You know how I always say I’m perpetually early? I am. I do this because I’m terrified of being late. The less familiar I am with the activity or location, the earlier I try to be.

So, when we had Nikki’s first “soccer evaluations” last night, I wanted to get there EARLY. She moved up an age-bracket and they have these evaluation sessions so the coaches can draft a team with knowledge of the players. I had never been to anything like this before, so I didn’t know what to expect. Since the boys started at 6pm and girls started at 7pm, I thought I’d get there close to 6:30 to watch the boys and let Nikki see the type of stuff they’d ask her to do.

THANK GOD I AM WEIRD.

I got there about 6:35, expected to watch the boys, when in reality? We were 5 minutes late for the girls evaluations.

Yep. I WAS FIVE MINUTES LATE. But in reality? I was 30 minutes late because I didn’t think it started until 7pm. I know some of the other Moms there and I was freaking out because we were late, but they were all, “Only five minutes!” To which I said, “Well…yeah, but that’s just luck. I didn’t think it started until 7pm!”

This, of course, put me on edge. And I had scheduled a bunch off stuff that evening around that session. I had asked D’s Mom to come a little after 7pm so I could leave and make it to my 7:30 meeting of this new running/training group I joined. So, she got there and I left and started thinking…

Wait. I know when planned to have her at the evaluations, I was looking at the calendars and schedules. When I knew in my head I’d have a 30 minute overlap, I HAD THE RIGHT TIMES. So, I screwed up the actual times after that day, but the 30 minute overlap still should apply. Which means…OH SHIT. I’M LATE AGAIN.

My half-marathon meeting? The FIRST one of the program where you meet the coaches and learn about group runs and such? Started at 7pm…NOT 7:30pm. I had somehow gotten 30 minutes off of EVERYTHING last night. And with this meeting, I didn’t have the luxury of “accidentally” getting there early because I was coming from something else. Something ELSE I had been late for. AH!

The funny thing is? We keep a Google Calendar of all of our family activities. One Donnie and I consult and add to. It allows us to have one central place we can check from anywhere before scheduling anything. And we have very busy lives so it’s a GODSEND. Seriously. With both of us doing training classes and workouts and my high school volunteering obligations, our schedules are INSANE. Google Calendars helps us keep a handle on things.

But here’s the thing: We started using Google Calendar because Donnie kept forgetting everything we were doing. I made the calendar with a HUGE HELPING of irritation and bitterness because…DAMMIT…why can’t he remember ANYTHING? GROWL. So, basically, the universe is laughing at me. We keep this calendar that I was angry at having to make and just about the time I get over the anger and start being glad we have this central point to organize from…I screw up by not looking at it.

The calendar was RIGHT. It had all the times CORRECT on it. But I didn’t consult it when making plans with my mother-in-law so I cemented the entirely wrong times in my head. Because I trusted my memory. Whereas Donnie, who doesn’t trust his memory, checks it constantly and would never make those mistakes.

FUNNY JOKE ON ME.

The moral of the story: Google Calendars are an EXCELLENT way to keep track of your family’s activities because everyone can access them from anywhere as long as they have a smart phone or a computer (which we do). HOWEVER, the excellence is negated if you DON’T ACTUALLY LOOK AT IT.

Then End.

I was slow to start using Instagram because some of my favorite bloggers/photographers use it so much that I have grown to miss their regular camera photography. However…it’s a great tool to add spice to an otherwise boring photo. And I really needed to use this photo here to show you exactly how I managed to turn a crappy injury into the STUPIDEST OUCHIE EVER.

What this picture is showing you is me: Icing my shin splint. I get anterolateral shin splints, which is a different variety than the average person. But – the treatment is still the same: ICE, ICE BABY. I have ignored them in the past because they go away after a day or two. But this time I didn’t have that luxury. I had my race I was running. So, I decided to do what the internet told me to do: ICE IT.

And it felt so good! So I left the ice on there until it was no longer cold.

Can you guess what happened next?

That’s weird. It’s been an hour or two since I took the ice off my leg and it’s still red. OUCH. It’s also sensitive to the touch. And maybe a bit more swollen. What the hell? What is wrong with my leg? Is my shin splint WORSE?

No, dumbass. YOU GAVE YOURSELF FROSTBITE.

You are only supposed to ice your leg about 20-minutes. No matter how good it feels. You know why? You can give yourself frostbite. Evidently, it can be worse: I read several stories of people falling asleep with ice on an injury and really damaging their skin. Mine was basically like a really bad carpet burn. The skin was very sensitive and raw, like a few layers of protection was missing. It stung when water hit it and shaving my legs made me cry. Now it’s just some grayish areas left around my shin, but it’s still completely unattractive and a constant reminder that sometimes? I am not smart. My husband said ice it 20 minutes, but I just assumed that was a guidline. AND IT FELT SO GOOD. The shin splints were hurting me so bad I couldn’t walk without limping. The ice? Made me HAPPY. Until, of course, it gave me freezer burn.

LET THIS BE A LESSON TO YOU. 20 minutes. That the maximum amount of time you should ice an injury. Some people even say 10 minutes. And trust me, in this situation? You want to err on the side of caution.

Awhile ago I was alerted to a mistake I had been making repeatedly in blogging. I had been saying things like, “It didn’t even phase her…” when I should have been saying, “It didn’t even faze her.” (God, I hope I got that right this time.) Two different - very kind – people alerted me to this at the same time. Which was odd in the timing, and also a little embarrassing.

Okay, a lot embarrassing.

Once I read their information, I knew it was true. But I tell you this: At no point in typing “phase” in those instances did I actually know it was wrong. I use the wrong words a lot or spell things incorrectly when I’m typing fast and my brain is just not taking the time to re-read what I’m typing. No biggie. But this time? A total shocker.

I’m very glad they – very nicely – told me. One of them was even apologetic, like she knew it would be embarrassing and she really didn’t want to tell me. I appreciated that because..OMG…so embarrassed.

And in a similar situation, if I’m making the same obvious mistake over and over again. I want to know. If it was apparent that I didn’t know the proper spelling of something due to repeated errors, or some mistake I made over and over again. I’d want to know. Even if I was to be embarrassed by it.

BUT – there are two times I don’t want to know:

1) If it’s a periodic mistake because I’m not proofing what I write
2) If it’s a grammar concept not everyone knows or understands

That last one is going to bother some people.

Here’s the thing – I’m just as annoyed when I am reading a real article and I see someone use apostrophe’s wrong. (See what I did there? THAT’S FUNNY.) To me – that’s a simple concept we all learned a long time ago. Professionals with editors should not make those mistakes. But if they do it incorrectly on there blog (SEE? AGAIN WITH THE FUNNY.) I’m just not going to be bothered by it. In their facebok status? Nope. In an email? Nah. I just feel like the more casual the medium, the less worked up I can get about typos and proofing errors.

(Sidenote: I still want to see manners and courtesy. I completey HATE the fact that so many people email from their phone and therefore leave out courtesies like a greeting or salutation just becuase they don’t feel like typing it. I’d rather someone leave out apostrophes all together than to leave out something like, “Hey, Kim!” Or “Thanks, Frank.” I just like those courtesies in email. )

But not seeing perfect grammar or spelling on a blog or on a Facebook status? I’m fine with. And you know what? I think people who snottily critique another person’s grammar? Are just not nice.

There. I said it. NOT NICE.

I know this is personal because I’m not a grammar expert – but what do you expect me to do about it? Do you expect me to memorize some grammar rules just for my blog? I’m very intimidated by grammar and verb/tense//noun/adverb/conjunction/whatever agreement. I’m educated in many things – but grammar is not one of them. AND THIS IS DAMN OKAY. Please quit making fun of me. And please quit making fun of typos and misspelling on casual platforms. Do you see it on a Wet Seal t-shirt? THEN MOCK IT MERCILESSLY. But if it’s someone’s Facebook status, or personal blog, give them a break. Allow the periodic (or even frequent in my case) mistake that is obviously just a proofing error. These are CASUAL PLATFORMS.

(Sidenote: There is a line. TXT SPK IS ONLY OK WHEN TXTING IMHO)

And if someone (like me) is using commas incorrectly repeatedly, or never displaying proper verb/whatever agreement, please don’t make fun of me. Somehow, making fun of writers online and their incorrect grammar use became funny. And it’s starting to bug me. I would love to look at a sentence and know for a FACT that it was perfect. But I don’t know how. And when I try to examine it, or listen to edits and such, I get overwhelmed by how little I know.

BUT I KNOW A LOT OF STUFF. Just because I don’t know exact grammar rules does not make me dumb. And only grammar snobs think that. The rest of us? Don’t associate intelligence with perfect grammar. I have degrees in sciences. I work with computers and design and code. None of these educational paths led me to intense studies in grammar. It was freshman comp in 1993 and that was the LAST TIME anyone taught me anything grammar. Don’t judge me because of that.

I just like to write. I like to share my stories and my life. I write as I speak, so talking to me would probably annoy you too. (Except I have a much thicker drawl in my speech, of course. The southern accent doesn’t read well.) And if there was a Grammar For Dumbies book I might try to read it. Someday. But maybe not because I’m not sure if I care. Because, often, the people who are bothered by my crappy grammar, are also making mean-spirited jabs. Do I want to stress out about pleasing mean people? No.

Some of us just want our thoughts to be heard in an understandable fashion. Sometimes that means we forget an apostrophe or we use the wrong TO/TOO/TWO. Sometimes these errors are accidents and sometimes we actually don’t know the rules. But why is it okay to mock someone for not using punctation properly, but not okay to mock them because of their weight? If I saw people make snide comments about someone’s weight as often as I do about their grammar skills – I would not follow/read/correspond with those people any more.

It is never nice to make fun of people. PERIOD.

The two people who I mentioned earlier were perfect. They noticed a mistake that I made consistently – indicating I just didn’t know it was a mistake. They knew it was easy to explain and not a difficult grammar concept. They approached me kindly and gently. They never made fun of me. I thank them for that.

So, it’s okay if you don’t know all of the rules of grammar. I don’t either. It won’t stop me from reading you. And you’ll never hear me make fun of you. As a matter of fact? Your incorrect comma use won’t even faze me. I promise.

But my daughter on the other hand? THRIVING. I’ve been catching her singing the songs at every turn and dancing when no one is looking. She loves this. She has also developed quite a crush on Horton since Horton is the savior of Who, you know. And she lives on Who so really he’s saving…her. Every day she draws him pictures while he gets his makeup done and she blushes fire-engine red as she tries to give them to him (and usually chickens out at the last minute) – I wish I could videotape THAT as much as I wish I could show you video of the show itself!

We’re about at the midpoint here, I guess. Finally getting a good groove on…and learning how to function on minimal sleep. Here’s a picture I snuck watching NikkiZ perform this weekend. Here she’s improvising her own story about how Horton saves the princesses.

Where’s Momma?
Do you see a bird?
Where’s E-Ya-Ya?
and then…of course…
Where’s your nose? Not the best one to use when we’re fingerpainting.

AndyZ is already showing the mad art skillz that most daycare kids learn. Because these teachers force projects on them earlier than I would ever dream, they start understanding concepts like painting and coloring very early. I’ve caught AndyZ playing with my paintbrushes a few times, (I say my paintbrushes like I’m some sort of cool artist and not just someone who just happens to have paintbrushes.) and when he does, he seems to hold them correctly and tries to paint with them. Sans paint. When he sits at the desk with me (because he’s like his sister and wants to be held if there’s an open lap available) he grabs pens and writes on paper. His sister did the same things…and I feel like that is all the gift of daycare. There is no way in hell I’d be brave enough to let my kids paint or color before they were old enough to understand that we don’t color or paint on the dogs or the humans. Or the walls. Or our mouths.

But we have an easel outside that is just for Painting Sans Stress. I throw the kids in clothes that can be easily cleaned, I bring a pack of wipes out for a quick wipedown pre-bath, and I let them have at it. I looked at the first photos of NikkiZ painting on the easel and realized it was about time to introduce AndyZ. This weekend was his first session in the Studio ‘o Zoot. Here is a picture of his first session as compared with his sister’s.

She is a month or two older than he is in the first session, and he is already looking to be a more conservative artist. NikkiZ never had a problem with getting her hands covered and tried to cover every piece of paper. AndyZ kept trying to get the paint off his hands and kept his creation contained to very small piece of real estate. He also got very mad at me when I added a swipe or two with the paintbrush. I tried to explain it was merely for instructional purposes, but I think he thought I was trying to bogart his masterpiece.

Do you have a way to Paint Sans Stress in your home? Do you have any tips or techniques to share? Or more importantly…any products you recommend? NikkiZ is using those paint/brush combos in her painting and those are great…but sometimes a little tricky on an easel. They require some effort to get the paint flowing if the surface is remotely upright. More importantly…what’s the most valuable lesson you’ve learned in the Kids Paint department. Mine is, “Never put a kid in the bathtub covered in paint. The water turns scary colors and my possibly freak the kid out.” Hence the pre-bath wipedown with wipes. Nobody wants to bath in brown water.

OMG. I am such an idiot. They are no where NEAR the same age in these photos. MATH IS NOT MY FRIEND. NikkiZ is a whole year older in her photo. Which, honestly? Makes me feel much better because I kinda felt like AndyZ was a little behind. OBVIOUSLY…he’s just fine. It’s his MOTHER who is the moron.

Do you see the sign on the right there? It says This trail is 6.0 miles roundtrip descending 1000 feet. Participants need to be in good physical condition and allow 6 hours for an enjoyable completion of your hike. Here are some of the things I would like to add to the bottom of the sign:

Bring at least one gallon of water per person if hiking this during the summer. Don’t start drinking it until you are on your way back UP.

or

Not at all kid friendly. In case that needs to be said after the part about the distance and the elevation notes. We thought that would be understood but since some people are morons we’ll make it clear: DO NOT BRING YOUR CHILDREN

or maybe

Please do not take this sign as a challenge. If you are stubborn and ignoring the voice inside your head that says, “Maybe this is a bad idea.” DO NOT IGNORE THAT VOICE.

This is me, ignoring that voice telling me, “Maybe this is a bad idea?” The bad idea was not the hike itself, of course. The hike was beautiful. The bad idea was bringing the kids and thinking we could just carry them the whole way. You know, because we’re men of steel or something. Well…maybe I should explain how STEEP a trail is that descends 1000 feet in 3 miles. It is VERY STEEP. And when someone as clumsy as myself adds 30lbs on their back and tries to climb down that mountain? It’s not pretty. We ended up very quickly switching kids in the situation. NikkiZ, although heavier, is a lot less wiggly and therefore allows me to try to maintain some sort of balance.

Making it DOWN the mountain almost killed me. I probably make NikkiZ walk a mile of that journey. But even making her walk a mile, the other 2+ (because we just HAD to go 3.5 miles instead of 3) nearly killed me. My toes were aching and my feet were blistered and my back/shoulders were frozen in agony.

And then we had to GO BACK UP.

MrZ took this picture about 1 mile into our ascent.

Notice that my lovely daughter was asleep. Because we had worn her out. Poor thing. Except NOT because her mother WAS DYING. I passed her off to MrZ and I took AndyZ just for the break in weight (and we weren’t going down anymore so I hoped he’d be easier to balance) and that didn’t last long because I was unable to carry ANYONE at that point. So, 1.5 miles from the top and I woke up that angelic girl and MADE HER WALK. UP A MOUNTAIN. IN THE HEAT OF THE SUMMER IN ALABAMA.

(Are my caps making my point? That I’m abusive?)

By the time we made it back to the car MrZ had carried at least one child all 7 miles. He was in pain. We had to conserve the last 15ounces of water to last us all over 2 miles because we were worried we’d run out. After getting into the car and almost crying with relief we stopped at the first gas station we came to for 60 ounces of Gatorade, 60 ounces of water, and one Diet Coke.

(What?)

To reward NikkiZ for walking almost three miles today, I took her swimming this afternoon and then both kids pretty much crashed out before 7pm. This was, by far, the most exhausting trip I’ve every made. The hike would have been FINE if we hadn’t thought we could carry the kids. We could have carried the kids FINE without the steepness of the trails. And we might not have almost killed each other in that last mile if we had brought more water. *sigh* Lessons learned.

And now for the kicker. Which might should only be read by the females in the audience. If you’re male? Consider the end here and just skip to the pictures. If you’re female? Read along so you can truly appreciate my suffering.

When we packed the kids back on our backs to start the return trip UP the mountain? We had made it about 1/4 mile when suddenly: I started my period. FOUR DAYS EARLY. Because climbing UP a mountain with a kid on your back isn’t tough enough without hemorrhaging through uterine cramps. The kind of endometriosis-induced cramps that require I stay heavily medicated for four days. THOSE cramps. Those unforgiving cramps with the unforgiving bleeding. Because I was NOT crying enough already, evidently.

Now…onto more pictures of the day! Sans evidence of that last story I added for the women!

I have reached an all-time low. I have been attacked by an appliance. My dishwasher took out it’s revenge on me this afternoon by jumping out at me (because I can’t accept that I ran right into an immobile device) and kicking me in the shin. In reality? I have no damn clue how the incident happened. I was loading the dishes in the dishwasher – - and then I was in pain. And couldn’t walk. And the dishwasher was pointing and laughing at me.

Maybe it took my complaint about not having enough spoons personally. Let’s hope it doesn’t start talking to the refrigerator and stove, if there’s a mutiny I’m certain to die a slow and painful death at the hands of the ice dispenser.

NikkiZ’s, however, was going to have her name on it. Since I was using stencils, I did every other letter in her name first so that I could do the others when the first batch dried. LilZ came home from school and looked at the stool. He said, “So…um…where are you going to put the rest of the letters.”

My first thought was, Duh. WHERE THEY BELONG. I mean, I had left plenty of room between each letter, I just didn’t want to keep putting my hand in wet paint so I was letting the first ones dry. I gave him a look to try to figure out where he was heading. And then I saw it: SYMPATHY. One of my friend’s daughters was there too and she said what he was scared to, “Aren’t these letters in the wrong place?”

I spelled my daughters name wrong.

Now, since I had only painted every other letter, it was just the middle letter that was wrong. But I was SO mortified that I immediately grabbed a brush and paint and painted over it. I thought I was going to cry I felt so stupid.

I realized later I should have at least photographed the error for visual evidence of my placenta brain to show future generations. But all I wanted to do was cover it up before MrZ got home. BECAUSE I COULD NOT HANDLE THE SHAME.

The stool is done now, except for the sealing coat I’ll spray on today. I have read, and re-read, the letters in her name dozens of times to make sure I’ve spelled it right. I’ve had every family member come up and do the same: assuring me that I won’t wake up one day and see that the stool says: FRANK.

Which – for the record – is NOT her name. But I wouldn’t put it past my limited brain capacity to spell it that way.

You spelled my name wrong? NICE.

(What? I need to take a break from posting the butterfly costume pictures? Ya think?)

It started when someone named “RickRoll” (or something similar) started following me on twitter. I didn’t follow him back because I didn’t know who he was but the name sounded almost familiar. Like it was something I had heard of in passing. Then, a few days later, Chrispian twittered about being Rick Rolled and I was like, Huh? But – as usual – I just wrote it off as one of the many things I didn’t get and moved on.

Then, we were watching The Soup (I love you, Joel McHale) on Friday and they had this clip:

I finally gave up and decided I’d look it up and see what the hell this was about. And now I’m sharing with you so we can all be educated. Turns out, Rick Rolling is when you click on a link you think is one thing and turns out to be the video of Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” video. For example:

Hey, Guys! Look at this great picture me and Brad Pitt!

If you clicked that link, you’ve officially been Rick Rolled. And I have done the Rick Rolling.

This trend evidently started on some gaming board and has popped up in more popular outlets recently. There is even a firefox extension that will convert all YouTube videos to that Rick Astley video. I’m guessing so you can set it up on someone’s computer when they’re not looking? I don’t know. Don’t do it to my computer or I’ll beat you up.

So – Now you and I both know what all the fuss is about. Why this is important or funny is a mystery for another blogger to tackle.

Okay – so I started the whole Facebook thing many moons ago. About the same time I started the whole MySpace thing. I learned to understand MySpace, because it’s what LilZ and his friends use and I wanted to be able to keep up. I still haven’t decided if he really hates it or really likes it that I periodically comment on his page. He probably hates it, and is scared to tell me. I at least try to be cool though, and not act like a Mom. But, as a Mom, you kinda have to keep up in order to keep your finger on the pulse of what the kids these days are into.

I never really understood Facebook, however. Mainly because I didn’t have a reason to. People had added me as their “friends” and sometimes I get “poked” and such, but it’s like a foreign world to me. I can’t figure out how to do anything and I don’t know the etiquette. Someone asked me a question on my “wall” and I don’t know if I answer it on my “wall” or on their “wall” – it’s all so confusing.

I realized awhile ago that all of the “Friends” I had been accepting could see my “real” name and information. I don’t care a whole lot, but since I had been accepting friend requests without paying attention to who sent them, I thought maybe I should change that. I tried to change some of the personal information and couldn’t figure out how. And then it wouldn’t let me change my name because it wasn’t “real” or something stupid. I don’t know. I just decided to try to start over. Start a new Facebook page with fake information and go from there. So – this morning I sent out a few friend requests from my NEW page. Then, I realized that Facebook had finally made the changes to my original page for me. WTF? I requested those changes forever ago – and when I finally decide to start a new page they make the changes for me? WTF?

So – now I have to delete the NEW Facebook page because I’d prefer the original since it had all of my “Friends” on there already. Of course, some of you may have friend requests from me that now mean nothing other than: I’m an idiot who can’t figure out these damn social networks. BAH. I have a blog, isn’t that ENOUGH?

And I still can’t figure out what the hell the Poking and the Questions and such are all about. Should I be responding? Am I pissing people off by ignoring those things because I don’t know what they mean? And I added pictures but isn’t there a Flickr thing I should be using? And why is the page so ugly? Can I make it pretty?

I’m so old.

Obligatory Disclaimer: Yes, I’m aware there is the whole Facebook Hates BreastFeeders controversy. But – I use Facebook to keep up with friends and family and while I would really like Facebook to not be jackasses, I kinda have to snub the controversy in order to keep the option open to check out what my friends and family who don’t blog are up to. Sorry. I do love breastfeeding though! And if I get to be nursing a baby soon I’ll post the pictures all over Facebook just to see what happens! I promise!