525,600 Minutes

The Girl & The Boy

Raise your hand if you're sick of seeing the weiner with buck teeth every time you open JillyD's blog.  Admit it, you know you are.  As funny as he was the first time you saw him, he's not really funny anymore.  Even though a dick with buck teeth is pretty damn funny.  But now it's time to move onto something else that's funny, k?

Have you ever watched Oprah when she's had those transgendered freak a leaks on her show?  You know, the dude that wants to wear a bra and the chick that wants a beard.  Notice I said that she "wants" a beard not that she "has" a beard.  Menopause can be a bitch, just sayin'.  Anyway, back to the whole transgender thing.  I think it generally looks something like this...

 

Welcome to Halloween 2008.  I, for one, find these costumes to be highly disturbing.  Highly. Disturbing.  In case you're not sure what you're looking at, let me narrate.  The Boy as The Girl and The Girl as The Boy.  And it was all JillyD's idea.  I'm pretty sure that therapy wouldn't be a bad idea for me.  And I'm damn near positive that my children will require it in the not too distant future.  Let's take a closer look...

 

This is Mach One's greatest nightmare come true.  The Boy in a skort.  And knee socks.  I'm most disturbed by the fact that he's wearing his sister's shoes.  And they fit.  What the hell?  He also said that the skort was "really comfortable."  That is so wrong on so many levels.  Feel free to count the levels of wrongness.  I'll wait while you do.

 

Here's JillyD's greatest nightmare come true.  The Girl in  pleated pants.  Who the hell thought that pleated pants were a good idea?  And I fully admit that I wore them back in the day.  But I also wore a rosary as a necklace, so there you go.  The Girl hated the ugly boy pants and bitched the entire time we were trick or treating.  Apparently they were giving her a rash.  And she didn't appreciate the fact that there was extra room for the penis.  I told her that she should be damn happy that she doesn't have a penis that she has to cart around every day in those pants.  Especially one with teeth...

 

They really have each other's personalities figured out.  Here's The Girl bitching at The Boy.  I mean, The Boy bitching at The Girl.  Wait, which is it?  It's so realistic, I'm not even sure myself.  Did I mention that The Girl is wearing The Boy's shoes?  The real Girl is wearing The real Boy's shoes.  This is very confusing.  I think I need a margarita.  Things get clearer with tequila ~ just sayin'.

 

Despite the weird cross dressing, they're damn cute, aren't they?  In a weird way.  A really weird way.

 

Happy Halloween from our family to yours.  Oprah, are you out there?  Let us know when you're planning on booking us on your show...

Goodbye Summer ~ We'll Miss You

Summer ~ we hardly knew ya.  Actually, we knew you quite well and enjoyed the hell out of you.  But as they say, all good things must come to an end.  Who exactly are "they?"  And what the hell do they know?  Apparently they know that summer is over and it's back to school time, baby.  As if we couldn't have figured that out.  Clearly summer hasn't figured it out since it was 90 effin' degrees today.  But despite the balmy temperatures, today was, indeed, the first day back to school.  Let me share my day with you ok?  OK!

Here's The Girl.  She's in 6th grade.  Which technically makes her in junior high.  Seriously.  I'm not old enough or freaking mature enough to have a kid in junior high ~ just sayin'.  Let me tell you a little bit about her morning.  She woke up at 6:00 am ~ we leave at 8:00 am.  What do you think she did for two hours?  She took a shower ~ which I'm all for.  I've told you that I don't like stinky ass folks, right?  Then she changed her clothes four times.  Do you notice anything about her clothes?  Like, um THEY'RE UNIFORMS FOR FUCK SAKE?  Why the hell do we have to change them 4 damn times when the next shirt looks EXACTLY like the one you just took off?  Except that it's a different color.  She opted for the light blue instead of the white because you could see her bra through the white shirt?  Who gives a shit?  It's better then seeing your boobies, right?  She wasn't amused when I said that ~ she may have even cried a little.  Whatever.  I've given birth twice and I'm pretty sure the janitorial staff at both hospitals saw my vagina.  The outline of a bra in a white shirt means nothing to me.  But I'm not 11 ~ even though I act like I am.  Once the uniform was finally approved and no undergarments were visible, she put in her contacts, ate, got the shit out of her braces and curled her hair.  Two hours was almost not enough time.  Sometimes it sucks being a girl.

Here's The Boy.  He got up at 7:00 am.  He got dressed, ate breakfast, spilled shit on his shirt, changed his shirt, brushed his teeth and tried to get his naturally curly hair to spike in front.  He accomplished all of this by 7:30 am.  I'm coming back as a boy in my next life ~ just sayin'.

The fruit of my womb.  Stunning, aren't they?  And speaking of stunning, how about those petunias?  Didn't know that JillyD had a green thumb, did ya?  I make really cute kids and I grow gorgeous petunias.  I'm a gal of many talents.  Just ask Mach One.

Why is it that I can't get enough of these pictures?  Cuz I'm an immature ass, you say?  Perhaps.  But I'm sorry, this shit cracks me up.  Here's The Boy with his classmates.  As in the kids that are in his class.  As in the kids that are in the same grade as him.  Do you see the size of his paw ~ I mean, hand?  If he was a labrador retriever puppy, he'd be a big mo-fo.  But he's a boy, not a puppy.  And he's still going to be a big mo-fo.  I'm pretty sure I don't have to worry about any bullying issues.

The Chickens.  Love them!  Apparently Banana didn't get the memo about the khaki skort and light blue shirt.  Or maybe she changed her clothes 35 times too.  There's one thing missing from this photo.  That would be SammyMaiz.  It's not quite the same without her. :-(

After the kiddies were locked away in their schoolroom dungeons, JillyD met the homies at The French Laundry for a little breakfast.  Actually it was a huge breakfast but whatever.  Yo, Weenie, JayZ, KB and Cat, just to name a few.  But there was one thing missing.  Jenni from the Hood.  I miss her.  A lot.

Sayonara, Summer.  See you next year!

Saving the Best for Last

Softball season is officially over.  Damn, I hate when that happens.  I've mentioned that I heart softball, right?  Maybe just a few times.  It's not like I'm obsessed or anything.  Shut up ~ I'm not.  Just because I know the entire schedule of Team USA in Beijing over the next few weeks does not mean I'm obsessed.  I'm just an avid fan.  Is it just me or does avid sound like rabid?  Don't answer that. 

Our last softball tournament was in Petoskey ~ which is in lovely northern Michigan.  Like the effing Kid Rock song that plays every minute on the minute.  You know the one I'm talking about right?  I liked it the first million times I heard it.  Now I break out into hives when I hear the first note ~ just sayin'.  Anyway, back to northern Michigan.  Not only does Kid Rock smoke funny things in northern Michigan but Madonna and her man hands happened to be close by as well.  Have you seen Madonna's hands?  God God ~ they're like claws.  No shit.  Google Madonna's hands ~ I'll wait.  See, I was right, wasn't I?  Scary shit.  Anyway, Madonna was in Traverse City, wreaking havoc no doubt, and JillyD and her gang were watching The Girl and her uber cool team play a little softball.  Check out this field...

Breathtaking, isn't it?  I'm sure the dude who developed it has since been fired for putting a softball field on prime real estate property.  That was a dumbass move but I didn't mind.  It's not like I'm planning on living there.  I'd have to find another street corner to work if I did.  But it was very cool watching The Girl spank the other team with such a lovely back drop.

Look at the girl on third thinking that she's going to pick off The Girl.  She's all serious and shit in her ugly uniform ~ poor thing.  And is anyone else concerned about the toddler playing by himself on the cliff that leads down to Little Traverse Bay?  Just wonderin'?  Not a parent in site ~ I'm sure they were drunk somewhere.  Not that I'd know anything about being drunk.

Um, sweetie, that would be a strike.  Don't try to jump out of the batter's box and act like you're going to get hit and shit.  That's a strike and you need to be swinging.  Except for the fact that you're on the other team so we don't give a damn if you watch the third strike go by.  And what the hell is the runner on third doing?  Is she skipping?  I think she might be.  That's just wrong on so many levels.

These are my kids.  Aren't they cute?  And for those of you who are lucky enough to be on JillyD's Christmas card list ~ pretend you never saw this.  Because you'll probably be seeing it again in about 4 months.  Holy shit ~ is Christmas really four months away?  I think I just had a mini stroke contemplating that little fact.

Have I ever mentioned that that I like it really cold when I sleep?  Like if it's snowing in my room, I'm good.  My children have had to adapt their environment to my hot flashes.  Menopause is going to be a bitch ~ just sayin'...

See the ball in the upper right hand corner?  Yeah ~ the bee-yatch in the outfield saw it too.  And she felt compelled to catch it.  Whatever.  It was still a good hit and it made for a hell of a good picture.

So there you have it ~ our last tournament of the softball season.  I have pictures from the other five tournaments as well.  They'll be coming to a blog near you soon.  But for now, feel free to enjoy the beauty of northern Michigan.  Just make sure you're not smoking funny things, k?

Somewhere in Between

Here's a recent photo of The Girl.  She's somewhere in between being a little kid and being a big kid.  There are moments when she's definitely a big kid.  But there's a moment, late at night, before I head off to bed when I check on her one last time before a new day begins ~ and at that moment, she's still a little kid.

At least I don't hold a mirror up to her nose to make sure she's still breathing ~ just sayin'....

She'll be 12 in December.  I'm not sure I'm ready to be the mother of a 12 year old.  Rumor has it I'm not really responsible enough to be the mother of anyone ~ go figure.

I wish I could freeze time.  Like the Cassadines from General Hospital and their freeze machine.  I was probably The Girl's age when the Cassadine's were wreaking havoc on Port Charles.  Now there's a full circle moment.

An Interview with The Girl - Age 11

This is my daughter.  I'm not exactly sure when she ended up looking like this but this is in fact, her.  When I grow up, I want to be her.  Who am I kidding?  I'll never be as cool as her.  Let's get to know her a little better, shall we?

JillyD: What's your name?

The Girl: Paige

JillyD: How old are you?

The Girl: 11

JillyD: Are you sure?

The Girl: Yes

JillyD: How do you know you're 11?

The Girl: Because I'm 11

JillyD: Who do you like better - me or Dad?

The Girl: Don't ask me that

JillyD: Do you think I'm skinny?

The Girl: Don't ask me that either because if I say the wrong answer you'll be all "blah!"

JillyD: Aww, come on.  Exactly how skinny do you think I am?

The Girl: Skinnier than a lot of people

JillyD: Who's fatter than me?

The Girl: Rosie O'Donnell

JillyD: Thank God for small favors...

JillyD: What's your favorite sport?

The Girl: Softball

JillyD: Why?

The Girl: Because it's fun and I love it.

JillyD: Who's funnier - me or Dad?

The Girl: You.  Dad has a dry sense of humor.  You have a wet sense of humor.

JillyD: A wet sense of humor?  Is that a compliment?

The Girl: Yes, it is.

JillyD: K - I'll take your word for it.

JillyD: What's your favorite number?

The Girl: 9

JillyD: What do you think of puberty?

The Girl: AHHHHH - I knew this interview was going to involve that.

JillyD: Why are you screaming like a lunatic?

The Girl: UGHHHH - are we done yet?

JillyD: Would you rather discuss menstruation?

The Girl: Mother! Noooooo-uh

JillyD: Who knew that "no" was a two syllable word?

JillyD: Should we go back to talking about how skinny and funny I am?

The Girl: Sure

JillyD: Who's your BFF?

The Girl: SammyMaiz

JillyD: I thought I was your BFF.  Now I'm going to cry.

The Girl: Mom....

JillyD: Just kidding.

JillyD: Do you think you're more responsible than say, me?

The Girl: A little bit

JillyD: You keep me out of trouble, don't you?

The Girl: Yes

JillyD: Anything else you'd like to say?  Feel free to elaborate on my skinniness and funniness.

The Girl: My parents are the best parents in the world and I love them.  Peace out to all my peeps - inlcluding my mom's peeps!

JillyD: That's a little ghetto, don't you think?

The Girl: No - well, kinda

JillyD: Any other words of wisdom you'd like to share?

The Girl: Live, Laugh, Love and BELIEVE

JillyD: I think you're a pretty cool kid.

The Girl: Thanks, Mommy.  Now I'm going to cry.

JillyD: I love you, Shorty!

The Girl: I love you too, Mommy!

JillyD: Now go finish your spelling...

The Girl: K - see ya!

Free Throw!

Apparently I'm a slow learner.  Who knew?  If you did know that, put your damn hand down and pretend you didn't know, k?

How long have I had my fancy camera?  You know, the one I won from The Pioneer Woman.  I'm thinking it's been at least a year.  Maybe longer.  I've had it long enough to accompany me to my mammogram, my pap smear, softball tournaments and swim meets.  It's like another appendage, really.  Appendage is kind of a gross word, isn't it?  Try to use it three times today and see how that works out for you.  Anyway, back to me being a candidate for the SPED classes.  I've had my camera all this time and I just discovered this capability.  I think it's called a sports composite but I call it the cartoon shot...

That's The Girl sinking a free throw.  And if it was animated, you could actually see the ball moving through the net.  Except that I think animated gifs suck donkey balls.  Have you seen the animated gif of the "under contruction" guy scratching his ass?  It should be against the law to use on a web site - just sayin'.  It's bad enough that the damn thing is out there.  If your site is "under construction" then I don't want to see it.  And I don't give a crap that you're working on it.  Either finish it or surrender your URL.  But it just adds insult to injury to have the "under construction" bastard scratching his ass.

But back to my kid.  Doesn't she rock the house?  I have no idea what the hell I'll ever do with these crazy composites but I'm all about taking them now.  Like this morning, while the dogs were outside peeing, I was snapping away.  It's hour of entertainment.

But I'm easily amused - just sayin'.

A Letter to My Daughter

Dear Shorty,

Eleven years ago today, I became a mother.  It's not quite official yet as it took damn near 12 hours to get you here.  The pitocin was started at 7:00 am and you made your arrival into this big, beautiful world at 6:14 pm.  That's damn near 12 hours.  Without an epidural.  But I'm not bitter.  Really, I'm not.

You have provided me with a lot of "firsts" in my life.  The first pregnancy test, the first ultrasound, the first set of stretch marks.  I could have lived a full life without the pleasure of that first but it was worth it - just sayin'.  Your first breath made my life complete.  I hadn't realized that it wasn't complete until that moment.  And then the doctor placed your warm little, gooey body onto mine and all of a sudden, everything was right in the world.  I remember asking Daddy if you were "ok" - I'll apologize right now for calling you "it" since the morons in the delivery room didn't feel compelled to tell me your gender - and Daddy had tears streaming down is face and he said, "She's beautiful."  I focused in on the "she" part - I had a daughter!  And of course you were beautiful - with a couple of lookers like your parents, how could you have been anything but beautiful? 

You loved me right away.  And I loved you back.  You held my finger in your little hand and fell asleep.  I nearly dismembered the nurse who whisked you away and didn't tell me where the hell she was taking you.

You were the one that I hoped and prayed for, Paige.  It was you.  God gave me the greatest gift of all when he sent you to me.  Or did you pick me?  Either way, I was the winner that day.  You have given me more joy in your eleven years on this planet then I ever thought possible.  My hope for you is that someday you will have a daugther who will make you half has happy as you make me.  And maybe she'll leave twenty pairs of shoes in the kitchen and wet towels on the bathroom floor.  If I'm lucky she will.  But even when she does, you'll adore her as much as I adore you.

You are the purest love that I have ever known.  You make me laugh, you make me proud, you make me crazy - but the truth of the matter is that you make ME.  You turned us into a family.  A family who loves you more then you'll ever know.

So to you my beautiful Paige, thank you for making me a mother.  You're my dream come true and you've blessed me with your life.  You and your brother are my greatest accomplishments.  I'm so proud of the young woman that you're becoming and I can't wait to watch you take on the world. 

Happy Birthday, Babe!

I Love You,

Mom

A Tale of Halloween Present

Halloween 2007.  Yes, I realize it was a damn week ago.  I've been a little busy.  With what, you might ask?  Let's see.  Mach One quit his job; I had to have my boobs re-squeezed.  How's that for starters?  But enough about me and more about the fruit of my womb.  Want to see what they were for Halloween this year?  Or is it anti-climactic at this point?  Did I spell climactic right?  I'm not sure that I did.  Oh well - you know what I mean right?  Just pretend that it's last week and Halloween is still fresh on your mind.  Pretend that you haven't eaten all of the mini-Snickers bars and pretend that there are a few Reese's peanut butter cups left in your house.  Alright - are you with me?  Good.

Here's The Boy.  He's a boxer.  A boxer that got the shit kicked out of him.  He's like Rocky Balboa in what was it, Rocky 3?  When old Clubber Lang kicked the crap out of Rocky but then Rocky rallied back and kicked the shit out of Clubber?  I think that was Rocky 3.  How the hell many Rocky movies are there?  I know the answer - too many.  Talk about trying to sell what's already been sold.  On a side note - did you know that The Boy and Sylvester Stallone share the same birth injury?  I'm not lying - I swear to God.  When The Boy was making his way into the world via the smallest orifice in my body, the dumb ass doctor grabbed him by the jaw and effed up some nerve in his face.  You think I'm kidding but I'm not.  So his mouth droops down on one side because of the nerve damage.  Sylvester Stallone had the same thing happen to him - except he got snagged by the dreaded forceps.  Have you ever seen forceps?  They look like sand wedges - no shit.  But that droopy lip of Sylvester's made him famous.  Perhaps The Boy's nerve damage will be as lucrative for him.  Or maybe not.  But he's damn good looking, isn't he?  Even with the shit kicked out of him.

Here's The Girl.  We dubbed her Sister Mary Spike.  Why is she a nun with a mustache, you ask?  Because that's damn funny - plain and simple.  A biker nun.  There isn't much funnier in the world then a biker nun.  At least if you're as immature as me.  The Girl is afraid that she's going to hell because of her blasphemous costume.  I'm impressed that she even knows what the hell blasphemous means - she's only 10 for crap sake.  I assured her that Halloween didn't count as far as accruing hell points.  And if anyone was going to hell it was me.  And it's too late to even change that fact - so let's have some fun, shall we?

Remember when I said there was nothing more fun then a nun with a mustache?  I was wrong.  A nun beating up a boxer is a hell of a lot more fun.  Look - she's even knocked out his front teeth.  I think Sister Mary Spike was my 9th grade religion teacher.  Wait, no, that was Sister Alice.  She used to stuff used snot rags up her sleeve - and she wore a wig.  And she had a dead cat named Boots.  Poor Boots.  Poor Sister Alice.  May God have mercy on both of your souls.  And on mine.  I think I'm going to need it.

Here's what I have to look forward to in my menopausal years...

Black circles under my eyes and an over abundance of facial hair.  Isn't it fun being a girl?  Sure, it is.

So there you have it - Halloween 2007.  Definitely worth the wait, wasn't it?  Damn right it was.

A Tale of Halloween Past

Did I ever tell you about last year's Halloween?  Specifically about The Girl's costume and our interaction with the neighbor?  None of this is ringing a bell, is it?  Ok, read on.

This was my dainty little petunia of a daughter last October 31st.

Isn't she lovely?  She's a dead cheerleader in case you were wondering.  With emphasis on the dead part.  She's so dead, in fact, that she has a tire track through her chest and a knife sticking out of her back.  She's dead, I tell you.  But you're probably wondering why she's dead, right?  Let me explain.

The Girl has no use for cheerleaders.  None, nada, zero.  She finds them highly useless and can't figure out why in the hell girls would want to cheer for boys playing a sport when the girls should be playing it themselves.  Frankly, I agree with her.  Not that there's anything wrong with being a cheerleader.  I would just vomit blood if I had a kid that wanted to be one - just sayin'.  Because The Girl is so venomous toward the girls with the pom poms, you can imagine my utter shock when she announced that she was going to be a cheerleader for Halloween.  I damn near pulled out the rectal thermometer because I was convinced that she was suffering from a fever beyond anything that would register on the crazy ear gizmo thermometer.  I was searching desperately for the Vaseline when The Girl announced that not only was she going to be a cheerleader but she was going to be a dead cheerleader.  Which apparently are the best kind.  I told you - there's a lot of venom there.

Mach One cackled at the prospect of contributing to the demise of the cheerleader and I tried to talk them both out of it.  Because I'm the voice of reason in our family.  Scary, isn't it?  But I was overuled and The Girl and the other DNA contributing adult in the household started to plot their creation.  We purchased the cheerleader costume and then the destruction began.  It was like Extreme Home Costume Makeover.  Mach One spray painted the tire of my car and drove over the damn dress in the driveway.  Then The Girl tore holes in it and rolled around in dog crap.  Actually it was mud but she probably wanted it to be dog crap - just sayin'.  Then the two partners in crime decided that since cheerleaders stabbed each other in the back, what better way to depict that little factoid then to have a knife sticking out of her back.  Want to see it?

 

See the handle sticking out?  Isn't that nice.

The Girl added a few leaves to her hair, a little blood oozing out of her mouth, and a little green putrified skin.  And with that - the cheerleader was dead.  And The Girl couldn't have been happier.  It's actually scary how happy she was.  Kind of like Christmas morning happy.  Maybe even happier.

So right before we're ready to head out to pillage the neigborhood, the phone rings.  The art teacher from school had just moved into the neighborhood and she wanted to know if her daughter could pillage with us since she didn't know anyone else.  She probably would have been better on her own - read on.

I said, "Absolutely - the more the merrier!"  I'm friendly that way.  So she said that her daughter and husband would meet us at the end of the street in five.  Mach One and I arm wrestled for who got to take the kids out and who had to get up out of the chair 723 times to hand out freebies to boys who have grown their own facial hair.  Just a quick aside.  If you can grow your own beard, you're too damn old to go trick or treating.  There, I feel better.  So Mach One loses the arm wrestling and I head out into the darkness with the dead cheerleader in tow and Robin.  As in Batman & Robin.  At least The Boy was a life affirming superhero - just sayin'.  Here's what we looked like when we left...

We head toward the designated meeting place and watched the neighbors walk toward us.  And then they reached the pool of light spilling out from the streetlight.  And then I died.  I'll give you two guesses - no, actually I'll only give you one.  You should only need one.  I'll give you one guess as to what neighbor girl was dressed as.  Did you guess a cheerleader?  A very much alive cheerleader.  So alive in fact, that she was wearing her very own cheerleading uniform from our very Catholic school?  She was a real life cheerleader - and my kid was mocking her in every dead, rotting flesh, knife in the back way possible.

The dad kind of looked at me with a, "What the hell kind of effed up parent are you letting your kid dress up like that?" look on his face.  I just smiled and  fished a Butterfinger out of The Boy's loot bag.  He said to The Girl,"What exactly are you?"  And she smiled meekly and said, "A dead cheerleader."  And he felt compelled to press her further.  "Why are you a dead cheerleader, honey?"  And The Girl, in all of her compassion said, "Because I don't like cheerleaders - no offense."  No offense, indeed.  Frankly, I think it was his fault for inquiring - he should have just let it go, don't you think?

So I spent 60 minutes, walking around with a guy who was convinced that I should be turned over to Social Services.  You can imagine the extreme contrast of our two versions of cheerleaders.  We definitely turned a few heads - and it sure as hell wasn't because I'm so damn attractive.  We finally parted ways and I walked into my house and began immediately screeching at Mach One about the inappropriateness of what had just happened.  He was laughing too hard to notice what a bitch I was being and marked Halloween 2006 on his top 5 list of the funniest things ever.

So there you have it - the tale of the dead cheerleader.  Figures that it would be a cheerleader to make my life miserable.  This year, we're going a completely different route.  Nobody is dead but I'll probably end up in hell, regardless.  Big surprise there.

When Soccer & Dance Collide

Have I mentioned that The Girl plays soccer?  I'm not sure that I have.  The Girl plays soccer - there, I said it.  Soccer isn't my favorite.  Softball is my favorite.  But at the tender age of 5, soccer was the first "organized" sport that The Girl was able to play.  Organized - that's using the term loosely.  Have you ever watched a group of 5 year olds play soccer?  Let's just say it borders on excruciating.  I'd rather have my eyelashes plucked out one by one.  Or my bikini area waxed.  Lucky for me, The Girl is no longer 5 and is actually quite skilled in the sport, if I do say so myself.  Which I can because she's my kid and this is my blog.  See the beauty in that?

So her season started up last week and of course, I had my handy dandy, free because I won it in a contest, camera snapping away at every possible opportunity to catch a funny moment.  I don't take pictures to capture memories - only to capture a possible nose picker or butt scratcher in the background.  It makes it more fun that way.  As I was reviewing the game photos, I was struck by the similarities between soccer and dance.  The Girl danced for five years too.  Can you imagine her in a tutu?  Yeah - me neither.  But apparently she learned a few dance moves that carried over to the soccer field.  Wanna see?

You put your whole butt in, you take your whole butt out, you put your whole butt in and you shake it all about.  Who knew the Hokey Pokey would come in handy when trying to distract one's opponent during the throw in?  I didn't, until I saw my sneaky spawn pull that move out of her bag o' tricks.  Even her own team mates look puzzled.  Look - all the rest of them have their right foot in instead of their whole butt.  Follow along people - or get off the dance floor.  Um, I mean the soccer field.

Is this from Thriller?  Or Beat It?  No, I'm pretty sure it's from Billie Jean.  You know - she's not my lover and the kid is not my son.  That was such a nice, family oriented song, wasn't it, Michael?  We should have known you had serious issues the moment we saw your pansy ass walking along the lit up sidewalk and tossing money at hobos.  It was so much better when you were getting your ass kicked in Beat It - just sayin'.  Anywho, enough of Michael "I like little boys" Jackson and more of my kid.  Who sadly enough has perfected Michael's signature move.  Except she wasn't grabbing her crotch.  Thank God for the little things in life...

I'm pretty sure this is some kind of crappy country line dance move.  Have I mentioned that country music makes me vomit blood?  And yet my eldest child has a propensity for it.  Obviously Mach One's "southern" genes have something to do with the fact that she can sing nearly every word of that shitty song about the crazy bitch who tears up her cheating lovers 4 wheel drive truck.  Do you know the song I'm talking about?  Based on the description, it could be just about any country song, couldn't it?  I think Carrie Underwood sings it.  So she goes from Jesus taking the wheel to performing criminal acts - all on the same CD.  Lovely.  She is so not my favorite.  The Girl won't admit it for fear of being mocked by me forever - but I think she likes her.  If she starts to like Kellie Pickler, I'll be forced to stage an intervention.  But in the meantime, her hoedown and/or square dancing moves are top notch, wouldn't you agree?

And just when my twitching from all the country music references becomes nearly intolerable, my sweet baby girl regains her sense of sanity and decides to break out her best Sir Mix-A-Lot moves.  You all know the words - go ahead, admit it.  On three - ready?  One, two, three...

I like big butts and I cannot lie, you other brothers can't deny.  When a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face you get sprung...

Raise your hand if you're glad that I didn't have anything to go with "My anaconda don't want none unless you got buns, hon..."

Yeah, me too.