This is way beyond the powers of a chocolate milkshake.

Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!!!!

First, it was Albert Haynesworth. You remember Haynesworth. He was the guy involved in that minor misunderstanding during the Cowboys game wherein he STOMPED on Gurode’s head WHILE HIS HELMET WAS OFF. Twice! Because he missed the first time! He earned two 15-yard unsportsmanlike conduct penalties, was ejected, suspended five games, and fined for nearly a third of his annual salary. Which was fine with me. Who the bloody hell does something like that?!

Of course, after that Haynesworth went on to become a beast for the Titans. The last year he played for Tennessee, they literally won every game for which Haynesworth played and lost every game he missed due to injury. He was considered the best DT in the league when he signed with the Redskins and promised - nay, threatened – to be a force to be reckoned with. You know – all before he stopped practicing, refused to participate in plays, and left absolutely none of it out on the field. Okay, okay, maybe he left a few drops of sweat that accidentally fell off.

You can see why I was furious and a bit panicky about the trade. And then my brother started sweet-talkin’ me off the ledge. He reminded me about all the talk when we signed Randy Moss. How he was a do-nothing who would never produce for us. We got him for a fourth-round pick (that eventually amounted to nothing) and a record breaking 2007-2008 season. So that worked out okay. Plus, Haynesworth - who requires double-teaming when he gives a damn – would be playing next to Vince Wilfork – who also requires double-teaming. That math adds up to lots of beautimous negative yards for our defense. And not so many runs uppa the middle. (The grinding running games killed us last year.) And all we had to give Washington for such a potential threat (oh god, please make him wanna play) is a fifth-round pick in 2013 and $5.4 million for one year.

So. Finally. Not quite as ledgy. Not only was my butt firmly hugging the wall behind me, I was looking longingly at the window and thinking about maybe crawling inside.

AND THEN WE WENT AND SIGNED OCHO-FREAKING-CINCO.

They have lost their EVER LOVIN’ MINDS. God bless ‘em. Or God bless me. Or someone. Whoever the heck is gonna keep me flippin’ medicated all season, God bless them because ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME?!!

Somebody get the Texans to sign Asomugha. And someone else, anyone other than the Jets, to sign Moss. I quite simply cannot take any more football-related injuries right now.

What I was muttering (and sometimes exclaiming) to myself yesterday.

Maybe you’ve heard – there was this teeny, tiny disagreement going on between NFL players and owners. (Admit it: how many of us had bets on whether the NFL contract or a Congressional debt solution would be settled first?) But! As Goodell (and everyone else) has exclaimed, football is back baby! Now there is just the little matter of resigning 450 free agents. In one week.

Do you have any idea how insane yesterday was?

I was glued to Twitter. NFl.com. Jason LaConfera’s blog. Team rosters (why, oh why, are you using last year’s depth charts still?!). I asked passersby in the hallways (even though I knew they had no idea…but what if they surprised me?). That’s how I heard about Dallas releasing Marion Barber and Roy Williams (…and why I started chortling when I couldn’t find Romo on the depth chart. Stupid outdated depth chart. But hey! Do you remember how last season went?!). The quarterback carousel started spinning madly. Hasselback went to the Titans (which, after last year’s mess with Vince Young and Jeff Fisher, is actually a smart move). The Kolb rumors wouldn’t die, but no one would confirm Arizona. I kept waiting for Plaxico to pop up in Philly – for no other reason than that’s where I want him, you understand. Then I heard rumors – or, jokes rather – about Favre coming back to lend a hand in Philly. WTF?! DO NOT TEMPT HIM, Jokesters. I will not find it funny. Jacoby Jones settled with Houston. (Hey, did everyone remember that Wade Phillips signed on with Houston? I’ve missed you, NFL.) Then I’d get pics of my Pats drilling and Mr. Wes Welker eating lunch and I’d get distracted for a moment. Oh! Hey! Free agency! Santonio re-signed with the Jets. And MAN are they hot on Nnamdi. And maybe Moss?! Please God Please God Please God no nottheJets. ANY team but the Jets! Some big name O-liners started entering the fray and I started wondering how the heck I’m going to keep any storylines straight this year. It came out that Santonio took less money to stay with the Jets and Sanchez started offering some of his salary to sign Nnamdi and I had another heart attack and remembered how Brady did the same thing several years ago, and where the hell is your leadership, Mr. Peyton Manning? But go ahead and drain your team resources, please. Orton was dealt to the squishy Fishies, making me feel brilliant for calling that shot earlier this postseason. Sources announced Kolb would be in Arizona by Friday (have I already mentioned that?). Gallery followed the big slug Tom Cable to the Seahawks, who seemed completely happy to wither away in mediocrity. Then, another shocker – Shockey to Carolina. Seriously? The Panthers?! Plax appeared to be flying to New York, New York to sit with – Tom Coughlin?! Really?? At which point my brother and I had an extensive discussion on the merrits of Plax and when he last was productive. (Hey, does anyone remember how he lit up the Steelers playing opposite Hines Ward, or the giant fit he through in the offense, which made the Giants re-sign him…and then he shot himself? Short refresher.) At some point in there, the remaining QB dominoes started falling – McNabb went to Minnesota (a good move), Tavaris Jackson went to Seattle (see earlier comment re: mediocrity), and Vince Young went…um, no where that I know of yet. Traitor Vinatieri re-signed with the Colts, Quentin Mikell left the Eagles for the Rams (I think? it’s all so fuzzy now), and I remained happy with my Pats who were, you know, just practicing and getting down to business. Oh! And I was still stroking out over the Nnamdi and Moss situ.

Take out alllll the spaces in between all of that block text, through in lots of excitement, Ohmygods! and You’ve got to be KIDDING ME!s, and lots of other deals and conjecture that I left out, and you’ve pretty much got my day yesterday. My poor brother – I chatted with him for six hours back and forth. At one point, he told me he was stepping away from the computer, but I should feel free to keep on texting him. And I did!

And then I went and had withdrawal all night while I attended to the rest of my life. And wondered what I was missing. And about dropped dead this when I saw that NEW-FRICKIN-ENGLAND had picked up Haynesworth. I’m afraid to check the rest of the headlines.

Someone bring me a damp towel and a Yoohoo.

Shoosh – it’s a sign.

I thought the clouds looked a prettier, darker, shade of blue this morning. Overcast skies are always a welcome relief from driving due east into the blinding sunrise every morning, but these skies…these looked like almost rainlike.

Or so I thought. I was guessing, since it hasn’t rained in over a month.

And then, oh my goodness. I heard office doors opening to the parking lot, the few people who are here that early were shouting down the hall. RAIN! Friends called on the phone (suddenly awake at ungodly hours), my text alerts suddenly started trilling, every single person at the PlaceThatShallNotBeDiscussed was standing at an outside door, marvelling at that wet stuff falling from the sky. I even went outside to play in it. (Don’t you love the coppery penny smell when summer rain first falls?)

It’s been 25 straight days of 100+ heat. Today’s high – without the heat index – is 105°. I don’t think we would have been more excited if someone had shouted that it was snowing.

Today – today is going to be a good, good day.

Sometimes this month is harder than it feels.

For the most part, I had an awesomely relaxing weekend. Friday my boss let me off a little early for good behavior (and partly, I’m sure, from the start raving mad look in my eyes) and once I finished my workout, I did not move from the couch all. night. long. Saturday I somehow managed to be incredibly productive: I cleaned out the craft room guest room Auntie Kim’s room and washed her sheets and quilt and sorted through four bags of donatable goods and unburied my rolltop desk and reconnected my sewing machine once I had cleared off its desk and sorted through the debris that quite literally covered the floor. Oh, and I also made a Target run, brought books back to the library, sold a box of books to the used book store and had my watch fixed. See? Productive! I even had time to watch the most exciting day of the Tour de France and go out on a fancy-pants date.

That is how this month is supposed to feel. It’s supposed to be a time to quietly relax and reflect on how much I miss my children when they’re at their dad’s; to catch my breath and have time for a massive project or two in between all of the relaxing.

But. Then on Sunday I got a phone call. I didn’t catch the house phone in time. When I saw it was the Ex’s cell phone, my heart skipped a beat or twenty. I was afraid it was another one of Those Calls. I worried when no one answered when I called right back, but then I heard my cell phone ringing in my purse. I answered and just about fell to the floor when I heard one of my girls on the other end crying hysterically. “Gracie, what’s wrong? Are you okay? What’s wrong, baby?” I tried not to panic.

“<Sobbing> I… <more sobs>…just… <hiccups> miss you.”

Is it possible for your heart to settle down and break at the same time? Because that is when July sent me a swift kick to the throat. My girls were okay. No one was hurt. There wasn’t an accident. Their father hadn’t gone into any kind of emergency medical distress leaving the girls to find help (something the girls and I have talked about how to handle, given his medical history). Still – hearing your daughter beg you through gut-wrenching sobs to come pick her up wasn’t a stroll down the beach, either.

I tried to calm her down. I tried to soothe her with my slow and steady talking, asked her easy questions to answer (and still only got a yes or no in between hitching tears) and reminded her when I would see her again. Truth be told, what I wanted to say was that I was getting in my car and would be there in five minutes. But I didn’t think the Ex would really let me do that. And probably it wouldn’t have been the best parental lesson to teach the girls that one of us would bail them out anytime something happened; I figured Gracie had done something wrong or had gotten in trouble. We couldn’t play good parent, bad parent.

After a few more minutes, Gracie accidentally hung up on me and the Ex called me back to say that Bee was fine (my kid was crying so hard I couldn’t tell who it was! Also? Apparently she didn’t feel like correcting me. Heh) and that she was just tired and unhappy with not getting her way. Just as I had thought.

Still – I wasn’t quite as relaxed after that as I had been. July is supposed to be about having fun and breaking rules and recharging our batteries. But all I could think of was last weekend when I brought the girls back to their dad’s, Bee had cried and sobbed and begged me to let her stay with me. I knew then that she would be fine five minutes after I left (and I’m sure she was), and I know how she cries when her dad drops her off at my house sometimes, so I tried to brush it off. But after the second episode in two weeks, I’m feeling kinda helpless.

Next week will come soon enough, as I reminded Gracie/Bee. We will be on our way to Grandma’s and the beach and the arcades and all kinds of fun. Then Auntie Kim will be here for a month and we’ll have even more fun. We’re almost back to better-than-normal. We can totally do this… it’s just that I haven’t ever ended July performing deep cleansing breaths to stave off my child’s heartache quite like this.

Thanks for the memories, Mr. Harry Potter.

All the world knows of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. Still, not everyone knows – or may want to know – minor giveaways about how the final movie played out. If you’re one of them, you might want to come back in a few days: I’m not sure I can keep the magical details to myself, now that I’ve seen it.

It being, of course, the final movie. The last Harry Potter. The final time we’ll see such magic, such wonder, such brilliant recreations of Jo’s world brought to life. Aw, quit it or I’m gonna get weepy again.

Because I did – weep like a little girl, that is. I couldn’t help it. The entire cast was phenomenal, no matter how bit their parts (and they did try to squeeze everyone on camera – fittingly, I thought). Alan Rickman, however, lit of the screen. There’s already talk of an Oscar nomination for Mr. Rickman. And why not, for surely the movie balanced around two scenes, both Rickman’s: his death scene in which former enemies Harry and Snape acknowledged the debt owed each other and their love (in far different ways, ahem) for Harry’s mother, Lilly; and the sequence of memories starring Snape and Lilly: how they grew up together as childhood chums, how Snape turned double-agent and beseeched Dumbledore to keep the object – and the secret – of his love safe, and above all others the scene where Snape finds a fallen Lilly just after Snape has killed her family. All of her family, that is, except the Boy Who Lived. Aw, damnit, there’s another tear.

Yes, that last scene was a little improvised; nothing one would find in the book. But what I loved about the movie was its balance: it stayed true to the plot of the text while inserting a few (but not too many) fresh scenes (and even those which were improvised kept the salient details. See: Neville, Kick-ass); it balanced battle scenes with emotional moments; it inserted comical lines when we needed A Moment (who doesn’t think Maggie Smith had the best line in the entire movie?!), but didn’t force feed any down our throats; and best of all, it threw in enough shout-outs to prior Harry Potter moments to acknowledge this fantastical ride without detracting from the flow of the scenes. Doxies from HP2, the roast boar, the Quidditch field, Professor Trelawney, Wormtail…and perhaps my favorite moment, when Harry Potter emerges from Arianna’s secret passage and the theme from the very first Harry Potter movie swelled through the scene and spilled over and off the movie screen. I was enchanted. I was teary-eyed. I was, as ever, completely under Harry’s magical spell.

It was a wonderful night. A fitting end to a beloved series. And god help me, I can’t wait to go again.

Quote of the Day.

Last night, as I was driving the girls back to their dad’s house, I heard a crescendo of excitement and exclamations coming from the backseat.

Bee: Mom! It’s a SUPERHERO!

I turned back, expecting an ambulance, firetruck or (please, no) a police car with its lights on. Turns out, it was just a Domino’s delivery truck. As the superhero. Methinks the girls are enjoying their summer just a leeetle too much.

Guest Post: The missing countdown.

Submitted yesterday by my very lovely sister Kim:

I cannot believe there aren’t any lists or countdowns or insane squeeing going on here about our upcoming vacation.  TWO WEEKS!  Two weeks and Katie and the girls will be flying into Logan Airport for a weeklong adventure.  And when I say adventure, I mean all the fun and friends and family we can squeeze into six days of C-R-A-Z-Y.  There’s the Science Center (which has long since been renamed “The Ecotarium,” but whatevs – we knew them back when they weren’t all cool and famous).  We had a family membership more often than not when we were growing up and spent many a Saturday buzzing through the classic and rotating exhibits, strolling through the mini-zoo of rescued animals, and sometimes maybe spotting escaped peacocks (True. Story.).  Plus the girls might be old enough now to enjoy a show at the planetarium!  Then there’s our mandatory tea party.  Even Uncle Joey comes (though wearing neither a tutu NOR a bowtie, sadcakes).  That might take a morning of baking to prepare, between my mom’s traditional blueberry cake, some mayan hotties, maybe a batch of mint brownies, and two little helpers in the kitchen.  I’d also love to get the girls (and Grandma) painting rocks for my side garden.  There’s a tiny metal bird cage that NEEDS a rock inside painted with a lil birdie.
 
The Big Event, though, is a day trip up to the Weirs on Lake Winnepausaukee.  We went every summer between 1988 and 1995 at the end of August when the rental rates dropped.  When we brought the girls there for the first time two summers ago, I couldn’t believe the magical spot still existed!  This year, we’re planning a morning at the beach (yick!  no sand on Auntie Kim’s humungous blanket!!), lunch at Tamarack’s, maybe a trip to the Old Country Store in Moultonborough (which opened in the late 1700s and has the oddest assortment of goods), definitely a stop at the largest arcade in the country, Fun Spot.  We’d like to fit in a train ride along the lake and we’ll probably eat “dinner” on the boardwalk.  I’m sure the girls will fall asleep on the ride back, but it’ll be worth it even if there are a few crankypants around the following morning.
 
Of course, the two weeks before this Epic Vacation require their own lists.  Clean all the guest bedding and towels, print out directions to Logan and back to Worcester, secure enough coffee to keep Rhianyn AND Katie afloat, oh – and pack my OWN bags for flying back to Texas with the girls.  (Hurray!)  I don’t even want to know what Katie has to accomplish before leaving…I’d rather just think about the hiking, eating, laughing to come!

Brunettes have more fun. The end.

Her voice sounded so blase, I remember, like it was really no big deal. Really – and I know I’m exaggerating a bit – but it felt like she had reached over the back seat of the car and plunged a dagger straight into my heart.

“You know what I should do, Mommy?” Gracie had inquired. She twirled her hands through her hair, piling onto her head and then letting it fall back to her shoulders. “I should dye my hair blonde.”

I nearly drove off the road.

“Why?!”  I didn’t even try for casual, or, if I did, it was with only the feeblest of attempts. “Why would you want to be blonde? Your hair is perfect just the way it is! You have beautiful brown hair, just like everyone in our family. You wouldn’t look like me anymore.”

“Or me!” Bee piped up from the seat beside her.

“But I want to be blonnnnnnnde,” Gracie half-whined in that way she has when she knows what she wants, but has caught on that her desires might be hurting someone else’s feelings. I may have felt a twinge of guilt – but hey, this was important. The kid is seven and is talking about altering her image already. No way, Jose. Not in my house.

“But the [LastName]‘s all have brown hair,” I persisted. “We’re the Three Brunettes!” Hey, identifying as a brunette is important to me. And I was trying everything I could think of to convince my seven-year-old child that she was perfect just the way she was.

“But I want to have short blonde hair and look like Kit!” Gracie finally offered, perhaps a little less than convincingly, no matter how sure she sort of sounded.

“Well, then,” I said, happy to have a reason – even if it was secretly a little far down on Gracie’s secret list of reasons, “Why don’t we look for a wig so you can look like your American Girl doll and then you can pretend to be blonde when you want to.”  I didn’t buy that was the real reason, even if she was playing with her doll a lot. I don’t know why I didn’t buy it – she sounded mostly sure of herself. Maybe it’s just mommy instincts. But for whatever reason, I felt like there was something else at play. Perhaps because her step-sister had finally come home after spending the summer with her dad in Mississippi and had started watching the girls during the day at their dad’s. It’s no secret that Gracie idolizes her 17-year-old step-sister…who just happens to be blonde.

That was the last I heard of image-altering from my little girl who can’t wait to grow up up up! But I hope I made an impression. I hope when she thinks about it in that busy little brain of hers, she remembers how happy her mom was with her own appearance. I hope that resonates with her when she needs it to – and percolates even when she isn’t thinking about it.

Because it’s true: brunettes DO have more fun. We’ve proven it. With science…and lots of mojitos. Ahem.

Bunkbed Adventures: Stage 2.

Amazingly, our bunkbed adventures only took up half our weekend! That’s what happens, I guess, when Mom means business and does most of the cleaning herself instead of relying on the kiddos to slowly snailwalk their way through each assigned task. (As an added incentive, Mom gets to throw away every stupid, pointless toy piece of clutter she finds. Score.)

 

 

 

I just love how they stop arguing and slap smiles on for the camera (even under those silly faces, yes, they're smiling). I could have - should have - threatened all night to go get my camera. Problem is, my camera hogs would have made me.

Saturday – I dismantled each of the girls’ beds and took pictures so I could list them on Craigslist. Bee’s bed sold in an

hour and was out of  my hair by Sunday at noon.

 

And the last toddler bed left Casa de Katie. Every time I feel a little sniffley, I remember how Bee's feet actually touched the footboard and then guilt takes over.

 

I hate to get rid of Gracie's bed. I like the idea of having matching twins, should we ever need it. But! My garage will break up with me if I try to store one more thing in it, and the bunkies do break apart into twins.

Then, I pulled all of the furniture out of the way and opened all four of the boxes that had been smooshed into my

entryway.

 

 

Ignore the rabid dustbunnies. Seriously – don’t look at them or they’ll gnaw your face off.

Four hours (and two very well-behaved children) later, I had the bunkbeds all assembled. …Except for the slats. All 26 slats had to be screwed into the bed frame and I couldn’t find my drill bit. No way was I doing that the hard way – it would have taken all night! Thankfully, Captain Mike came to our rescue and promised to make a Home Depot run on his way over for celebratory meatloaf dinner. Can I get a hallelujah?

 

The kids didn’t mind. They were too busy playing “jail” to notice anything was amiss.

 

My two little criminals-in-training were very convincing - except one of them ::coughBeecough:: kept laughing. And something musta been missing from said jail, because they kept escaping all afternoon.

 

The Bunkbed Adventures: Stage 1

The Island of -Misfit- Alllllllll the Toys.

The bunkbeds arrived a week ago recently. As the first part of the crazy, what-was-I-thinking adventure, I had the girls take allllll of the stuffed animals and dolls from on top of their beds and around their beds, and generally anywhere in the vicinity of their beds, and had them put them on the love seat in the living room.

Tonight I will implement the stage I most fear: cleaning out from under their beds. Who wants to place bets on how many bags of trash and donatable goods I come out with?