Erin: This is our family’s favorite Irish tradition. Beats corned beef and cabbage by a mile. Everyone is happy my mom makes about 20 loaves each year.
Leprechaun Trap:
We don’t know about you, but the leprechauns invade our homes every St. Patrick’s Day creating mayhem and mischief. It sure would be nice to capture the little buggers once and for all.
We’re more than ready to put away the woolies for another year. To pass the time before we can pack our winter garb away in our cedar chests for another season, we found some sweaters on Pinterest that deserve to be packed away forever . . . at the bottom of the landfill. Check out the latest addition in our Pintershit series.
If sports is not the get-into-college-free card of our dreams, why do it at all? The crazy schedules, the extra laundry, and the endless loops to soccer fields and swimming pools do not make a compelling argument. We share five reasons why sports are more than worthwhile.
Oh, how we are ready for the heart of Spring because March is a two-faced mean girl who tricks you into wearing a Wookiee costume to prom. You begin your Saturday at the soccer field in your Under Armour fighting the 30 degree chill, only to be stripping down in the minivan by 3 PM because the 65 degree sun is simmering you in your own juices. This would be a very appropriate time to pray that the tinted windows are really all that and a bag of chips.
We’re more than ready to put away the woolies for another year. Packing for a day out looks like a time warp trip between the ski lodge and the Caribbean. The bonus? The added wardrobe changes feed the laundry beast to Kraken-sized insanity.
But truly, you can only get so down because the REAL Spring is right around the corner. To pass the time before we can pack our winter garb away in our cedar chests for another season, we found some sweaters on Pinterest that deserve to be packed away forever . . . at the bottom of the landfill.
9 Pintershit Sweaters and a Bonus
1. Because an ugly sweater post should start by paying homage to the King of Ugly Sweaters.
Remember Bill Cosby as Dr. Huxtable? If not, do not speak of it. Just click the link and educate yourself – NOW! The CLIFF notes version? He wore sweaters that prompted viewers everywhere to wonder if there was something wrong with their televisions.
When your love for cats is so strong you want to show your adoration to them and the world, dress yourself as a giant cat toy. Just remember to wear that Kevlar bra. Cat Scratch Fever is no joke.
We’re bringing sexy back! This sweater features pigs rooting around in filth and feces! You can almost smell the seduction! As if that weren’t enough, there are little piggy tails to highlight your jowls! On second thought, forget sexy, this is birth control.
Two years ago today, we had a perfect night. Crisp, clear, and beautiful, you could practically feel the quick-silver energy of spring crackling in the air. We were in that limbo of the changing seasons with one foot in fur-lined boots and the other in flip-flops, but we were definitely on the cusp of change. Hope and promise and the hint of so many lovely days to come were everywhere that night. So this country girl left the windows wide open and went to sleep.
Around midnight, I awoke to the sound of voices outside. Certain that it was neighborhood teens drawn outside by the beautiful weather, I was irritated. I needed to get back to sleep. I am not actually a girl any more, and we more seasoned gals need our beauty sleep.
When I went to the window to call out to them, time stopped. The house two doors down was engulfed in flames. A young family of seven was sobbing on the front lawn. The images kept coming then, stacked one upon another, each one more heartbreaking than the one that came before. Neighbors trying to keep the flames at bay with garden hoses. A little boy patting his Mama’s arm. Fire truck after fire truck after fire truck lined up through the neighborhood—a brotherhood of firemen trying to save the home of one of their own. A baby girl wrapped in a neighbor’s sweatshirt. Little bare feet everywhere in the too cool air. Two more pictures stood out. A house there. Then not.
The family had just moved in three weeks prior, but we were already connected. Maybe it was because this young family was our mirror in many ways with 4 boys and a girl. Maybe it was because the boys had become such fast friends. Our kids were already playing together every day, wearing out our side yard with spirited games of soccer. Maybe it was because I was already friends with the husband’s sister and knew the extended family a little. Time doesn’t define all relationships.
My family tried to help in any way we could. But in addition to the burnt scar in the ground just two houses away that we saw EVERY. SINGLE. DAY., we now had a quiet empty soccer field beside the house. Whoever said silence is golden hasn’t walked around a neighborhood after a tragedy.
A little while after the fire, Eddie, then 3, and I visited the family to see how they were doing. You never REALLY know what to expect from preschoolers, but Eddie walked right up to their 3 year old Bezzy like they hadn’t missed a beat.
“Your house burned down. That’s sad.” I froze, but I didn’t need to worry. Their three year old son Bezzy started jabbering away about everything that was going on. He told Eddie every last toy that he lost, every lovey that was gone forever, and, saddest of all, that their dear dog had died in the fire too. These were preschoolers, and they were talking like two wizened old souls.
Bezzy’s mom Sarah told me that the fire had unmoored Bezzy, shattering his notion of home and safety. Bezzy had pretty much stopped talking after that night and had retreated into his own little world of play. Eddie was reaching across a divide with his friendship to pull Bezzy to the other side. As we were watching these two little guys chatter on, we sensed the change, saw with our own eyes how the simple gifts of acknowledgment and a listening heart could bring someone through limbo to the cusp of change. Then this. . .
“Well, let’s eat a cracker, and then play with some trucks.”
Yes, let’s.
Two years on, and the family is back in our neighborhood in a beautiful new home, and the neighborhood play has resumed.
Sarah was asked to give a talk at her local church about what people can do when tragedy strikes, and she told the boys’ story. It’s especially beautiful when coupled with one of Sarah’s favorite sayings that she often shared on their year-long journey from the fire back into their home: God’s favorite way of showing up is through His people.
Indeed.
Today I picked up a pile of dirty sweatshirts out beside our makeshift side yard soccer field. Warmer weather, longer days, and the promise of long afternoons filled with not-so-much-to-do are right around the corner. Knee-deep in extra laundry and waging a daily battle against the dirt mound threatening to engulf us, I could complain, but I don’t. This time of year is special. Full of promise. Laden with hope. I want to remember that today.
Nothing we love here in The Sisterhood more than a great party and some good eats.
One Drink! Two Drinks!! Three Drinks!!!
Thank goodness that between the two of us, there are plenty of holidays and birthdays to go around. Ellen has a chance to show off her cake -making skills. . .
There’s a veritable barnyard of cute animals Ellen’s crafted out of fondant and sugar, but this one’s Erin’s favorite.
. . . and Erin’s husband Steve does too. Erin thanks her lucky stars every year that her in-laws owned a Carvel franchise for years and taught her husband how to handle a pastry bag.
He can freelance like nobody’s business too. He drew this one at the beach using a sandwich baggy and some homemade icing.
You wanna know what else they share besides some serious cake-making skills?? The same birthday. February 9th. They were born ON. THE. SAME. DAY. Yeah, we know, it’s freaky. Especially when Erin says that their voices sound the same in her head.
Oh, and our dear friend Mary’s son was born on February 9th too. When Mary was on bed rest, she gave Ellen and Frank her season tickets to see “Chicago” at the Wilmington Opera House, so that they could have a date night out to celebrate Ellen’s birthday. As Frank and Ellen were watching the curtain come up, Lil’ G was making his debut.
Do you hear what we are laying down?? Three special people in The Sisterhood share the same birthday! We might as well turn this into an official Sisterhood holiday. What, you say, this is barely a reason for a holiday?
Well, in addition to the crazy coinciding of the birthdays, this year February 9th has been attracting activities and events to it like a Kardashian to some media coverage. We would like to offer our calendars as Exhibits A, B, C, and D, but the paper ones are unreadable and the electronic ones are groaning from the data we keep trying to input. Erin may not be the technology-whisperer, but she can hear her iPhone saying, “Put me down, girl. I’ve had enough. I can’t take any more.”
Still not buying it? Well, February is a month for dubious holidays anyway. Perhaps snow does not just make you blind, but deaf, dumb, and stark-raving mad as well. These February holidays all started out honorably enough, but they have strayed far from their noble roots. Mardi Gras is now just an excuse to make bad decisions all day long. And Presidents’ Day? A ruse to spend one last day on the slopes (not that we’re complaining) or to buy a new mattress.
Yep. We think you’re awesome, Abe. Too bad they have you schlepping new Sertas!
Groundhog Day? Puh-leez! Phil saw his shadow this year, so you know what that means?? Bupkis. NADA. Nothing. Dust off your 5th grade science book or steal your kid’s iPad: that’s not how weather works. Sorry if this rains on your happy dance parade because you thought spring was right around the corner. It is. It’s called March.
And don’t even get us started on Valentine’s Day. There’s the Hallmark version: St. Valentine, hearts, love, letters, chocolates . . . well, you know. Then there’s the real story: Pope Gelasius got a little slaphappy bestowing sainthood on people and included Valentine in with a bunch of other saints, saints like St. George of “St. George and the Dragon” fame. We don’t have to tell you that this got a little awkward seeing as how dragons are a little hard to rustle up. Anyway, the pope validated his batch of questionable picks by saying that they were men “whose acts are known only to God”. Nice umbrella there, Pope G, hope it shields you from the flurry of chocolates and greeting cards headed your way.
Not this type of unicorn
Anyway, we think February 9th has as much legitimate claim to a holiday status as, say, a groundhog who forecasts weather or a knight who slays dragons in the English countryside. If Pope Gelasius had kept going, we might be painting rainbows and hearts in homage to Saint Unicorn-Wrangler.
So, what’s wrong with lobbying for February 9th as a Sisterhood Siesta? It could be a a day to do nothing. Hang out, sleep in, eat cake, relax. Whatever. The Holiday of Meh. For two girls who have yet to find a blank spot on their calendars, this sounds like heaven.
Besides, Ellen could use some cheering up. Remember what we just said about Ellen and Mary’s little boy being birthday buddies? On his first birthday, Ellen gave him a tool box and has been filling it on his special day ever since. This year, Ellen was proactive, organized, and way ahead of the game. Because the universe has a twisted sense of humor, Ellen was bound to be drop-kicked on her little overachieving butt for this forethought and productivity. The supercool pair of light-up work goggles she found for Mary’s little boy and bought for him BEFORE Christmas? Well, they are gone. G-O-N-E. Like no trail to follow, no stones to overturn, NOWHERE. We can wish for a happy day when Ellen unpacks them from her Christmas decorations in December, but it’s not likely. They seemed to have been swallowed up by the black hole that exists in our homes since the birth of our kids.
You know what would make her feel better? A day off to look for them. Or not. Whatever.
At the very least, we can all offer some sincere birthday wishes to these three special people without whom The Sisterhood would be a much less fun, funny, and sweet place! Happy birthday, Ellen, Steve (Happy Big 4-0!!) , and Lil’ G!
Oh, and just to keep it real, a bonus birthday anecdote from Erin’s birthday last week:
Ellen calls to check in on some blog stuff.
Erin:Oh, I don’t know if I’ll have time to finish that. The family is taking me out to dinner for my birthday.
Ellen: But I thought your birthday was January 31st.
Erin:Today IS January 31st.
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Thanks! Erin and Ellen
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Erin: The world is fresh, the air is clear, and the days are long. I hear Andy Williams singing in my head, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!”
Ellen: I haven’t even finished putting away my Christmas decorations…
Erin: No, it’s not THAT time of year! Put away your Christmas lists! It’s time to pay homage to the Gods of Green Grass! Any mom worth her weight in soccer balls will tell you: Spring IS sports.
Ellen: More happy than ever that we swim. One more thing on the calendar this month might break me.
Erin:If your kid plays a sport with a ball on a field, you are feeling me right now. We Moms have worn out those second homes also known as our minivans, filled countless water bottles, and developed a serious case of tennis elbow from scrubbing the knees of baseball uniforms.
Is she talking about us?
Well, Providence has smiled upon us and there is an end in sight! So walk off that hamstring pull you developed from crouching in awkward positions on the sidelines. Erase the memories of frost bite from that all day soccer tourney and. . .
Ellen: Forget about that lovely lower back condition from sitting your middle age butt on cold, unforgiving bleachers?? Not gonna happen. Why doesn’t the extra padding help??
Erin: N’er you mind! It’s time to put those ailments literally and figuratively on ice, because we have reached the finish line!
Now it is TIME for The Sports Banquets and End-of-Season Parties! Woo-Hoo!
Ellen: I was a sorority girl. I know parties. These are no parties.
Erin: Don’t be a hater. We <ahem> , I mean, the kids have earned these! These parties warm my heart and put a little gold star on top of my mommy chauffeur report card. But you know what would blow them over the top?
Ellen: A keg.
Erin:No! Well, yes, but I’m talking about honoring our sideline sitters as well. Let’s fire up a BBQ and roast, I mean, toast our parents.
Ellen: Still going with a keg, but I like a good roast or BBQ or . . . what are we talking about?
Erin:Get on board. Without further ado, we bring you. . .
The Double EE’s Awards for Sports Parents
Ellen: Where are our kazoos?? Well, imagine us playing them here. . . Doo-doo-dle-do!
The Olympic Hopefuls
Me Wants Some My Precious!
Erin:These parents were double-dosed with a powerful case of “my kid is the best.” Every crap their little darling takes is solid gold.
Ellen: Gross, but accurate. They act like they have their sights set on actual gold. . . medals, that is.
Erin:These parents Stress. Me. Out. There. I said it. Their earnest talk of the best sports camps, trainers, travel teams, and coaches—it all leaves me reaching for an oxygen mask…or a whiskey.
Ellen: The real bugger is that their kid is usually really good. It’s not like they are looking at a dandelion picker or a bench warmer and spinning tales of Rio 2016.
But the truth is that we have a small pond here. Even if their kid can backstroke in the bigger ocean of talent out in the Big Wide World, the odds aren’ t great for seeing Junior standing on that podium–about 700, 000 to 1. These are roughly the same odds as drowning in a bathtub.
Erin:Glug. Glug. We just wish they could tone it down a little. Take it all in. RE-LAX.
Ellen: But not too much while in the bathtub. This is not the place to beat the odds.
The Glory Dazed
Erin: These parents were the bomb in their day!
Ellen: They ruled the field, the track, the court, the diamond, or the pool.
Erin:They are usually very respectful of the coaches, know the rules, and love to help the kids learn to love the game.
Ellen: The problem once again is their myopic vision. If they are trying to work out some shortcoming in their own sports career through their kids, their focus can be laser-like and oppressive. For those of us on the sidelines, it can be hard to watch.Where’s that whiskey?
Erin:Their more intense, less educated cousins are the parents who were picked last in gym. These parents are also trying for a do-over through their kids, but their lack of understanding of the sport creates unrealistic expectations and impossible demands.
If you have to watch this scenario play out, treat yourself to a double-shot.
Ellen: Okay, THAT is the hardest to watch. It’s Toddlers and Tiaras on turf. Think about it.
The Jersey Collector
Erin:These parents are those kids you remember from high school who had bios yards long because they were on every team: varsity and intramural. Well, those kids are all grown up now, and they are spreading their disease to the next generation.
Ellen: Their kids are totally over-scheduled and burdened: figuratively and literally. They are toting around so many multiple sacks of gear that it is a miracle they are wearing a helmet in their lacrosse game instead of a swim cap.
Erin:The poor kids miss half their games too. Calendars can only be stretched so far. Without some divine intervention. Or a clone.
The Vuvuzela Parent
What’s that? News flash, she can’t hear you!! But I can. Oy.
Erin:These parents are LOUD. Period. They are enthusiastic supporters of their kids and that is GREAT, but give a girl prone to headaches a break. Pass the Tylenol.
Ellen: You know what? Positive support is like Tylenol: even though it is a good thing, you can overdose on it. Take a breath, think of what a sane parent would do, dial it back a little more (just in case you have an unrealistic idea of what constitutes sane), and THEN show your support.
Also, it is O-KAY to only cheer during the spectacular parts. Just saying.
Besides, my kids swim. They can’t hear me anyway.
The Assistant Coach/Ref
Stand back, parents. We have real work to do!
Erin:These are oh-so-helpful parents to have around. They KNOW the sport and they LOVE to help the coach and the ref make sure they get it right.
Ellen: But they generally don’t like the ACTUAL commitment of being the coach or ref. And they often forget that the coaches and refs are volunteers.
Erin:These parents don’t really grasp the concept of the sideline and are constantly stepping over boundaries…
Ellen: . . . right onto the field and everyone’s toes.
Erin: The REAL coaches are not of a pay grade that entitles anyone to provide them with a running critique. If they are doing their best to be fair, they deserve a little respect with a side of parental restraint.
Too much!?! But I haven’t even painted my face yet!
The SuperFan
Erin:These parents don’t just love their kids—they love their kids’ teams.
Ellen: They are harmless, but hapless.
Erin:And easy to spot! They are bedecked in team gear. . . for their 8 year old’s team. From head to toe. To each his own.
Ellen: Erin might be endorsing this award because if she bought gear for every one of her 4 kids’ teams (yes, she gets bonus points for not having her 4 year old on a team) she might not be able to afford gas to get them the heck there.
I’m okay with it—as long as they leave their customized vuvuzelas in their SUVs.
The Holier-Than-Thou Superfits
Erin:My friend Nicole once told me that nothing stresses her out more than “Healthiness One-Upping”.
You know the parents I am talking about. “I just brought homemade granola and hand-squeezed OJ for snack.”
Or: “We run a 5k every night together, have eliminated all unrefined sugars from our family meals, and are currently lobbying to have all junk food taxed.”
Ellen: It is enough to make you want to crawl under the bleachers with a Kit Kat bar. But for the love of high fructose corn syrup: FRUIT SNACKS ARE CANDY, NOT FRUIT!
Erin:Hmmm, I’m getting a feel for which category Ellen falls into. But I am getting up on MY soapbox: END THE SNACK!! For the love of all that is good, kill this tradition. Give it the swift death it richly deserves! How ’bout this instead? EVERY kid brings his own snack. EVERY time.
Ellen: You have floored me with your brilliance.
The SMILFS
Erin:This term usually applies to soccer moms, but you can find these parents in all sports. These are the Moms working it on the sidelines at 8am looking like they stepped out of a salon. Ladies, maybe you didn’t get the memo, but we don’t do pretty before a decent cup of coffee.
Ellen: And a blowout to stand in the rain forest humidity of the indoor pool? Puh-leez!
Erin:You win! We are not worthy.
Come here, kids! You are gonna want to hear this!
Ellen: And last, but not least, the best award ever. . .
Erin:For real, with no traces of snark…
The Sports Parent Extraordinaire
Erin: These parents GET IT!! These parents support without suffocating and guide without getting carried away.
Ellen: These parents have put sports in its proper and important place as part of the myriad of experiences that help kids grow and develop.
SLAMDUNK! These parents are the real superstars!
Erin: These parents don’t need gold stars, championship cups, or bridge loans for four star summer sports camps.
Ellen: They are the rational, loving, SENSIBLE parents we ALL should aim to be!
Erin:Now excuse us before the rest of these parents roast us with a flamethrower.
Ellen: Or, at the very least, blast us with a vuvuzela.
Erin:We are such fans of Stasha’s Monday Listicles because they always seem to coincide with things going on in our lives. Or maybe it’s just that between the two of us, we always have so much stuff going on that we can pretty much twist any topic to fit.
Ellen: This week’s topic was presented by Stacey from Mothering Moments in support of her wonderful new link up called ‘An Hour In A Day’. We were asked to make a list of ten things that happen in an hour of our lives.
Erin: I started to list what happened in an hour of my day and I just couldn’t go on. Didn’t have the stomach for it. Didn’t want to see it in writing.
Ellen: So I took this puppy over because ALL OF THE HOURS of my past week have been consumed by making the #BloggersDance Party video for Kerry @HouseTalkN.
Erin:She is being soooooo melodramatic. It was only 30 hours.
Ellen: So without further ado,
TEN THINGS THAT TOOK PLACE DURING ANY RANDOM HOUR WHILE PRODUCING OUR VIDEO
1. Consult teenage daughter on how to make a movie in Movie Maker. Teenage daughter points out that I have yet to download any of my video clips. Good point.
2. Plug phone into the computer to download videos. Two of them will not download. Swear repeatedly as repeated attempts fail.
3. Resort to emailing the clips to myself off of my phone. Wait 1 hour because I have sporadic 3G coverage at my house. Yep, you read that correctly, that is one hour burned right there folks.
4 Spend hour waiting for email from myself by listening to scads of copyright free music. It ain’t all good or pretty, people.
5. Call Erin about sending her video clip to me.
6. Finally start making video. Realize that 3:54 minutes is an enormity of time to fill. Start to panic.
7. Call Erin for her video clip, AGAIN. Conversation starts with, “I don’t understand..” Realize I may just have to cut bait and move on.
8. Call friend to email me a compromising picture of Erin. Mary emails me the photo in five minutes. Mary moves to the top of my “Favorite Friend” list.
9. Cannot save video because I have maxed the memory on my computer. Spend three hours managing memory on my computer. Consume a glass of wine. Or two.
10. Long story immensely ( and blessedly) shortened: the video was produced and saved, uploaded to You Tube, and presented here for your viewing pleasure! Please let us know that the effort was worth it. Lie if you have to. We’re totally okay with that.
