May I have this dance?

I couldn't believe I was finally old enough to attend my first church dance! I had waited months for this! I'd turned twelve in May, and the first dance after that happened to be a stake Halloween dance. I decided I'd go as a gypsy that year. My mom helped me to apply dark skin makeup, eyeshadow, and fake eyelashes. She loaned me long necklaces and bracelets and a colorful skirt that was perfect for my costume. I put on a scoop-necked white peasant blouse, and a black wig...

But when I stood in the mirror, something wasn't quite right. It wasn't that I was too blonde or fair to be a gypsy; we'd already fixed that with the dark makeup and wig. We stood there looking at me, when suddenly Mom snapped her fingers and left the room fast.

Soon she returned with one of her bras in hand. "Mo-oooom! No. Way. NO. I am NOT wearing that thing! It's HUGE!"

"Just shut up and put it on."

I did as she asked, and it took us considerable time to stuff that thing. When I turned and faced myself in the mirror, however, I could see that she'd been right! I looked just like a gypsy should look. I was so happy. It was like a dream...what twelve year old girl doesn't imagine what she'd look like with boobs? Any girl who reads Judy Blume knows that once you get boobs, you have ARRIVED.

We made it to the church, and I entered the doors to a gym transformed. There were dark lights and scary decorations, with a disco ball hanging in the middle of the ceiling, throwing dots of light around the room in a dizzying swirl of motion. The music was already playing. I found my friend and had to tell her it was me because she didn't even recognize me. This was her first dance too. We made our way to the table of cookies and punch, and filled our nervous hands. We found some chairs across the room and sat down with our punch, and talked about how neither of us knew how to dance, and how we hoped to God nobody asked us!

I was sitting there, sipping my punch, when suddenly I noticed a handsome guy across the room, looking right at me. I looked away really fast, and after a second or two, I nonchalantly let my gaze roam back to where he was...

Holy crap!! He was headed my way! He was halfway across the room walking in a straight line toward me, and I was so panicked I didn't even think to stand up and run. My eyes were locked on his in what I'm certain now was a look of abject terror. He stood in front of me and smiled with all the charm and confidence of a college student (which he was) who knows he's got it.

"May I have this dance?"

The blood roared in my ears so loud that I couldn't even hear the music. If I hadn't had so much makeup on, I'm sure I would have been beet red, if not purple. I said the only thing a girl who has no idea how to dance could say.

"No."

His smile got even broader and a dimple showed on his cheek. God, he was good-looking. He took a step toward me a little and said, "Seriously? Are you sure? Come on, it'll be fun! Dance with me, please." I shook my head no really fast. My mouth was so dry I couldn't swallow anymore.

"Aw, come on! Don't leave a guy hanging! Dance with me. Come on. You'll like it! I promise I don't bite."

But there was no way I was risking making a fool of myself and revealing to this handsome paragon of manliness that I couldn't dance.

"Come on, dance with me, please!" His arms were held out to the side like I was crucifying him by saying no. I was sure he had no clue I was only 12. I was 5'8" and I looked gorgeous with all that makeup and all those curves. But I was too young and inexperienced. I was too scared. I had to say no.

"Are you sure? I'd really love to dance with you." I assured him I was sure, and he smiled once more, kind of a grin from one side of his face, and told me he was bummed I hadn't said yes. Then he walked away.

I watched him the rest of the night, wishing I had been brave enough to try it, just once, with him ~ wishing he'd come back and ask me again, so I could say yes and change the outcome of the memory of my first dance.

Wow. I mean, wow.

“On Friday I skipped French class to go to the chorus room to practice my solo with Ethan playing guitar for me. My chorus teacher asked us if we’d be willing to perform it for her class, so we did. Guess what happened?”

“What?”

“Two girls started crying while I sang.”

“Are you kidding?!”

“Dead serious. They totally sat there crying while I sang "Every Breath You Take" by The Police.”



...A word to the wise: keep your daughters away from my son. He’s a heartbreaker.

It ain't pretty

As I drove slowly up the rutted alley beside the baseball field a couple days ago, I could see my daughter and her teammates gathering their softball gear near the fence. I reached the parking lot adjacent to the field and had to wait for a Suburban to back out of the tight space, then I parked and got out to get her.

I walked across the parking lot, loving the sound my heeled boots made as I walked. I like the way women walk when they wear heels, and when I do it I feel very sexy…

As I got closer to the field I was surprised to find only one coach remaining with his daughter ~ no other girls in sight. I asked where my daughter was, surprised because I had just seen her. He had no clue, but his daughter said she was with another girl, though she didn’t know where. I turned, and scanned the distant game being played two fields over for the familiar form of my daughter, and I started walking toward the game. All of a sudden my right foot hit a concrete parking barrier and I went down face-first so fast it dried my eyeballs. I rolled over into a sitting position and sat there, stunned.

The coach had been watching me and he called, “Are you okay? My God! Did you hurt yourself?” I turned and looked at him, grinning at him but laughing inside because I know damn well how ungraceful my fall was. It ain’t pretty when a tall girl falls.

“Does my pride count?”

It was almost as embarrassing as my most embarrassing moment, except that I only had a couple people watching this time instead of an entire gym full of spectators. The worst part of the experience? My favorite sexy boots are ruined from being gouged by the concrete barrier that so rudely took me out.

What it's all about

Last night I watched the news in silent shock as reporters tried to make sense out of the horrible shooting at Virginia Tech that makes no sense to anyone except the man who did it.

Tragic events like this cause me to think about how dear my own children are to me, as I imagine the unthinkable: what if that shooting had happened at my daughter's college and not in Virginia? Nobody is immune from violence. Nobody. I tend to forget that as I live my life day to day, taking for granted the people I value.

Therefore, tonight was even sweeter to me, because I recognize that I'm very lucky that my children are alive and with me today. I got home tonight and found these sticky notes on the door at eye-level:

My daughter and I chose the best sticks we could find from our lilac bush, and while I whittled the ends, the fire was stoked, and soon we were ready to begin. Four people huddled in chairs around the tiny opening of the chiminea. Four hot dogs were secured on four wobbly sticks. Four arms reached toward the flames, vying for the perfect spot to cook each hot dog to perfection.

We ate and knew we'd never tasted better dogs. Then we got down the the most important part of the evening: roasting the perfect marshmallow. Aaaaahhhh, sweet bliss. Is there anything more fun than trying to roast a marshmallow to absolute perfection? My personal favorite is when the entire skin of my marshmallow turns golden tan and bubbles up without turning black. When it's cool enough, I pull the skin off and pop it in my mouth, leaving a smaller, gooey marshmallow center on my stick to be roasted also for a second tasty bite. Mmmmmmmm, good.

Now I have to hit the showers because the smoke in my hair and on my clothes is becoming too much to withstand.

I love when we have impromptu fun like this. What will I do after my kids grow up and quit leaving such sweet notes with great ideas on them??

On the road again!

I just love traveling across Montana at this time of year. We travel a lot for soccer games just so the kids can have actual competition with similar teams ~ all you people out there who are blessed to have gobs of humanity in your state don't have a clue. But we enjoy it or we wouldn't do it.

So, we'll be in Helena tomorrow, which will be fun. There is a mountain visible in the distance called "The Sleeping Giant" which never fails to make me smile.

What I love is watching the change of seasons as we travel each week. Right now there is no green, but soon the cottonwoods will be in full leaf and spring will be here for real. My favorite time of year.

Happy weekend, everyone!

Just when I thought vanity plates couldn't get any worse...

I saw a vanity plate the other day that totally reinforces for me why I hate them. It read:

REPENT

Need I say more?

Of course I've waffled back and forth on this issue. But now, after seeing the REPENT plates, I'm done. Vanity plates are lame.