Flashback Friday: Football Coach Motivation

I often talk about my beloved father, who went to coach a great football team for God three years ago. I miss him a lot at this time of year, when football programs all over the country are gearing up for their seasons. A new year to motivate potential greatness.

So lately, I have been feeling kinda blah and needed some attitude adjustment. What does any awesome Daddy do? Even after he is no longer with us? He comes to you in a dream and reminds you that he has given you so many opportunities to listen to not only his motivational talks, but to many of the football greats from his life. He reminds you of one in particular.

My Daddy was a season ticket holder to The College of William and Mary football program since before there were season ticket holders. Until his death, there were not many games that he ever missed. He was a fixture. He had the pleasure and the honor to get to know all the coaches who passed through this highly academic athletic program. Yes, there are schools where academics come before athletics and W&M is one of those.

From 1969-1971, one of those coaches was the great Lou Holtz, former Notre Dame University and South Carolina University football coach. The College of William and Mary was where Mr. Holtz would essentially begin his coaching career. My father got to know the young coach and followed him through his career. Dad would not only introduce me to Mr. Holtz, but repeat many times the quote that Coach Holtz would impart to those that needed to hear his words.

Those quotes have played an important part of my life numerous times over. When I need a pick me up or a kick in the rear, I recall the pearls of wisdom that Mr. Holtz spoke.

"A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song."

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"Coaching is nothing more than eliminating mistakes before you get fired."

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"I think everyone should experience defeat at least once in their career. You learn a lot from it."

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"It's not the load that breaks you down. It's how you carry it."

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"Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it."

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"The man who complains about the way a ball bounces, is likely the man who dropped it."

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"No one has ever drowned in sweat."

I feel a lot better, don't you? Don't you want to just get out there and get the job done now? I never would have imagined that a little girl hearing the ramblings of those men would carry them in her soul for so many years...but I did. The legacy of the words imparted on me is worth more than anything material I could have received after his death.

Thanks Dad. You will never know how much I was really listening. Hey, by the way...can you send me down a couple of lines of any upcoming games?

This is Home Girl and I just love college football.

This and That Thursday by Mental Pause Mama

Have you seen this Geico commercial? It is one of my current favorites and I get the giggles every time it comes on. I love it when innovative and creative advertisement staff come up with something so simple, yet outstanding.



Wee, wee, wee, wee, all the way home! Ha...I love it.



Of course there is a commercial that is starting to rake on my nerves and that would be the contact lens commercial...you know the one..."Look! Look with your special eyes." "My Brand!!" It makes me want to find a high gage shot gun and shoot the television. Seriously, take that off the air.



I forgot this morning that I was out of coffee, so I am pretending my hot tea is coffee.



It's not working. I want coffee. I have a serious "thing" for coffee.



I had fried okra yesterday. I don't have a "thing" for fried okra. In fact, fried food isn't so appealing any more to me. I mean, I get the occasional craving, but then I regret it because I feel so gross afterward. I will never return to the monstrosity I once was. I am so much happier now than I ever was in years past.



I am making Pasta Putanesca this evening for my love and friends. It's always a great time when we get together with our little group. Each of the ladies makes a dish and the guys...well, they are guys.



I love that Trisha Yearwood song, "How Do I Live". I have wonderful memories of Boo Boo Girl (aka Sarahboo) at the age of 5, standing on the coffee table in the living room belting this song out and hitting every note perfectly. She has such an amazing voice.



This is my favorite time of year, weather speaking. I am tracking all those goodies coming off the coast of Africa. My personal opinion on Hurricane Danielle? If I were in the Upper NE United States, I would be watching and preparing if I were you. Right behind her is, "My Name is Earl"...and anyone from Southern Georgia to Virginia should be aware this storm.



I have a heart filled with respect for Michael Douglas and the way he is dealing with the incarceration of his son, Cameron. I pray for this family and for all those dealing with similar circumstances. Addiction is a disease that affects everyone.


This is Home Girl and I wanna go Wee, Wee, Wee, Wee, all the way home.

His Russian Heritage: An Adoption Story Part 3

In Part 2 of His Russian Heritage; An Adoption Story, Russia was kept away from seeing his baby brother, he was told he was to be adopted, he was hurt, confused, and alone. He was a nine year old little boy. He just wanted to die...at least that way he could be with the mother he had tragically lost.

The adoption system in Russia, at the time of his placement, was a complete shamble. By American standards, it was appalling. There was no therapy provided for these children...no counselors that could help these children process what they were going through. There were no bright engaging colors, no exciting toys, and very little in the way of happiness. Russian orphanages operate on very little funds and still to this day, much needs to be done to reform the system. I feel that anyone adopting a child from this country is an angel. The outcome for the un-adopted children of Russia is horrific, most of whom at the age of sixteen are dispersed onto the streets to fend for themselves.

When Russia's adoptive parents travelled to Tver Oblast to adopt his baby brother, they purchased the requested presents for all the staff they would meet. It is customary to bring items from the United States that are hard for the Russian people to acquire "to make the process" move in a satisfactory way. I liken this to bribery, but what were they to do? What would you do? You would bring what was asked. They were told that the baby boy they were to adopt had an older brother and they were asked if they would be interested in adopting him as well. They thought long and hard about this and decided that they would leave this country not only with one child, but two. They would not split the boys up. It was divine intervention that the boys remained together.

At first, Russia had refused any thought of being adopted. He wanted nothing to do with the idea. He was then told that these people who spoke not a word of Russian would also be adopting his baby brother. Russia thought long and hard about this decision and decided if he was to be reunited with his brother, then he too would be adopted. He met these strangers and only tolerated the process. He was given presents by the strangers. He could not understand what they were saying, but the thought of having a new toy and possibly seeing his brother again were enough for him. Per adoption requirements, several visits had to be made by the strangers before they could leave with him. He went back to his ward and the toy he had received was taken way by the staff to be sold on the black market. It seems as if this is a normal practice. (To me it says, "Let me reinforce loss and heartache for you some more".)


Soon, the adoption process was concluded and "Gotcha Day" had arrived. Russia was loaded into a car with a Russian speaking interpreter and for the first time in many months he was reunited with his baby. The reunited boys, the driver, and the interpreter were to meet up with the new parents. There was excitement and fear for all. Russia and the baby now had new parents. The new family spent a few days in Tver Oblast before permission was granted to move towards Moscow before returning to the United States. There was so much to do and so much to take in.

Russia has very vivid memories of this time and shared them with me with mixed emotions. He was terrified and confused. He wanted no one to touch his baby. He did not hate this new person he was to call "Mama", but he did not want her to cuddle or love on his baby. He was not open to bonding and of course there was a major language barrier to overcome. The new family did the best they could to understand and work through the mountains of emotions coursing through their veins. The parents wanted Russia to return to his childhood and not feel that he was responsible for the baby, but Russia wanted nothing to do with that thought. There was no way that the new parents could be prepared to understand what this little boy had been through or even how to help him, but to love him through it. They needed to find a common ground, something they could use to connect with Russia.

Upon arriving in the United States, by way of Washington, D.C., they discovered they had found something that caused severe happiness for Russia. They found something that would finally put a smile on the face of the most adorable blond haired, blue eyed child. A child that at the age of nine weighed a mere 32 pounds (which is the average weight of three year old in the United States). The new parents uncovered Russia's love for American food. Fast food it seems, is a universal language and bridged the communication gap. To this day, good food can calm him and believe me when I say, Russia can eat some food.

A fire storm of sensory deprivation was unleashed and now Russia was more preoccupied in learning about all things American. The new family traveled from Washington to Norfolk, VA. The first place they went to upon arrival in Virginia, was a place that I have a deeply bonded connection to. They went to Doumar's, a locally historic barbecue and hamburger "drive in" and upon eating his meal, Russia's first sentence in English, was..."Good, f~ing food."

Really, it was and the laughs that this brings back to everyone showcases what the future held for this tow headed little boy. A boy so full of life and heartache. A boy characterized by Post Traumatic Stress Disorder...a hurt and confused little boy from Russia who now had to acclimate himself into a whole new world...one which he had no understanding of. He needed to blend his past with his future.

There would be numerous ups and equally as many downs. It would be a tumultuous roller coast ride, but unbeknownst to all, the ride would prove the fortitude in this little man. They would showcase Russia's spirit and the deep love of his new parents.

The new family was to embark on their life together...a family that never gives up and is always there for one another through anything. This idea would be tested over and over again in the years to come.

In the next segment we will delve deeper into the transition a non-English speaking child makes when coming to America. How a new life affects the child and the lives of the parents. How a child learns a new language and all the discoveries he makes. Can you imagine what happens when a child goes from having nothing to having everything?

This is Home Girl and I love good f~ing food, too.

Russia wants to thank you all for reading his story. The above photo is of him and his baby. Boy, do we love and miss that little man.

Momentary Delay on Tuesday Post

Tuesday's "His Russian Heritage; An Adoption Story" will be slightly delayed with my sincere apologies.
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It has to do with chocolate. Can you blame me in the least?
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This is Home Girl and God works in glorious ways!!!


(Photo from Google Images and is not my own, but expect some real soon.)

This and That Thursday by Mental Pause Mama

Why is it I crave the smell of brand new Crayola Crayons this time every year? My children always loved shopping for school supplies with me because I went seriously overboard. The girls and I would all "play pack and unpack the book bags" at least 14 million times before the first day of school. I bought them different colored milk crates which sat by the door, each night before school, there were crate checks to make sure everything was ready for the next morning.

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When the kids were little...I only bought white socks. There were 14 feet in my house. My thought...white socks...pick two, they'll match.

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Quick fix for the loud Sun Chips Eco bag...pour the chips into a bowl, you idiotic people.

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Those same bags would have come in handy, when son #2 (aka Bill Gates Junior) was two, he had a serious insomnia issue and would get up at all hours of the morning and empty out my pantry to include both the cereal shelf and the chip bin...onto the floor. There is nothing like getting up in the morning and having to clean up a mess like that. It's okay though, because he has grown into the best kid ever and there is not a day that I am not extremely proud of him. He is a high school senior this year in the International Baccalaureate/AP program. His intellectual abilities put me to shame. Seriously...he makes me feel brain damaged. Wait, some people already think that.

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In stark contrast to this child...his brother is the ying to his yang. I pray for him continuously.

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I think adoptive parents need to respect birth parents more. It is not up to you to be our judge and jury. Show us common respect. In an open adoption situation, please follow through with the original agreement. it is not only the right thing to do, it is what is best for "your" child. The truth will come out at some point and it is best to deal with it early rather than later. The child may have ill will over us giving them up, but will be more furious with you for purposely denying the transfer of information. I did what was in the best interest of the child and acted selflessly....can you say the same thing? Grow the hell up and realize that children do not belong to "us", they belong to God and are just entrusted into our care. You can not pretend me away.

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Sorry, about that...I am just "a little" pissed off.

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I need chocolate. European chocolate.

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It's date night with my sweet love. He bought me a pool floaty and some chocolates. European chocolates. Have I mentioned how much I love this man? When I am bi-polar, pms~ing, introverted, or upset about something in particular, he always knows what to do or what to say...he just gets me.

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I am seriously craving some crab dip from Paddy O'Brien's in Olde Towne.

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Good (and fresh) seafood is hard to find around these thar parts. Wait...it's nonexistent.

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This is Home Girl and I am all over the place today.

Wordless Wednesday

This is Home Girl and I'm out.

His Russian Heritage: An Adoption Story Part 2

Russia had taken his infant brother and was living on the streets of Vyshny Volochek, in the Tver Oblast Region of Russia. His beloved mother had been murdered by his step father, he did not know his own birth father or that family, his grandmother died very soon after his mother's murder. He did what any other person would try to do. He attempted to keep his only family together...at the age of nine.
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It was the beginning of Winter when he took to the streets with his brother. There was no way he could have known this was a bad mistake. Russia used his instincts for survival. His fortitude was great, but the elements were far more than the small boys could bare. A baby taking care of a baby. It breaks my heart to think about it. There is some uncertainty about how long the boys were living on the streets and how they ended up at the hospital, but what is utterly clear is that both the boys arrived at the local hospital close to death. They were suffering from hypothermia, dysentery, malnutrition, and exhaustion.
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The boys were separated to different wards. Russia was too sick to visit "his baby" and as you can imagine this upset him greatly. He became uncontrollable and violent. He would break free from the different attempts to secure him away from the only family he had remaining. Instead of fighting with him, if someone had realized he might calm down if he could visit with his only living sibling, things might have gone better, but they did not. There were no child social workers or advocates at this time...the cold war in Russia had left cold hearts and a cold society. There was little love, caring, and compassion. There was no communication, especially to a child. Did they not realize that Russia had lost his childhood when his mother was murdered? He had grown into a miniature adult only equipped for survival with the heart of a fighter. No one seemed to care. There was no holding of scared hands. There was no wiping away of tears. There was no explaining of future plans for Russia and his baby brother.


After the boys healed physically, they were released from the hospital, but not to be together. Russia was sent to a "boarding school" which is a long term care facility for older children without parental care and his baby brother was sent to a Baby House in Vyshny Volochek. Their contact was cut off. No visitation was allowed. Russia had no information of what was to happen. He could not see his brother. This threw him into the depths of depression and despair. He refused to have anything to do with anything. If he could not be with his brother, than he wanted to die. He was uncontrollable and very hard to handle. Russia reports that the only thing left for the caretakers at the boarding school to do was to physically restrain him....meaning, he was tied up. after numerous attempts to escape, he was eventually locked up as well.

Sometime later, he was told that he was to be adopted. He did not understand. He was not told that he would be adopted with his brother. He refused. He wanted to die, he told the workers. He spat at them. He kicked them. He hit them. He was angry and wanted nothing to do with anyone. All he wanted was his little brother.

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Meanwhile, in the United States, there was a childless couple that wanted to be parents in the worst way. They had the careers, they had the beautiful home, they had it all...except for the sounds of laughter and little feet running through the hallways of their lives. Adopting a baby in Russia would make their hearts sing. It would not only be good for the child, but it would end the longing and heartache for a family for them. This couple would do anything that they needed to do to be a family. Once they received the call of an available baby, they packed their bags and left for Russia to begin the process of bringing a baby home. They assumed there was one baby...the baby that Russia had saved...his little brother.

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Were they to be split up? Could this couple take the baby, yet leave the brother remaining in Russia? Do you know what the survival rate is for children remaining in Russia? Do you know what happens to the un-adopted children of Russia? We will discuss this and more in the coming weeks. It is more than enough information to completely break my heart. It is awful. I am left appalled that the plight and condition of the typical Russian Orphan is not talked about more...That more can not be done to help these lost children. I am just so grateful that "they" got out. I am glad they were able to grow in the wonderful men they are today. Their mother would have been so proud. I like to think she is smiling down upon them....wrapping her angelic arms around them, kissing them in her embrace. Doing what a mother does. Sacrificing herself for her children. She gave them a better life by not being in theirs. Few people are capable of wrapping their brains around that concept. I for one, can.

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The photos are of Vyshny Volochek today. They were found on Google Images. It was difficult to sit with Russia as we looked at these images, but he knows that releasing this story is cathartic and healing for his heart.

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This is Home Girl and I am so blessed.

Flashback Friday: Band Camp Memories

August is always such a time that brings forth many memories for me. Especially today. Today, 20 years ago, I married a man that ultimately destroyed my life and the lives of my children. I have spent the better part of ten or more years getting over that decision to allow him into my life. It is a union I regret, with the exception of two of my beautiful children. One of those children is experiencing some rather tragic results in his life right now and I pray for him constantly that he can heal and move forward in a more positive direction. It is so hard to watch a train wreck when your child is the one driving the train, but I must. I learned that from my own mother who had the intelligence and the wherewith all to do the same with me. I really did not understand her actions until today.

August also reminds me of band camp. I loved band camp. I hated band camp. Band camp gave me very valuable tools to implement into my life today.

Everywhere all over the country, high school marching bands are getting together to create the field shows that will be shown at football games and marching band competitions. It is a time for friendship renewal, strenuous work outs, fun, frivolity, and the making of many laughs and happy memories.

While my father was more preoccupied with the impending football season on the high school, college, and professional levels, my mother was deeply ensconced in helping design and sew for the upcoming marching season. She was the best "band mom" ever. She not only mothered me, but she mothered everyone. I did not mind sharing her.

She made the uniform I am wearing above. I loved those shorts. Loved them. I never knew it then, but they really made my butt look stellar. I miss that butt. I miss those legs. I miss those abs. However, I do not miss those boots. Can you imagine marching in them? For hours? They hurt so much and I recall the countless blisters I ensued. The aching toe joints. There was no shock absorption...no cushy little pads...It was like walking miles in ballet toe shoes. Utterly painful, but it was worth it.

I spent my first year marching on the instrument line as a piccolo player. It was cool. I like the solo during the 1812 Overture, but then I got bored and I wanted to try something different...so, in typical Marlene fashion, I got a wild hair and tried out for the rifle squad. It did not matter to me that I was suppose to be in the flag guard before I tried out for the rifle squad. I did both auditions and successfully made my way onto the squad. There were some ruffled feathers from people who felt it was unfair that I had not "paid my dues", but I argued that I had already marched for a year and that argument was validated. So, I became a flautist in symphonic band, but during marching season I threw a rifle. Hey, it was dangerous stuff. I suffered for this switch many times over.

One of the skills that a rifle squad member had to have was throwing a triple. The rifle weighed 15 pounds, although it felt like more than 50. I can not begin to tell you how many bruises and bumps I got from trying to throw perfectly laid triples. Our marching band performed DCI (Drum Corp International) style marching and everything was based upon perfection...military perfection...nothing could be sloppy. Meaning: you were not suppose to look up to see where your rifle was...you were suppose to look straight ahead and wait for the rifle to come back to your hands. Yeah, well sometimes that did not work out too well for me. One time, during band camp...the rifle caught my face. It wasn't pretty.

But darn if I didn't look cute in those shorts trying to do it.
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This is Home Girl and I'm gonna go geek on some marching band music.

Wordless Wednesday

What makes you giddy?
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This is Home Girl and I'm out.

His Russian Heritage; An Adoption Story

Do you know who you are? I don't mean who you "are", but more like "who" you are. I do, as I am sure most of you do. We know who birthed us, where those branches of lineage sprout from...we know how twisted and knotted the family bush can be, but have you ever realized that there are many people who do not even have primary heritage information. There's nothing. Nada. Nope. Cold Case. How would you feel about that?
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"silence"

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(I am not really comfortable telling someones story, so please bare with me as I muddle my way through this somehow.)

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Russia has asked me to share his story. His adoption story. Russia, as you might know is my fiance'. He makes my world such a wonderful place to be and our bond is stronger because of the experiences we have shared together. We are family...there is no doubt about that.

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First off, take a look at this photo. ( I know!!! I love his lips...just love them.)

Now, take a look at this photo. This is Princess Irina Alexandrovna Romanoff. There's quite a resemblance, huh?

But...we may never know if there is a true family linkage. Russia was born in Vyshny Volochek, a town in the Tver Oblast Region of Russia in the early 1980's to unmarried parents. He was given a traditional Russian name. He lived in a tiny room with his Babushka (grandmother), his Mama, and his Dyehushka or Dyed (grandfather). Life was very hard...so much harder than you or I could ever imagine. There was hardly any food, work was hard to come by in this dying textile manufacturing town, and water had to be retrieved at a communal pump on the street. Heat was a wood stove. There was little insulation in the apartment walls and it was above par if there was glass in the window panes. The average winter temperature in this region is 22 degrees.

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I have no way of putting myself mentally in that kind of circumstance...I just know from talking with Russia at length, that it was the poorest of poor...that when people complain of their situation in America, it makes him so upset...he knew utter devastation..it was his every day life. There had been no bombings yet the region looks shell shocked. Christmas was never a holiday to be celebrated with presents and the groaning boards of a table full of food. If it was an exceptional year, he may have gotten a piece of candy. A. piece. of. candy.

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Russia's mother married a man who had fathered Russia's little brother (we shall call him The Good Catholic Boy). Russia remembered alcohol (typically Vodka) being served for warmth and consumption. He remembers beatings and yelling. He rarely slept at night after the birth of his brother when he was only eight. Sleep did not matter as he had never attended school. He was afraid for his mother's life as this man proved to be violent.

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On December 28th of his 8th year, Russia witnessed his step father beating his mother to death. She died on the living room floor from plueralpulmonary hemorrhaging and a cracked skull. He laid in the dark, to scared to move, and waited until the morning to see if his mother was okay. She was not. The police came and arrested the step father and the young boys were left in the care of the maternal grandparents, who were very old. From Russia's recollections, his grandmother died a few months after this experience and knowing not what else to do, he took his infant brother and he went to live on the street.

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No one cared. No one stopped them or questioned Russia. He stole for their meager amounts of food.

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He lasted as long as he could with an infant on the streets, which was documented as 6 months. Both of the boys became seriously ill with dysentary and somehow, by the grace of God, ended up at a hospital. Russia was 8 years old and weighed 32 pounds. His little brother was close to death and would suffer long lasting results to this day.

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There is a happy ending...a story of true survival and strength which I have never known. Share this with us as we journey through it. Some of it will not pretty, some of it will be, some of it will make you want to run out and adopt every child you can and some of it will make you think twice before you ever made such a decision.

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It's real life...and it happens. What does Russia expect to come from this? Nothing. He'd like to someday, somehow find a photo of his mother and to see where she is buried. He needs to remember her face and know she is okay. He loved her and she loved him. He has no interest in going back to his homeland right now. It is far too painful still. He recalls some of his language of origin, but has mentally blocked out as much as possible. Who could blame him?

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Her name was the same as the princess above...Irina Alexandrovna...one born into wealth and opulence...and one born into the depths of poverty.

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(Next Tuesday will continue with what happened after the boys were taken to the hospital.)

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This is Home Girl and I love Russia with all my heart. We are a forever family.

Things I Want To Do Before I Die Monday

That title sounds so morbid, I know...but for me, dying isn't something I fear. Death never has been a cause for great consternation in my mind or soul. I mean, dead bodies and the death of someone I am close to upset me greatly and cause fear...paralyzing fear, but the death of myself is not something I am too terribly concerned with. However, there are a lot of things I want to accomplish, or at least attempt, before I kick the proverbial bucket.

To document this list, I am going to "try" to post one thing each week and why it is of utmost importance that I attempt my hand at a task. I stress, "try" because we all know how ADHD I am and how I become bored with some thoughts.

I had been superbly blessed by parents who bestowed upon me from an early age, the ability to do whatever I wanted to do. Honestly, I could not have had a better childhood. It was awesome, although a trip to Disney World would have made a major impact...but that will be saved for another post. What I am trying to express (and not very well) is that I am not afraid at trying new things. I never have been. I also have this drive when attempting new skills or experiences to excel with a superior level. I am accepting the fact that there is a perfectionist in me somewhere. Some...where. When I find it, I will let you know.

Some of the things on this list will never be fulfilled...I realize this...some of the thoughts are...well, just too far out there...but, if you lose the desire to dream, then I feel you lose the desire to live. I have a quest to fulfill therefore, I live life fully.

So, here it goes...the first thing on my list is....don't laugh.

I want to live at a silent monastery for a month, if not more. I think that would just be so cool...to never hear a spoken word. Getting to spend one's day in complete silence and repose would be such an invigorating and soothing experience...to study the crevices of one's mind and being peaceful in one's own skin. I would spend time in prayer and meditation. I would spend time in creative expression...gardening, animal care, sewing, crafting. Does the monastery that creates those heavenly fruit cakes do this? I would go there in a minute. I yearn to gain that place in my life where it is okay to be an introvert in an extroverted world. It's hard...it sucks. The general population of the world does not have a clue as to what it is like...so to be in the safe heaven of a sect that spends the course of their day in introversion would be the ultimate respite for me. A vacation from others trying to gain access into a place I allow no one, except for Him and him.

Please don't take offense if your are an "outty". Parallels are what makes this world go round...it's just that sometimes you drive me a bit insane. Why do you take it so personally? I understand your desire to be "heard" and to drain me of my mental and emotional resources...but come on...realize that I have my needs too.

THE NEED TO BE ALONE IN SILENCE.

I surmise that is why death does not bother me...when I die...no one will annoy me anymore. Don't get me wrong...I have no immediate plans of dying...I will go when I go...whenever My Maker decides that I have had enough...but still, it doesn't scare me. Does it scare you?

This is Home Girl and I am proud to be an "inny". Hear me roar...silently.

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(The photo above is one of my favs. I love the shadow of the cross on the gravestone. It was taken at a very old graveyard in Olde Towne, Portsmouth, VA.)

This and That Thursday by Mental Pause Mama

I wish Rob Dyrdek and Bam Margera would combine to do a series called "Havoc and Mayhem"...I have a feeling they would make me laugh, a lot.

I somehow feel a kindred spirit to Bam's mother, April (aka Ape).

While watching "Kate Plus 8" last night on TLC, I found myself liking her more. Put a power hose in the hands of a scorned woman and see how much gumption she suddenly gets.

Football season really makes me miss my father.

ACC football, particularly UVa football, is still my very favorite.

MSN reported on 28 Things Men Don't Know About Women...I know that number is way higher...more like 14, 823, 561, if not more.

Women are beer snobs? Duh!

Why isn't "Copy and Paste" working in Blogger? This irritates the crap out of me.

I think that if Whoopi Goldberg had "really" hit someone, we would all know about it. Ms. Salahi has a very vivid imagination...like that invitiation to the White House State Dinner she once received. Get a grip, chick.

My Russia and I try to go swimming as much as possible since we are both serious water babies. He plays lots of practical jokes on me for which I try to retaliate. I am devising a master plan to thwart his efforts. It may involve glue and glitter. It's not going very well.

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This is Home Girl and I love weather more than anything.

Wordless Wednesday

Care to leave a caption?

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This is Home Girl and I'm being wordless today. (What? This is wordless for me.)

I Never Could Have Imagined

I had the sincere honor of having breakfast with one of the most wonderful bloggers out there. We have been reading each other for quite some time and shared many life experiences together. Had I not been in Texas, we probably would have never been given the opportunity to meet. It blows my mind away as I sit here and type, that we actually just met. If God only brought me out here, just to have the chance to meet her and her awesome family, then I'm good with that purpose. I wish it could have lasted longer, we could have talked for hours, but we needed to go and she needed to get her family back on the road.

We exchanged surprises, neither of us knowing that the other was bringing something. It is just how we have always been with each other.

She and her husband loved meeting Russia and I loved getting to spend time with her men. It was a lot of fun.

I could have hugged her forever. I gave her some big hugs from other bloggers that would have loved to have had the opportunity I was given today. It honestly made my year.

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This is Home Girl and I am blessed.