Skippy, my big dog has never been a chewer. He’s a docile creature that learned the house rules very quickly and other than wanting to bark a hole through anyone and everyone that comes to the front door, he’s a big marshmallow. He is, however, a little weird when it comes to the power struggle that has evolved between he and Charlie. Today was a perfect example.

Skippy took Charlie’s chew bone and went with it out into the backyard. He paced back and forth for what seemed like forever with it in his mouth. He then walked over to one of my potted plants and started to dig in the dirt with his nose. He dumped Charlie’s chew bone into the hole in the dirt. “That rascal!” I thought. I couldn’t decide if he was doing it maliciously as a power play, or if he just wanted to store Charlie’s bone away for the future–don’t ask me what he thought he was going to do with a piece of chicken flavored rawhide.

Charlie is pretty smart. He went almost immediately out into the pot shortly after Skippy finished the burial. He dug that bone right up and brushed the dirt off with his paws. He carried his beloved chewie into the house in his mouth and began to lick at it and clean it up, completely unfettered by what had happened. Charlie had a little dirt on his paws and on his nose. I noticed that Skippy then began to lick and clean up Charlie (which he often does as if he is Charlie’s mother!) Go figure!

I guess there is a lesson here somewhere. Mostly today I am thinking of how tired I am of cleaning up messes that I have created for myself. Why do we do this to ourselves? I consider myself damn lucky to have amazing people in my life that tolerate me pretty well and seem to have infinite patience.   In the meantime, I guess it should be no surprise to me that sometimes it seems as if life has “gone to the dogs”.

P.S. Mother’s Day was glorious and my kids continue to amaze me. They make everything worth it and I am so lucky to have them to learn from.

The thing about Mormons is that they love to have you as part of “the club”.  They are so open, welcoming and friendly.  The problem is that once you are in their club, they don’t like letting you out.  Certainly they aren’t going to do so without a fight.  I have fought this one for going on 20 years.  Apparently it’s still ongoing.  I put on a happy face and went to the door where the 2 fresh-faced boys were standing. They shook the living **** out of my hand.  (I’m pretty sure they learn how to do this in the MTC (Missionary Training Center).  I give them the best “I am so happy and full of joy what could you possibly do but ruin this for me” face I had.  I really did.  They still weren’t buying it.

After a good solid 10-15 minutes of a “brief message” from God, (which essentially said that God is in charge and he does know what he is doing) they asked me if I needed anything from them.  (Would it be rude to say “how about you get off my porch you uninvited oafs?”) but I graciously said I was doing super well and I appreciated their visit (OMG, the lies we tell to be “nice”!) and needed to get back to work. 

One of the missionaries asked me if I knew of anyone who might benefit from a visit from them.  Are you serious?  I thought for a moment and realized that no, there really wasn’t anyone that I was that mad at today.  I took their card and said that if I thought of anyone I would be sure to let them know.  I was then told that faith in Christ can help me resolve my personal and family challenges.  I let them know how much I appreciated that, and hoped they had a nice day.  PFFT!  Really. 

I wonder if it ever occurs to Mormons that people “on the outside” can be and truly are…happy.  I am so over feeling guilty about dumb stuff that doesn’t matter.  If I am going to feel guilty about something, then give me a good reason.  It better not be that my shorts were too short or that my shoulders were showing or that my beverage has caffeine.  I don’t think God cares about such nonsense, personally.  The missionaries left, probably disillusioned that the smiling happy lady wasn’t interested in their message and didn’t want to book a return visit.  There’s a good reason for that.  I’m out of the club, boys…and in case you haven’t heard…I’m really very happy.

Interestingly enough, and the thing that sticks with me most about the event is what happened after I did it.  Nothing.  No one even noticed.  Not one soul.  Not a single one of my friends said, “Oh my, Laurie,  pardon me, but wasn’t that a nasty string of words you just uttered”…nope, didn’t happen.  Nobody gave a ****.   I think I was hoping for a reaction, or some sort of recognition for the sin I had just committed, but it just didn’t happen.  It was just playground business as usual.  I felt really guilty about what I had said though and said a little prayer in my heart to God apologizing to Him for taking His name in vain along with some other pretty saucy language.  I was sure I was damned and going to hell.  I knew that if my mother had heard this string of cursing, the bar of Ivory Soap would have been nailed into my mouth forever.  I kept the incident to myself.  (Until now,  that is–and Mom if you read this I know you already know that  your daughter has a potty mouth at times.  Especially during tennis…but that’s another story.)

Looking back on the incident, I think about what I said and it really wasn’t that bad.  (See how immune to cursing I have become?)  I have heard much worse out of my own kids and never once have I put a bar of soap in anyone’s mouth.  (Although I have been known to tell my 19-year-old son to WATCH his language if he knows what’s good for him!)  Words can be pretty powerful and there are some that definitely get their point across.  Personally I don’t advocate cursing as part of our everyday conversation, but a well-timed $!!?*%!!! after a really crappy tennis shot can be very therapeutic.  I suppose there is a time and place for everything, cursing included, although for my Mom’s behalf I will admit that it’s not at all lady-like.  (She, along with my grandmother might be the only 2 people in all mankind that don’t swear.)  I guess in this sense, I am definitely more like my old man. 

Today couldn’t have been a prettier day here in the Southland.  It was quintessential Southern Cal perfection.  Sunny and golden–palm tree’s swayin’ in the wind–beautiful.  I was oblivious, however and was texting back and forth with my boss about some worries I was having.  Good job Laur…nothing like a complete lack of focus to start a tennis match.  My partner, who is the most infinitely patient and saintly woman told me to put away my “Crack-berry”.  She had a smile on her face, but I knew she wasn’t kidding.  I sent one last text to my boss.  “Have to go kick some ass, ttyl.” 

My brain wasn’t engaged and honestly since tennis is proven to be 90% mental and 10% skill, you can only imagine how rocky that first set was.  Okay, it was ugly.  It was pathetic.  It was frickin’ embarrassing.  The first set ended and my partner and I needed to regroup.  My partner who apparently was really living outside the box today came up with a really insane idea.  She suggested we dump our usual modus operandi (clearly not working) and play a game and style that is kind of foreign to us, but would definitely begin a  big change.  I had just enough “what the hell” left in me to go for it, even though I was  a bit dubious.   It couldn’t get worse, however and so I committed myself to making this new plan work and told my partner that I was sold on the idea.  (A lie.) We went ahead. 

The first games with our new plan were long and arduous, but we had a modicum of success which we had not before.  This was progress!  This was not my usual tennis game, but what the heck, you can’t argue with what works and there was no doubt about this fact–it was working.  Our opponents were getting frustrated, and maybe just a little pissed.  Okay, the games took forever.  And ever.  And ever.  We played for at least 3 hours.   But using our new mantra “We can play all day if we have to…” we finally prevailed.  I was so proud of us (even though it was admittedly some of the ugliest tennis–ever) that I could barely shake our opponents hands without jumping up and down.  It was awesome!!

Okay so here is the life lesson that got jammed down my throat from this experience.  Sometimes we just do the same thing all the time and it just doesn’t work.  Sometimes change is necessary.  One of my favorite quotes ever goes like this:  “When the pain of where you are is greater than the fear of where you are going…that is when change will occur.”  Alright, already–I get it.  Change is good sometimes and even though I’m old and stubborn and set in my ways, I can admit it.  I’m not always right and being “stuck” is just stupid.  It felt great to win…but even better to do it “all new”.  For the next couple of weeks “Tennischick” is now to be called “Tenacious-little-shit”.  And let’s remember a little respect with that! 

I have been AWOL from running way too much over the past couple of months.  A nagging IT-band injury and lingering “runner’s knee” has kept me in my personal ”safety zone”…meaning that I run safe, easy distances and stay away from the tough stuff.  It’s a sure thing.  It’s not going to cause a set-back.  It’s safe.

At some point, however, the inner demon inside me demands to be heard and it’s time to take a test drive.  I am not always the instigator, today was no exception.  My running posse wanted to head out for a challenging distance that I was kind of nervous about and in all honesty I wasn’t sure how my not-fully-recovered leg was going to take the news.  All that said, I couldn’t stand to be left behind, so I put on my big-girl panties and went for it.

It was lush and green  everywhere.  Birds were chirping their own rhapsody.  Wildflowers were blooming in even the most ridiculously rugged terrain.  Everything was so alive and fresh.  Including me…sort of.  My leg felt surprisingly good, and still does which made me very happy.  I survived and enjoyed another perfect day in my own little mini-wilderness with good friends and great company.  I was happy I didn’t cave to my little safety zone and just lived (a little) dangerously.  (And by the way the duding doo-doo’s  will remain on my list as a personal challenge for when I am in full force.  Be warned running bro’s…)

Overall, great weekend, and if you were there to share it with me you know exactly what I mean.  Today all around my world things seemed very fresh and new, and mostly very, very good.   Sometimes life is hard and challenging.  Other times it’s really kind of awesome.  Today I just got to be happy.

Shout out to my tried and true tennis chick blog followers–this is my 200th posting.  Some of you have been here every step of the way.  I appreciate your support more than I really know how to say. Maybe this song will say it better than I ever could.

When you are 15  you feel like a bona fide teenager.  In my son’s mind, he’s older and so much smarter than I was at his age, or ever will be for that matter.  The downside is that he still needs his mom to take him everywhere that his bike won’t.  And sometimes he thinks I am his ATM because he has no real way to earn money aside from isolated dog walking jobs around the neighborhood.  It’s a hand to mouth existence and my son plays the victim quite well.  He’s always flat broke and like a lot of OC teenagers,  he wants things.  “Things” are hard to come by these days.  It’s a tough economy and I have 2 older kids in college.  “Things” we can do without.  He apparently got tired of suffering.

Recently I was out-of-town for a few days and when I returned home, I found a giant box of POP TARTS taking up half a shelf in my pantry.  I don’t buy this sort of thing–not because my kids wouldn’t love it, but because I consider it a nutritional wasteland and can think of about a million other things I’d rather they ate for breakfast.  I was curious.  “So what is this?  A bad case of ‘the cats away so the mice will play?’”  My son got a huge smile on his face.   “Don’t you worry, Mom.  My intent isn’t to eat those.  These are for my business.”  I am dubious.  He then explains to me that my other son had told him that vending machines around campus sell POP TARTS for $2 for a pack of 2.  He decided that he could sell them at his school for an even more reasonable price and still make money.  $1 a pack.  He was in business.  I giggled a little at his enthusiastic naiveté and was relieved to know that the box would soon be disappearing. 

The next day, my son came home–his wallet stuffed with one dollar bills.  He had sold 18 packs of POP TARTS.  Subract the $7 he paid for the box, and he still had a tidy little profit for a nearly 15-year-old.  “Easy money”…he proclaimed proudly.  Problem was, he need more stock.  Back to Costco we went and he got another box.  I was hoping it would last him a few days.  Wouldn’t all his friends be sick of POP TARTS by now?  Apparently not.  A complete sell out occurs the next day.  Wow…this is turning into a little enterprise. 

After a couple days of incessant nagging, (remember he still needs a ride to get his supply) I took him back to re-load.  He has  a business to run.  My son–the junk food pusher.  On Day 3 he almost sells out, but is robbed of the rest of the supply in gym class.  The word is out.  Jake’s backpack is fully loaded with POP TARTS.  Apparently some kids are tired of paying.  A couple guilt-ridden kids with pastry smeared faces confessed that they had stolen some of the goods out of his back pack and would pay him later.  We’ll see how that goes.  Lesson learned.  Mind the store, dude.

Okay so I am waiting for the call from the school that is bound to come at any moment.  “Your son is operating a business without a license.”  “Your son’s breakfast foods to not meet the nutritional requirements set down by the school district.”  “Your son…”  I am not even sure what I am going to say.  I mean, I know what he is up to, and I don’t know of any rules (yet) that he is breaking.  Although I would rather he was selling something that reflected my “Food Nazi” values–hey, kids are going to be kids right?  If they were getting POP TARTS at home, they wouldn’t need to buy them from Jake.  OMG.  I have rationalized this to the point of ridiculousness and I feel like I am defending junkies.  I will be screening my calls.  Let his dad take this one.

My daughter is a senior in college and has 2 part-time jobs.  In one of her jobs she works as a tutor to a junior-high age boy who is struggling in some of his classes in school.  Tonight she came home from this job, somewhat exasperated with this kid and then proceeded to explain to me why.  This kid admitted to her that he had cheated on his math tests.  She did not elaborate to me what his method was, but only told me that he had confessed this to her.  My daughter let him know that she was unhappy with him, and tried to dig a little into his psychology, to try to understand his justification for the cheating.  She knew he knew the material.  She was also convinced that he would do well on the tests.  To hear that he also cheated nearly broke her heart. 

In his arrogant confession, the boy told her that he “would rather get an A and cheat, than a B+ and not cheat.  She pressed him further, and asked him what that A would actually mean to him if he knew he didn’t earn it.  He explained that he might make his parents happy, or he might get other rewards.  My daughter asked him about his integrity.  She asked him if that was important to him.  He stared at her blankly and said he didn’t know what that meant.  (That part really disappointed her.)

She thought for a moment and then began to explain integrity to him in terms of a large boat.  If you were on a very large boat, and you poked a hole in it and it begins to leak a little, it begins to destroy the integrity of the boat.  If you continue to put holes into the boat,more and more of the water leaks in and the boat loses more and more of its integrity.  She asked him, “What will eventually happen to the boat?”  “The boat will sink,” he smugly replied.  She continued on explaining how if he continued to cheat on tests, eventually his “boat” will sink.  He may get caught, his cheating may be ineffective, he won’t actually learn anything, his character will be altered, etc.  All these things eventually will add up to one thing.  Sinking…sinking…SUNK.

He thought for a moment and then said to her.  “I really don’t have an argument for that.”  They went on with the tutoring session and eventually she left and came home.  Of course she really has no idea if he will listen to a thing she said.  I hope he does.  As for me, my heart sang a little today to hear her words and to know the type of person that she has become.  I am grateful that something sunk into her along the way, it made me proud and happy.  Today was a good day to be a mom.

And by the way…maybe it’s good karma, but she found out today that she won the trip to Paris/London.  Thanks to all who voted for her it is much appreciated and in her words:  “Encore, Merci beaucoup et Au Revoir!!”