things unrelated to each other or anything else

Hi. Okay.

First, I need to tell you that tomorrow's post is sponsored. It's terrible timing, because who really cares about sponsored posts right now? Not me, but I am obligated to post it by Friday so it's happening. The good news is there's a discount code and a giveaway so at least there's something in it for you too, and seriously Jordan already used our new OttLite just last night and was all sorts of excited about how perfect it was for his desk, so maybe I'm onto something. Learn more about the OttLite here and check back tomorrow for a giveaway! 

A few weekends ago, probably a month ago at this point, we took R to see one of Jordan's sister's soccer games. She plays for her college team and she's good. During halftime R ran around on the sidelines, and the golden hour light was like HELLO COME TO MAMA. I only wish I had my big camera to capture it better, but I'm kind of in love with the shot I got (above). That outfit is one of my favorites.

Speaking of outfits, R was a bird for Halloween, and this is the best picture I got of her in her costume. I had ever intention of putting her in her costume at home and doing a photoshoot, but I haven't yet. Maybe there's still time? I was dying over the striped tights. Best ever. Of course, she hated wearing the hood and kept ripping it off. She doesn't like stuff on her head!

Last weekend we were at my parents' house, and we all had fun taking pictures with the W flag. We only had to try the jumping picture 85 times to get us both off the ground at the same time but it was totally worth it kind of. My sister-in-law would race into the picture with R, drop her off in front of us, and we just hoped she stayed still long enough to get in the picture. Nailed it. 

Unlike our other photo disaster. I don't want to talk about it.

In other semi-related-to-nothing news, R can, on command when asked, show you where her eyes, ears, mouth, nose, hair, and (her favorite) belly button are. She still doesn't say any words but she clearly knows what we're saying to her and it's kind of awesome. I can say, "Come on, follow me in here" and she toddles her little self down the hall and I die.

People who warned me about what was in store for me when she started walking didn't know what they were talking about. IT'S AWESOME. No more crawling around on the gross floor eating the tiniest crumbs and getting the knees of her pants and the front of her shirt dirty. No more carrying her all. the. time. everywhere. She can walk! I love it.

Finally, if you're at a place in your life where you can handle some election comic relief (and it's totally understandable if you aren't!), I personally found this the best tweet of election night. As long as people can still make jokes, I have to believe we're all going to be okay.

Lastly, not to sound dramatic or start shouting or anything, but YOU ARE ALL AMAZING AND WONDERFUL AND EVEN IF WE DISAGREE I STILL LOVE ALL OF YOU GOODNIGHT AND AMEN.

An Odd Birthday Request

This past weekend I drove to Texas for a family vacation of sorts. My dear mother's 50th birthday is today, and for her big celebration, when asked what she wanted most in the world, she requested the six of us go camping. Yes, that's right. Sleep-on-the-ground-in-a-tent-and-in-a-sleeping-bag-and-roast-marshmallows-and-hot-dogs-around-a-fire camping.

Mid-life crisis, perhaps? No, my family just loves camping that much. See, we used to go all the time when I was younger. I think I have more vivid camping memories than I do of anything else. Come to find out, we haven't actually been legit camping as a family in over 10 years, which is why my thirteen-year-old sister has no such fond camping memories. But she does now.

We brought a Frisbee, two footballs, and a soccer ball; and I almost ate dirt after tripping over a piece of wood trying to catch a toss from my brother. (I did catch it, by the way.) We hung our old hammock between two trees, and my dad and brothers put our tent up while us girls got all the lunch fixin's set up nice and purdy.

Later, after a late lunch and before the sun set, we walked down to the lake and spent a good half hour skipping rocks.

When it started to get dark, we laid out sleeping bags, and my mom warmed up the beef stew she'd made the night before. After that we sat around the campfire and roasted marshmallows--three per s'more for me!

Then we huddled close to the water spout and passed a tube of toothpaste around the circle, taking turns wiping our wet hands with the one towel my mom had remembered to toss in the car at the last second.

I was finally snuggled deep into my sleeping bag when I discovered I needed to go to the bathroom. My brother Daniel offered to walk to the building with me, and on the way we saw four deer silhouetted against the tree line. The stars were out, and in the middle of the Texas country, away from city lights, they were beautiful.

I woke up in the morning to the sound of my dad chopping wood for the fire. After pulling on my dirt-crusted shoes, I unzipped the tent and slowly made my way to the fire.

(But not before a sneak picture of my mom. Or, rather, the top of my mom's head.)

Soon, my mom and sister appeared from their caves; and before long, breakfast was mentioned.

There's definitely nothing quite like my dad and mom tag-teaming to make eggs (Dad) and bacon (Mom) on a skillet over a mini stove for breakfast. Freaking delicious is what it is. And I don't even usually like eggs.

See? I'm tired and I think my right eye is closed, and I'm still excited about eggs!

My brothers and sister and I kicked the soccer ball around for a while after that, and then it was time to pack up. 

We spent two days and one night at our campsite--a short vacation carved out of an otherwise hectic week. At first I thought camping was a rather odd birthday request. Turned out, it was perfect. It might sound strange, but I honestly can't think of any better way to spend a birthday.

Soccer, Boys, and Aggression

Last night I laced up my black Adidas soccer cleats, hiked up my navy blue soccer socks, and pulled on a T-shirt and running shorts. No, I wasn't picking out an early Halloween costume. I was getting ready for my first outdoor soccer game since my junior year of college.

I originally decided to join the soccer team when a school-wide e-mail from the girls' soccer coach appeared in my inbox. It basically said that there was a small turnout for the team that year, and he encouraged anyone who was at all interested in playing for the 2005-2006 season to contact him.

I'd never even so much as kicked a soccer ball before, so you can see why the idea of being on a college soccer team was not the most brilliant idea on my part. But I had just started my sophomore year at Greenville College, and I was bored.

Apparently double majoring in English and religion and working on campus and being in the honors program and also joining the tennis team wasn't work enough. I’m not really sure what’s wrong with me.

Looking back, I'm now convinced some evil senior was getting a good laugh while he or she controlled a voodoo doll of me. Okay, not really. I don't believe in that stuff. But something weird was going on. I was pondering this as I walked into the locker room and demanded to speak with Coach Mac.

"I got your e-mail." I stood up straighter and tightened my ponytail. "I’m interested in joining the soccer team."

"Okay." He looked me up and down and gave me an I-don't-know-if-you-know-what-you're-getting-yourself-into look. "Have you ever played soccer before?"

"Not really...okay no."

"Well, that's fine. Are you a runner?”

“Not really.”

“Do you know any rules?"

"Rules?"

He sighed and raised his right eyebrow at me. "Do you even know how many people are on the field at a time?"

"Umm...no."

I was beginning to question my sanity, which was immediately followed by the wish that this sanity-questioning thing had started before I found the coach and starting babbling like an idiot. Or, rather, not babbling, since I actually hadn’t said more than five words since my initial, foolhardy declaration.

"I guess we'll have to get to work, then. See you on Monday. Oh, and get some cleats."

I’ll cut a really long story short and not tell you about how I almost died running sprints or how many times the ball rolled between my legs or how every day I embarrassed myself with my sad attempt at juggling. By juggling, I mean dropping the ball on my foot and kicking it up in the air. That sort of juggling. While everyone else was busy being athletic and cool and counting to ten thousand, I was trying to bounce it on my foot twice consecutively. Twice. (My great triumph the summer of 2006 was practicing every day for weeks and getting up to 30 juggles. Sadly, I’m now back to two, three if I’m super lucky and there's no wind or noise.)

But my failure is not the point. Okay, it sort of is the point. Because that soccer season, I struggled. Oddly enough, however, I also had the best time of my life. I fell in love…with running into people, getting yellow cards, and unleashing the built-up aggression from my insane competitiveness. Turns out, kicking the crap out of a soccer ball is really, really fun.

Another plus? Soccer helped develop one of my favorite things: leg muscles.

So by the time November of 2005 rolled around, I was tan, fit, toned...and sitting on the bench. No matter what it might sound like, I wasn’t good at anything besides knocking girls over. I didn’t score a single goal the entire season, except once during a practice game, after which I immediately burst into tears. It was so exciting and exhilarating and wonderful and horribly embarrassing. It was a practice game, for crying out loud! At least I didn’t rip off my shirt and run around screaming like some sort of Mia Hamm copycat.

This skill came in handy when I played soccer last night (the skill of knocking people over, not stripping and crying). A few of Jordan’s friends from his baseball team wanted to play, and he invited me along, after promising me that his friend’s wife, Becca, would be there too. We pulled up to the field at 7:00 p.m., and soon after I saw six guys jump out of their cars, grab their water bottles, and start jogging toward the field.

“Guess Becca’s not here,” Jordan said. He looked sideways at me.

“Forget it, then. I’m not playing.”

“What? Why?"

“I don’t want to be the only girl!”

“Are you kiddin’? What do you have to worry about? You’re taken, and the rest of those guys are married.”

“Uh, I know that. I just don’t want to play with boys! I’m scared of boys!” (Yes, I know that was a ridiculous thing to say. Yes, I know that sounds stupid. And no, I’m not making this up. I really did say that.)

“Scared of boys? Are you kiddin’ me? You’re comin’.” With that, he hopped out of his truck and started walking toward the field, where the other guys were busy pushing the goals farther apart while two of them practiced kicking goals.

I sighed and started after him, hating myself for being so lame. But there’s just something about cute, athletic boys that intimidates me. Boyfriend or not. At least now that I’ve got a boyfriend I don’t have to worry about them liking me or vice versa, but I still don’t want to look stupid.

Turns out, I’m still not good with my feet. I can’t really kick it very far, and I don’t do trick dribbling. But the graceful art of slamming into people hasn’t left me yet. I think they thought that because I was a girl, I would be picking at my nails or giggling or something, but after that first hit, they knew I was serious.

It was really fun, and by the time the game started, I was over my strange and unexplainable fear of the male sex and just wanted to run into somebody.

We spent two hours running and kicking and laughing, and I'm super sore today. But it was worth it.

I only played soccer for two college seasons--my sophomore and junior years--but they were some of my favorite memories. Soccer socks and dirty cleats. Ace bandages and icy hot. That's when people started calling me by my last name and when my legs looked really good.

Which is what Jordan told me when he was driving me home after sun set and it was too dark to play.

All I could do was smile. Soccer socks do wonders for your legs. Although I doubt their magic will be as powerful in thirty years. But I'd rather not think about that right now. I'm just happy to be able to hit people. Boys, for that matter.

What a great night.