Live and Let Di

It's too hot to blog.

It's too hot to blog. I dare you to find a blog post today that does not use at least one of the following words:

hot
blistering
steamy
sultry
tropical (and not in an umbrella-in-your-drink good way)
scorching
sizzling
sweltering
stifling

I shall take the cool, breezy, easy way out and refer you to one of my favorite places...Ten-Word Tuesday at i am bossy

After you've left your ten-word comment telling bossy how f-ing hot it is in your corner of this frying pan, tell her Di sent you. Tell her that she should add me to her blogroll. Right between little miss sunshine state and lovin' laughin' and livin'. Seriously. Every blog in the universe is on her blogroll EXCEPT mine. I'm taking it a wee bit personally.

I hope bossy likes my new summer 'do!

It's too hot to get this worked up.

Di

Ladies who Lunch...Liquidly!

I do not possess the writing ability to adequately describe the oppressive heat that we are experiencing here in the South. This weekend is our Men's Member-Guest Golf Tournament, so the men are out there playing in 100 degree heat (that feels like 105...ugh.) The ladies gathered for a genteel ladies' lunch trying to keep from "glowing" excessively. And lest you worry about us fainting onto a settee clutching a fan:

Yup...we are definitely staying hydrated!!! You may try to count the glasses, keeping in mind, the table seated 8 and I couldn't get a wide enough shot to show ALL of the glasses.

Di

Summer starts here...

Today is my birthday. I'm not coy about my age...I'm 46. I'm pretty proud of it. Wouldn't trade it to be 23 again. Stevie Nicks is 60 today!!!

To celebrate, I'm tweaking my design using just the TypePad basics. I would love to have someone create an actual design for me and I would probably even pay her for her trouble. But I don't know where to start in this quest, so let me know if you have any suggestions.

Despite huge acclaim for the pink hair picture, I'm switching to a picture that looks like me on pretty much any given day in the summer. I'll be on the lookout for something a little more glamorous or spectacular or goofy in the photo department.

My husband got me this:

It's a Sky Caddie...GPS system for the golf course. I'm very excited about using it!!! I just LOVE new technology.

Happy Birthday wishes go out to people I know who share my birthday...Ken, Carol, Eddie, Susan...

Di

Afterglow

The daylight is sliding into dusk. The frogs are starting to sing their tunes. Several adult beverages have been consumed. So what do average American, slightly inebriated adults do on a Friday night? Drive around in the dark on golf carts and and try to hit glowing little balls with long sticks. It was our first "Glow Ball Tournament" at the golf course.

If you think for a moment that I am kidding, click here. There is a whole industry geared toward helping avid golfers find ways to make a difficult game even MORE frustrating.

With the promise of small plastic loving cups as prizes and an array of glow-in-the-dark accessories, we took off from the clubhouse in teams of 5 and 6 to play 5 holes of golf. I won't say that our golf staff knows its clientele, but they strategically avoided having us play any holes with water or bridges on them. There's nothing that sucks the fun out of a golf event like having to call the fire department to pull golf carts and people out of the lake!

It was wildly fun and our co-ed team managed to turn it into an R-rated comedy event. I was so relieved that we didn't have one of the young golf phenoms on our team because there would have been a whole lot of oops-ing and shush-ing of inappropriate innuendo.

When we proudly turned our card in, we had scored an impressive 5 under on 5 holes, including an Eagle on the first hole. But one team triumphantly waved a card with 6 under as the score, prompting good sportsmanlike comments like, "They cheated!" Next time you are trying to think of something to do on a dark, Spring Friday night...get some balls, make them glow...and see what happens!

***ANNOUNCEMENT*** Earlier that day, I witnessed a spectacular golf feat when my friend and "golf partner for life," Stef, scored an Eagle on the first hole by putting the ball in the hole from 80 yards out. I was so excited for her and utterly impressed by seeing such a rare event.

Di

What the hail?

Whither we wander...weird weather waits.

Yup, we moved to Raleigh in 1999 leaving memories of Hurricane Andrew behind. What a relief to not have to worry about a tree falling through your guest bedroom window and your satellite dish that was "secured" in 3 feet of concrete falling over on the neighbor's house. You don't hear people talk about Floyd much anymore. That's because Floyd's wrath in the Triangle was limited to our cul-de-sac. I woke up and looked out the window to find a 15 foot root system staring me in the face and the attached tree blocking access to and egress from our house. We met neighbors over chainsaws and coffee. Want to meet people after a storm? Get a generator. Walk out into the street where your shell-shocked neighbors are milling in their pajamas and mention, "I just made coffee!"

When we moved here from Florida, we warned the children that they shouldn't start planning sledding parties since we should only expect an inch or two of snow per year. The following January, I awoke to find that 18 inches of snow had been dumped on us overnight. As per usual, my husband was traveling on "business"...in Florida...calling me from "business" meetings on the golf course. For almost two weeks, I was snowed in with two small children, a dog and a dwindling supply of wine. (During that time, my husband got wrongly arrested and jailed in Panama...wrong place, wrong time; subject of a different post...but still, I think I took the worst of it!)

This past weekend was perfect. Every minute of the golf tournament was exquisite. The sun shone, but not enough to make you sweat. The breeze blew, but not enough to take the ball out of bounds. And my partner and I won! OK, we won the eighth flight...the last flight, I should add. But we played out of our minds and won! But the last two holes on the second day were played in a downpour that would have sent Noah searching for the last errant animal husband and getting ready to shove off. But did I mention that we won? Just in case I didn't:

And then it was Tuesday. My son's game was cancelled because of the incipient weather. We were all sitting around doing what you do when you find yourself with two hours you didn't expect to have. We were all on our laptops. I heard a sound. My immediate thought was, "Oops, must have left several golf tees in my pocket that are now pinging off the inside of the dryer." Then I remembered I wasn't doing laundry. I looked outside and:

See those little things on the ground? Hail. As big as two-carat diamonds. I was going to say golf balls, but that would have been an exaggeration. Then I decided to use the diamond analogy which would leave my readers with one of two responses:

1. Wow! She must be dripping with jewels if she knows how big a two-carat diamond is!

2. What the hail is she talking about? The last gem she sported was a plastic toy ruby ring she won in a silly golf tournament.

It was an amazing show of Mother Nature's wicked sense of humor!

Di

When you think Tim McGraw...

Saturday night, we went to see him:

And as much as I closed my eyes and dreamed, I was still with this guy:

But then again, I'm not her:

And we'll always have Tim McGraw.

When you think: Tim McGraw,
I hope you think my favorite song.
Some day you'll turn your radio on,
I hope it takes you back to that place
When you think happiness,
I hope you think: "That little black dress"
Think of my head on your chest,
An' my old faded blue jeans
When you think Tim McGraw,
I hope you think of me.

Oh...and just in case you are wondering, that's my husband...the one in the picture below Tim's...with me...the one in the picture above Faith's.

Di

My Sordid Life of Crime

Yes...I'm admitting to a life of crime today at the TriangleMom2Mom site...

Come visit!

Di

But I didn't get a goodie bag!

On Saturday, the News & Observer had a perfectly timed event at Marbles to kick off the TriangleMom2Mom web site. The other regularly contributing bloggers and I were invited to attend, mingle and cut a cake to mark the beginning of this adventure. When we were selected, we were warned that there was no compensation, but so far I've gotten:

• Lunch with a dozen cool women at a pizza joint in Morrisville
• Membership in an impromptu "support group" of Moms via blog and e-mail
• A fashionable, nicely cut t-shirt with TriangleMom2Mom.com on it in a color that looks good on me
• The coolest name tag...which affixes to the shirt by magnet...these are probably not really that cool, but you must remember that I've been out of the workforce for a while
• Cupcakes at the kick-off event

Apparently when they warned of no compensation, they had no idea how cheap we work and what delight we take in the smallest recognition of our efforts. We are, after all, Moms...by definition, the most underappreciated employees in the world.

As the last of the frosting was being ground into the carpet by Rainbows and Birkenstocks and the crowd began to disperse, the younger moms (that is, everyone but me!) made apologies of "Sorry, we have a birthday party." The weekend bane of parenthood, the birthday party. Dropping off just doesn't cut it anymore. We are expected to stay and coo over how adorable the little darlings are. We are expected to pretend to believe that our parallel play 3 year olds are actually enjoying their interactions with the other kids. And we are expected to react with delight when our child hands us the ubiquitous goodie bag.

The goodie bag has become the designer handbag of the preschool set. You got a Michael Kors? Well, I got a Gucci. Well, I got a Louis Vuitton! You put organic granola bars in your kid's goodie bag? Well, we handpicked organic strawberries and made them into high fiber muffins for ours. Yeah? Well, we stuffed ours with shares of stock in companies that grow corn for ethanol. Take THAT you Prius-driving enviro-wannabe!

I can't even do justice to giving a FISH in a goodie bag, because my fellow blogger Natalie already covered that perfectly...and politically correctly (is that right?) as well...I mean, had she been less, um, diplomatic, the fish-giving uberMom could have read her blog and Natalie's kids could have been persona non grata at all future birthday parties. (Wait...that might have been a good thing...Natalie, are you reading this?)

As the younger Moms said their farewells, I proudly piped up, "We're going to a birthday party too!" What I DIDN'T share was that the birthday party I was going to was for my friend who is kindly turning 47 almost 2 weeks before I turn 46. There would be no juice boxes, but lots of bottles of wine. The guests would use four-letter words without being admonished. There would be no discussion of cloth vs. disposable diapers. Instead of pink party dresses, we would wear forgiving bathing suits. Instead of "Duck-Duck-Goose," we would play, "Move the chaise lounges to better maximize sun absorption!" Instead of "Hide-and-Seek," we would play, "Who can find the husband on the golf course?" Instead of Coco the Clown entertaining with stories, we would have Malibu Barbie (she knows who she is!) debating the law allowing illegal aliens to attend state universities. Aging may suck in too many ways to detail, but the parties certainly become more entertaining and interesting.

But I didn't get a goodie bag!

Di

Trivial Pursuits

I live in a house with two sports-obsessed males. I’ve seen my husband throw his hat at the TV when Tiger failed to make a putt he needed to help my husband win his fantasy golf (yup, it’s for real) tournament. I’ve played golf with my husband people who are inclined to break clubs, curse like, well, um, golfers and make mournful entreaties to the Golf Gods who are so clearly picking on them. I understand competitive. But nothing prepared me for the experience of Team Trivia this past Friday.

I was on a team of eight people, cleverly named “8 for the Road.” These were all people that I knew and liked. Try to imagine eight, slightly inebriated, highly competitive people trying to agree on one answer AND agree on how many points to bet. The affable coach of the swim team, who has inspired kids to swimming feats they didn’t know they were capable of with his positive attitude and words of encouragement, handed out pieces of paper, warning, “Don’t say anything. People at the other tables will hear and take our answers. Write down all of your answers instead of saying them.”

The 10-handicap golfer who can smile after her ball has gone out of bounds and will tell you that being in a sand trap and showering yourself with sand is a good exfoliant, went into a different level of consciousness while trying to count the number of bunkers on our golf course. Yes, THAT was a trivia question.

And me? Would I be writing this if I was the model of Team Trivia etiquette? Probably not. I found myself ENRAGED when someone at our table QUESTIONED me when I asserted that University of Miami was a private university. It is, by the way. They never won an NCAA Men’s Basketball Championship, so the point turned out to be moot. But I was still ENRAGED.

The Crown & Coke-soaked MC for the night kept hinting that the Michael Jackson music that was playing before the game and in between rounds would end up being significant. So our team spent an inordinate amount of brain power trying to come up with the names of the Jackson Five. Michael. Jermaine. Tito. Marlon. That’s as far as we got. I tried to suggest Wayne, but then realized that was the Osmonds!

I don’t know if it was funnier playing in Team Trivia or recreating the questions later that evening for my friends who had not played. The “number of bunkers on the course” question spawned heated debate. “Are there two bunkers behind 16 or is that one big bunker?” The fact that our Head Golf Professional got that question WRONG just added to the discussion. As I posed questions, I realized the person we needed on our team was sitting in our friends’ garage less than a half-mile away.

We’ll get ‘em next time!!!

Di

p.s. Who is that fifth Jackson?

Unabashed Mom Bragging

I'm really posting this so that my husband, who is traveling in South America, can view it when he gets to a computer. He's not getting e-mail which means that we pretty much don't communicate...e-mail being our most effective means of communicating. But if you want to watch and feel vicariously the swelling of pride inside me, feel free to do so!

If you notice how my videotaping abilities fall to the wayside at the end of the clip, that's because I was busy taking the above picture.

I'm so proud of my son! Di