Let it snow?

For the first time since August, my daughter’s team does not have a Saturday soccer game this weekend.  The regular season has ended and now all that’s left is a tournament in December and the State Cup in February.  (Or something like that.)

I hardly know what to do with an entire Saturday without a soccer interruption.

Well, I do know what I will do.  I need to purchase the following items:

1)  Turkey.
2)  Toilet paper.
3)  Laundry detergent.

Not necessarily in that order.


We’ve had a rainy week.  The local weather forecaster said on Facebook, “We’ve got another night of blustery, winter weather in store for us tonight San Diego,” and I’m telling you, I guess I haven’t been here long enough not to laugh because that made me laugh.

Do you know what passes for “blustery, winter weather” here in San Diego? 


Better find our gloves and hats and fur-lined boots!

Find the snow shovel!

Buy some of that stuff that makes ice melt on your front steps!

Let it snow?



Two years ago, I forced my kids to go to the beach at sunset to be photographed for my Christmas cards.

They were not thrilled.  The oldest boys do not enjoy the beach (weird) and they do not enjoy having their photos taken.

However, I found the entire experience hilarious.  I wanted them to all jump at the same time, but that seemed impossible. I laughed and laughed at their attempts.

But finally–after many failed attempts–this happened.  Close enough.


I know Thanksgiving is coming because people keep asking me about what we’re doing for Thanksgiving.  I explain that we’re spending the day at home and that I’m cooking everything and then I remember again that I probably should get myself to the grocery store to buy a turkey and other stuff.  I am not ready.

I’m just too busy driving my kids here and there in my free time.  (Tomorrow:  Daughter to class at 8:45.  Son to work by 9.  Work at 10.  Pick up daughter at noon.  Work again until 3.  Interrupt work to pick up original son from work at 2.  Pick up youngest son from school at 3:20.  Drop off other son at work at 4:30.  It’s really getting ridiculous.)

All I really want to do is lie in bed and read.  Who knew that I was living my dream when I was fourteen years old, wishing I could do something besides lie in my bed and read ?


Hurry, hurry, hurry

I would like to have a word with the genius who sets the timers for traffic lights.  I need to know why it makes any sense for the traffic light at this block to be green while the traffic light a block ahead is red.  This causes us to sit at a green light because there is no where to go because a block ahead, the light is red.

Dear Genius Who Sets the Timers for Traffic Lights:

You are causing me to lose my cool in front of my 11-year old daughter who pointed out that I seem to have come down with an itchy case of Road Rage.  Please reconsider how you have the lights set up because as they are now, nothing makes sense.  It shouldn’t take me ten minutes to get through a couple of intersections.

Love, Mel


In related news, I spent an hour and a half picking up my son from school (a mere 19 miles away) and then dropping off my daughter at someone’s house and then returning home.  I stopped by Albertson’s on the way home to pick up a few ingredients to make dinner.

And then, twenty minutes later, when I had dinner underway, I realized I had no milk–a crucial ingredient–and so I had to grab my purse and keys so I could drive to Ralph’s for two gallons of milk.  My boys drink so much milk, it’s ridiculous and I never know when we’re out because I promise you, I just bought two gallons a minute ago.

The good news is that I can drive to Ralph’s, buy milk and return home all within ten minutes, but only because there are no traffic lights between here and there.


Earlier today, I thought I had an idea for a blog post, but as you can see, all I did today (besides working) was drive around and yell at other drivers, so I’ve got pretty much nothing.  And if you were one of the people near me stopped at a green light or dilly-dallying after the light turned green or trying to merge AHEAD of me even though the merge sign for the lane closure was a quarter mile back . . . well, yes, I was giving you dirty looks.  I’m in a hurry, people!



Hurry, hurry, hurry

Untitled due to fatigue

I’m tired.  That may be the phrase I’ve said most frequently over the course of my lifetime.  Though, “close the door!’ and “stop making that noise!” and “did you brush your teeth” probably come close.

I’ve just finished an eight hour shift at my desk.  Usually I work split shifts but tonight I was covering another employee’s shift, so I’ve been here since 5 PM.  I can’t stop yawning.

Since I didn’t start working  until 5 PM and my daughter was at school from 9:30 AM until 1 PM, I had some unexpected child-free and work-free time.

My first impulse was to find a movie I want to see but nothing fit my criteria (good movie at perfectly convenient time).  Instead, I headed to thrift store where I found a few things, most notably a Mickey Mouse Santa hat from Disneyland.  Last year when we were at Disneyland at Christmas-time, my daughter wanted one of those hats but we waited too long and couldn’t find one.  So I was excited to find one at the thrift store for only a tenth of the original price.

I stopped by the beach before I headed to pick up my daughter from class.  Clouds blanketed the sky but I find the ocean beautiful in any sort of weather.  I snapped a few photos with my iPhone and then hurried to the school.


Later–but not much later–I picked up my son from his school, an ordeal that takes a minimum of forty minutes.  I had enough time for a quick nap and then it was time to start working.

Which brings us full circle.

And now that we’ve circled around, it’s time to sleep.



Untitled due to fatigue

We’re expecting company. Now, where are all the forks?

I’d really like to know.  Where are all the forks?

All the dishes were washed.  And yet, I only had five decent forks.  Oh, sure, reject forks abound, but what happened to the normal forks?

What?  You don’t have reject forks?  We have a drawer full of reject silverware.  This is cheap silverware left in the house by the previous owners.  I bagged up most of it but somehow, for reasons that are no longer clear to me, I left a sizable collection of random, cheap silverware in the silverware drawer, next to the matching silverware.

I will not use a reject fork, but my kids have no such qualms.  Listen, I have standards.  I will not scoop food into my mouth with a weird fork.

Possibly, I have “issues.”

Anyway, tonight I finished washing dishes and discovered a grand total of five normal forks.  This was a problem because I was expecting ten people at dinner–six are my own clan, so that’s really only four extra people.  Still.  Not enough decent forks.

I sent the children on a search for forks.  Two more forks showed up.

So, we used some of the small normal forks to supplement the regular normal forks.

But I’d really like to know.  Where are all the forks?  Did I ever have more than six in the first place?

And furthermore, did the dish run away with the spoon?



We’re expecting company. Now, where are all the forks?


My husband got word that a dear woman from our previous church died over the weekend.  She’s flown down to San Diego at the very end of September and we spent an afternoon and evening with her and her family who had joined her on a final vacation.  We were included in this precious family time because my husband was her favorite pastor and she’d asked him to perform the funeral.

I hadn’t seen her for years and to see her in a wheelchair with an oxygen tube was jarring, especially when contrasted with her cheerful demeanor.  I’m not sure I’ve ever been with someone as peaceful and joyous in the face of impending death.  It was hard to even believe that she was dying.

(Then again, we are all dying, aren’t we?  We just don’t usually notice because we do so in such small increments.  We don’t have to acknowledge this unavoidable fact.)

I come to a full stop here, unsure of where I was going with this blog post.  What more is there to say when you talk about someone passing from this life to the next?  Do I really plan to prattle on about the week’s plan, about how my husband will be flying to Seattle for the funeral?

I just can’t.

Instead, I will carry the awareness of the shortness of life with me into the coming week as I think about our friend’s family and whisper prayers for peace and strength and comfort for them.


Soccer Saturday

Today was the last game of our regular soccer season.  (And when I say “our,” I mean my 11-year old daughter’s soccer team.)

Our opponent was a team that beat us earlier in the season (score 2-1).  As a matter of fact, the team was undefeated all season.

So, my daughter was determined that not only would she score her second goal of the season, but her team would also beat this opponent.

From a parental standpoint, watching soccer games every Saturday since September has been pleasant.  The weather is almost-always gorgeous here and even if it’s a little warm, sitting under an umbrella while feeling the sun warm the tops of my feet is not a bad way to pass time.  Oh!  And watching our team of girls improve and have a winning season has been a thrill, too.

Unfortunately, our team did not win today, but the score was only 1-0.  The other team made a goal which our coach questioned (our goalie had her hand on the ball and a player on the opposing team kicked it out of her hand which is against the rules).  We did not score at all.

And so, we lost a hard-fought game.  (But it was sunny and about seventy degrees.  Perfect.  Delightful.  Lovely.)

As we walked down the sideline afterward, I wanted to mumble mean things under my breath at the opponents.  I felt disappointed and annoyed and frustrated that things did not go our way.

But I’m a grown-up.  I didn’t say anything, just passed by lugging my chair and umbrella.

My daughter joined me and we headed to the car.

She said, “That was so unfair!  That goal was not even a goal!”  And then she said things like, “I’m so mad!  I want to punch them in the face!”

And, of course, I told her that she shouldn’t say such things, that they played a good game and should be proud of the effort and sometimes things just don’t go our way and besides, they should have made goals.  Pretty much it sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher, I’m sure.

Anyway, I thought maybe that’s one difference between being 11-years old and being 48-years old.  She expresses those ugly feelings and I suppress them. (At least she expresses them privately only to me!)

Another difference?  I spent my afternoon napping while she spent it not napping.

Soccer Saturday