One of the girls has become a superlative burper.
I won’t say who. Not to protect her identity. I don’t want it to go to her head. Yeah, it’s like that. A second sister is a close second, and the third, well, she’s the only kid who objects to the blatant prideful manner in which her sisters expel air from their stomachs, upward.
Friends, family and strangers cannot seem to break her of the habit of making each burp opportunity the 72-point war headline that she’s perfected.
That second sister? She’s scheming a way to unseat the queen.
Topps makes Rising Stars baseball cards.
I assume they still do. When I was a kid, those cards were for promising rookies. Not all panned out. You might have a Chipper Jones or you might have a Laddie Renfroe. You just don’t know right away.
My guest writer today is a Rising Star.
You might already know Rachael Boley of Three Boys and a Mom. About 37 people claim to have ‘discovered’ Lady Antebellum in a Nashville dive bar. It doesn’t matter who found Rachael – or even Lady Antebellum – we should just be glad she’s here.
I hated when TV networks did it.
They’d roll the credits near the end of the NFL broadcast, to give thanks to everyone on the crew and declaring that “any rebroadcast of this telecast without the express written consent of the NFL is strictly prohibited.” Go stuff it, Dick Enberg. Kiss it, Bob Trumpy.
It ain’t over, for my team, at least I hoped. Because at that point, they were usually behind.
Even down two touchdowns with 42 seconds left, it ain’t over. There’s still ball to be played. It’s like that with parenting, too. Even when your kid is 17 – especially when your kid is 17 – there’s still much parenting to do.
We’ve got a new pet, and the best thing is – no litter box to clean.
Grace rounded up a few bucks of birthday money for a visit to Discovery Place recently and knocked off something from her wish list: A Venus flytrap. It’s pretty bad-ass. It started out with about five mouths (all of them named, in fact), and today has grown to 11.
Yes, 11! (Some haven’t been named.)
My cousin Ian used to catch bugs and sling them into our industrial-strength bug zapper when we were kids. Venus flytraps are 53,000 times cooler.
This space usually goes to the guest blogger of the week.
I love the opportunity to share with you a writer I dig here, every week. Today, though, the tap ran dry. An incredible writer (whom you’ll read in a week!) was due in this space, but it didn’t work out. And that’s fine. Life sometimes squeezes out our blog time, doesn’t it?
You’re going to love her. Next week.
For now, I will take a page out of my mate Laurie’s book, and post a gaggle of photos. His are professional, I remind you. Mine are taken on an iPhone that for three months I couldn’t manage to hold right-side-up.
Sometimes, church people lie.
This isn’t to disparage church people. They rock at potlucks and stewardship, and I really dig the New Testament, especially the Gospels and Paul’s letters. Paul’s one of my writing heroes, right along with Hemingway, Chaucer and Jennie Davenport.
It’s not a horrible lie, but they say it: God doesn’t give you anything you can’t handle.
Well, that’s shitty.
Remember that A to Z Challenge that went on in April?
It’s time to reflect, apparently. And thank you for sticking with me. I must have felt like that friend who starts selling insurance or scented candles. Or the friend who talks and talks but won’t take a breath to stop and listen. I hate being either of those creatures.
The A to Z Challenge was less a blogging challenge and more a writing challenge.
I cranked out posts of around 400 words daily. Good practice for any writer. I skipped the Hemingway and Paper Rater apps I run my drivel through. I winged the recipe, just like buelita does. I planned out the entire month and stuck to it 94% of the time.