Dear Santa,

I'd like a growth spurt.

More Than One Way To Melt a Glue Stick

Ms Brenda's Medical Minute...

...OR Does Ben Rothelisberger Even Have One Brain?
Today I want to weigh in on Ben Rothelisberger and his wussy concussion. Since I am not in Pittsburgh I do not get the all-Steelers-all-the-time news. But I figure if the NFL Network is discussing this, that it is all any one in Pittsburgh is talking about. So here is what I think:
If Ben Rothelisburger was my son and he called me last Thursday evening and said he had a headache, I would have told him to quit right then. Forget Sunday's game. Forget the playoffs. Forget his 'career'. (I'm guessing he might already have forgotten quite a bit.) I'm pretty sure I would have said, "You only have one brain. And you have rattled it around in your head enough. Just quit." And then I would have called the school, er, coach. And I would have said that my Ben will not be playing football this week. Or next. Thank you very much. And then, as much as I like Hines Ward, I would have just shot him a text message. Mind your own business. Period.
In my file of 'Interesting Articles' I have a clipping from Sports Illustrated. About the underappreciation and misrepresentation of head injuries. About the conclusion that athletes who sustain multiple concussions risk permanent impairment. About the slowed ability to process information following a concussion. About how the sports community overall needs to reevaluate how they diagnose and treat concussions. The article was in SI in response to another NFL quarterback who suffered his 4th concussion in three years.* The article was from October 11th,..... 1999. 10 years ago. This article was of interest to me ten years ago because my one of my precious daughters took a soccer ball to the head at soccer camp one evening. (Her camp evaluation noted how 'tough 'she was.) I told my precious daughters who played soccer back then to avoid heading the ball at all costs. I told them they only had one brain. I told them I didn't care what the coach said. None of them are playing professional soccer today. I'll take the blame for that.
*This probably explains why Steve Young has trouble stringing together commentary that makes any sense.

Oh Where Is My Glue Gun

Tonight I wanted my glue gun. To glue a string of Christmas lights to a bucket. And I don't know where my glue gun is. I found the empty box where my glue gun should be. I tried to remember where my glue gun was when we packed up the truck. And I have no memory. I have a bucket. I have a string of Christmas lights. I have a great idea. I know I have a glue gun. I just don't know where it is. I am planning to spend the day tomorrow looking for it. So if you have it, please let me know. Or just live with the guilt. Your choice.
I have been watching Clean House episodes since the day before Thanksgiving. It serves two purposes. First-encouragement. I have convinced myself that, even at its worst, my house is not 'that bad'. Secondly-motivation. It causes me to strive not to let my house get 'that bad'.

(I also caught the beginning of a show about hoarders. This is a show to encourage and motivate you when your house already qualifies for a clean house episode.)

So today I emptied two more boxes from the pilot room. (My glue gun was not in either of them.)

Ten Extra

101. Monday Night Football
102. Frosty windowpanes
103. Candlelight
104. Holding hands
105. Clean sheets
106. Christmas lights
107. Snowflakes
108. Eyelashes
109. Scotch tape
110. A God who loves me

Oh Come, Oh Come

Tonight we ate something other than turkey for the first time since last Wednesday. (The STP made liver and onions. The Goob can't believe he misses the turkey.) I'm still very thankful, but it is time to look ahead. We went to see Disney's Christmas Carol this weekend. We put up the tree. And I hung the mittens on it. And in the mittens I put chocolate bells and kisses. And tomorrow we will take the kisses out of the first mitten and eat them after breakfast. Tonight we read chapter two of Tabitha (where she meets Jotham) and lit the first candle on the advent wreath. Three weeks from tomorrow we leave to head 'Back East' for Christmas. Can't wait!

Old Spice To The Rescue

Many, many years ago, when I was thirty six... (oh, I just had the desire to do this whole post in rhyme :) ) ..I discovered that I was pregnant with our 4th child. It was a little shocking. About two weeks later a new shock wave rolled over me as I realized it could be a boy child. I didn't know anything about raising a boy child. Fortunately at the time I worked with some mothers of boys who assured me that changing a boy diaper was easy because everything is all sealed up. Where are these sage mothers now that I really need them? I've read a good number of books and articles on parenting. I've been parenting long enough to have been through three of Dobson's series (From film to VHS to DVD) including 'Bringing Up Boys'. I must have missed this chapter/class every time.

We have reached a new stage in our Mother/Son relationship. In my book on parenting this chapter will be titled " When He has More Hair on His Lip Than You". When my girls were this age we went to the mother/daughter class at Lee Hospital. We learned about deodorant, mood swings, periods, and we got a little package of feminine products to examine at home. I still don't know anything about boy children. So clearly the education of a boy child at this age should fall to his father. Thus we find ourselves in the health and beauty section of StuffMart looking at shower gels. The STP is choosing appropriate hygiene products and attempting to explain their use to the Goob. I excuse myself to use the restroom. When I come out of the bathroom I run into the Goob, who also excused himself from the hygiene lecture. We meet up with the STP at the checkout. He has chosen a little Old Spice shower puff. Only it is not called a puff. It is called a shower tool. A deck scrubber. And it comes with instructions clearly written for male persons. It advised you that members of the gentler sex do not appreciate dirty smelly things. And reminded you to lather everywhere and don't forget to wash behind your everything. And then it included pictures. (Because Old Spice manly men never read instructions) The first picture shows gel going on the puff. The second picture shows lather on the puff. The third picture shows the puff on a upper arm. And the fourth picture shows a muscular bicep with a tattoo. (I know this because I felt compelled to read the instructions out loud to the Goob.) And the STP suggested that if the Goob did not follow the instructions that either his father or his mother would have to shower with him.
Me: Oh, will I have to wash behind his everythings?
Goob: How about I save us both from that and just follow the instructions.
And the next morning...
STP: Did you use your shower tool?
Goob: (Flexing muscle.) Yeah, but I'm not sure it's working.
STP: What? No tattoo?
I must say that he smelled good when I hugged him. I know this because he is now so tall that my nose pretty much lines up with his armpit when I hug him.
I don't even want to talk about shaving.

Take Your Antlers to Church Day

Remember the whole antler thing? Measuring and scoring? Well yesterday we took it to a new level. The wonderful guide who took Dave deer hunting (and brought him safely back) called Saturday and asked him to bring his antlers to church on Sunday. He wanted to get a group picture. (I think these are all hunters that hunted with him. Not all of the successful hunters in the church.) So imagine a group of guys standing around in the parking lot after church comparing their antlers. Okay--you don't even have to imagine. I took a few pictures for you.

They even held them up to each other to compare them.

Some were more disgusting than others.

But, as in most guy things, the smellier the better. In fact, I'm going to look a little closer at that score sheet. Smelly and disgusting may be worth additional points.

Mirror, Mirror

We traveled to Billings today to make a hospital visit. And I darted into Kohl's. And I went into the dressing room. And I just want to change the sizes on my want list from L to XL.
The disadvantage of not ever going into a dressing room is that you go long periods of time without facing the reality of yourself in a dressing room mirror. OUCH! Definately not my favorite Kohl's dressing room experience. Sad day.

I Don't Need Anything...

...Except this ashtray...
I've started thinking about Christmas Lists. And my Christmas list in particular. And not just the list where I write down the things I am giving. I've really been thinking about what I need. And I really don't need anything. And since I live outside the realm of actual stores, I don't know what is out there that I might need. So I have compiled a list of things that I want. So in case you need to gift me with something you'll have an idea where to start. (I have spent all my money on plane tickets to PA so my gift to you will be my presence. Shop accordingly.)

1. A gorillapod. (My original one broke on the fly fishing trip.) For my new little digital camera that Santa will bring me. Unless you want to gift me with a camera. Then I want one of those little Nikon things with the touch screen that Ashton Kucher takes to parties . Don't worry--Santa can return his.
2. A book about flyfishing. Essential Fly Fishing by Tom Meade
3. A book about Wyoming wildflowers. A Field Guide to Rocky Mountain Wildflowers by Frank and John Craighead OR the National Audubon Society's Wildflowers: Western Region OR Weber's Rocky Mountain Flora. Any of the books on my want list can be used. I plan to use them.
4. A book about tying my own flies. The Benchside Introduction to Fly Tying by Ted Leeson and Jim Schollmeyer. And some fly tying tools and supplies. Because I don't have enough unfinished projects in my life.
5. A pedi-egg and foot lotion. Since the clutter gene is apparently linked to the dry scaley feet gene.
6. A kayak. I was planning on using my Christmas club money to buy two kayaks, a couple of PFDs, and paddles. But instead I spent it on plane tickets. Maybe next year.
7. A Motion Plus Accessory for my Wii remote and a pink silicone case for my Wii remote with motion plus accessory. Since I will most likely be only virtual kayaking again this year. At least I want to do it with style.
7A. My own Wii remote. So I can play in party mode.
8. Pretty tops and/or lightweight sweaters. Like the kind they sell in stores with dressing rooms. Like Kohl's. Or figure flattering styles like they sell at Coldwater Creek. I would accept gift cards from either of these places, but I would rather you pick them out. You know what I like. Size L
9. A new picnic blanket. Pieced together out of genuine polyester double knit squares. Backed with a polyester sheet. Preferably lime green. Knotted together with yarn, although this detail is of minimal importance. This would be the best gift I ever got. (Except that leather wallet I got when I was about twelve. With the mushrooms on it.)
10. Ear muffs. Like the kind on the back of the LLBean catalog that wrap aound the back of my head. Just because I saw them and I want them.
11. A new flannel nightgown. (Unlike the books on my list, I want this to be new.) Because my old one is worn out. Size L
I hope that's enough to get you started.

First Nine Weeks

The Goob had a great first nine weeks of eighth grade. As his sister would say,"All 'A's and a couple of 'B's." (To which her sister would reply, "Abi, a couple of 'B's is not all 'A's.)

But it was enough to make the Gold Honor Roll.

And any time the words Excellence and Perfect are used are good times. (Even if they refer to attendance.) Good Job, Goob!

Also, FYI, there are more students in the Middle School than there are weeks in the School year. I did the math myself. Just in case you were wondering.