickets ($15-which include a book and a drink). I hope to meet a lot of you there!



In the midst of my crazy life and inappropriate musings, a few months ago my writing attracted the attention of Chrome Magazine. Chrome is a brand new western lifestyle publication by American Paint Horse Association. I am proud to announce that I am their "Features Writer"! I am so excited about this new venture because it is the PERFECT fit for me!


The inaugural summer issue was just printed and I contributed two stories, which you can get a taste of on their new website: mychromelife.com

Check out a preview my "Colorful Character" story, "A Cowboy's Life" and my "No Fences" story about my childhood pony "Little Joe". I also illustrated the picture of my 8 year old self and Little Joe.

I'll be a regular contributor to their website and magazine, where I will be sharing my stories and my knowledge of interior design, cooking, fashion and country life (all with my trademark humor- minus some foul words!).

Follow Chrome on facebook and sign up for your own membership for this exclusive 10x12 full color, high quality magazine!



And last but not least, I finally took the dogs to the groomer. Red Dog now looks like Fozzie Bear.




Yes, I am feeling a little hyper. And overwhelmed. And excited. But mostly blessed. So blessed.

Thanks to all of you for supporting my vision of becoming a writer. It's incredible to have so many awesome people in my life. I'm very humbled and grateful.

And I hope Brock can fix my truck, because I love my truck.

Peace, Love and Unicorns,
Johi





Friday, June 21, 2013

It's Reining Fat Blind Ponies

As a parent, it is my job to teach, coach and develop my children. That is why we have a weekly fun and instructional "Pony Day" at my house.

"Pony Day" is a day where I "teach" my boys to be cowboys. I catch the ponies, groom the ponies, clean the ponies' feet, saddle and bridle the ponies. Then my adorable children get on and ride the ponies while I walk. On foot. After the ride is over, we all return to the yard, where the children immediately run off and leave me to unsaddle, brush down and turn out the ponies. Then I yell at the children to help me while I clean the ponies' pen. Alone.


Back before I spawned two munchkins, Brock and I had our very own full sized horses on the property. Horses that we RODE. It was nice. At least I have those memories. ANYHOOSERS...

Yesterday I switched it up a bit. Thing 1 is now six years old. Six brings new gifts and responsibilities so, with a little encouragement from me, Thing 1, almost entirely on his own, haltered both ponies. As I then attempted to show him the proper knot with which to tie a horse, I realized that I have failed in another one of my parental duties; the one where I teach him to tie his shoes. Whoops. Priorities. At least he can kind-of-sort-of read.

Then Thing 1 sort-of-kind-of brushed his pony, Blizzard, while Thing 2 worked the flank hair of his pony, Duke, in a daring backwards direction. After the pony coats were shiny and smoothed (by me), I gave a short yet informative tutorial on hoof cleaning while my distracted children wondered around the yard looking at toads and poking each other with sticks.

No problem. I enjoy talking to myself.

It was then time to saddle.

Thing 1 was a champion at this. He even mastered securing the cinch with a challenging-for-some-adults "butterfly knot". I was impressed. My cowboy coaching skills are clearly unparalleled.

I asked him if he wanted to bridle Blizzard. My eager student nodded yes and I went to work teaching hand position and talking about gently opening the mouth of the pony with his thumb. Naturally, I winced as the metal bit clanged into Blizzard's teeth and I quickly grabbed the headstall and said, "That's a difficult task. Let mommy do that. M'Kay?"

Then the Wild Things mounted their fine steeds and we were off for another great adventure in our natural area!

It was hot. Blizzard was tired today.
It's tough carrying a belly of that magnitude on such short legs. Just ask Santa.
Blizzard and Thing 1 lagged behind as Thing 2, the 25 year old Duke and I walked at the pace of senior citizens perusing the food at the Country Buffet.

I encouraged Thing 1 to urge his pony to move faster. Then I mocked Blizzard.
I said things like, "Are you going to let this ancient foundered pony beat you?" and "Let's go slowpoke!" and "That turtle that fell into the pond was moving faster than you!"

I was ruthless.

Did I mention that Blizzard is blind in his left eye? So that means that I was officially picking on a disabled pony. That's how I roll, folks. Everyone gets the same treatment from me.



Blizzard's partial blindness makes Thing 1 have to take extra responsibility. He knows that his pony cannot see from the left side, so he is his eyes for him. This challenge makes him a better rider! (That's what I tell myself.)

As the kids' leisurely ride entered the final turn, they were looking cool on top of their ponies in their wide brimmed hats and short sleeved shirts. Meanwhile, I was sweating bullets trudging through knee high scratchy grass in the intense Colorado sun while dragging Duke, who attempted to eat EVERY DAMNED PIECE OF THAT GRASS. Suddenly, I heard a thunderous roar of hooves on the dirt. Then the shrieking started.

It was Blizzard and my first born, galloping around the bend at Mach 10. A three foot tall blur of white hair, crazy blue eyes and plaid shirt was headed toward us like a tiny, derailed freight train straight out of Munchkinland. That fat little lazy pony, who had spooked at something in the grass, was positively hauling ass.

Like a scene right off the cutting room floor, the helter-skelter duo stormed right past Duke, Thing 2 and I. Duke finally stopped eating grass. Thing 2 acted like he was watching a movie. I held tight to the lead rope of Duke, for the safety of my three year old and yelled, repeatedly, in my best commanding man voice, "PULL BACK ON THE REINS! THE REINS!"

It was no use. Panic had kicked in and my child could not hear me. That is when I noticed that he wasn't even holding onto the reins.

Crap.

Lesson 1 in horseback riding. NEVER LET GO OF THE REINS.

Blizzard swerved right, spun like a finely tuned reining horse and bolted left. Thing 1 was blind with fear, losing muscle control, going boneless and still screaming. My constant urging to "GRAB THE REINS!" was, once again, like talking into the wind.

Just like every other day of my life as a mother.

Duke casually ate more grass. Thing 2's hat fell off.

Then Blizzard took a swift right through a bush and his rider "dismounted" left into the tall grass. Then the adrenaline charged pony kept running.

My embarrassed, frightened, defeated child stood up. He was clearly physically fine so I did what any mother horse person would do.
I yelled, "Nice job! Now go catch your pony!"

That was when Thing 1 ran toward his pony wailing like an angry, dying cat. It was a combination of moaning, bawling and howling at Volume 11. It was super surprising that the flight instinctual pony kept galloping away.

I bellowed, "STOP! Forget it! I'll get your pony- you get your hat!"

Then Thing 2 realized that he lost his hat too and started crying. Jeebus. All the while, our little half-blind pony was running away from us though the grassy meadow. Our natural area is surrounded by three busy roads, one of which is the interstate. All I could think of was my beloved vision impaired pony running into traffic. No. JUST NO.

Thankfully, I quickly captured Blizzard when he realized that I was holding onto his buddy, Duke. Thing 1 pulled himself together, cowboyed up, mounted his pony and rode him home, all without complaint. And I, for the 25th time, showed my child three different ways to stop a runaway horse, all of which required HOLDING ONTO THE REINS.

I also assured him that everyone who has spent a solid amount of time in the saddle has landed in the dirt a time or two.

When we arrived home, Thing 1 helped me unsaddle and both kids helped me clean the pen. I guess sometimes all you need is a little trauma to get perspective.

All in all, I think that "Pony Day's" lesson was far greater than the damage.

It's all part of growing up cowboy.

Good Lawd, I need a "Spa Day".


Peace, Love and Holding Onto the Reins,
Johi

What lessons did you learn or teach today? 
And will someone PLEASE show my kid how to tie his shoes?






Monday, June 10, 2013

The Menstruating Garage-Saler

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I grunted, rolled over and attempted to open one of my sleep swollen eyes. It took a second to focus on the glowing red numbers on my nightstand. 

5:30

In the a.m.

Ugh. I wanted to go back to sleep but that familiar pang in my gut coaxed me out of my warm bed.

Great. My period started. Those recent mood swings and raging desires for crappy food weren't only the result of lack of sleep. I was also PMSing. Joy. And now I get to go deal with the bargain-hunting, boundary-pushing,potentially stupid  general public. May the Lord help them all.

That was the morning of my friend's garage sale.
The garage sale that I was running for her for four reasons:

1. She watched my spawn overnight so that my husband and I could go to the mountains ALONE and remember why we "like" each other.
2. She was out of town "liking" her new boyfriend.
3. I like her and I like to do nice things for my friends. (No quotes on that one.)
4. I had some crap taking up space in my garage and it needed to go.

So I hauled my bloated form out of bed, filled up my coffee mug with piping hot Chock Full O'Nuts coffee, topped it off with soy creamer and headed across town to sell some shit.

It was a beautiful day, complete with gale-force winds.

I was so thrilled that I had worn a dress.

My friend had warned me about her last garage sale. People tried to enter her home. People tried to take her storage containers. People attempted to buy/take her tools and bikes and other NFS items in her garage. People wanted to get something that cost her $150 for 50 cents. It all sounded magical. I couldn't wait to deal with these folks!

In an attempt to eradicate potential problem areas, I blocked off the sidewalk to both the front door and the backyard with large objects. Then I spread an assortment of items that both my friend and I had for sale all over the driveway and inside the garage. Then I set up the Lemonade Stand that my children were going to run as soon as my husband showed up with the munchkins. Then I labeled a few more items. All the while, I sipped my coffee, in an attempt to prepare myself for people; the kind that wanted everything for nothing.

Then those people arrived.

My first customer picked up a metal Tonka tractor out of a laundry basket full of trucks. It was an antique; the kind that would sell for no less than $35 at an antique store. The grey bearded fellow held out the truck and asked, "How much?"

I answered, "$7."

He said, "How about $5?"

I shrugged and said, "Sure."

He handed me the five then proceeded to take THE ENTIRE LAUNDRY BASKET FULL OF TRUCKS down the driveway.

My STOP hand snapped forward like a rattlesnake. I said, "WHOA there. I said five for the one you were holding."

He said, "Oh. Then I'll take me five back."

I handed the bill back to him and said, "No problem." Then I took the tractor out of the basket and handed it to my three year old that just arrived with my husband and said, "Mommy's going to buy you this tractor!"

My second customer was looking at the carseats. My friend had two for sale. Naturally, they were in perfect condition. One was an Evenflow (which retails around $70-$85) and the other was a Britax (which retails around $150). I pointed at the Evenflow and said $15 and the Britax and said $35.

Yes, I was pulling numbers out of my ass.

Then she started pandering.

The woman was frumpy, annoying and physically moving at the pace of a turtle. She also kept positioning herself right in front of me. I immediately wanted to push her to the ground.

I didn't, because sometimes I pretend to be a nice person.

She told me a big story about her daughter having friends coming into town for a week. They needed a carseat. Then she made a big spectacle of trying to call her daughter and took 500 pictures of the carseats to text to her daughter. She literally stood in front of the motherloving seats for 30 minutes.

Then she walked over to me and asked if I thought my friend would take $25 for the Britax. In my mind, both seats had actually increased in price simply because this woman was annoying me.

I shook my head, sighed, and said, "I don't think so."

Then she launched into a long diatribe about how she could really only spend $25 on a carseat because blah blah blah..... I honestly stopped listening for fear I was going to punch her.

Instead of the violence that my hormonal body was craving, I pointed at the Evenflow and said, "Then you should buy this one that I priced at $15."

More pandering.

I walked away.

She finally bought the Britax for $30. I really wanted to tell her that the price had gone up to $50 on the principle of SHE WAS ANNOYING THE FUCK OUT OF ME, but I decided to mock her on the Internet instead.

The rest of the day was an assortment of friendly smiling people, adorable children and entitled, ravenous, "professional' garage-sale goers.

I gave the friendly people and excited children excellent deals on everything. I even offered them bags for their treasures and sent them on their way with well-wishes and good cheer. For the other people, I quoted inflated prices and shrugged as I told them in a faux-frustrated way, "That is the BEST I can do. So sorry."

I did what I wanted, simply because I could.  And you know what? It made me happy because there is a tiny, sick part of me that LOVES messing with people.

And my friend sold her shit. And so did I. And my kids sold lemonade and brownies and played with their new toys. And we all sat in the driveway and drank lemonade. And some of that lemonade contained vodka.

There are three lessons to be learned here:
1. As soon as you drive that shiny new car off the lot, it automatically decreases in value by $10,000.
2. Don't irritate the people who are serving your food or setting your prices.
3. Don't let a freshly menstruational woman run your garage sale. Or maybe do.

Peace, Love and Tampax,
Johi









Friday, June 7, 2013

TMI Fridays: I Love Them the Most When They're Sleeping

Bethany Meyer is one of those people that you simply want to stand next to in hopes that some of her cool will rub off on you.

She's charming, honest, self deprecating and totally bad ass. Plus, she rarely farts and habitually sweats out toxins with hard core yoga, so she probably smells like a field of lavender and daisies... or some bullshit like that.

I'm fairly certain when I say that your average American cannot do this...


Just like I tend to do with many seemingly enchanting celebrities that I have never actually met in person, I like to imagine that Bethany and I have a lot in common, therefore making us immediate friends for life. For instance, we both believe in cursing on the Internet, but not around our spawn. We are surrounded by penises. We also are married to men who make us laugh, which is good since we are also both still residing in our "starter homes" and living life on the edge (Translation: having virtually no savings.) We were both raised Catholic and are all too familiar with our old friend, Guilt. Lastly, we both believe that the best hot-man crushes are the kind when we never actually hear them speak.
I think I like you. Shhhh. No talking. I want that feeling to last.

See? We're like... twins. Perhaps we are the Wakefield Twins. Maybe we're even soul mates.
Bethany doesn't know it yet, but we are totally going to be pen pals.
I hope Bethany likes unicorns.

Bethany is a co-author in the hilarious anthology I Just Want to Pee Alone. She penned the much-loved essay "Parenting is Taboo" about a series of passive-aggressive parental-judgmental emails.  Bethany is a writer, a blogger, an athlete, a mother of four handsome boys ranging in age from almost 5 to almost 12 and a wife in one successful marriage. She has spent close to 19 years with the same person and she stills thinks he is funny. That's what I call "successful". After using her husband as fodder for many a blog post, he once said to her, "I'm guess I'm your Homer Simpson."

Doh!

Bethany and I ate up well over an hour of time chatting. Like a typical woman, she was multitasking as we talked. Bethany loves to cook and was making candied pecans while I peppered her with questions and scribbled sloppy notes in my Target notebook. As we both were busy, we discussed the importance of down time to counterbalance the American epidemic of chronic busy-ness. The first step to recovery is admitting our problem, right?

Bethany's popular blog, I Love Them the Most When They're Sleeping, and writing style is all about connecting humor with the poignant. She finds inspiration from her boys, her marriage, current events and PMS. She said, "There are certain times during my cycle when I am raging with sarcasm."

I responded, "That's me pretty much all the time. It's like I'm always PMSing. My husband is a very lucky man."

In short, Bethany is the cat's meow.
And not one of those annoying Siamese cat's meows that sounds like it's been smoking a pack of unfiltered Camels every day for 45 years. A cool cat. Like a lion...

or a liger.



Johi: When did you become a writer?

Bethany: I never thought about being a writer. I initially wanted to be a teacher, but my dad told me that I had "a great head for business". I was raised Catholic so I take direction well. I didn't want to disappoint my dad so I went into business, but I always wanted to be a mom. I met my husband, we got married and bought our starter home. 19 years later, we have four kids and are still living in our starter home.

In school, English was my favorite subject. I was always a huge reader. I should say that I loved Little House on the Prairie but I really liked Beverly Cleary, V.C. Andrews and the Sweet Valley High series. By the way, you look like the Wakefield twins.

In high school, I was on student council. I wrote good speeches. I communicate best through writing.

When my kids were born, I asked myself, "So what now?" My kids are the best thing in my life, but they are not the only thing in my life, nor are they how I define myself. With my blog, every time I hit publish, I am reclaiming a bit of myself.


Johi: Amen. Who is your hero?

Bethany: I love Ellen Degeneres. She is funny, real and honest. She can get a laugh without putting other people down. I know that I should say someone like Michelle Obama, but I adore Ellen.

Johi: Who is your superhero alto-ego?

Bethany: I wanted to be Scarlett Johanson in Avengers because she is hot. Or maybe Hermoine. She is a good, honest, fearless witch.

Johi: I believe that everyone has a superpower. What is your superpower?

Bethany: I can handle a huge load on my shoulders with a smile on my face so that no one knows how stressed I am. It's as if I can juggle. It's all an optical illusion.


Johi: What do you think is the strangest thing a person can collect?

Bethany: My oldest child collects aluminum foil hot dog wrappers. He makes them into balls then lines them up on a shelf in his closet. It's disgusting. I throw them all away. I think he's a hoarder.

Johi: At least it isn't toe nail clippings in a jar. I know that I said in my Pee Alone essay that I collect air sickness bags, but I don't. Like virtually every other American, I collect junk mail on my kitchen counter. 
Other than junk mail, what do you collect?

Bethany: I keep anything with my kids' handprints. I also save artwork done by my second son; he is a talented artist. Even my oldest son will find and bring me his brother's art to save. I love that he appreciates his brother's talent. He will even bring me pictures that he finds in the trashcan. Neither my husband or I are artistic and I love the things that my kids do that have nothing to do with either of us. Other than that, I throw everything away.

Johi: If you could live in another time and/or place, when and/or where would it be and why?

Bethany: I like where I am right now. I don't think that I could have been a writer, or had a voice, if I wasn't where I am now. In the past, women weren't as well-respected. I feel lucky to live in this day. Even as chaotic as my life is, I'm really at peace. I have so many connections with the Internet.


Johi: What is the one thing that you do for yourself- your guilty pleasure?

Bethany: Yoga. Is that pathetic?

Johi: Quite the opposite.

Bethany: I exercise. I also watch the Food Network. Diners, Drive-ins and Dives is my favorite. I would love to own a diner and have Guy Fieri praise my sandwiches.

Johi: *mind in the gutter*

Bethany: When we travel, I use Guy's recommendations. We will drive an hour out of our way to eat somewhere that he has approved. I trust Guy and I go where he tells me to go.

Johi: How could you NOT trust a guy named Guy? Also, I don't fuck around with food so I totally understand.
Who is your celebrity free- pass? Please don't say Guy Fieri, because... no.

Food? Yes. Naked pillow fights? Not so much.


Bethany: Blake Shelton. I think my husband would be okay with it. My husband has a little man crush on him.

Johi: So does mine. He's hilarious. And he is so tall and has nice thighs. That's what Brock tells me anyway. Not really.
What is the ONE THING that your husband still doesn't know about you?

Bethany: Sometimes I do have gas when I'm awake. He has never heard me fart when I'm awake, but I do.

Johi: *silence* Um....You're body must process things differently than mine. After my husband had spent a considerable amount of time around me and some of my closest girlfriends, he said, "I never knew that women farted as much as you and your friends!" 

What is your favorite essay in I Just Want to Pee Alone and why?

Bethany: Nicole Leigh Shaw's "The Other Mommy War". Particularly the part about having only one child. When I only had one, I was a psycho. I was going to be the BEST MOM EVER to the BEST CHILD EVER. If I could go back and punch myself, I would. Now, with four kids, I have a built in excuse to mess up because I have SO MANY. I have taken the pressure off myself; for him and with him.


Read more of Bethany and her awesomeness on her blog, facebook, twitter and a bunch of other really important places on the Internet! Be sure and pick up your copy of I Just Want to Pee Alone!










Tuesday, June 4, 2013

A Little Baseball Story

The temperature was a perfect 75 degrees, with just enough breeze to blow away the bugs. The sun was setting over the mountains in the west, casting a magical golden light onto the quaking leaves of the mammoth Cottonwood tree in our yard. The littlest one was still napping. The chores were mostly done and the laundry was drying on the line. It was the perfect time for a game of catch with my five-year old.

We soon found our mother/son baseball rhythm. The excitement rose every time the hard ball slapped the worn leather of our hand-me-down gloves. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. It was one of those moments to savor.

Using my grossly limited field of baseball knowledge, I gently coached my eager child on some basic throwing and catching. He listened intently. I was finally talking about something of interest to him. He quickly began to follow my meager instructions.

"When the ball is above your head, turn your glove like this to face me," I said.

He shifted his glove and nodded.

I tossed him the ball. It flew high in the air and the sunlight glinted off the white leather. He stood there, glove facing forward.... watching.... ready. His little body was flexed in anticipation. For a instant, time froze. I held my breath.

Then it happened.

SMACK.

The leather popped in that satisfying way that it does when a baseball is caught.

My son's blue eyes sparkled with happiness. His blonde head bobbed as he began a victory bounce on the lawn. As he celebrated, he shouted, "This is the first one that I ever caught like that!"

I smiled at my precious one and said, "That's so awesome, buddy! I'm so proud of you!"

He said, "I can't WAIT to show Dad!"

I said, "Don't forget to tell Dad who taught you how to catch like that!"

He continued to bounce and said, "Right! Daddy taught me!"

..... wait. WHAT?

I gently corrected him, "Nooooo. MOMMY taught you! Yay for MOMMY!"

Then I added, "Geez! Don't I get any credit around here!"

He replied, "The credit cards are DONE!"


Why, yes they are, son. Yes. They. Are.


Peace, Love and We're Only Doing Free Stuff All Summer,
Johi


Monday, June 3, 2013

More Stellar Parenting Moments with Brock and Johi

Ahhh, parenting.

Them, the little people monitoring you at all times. They're everywhere... watching... listening... emulating. 

You, a stupid clueless human, stumbling through life, constantly trying not to screw up. 

Them, the naive tiny adorers of you... absorbing everything you say and do, because they think you are amazing. 

You, just trying to make it through the day without losing your cool... constantly watching your language while driving so that your offspring don't end up swearing at the pokey kid on the tricycle in front of him. 

Them, in awe of you... the person they want to be.

You, in awe of them... the person you wish you still could be.

You are a parent. You are an example. Always. Modeling behavior with your actions. Nonstop. Every moment of your day. ALL THE FREAKING TIME.

CRAP.


It is particularly difficult for me to try to be a the kind of person that I want to influence my kids. There is a large chunk of my personality that could easily be labeled as "Intolerant Asshole".

This is intensified by the fact that when I speak, no one in my house seems to hear me. NO ONE. Not even the pets. Not the children. Certainly not my husband.

When a woman speaks in the forest and only men are around, does she really make a sound?

Thing 1 has recently started playing t-ball. He is trying really hard to learn the game. I have loved being a part of his practice at home. We have spent a good deal of time playing catch, practicing batting and running bases. It is wonderful spending the time with him because he is such an adorable little dude. Even though softball or baseball is the furthest thing from "my sport", I am the one home with him, thus have been the one primarily practicing with him. We are sort of learning together, if you will. 

I spent my summers riding horses up the mountain, not throwing a ball in a freshly mowed field. 
Toe-may-to. Toe-mah-to. Catch a ball, sit a trot, strike the lighting position in a meadow; it all relates.

The other day, after a weekend away with my husband, I started playing catch with Thing 1 in the yard. Brock soon joined us. Together, like a picture perfect family, we were the throwing back and forth to our child. Taking turns, we were both slowly lobbing the ball underhand to our five year old so that he could get a chance to catch it. Then we were encouraging him to throw overhand back to us. Instead of throwing overhand, he was modeling our behavior. He kept forgetting the overhand throw because he was watching what we were doing, and softly lobbing the ball underhand back to us. So softly. After one particularly slow lob, my husband said to our son, "Oh come on! You're throwing like a girl!"

Hold the phone.

Papa say what?

.....

I won't lie, as a girl who played six years of sports in junior high and high school, I was seething.

Listen, I'm the first one to admit that I say a lot of shiz that I shouldn't. But, seriously, you don't say that to your kid!

Yet! I did not utter a sound because I firmly believe that actions do speak louder than words. I am instinctual in nature and my reaction was calm and calculated. 

So I turned and chucked the ball as hard as I could directly at my husband's head. 

Luckily for him, he was to the side of me. He simply stepped back to avoid the face/baseball collision. Then I looked him dead in the eye and asked him, "I'm a girl. Is THAT how girls throw?"

His reply was silence.

Clearly, neither of us are capable of modeling good behavior. Hopefully we have other life skills to offer our children. Skills like baking. And laundry. And pounding nails. And eating crow. And laughing at ourselves for being fools.

Basically, our kids are screwed.