Dear Kid,

You may be aware that we are approaching Super Bowl Sunday (Sunday Feb 5^th).

Which means we have to talk about football. And cows.

Because footballs are made out of cow skin leather (yeah, I don’t really want to talk about the whole “pigskin” thing today).

About 600 cows give their hides to make a season’s worth of NFL footballs. Probably not voluntarily. Especially since a cow only has about a one in 17 million chance of becoming a ball that is used in the Super Bowl. So when you watch the game, you’re basically watching the ungulate lottery winner.

I think it would be cool if each ball were stamped with the name of the contributing cow. Like, “This ball brought to you by Betty Cow #4987351.”

When you measure it (I have not, but apparently other people have), it turns out that most of a professional football game is not about playing football (shocking but true). And I’m not even talking about the commercials because that’s another post for another day. The vast majority of time in a football game is spent on replays, arguing about the call the ref made 20 minutes ago, players standing on the sidelines, players lining up at the line of scrimmage, players huddling, injury delays, time outs, and head coaches looking inscrutable.

Fact (according to My Friend the Internet): Injured football players in televised NFL games get six more seconds of camera time than celebrating players.

Another fact (still according to MFtI): The huddle was not invented by Joe Neanderthal. It was invented by Paul Hubbard, a legally deaf quarterback from Gallaudet University, who “huddled” other players together so he could hear them better and to protect them from the other teams’ prying eyes. Three cheers for Paul Hubbard. And for the rest of the world for not saying that the players are “hubbarding” up.

One of the best inventions IMO, is the yellow first-down line they show on each broadcast. I don’t believe this has reduced the number of arguments about whether it should be first down, but I do believe it has added a level of faux science and magical complexity to the discussion. Personally, I love that line (it’s right up there with the “they have to get to this point to have a shot at kicking a field goal line”). It turns out that the yellow line costs (you should probably be sitting down for this) $20,000 per broadcast (over $5 million during the regular season). Worth it? Heck yeah.

Almost as much as identifying the football donor.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

You’re not going to believe this. We’re doing yoga. Not just me. Your father is joining me. And enjoying it.

So far we’ve just done a 20 minute intro to yoga which consists mostly of breathing while sitting and then breathing while standing with one downward dog and one warrior pose. But we’ve now done it three days in a row, which I consider to be a Trend if not an actual Achievement.

Dad is quick to point out that it is not just yoga, it is Yoga with Adrienne. Adrienne has videos on YouTube which we are playing on the big TV (so it’s techy). If you want to see what we’re doing you too can follow along.

The funniest part of yoga is how the Puppy feels about it. He sees yoga as an invitation to play. We’re breathing calming. The Puppy is bouncing around. We bring our awareness to our center. He brings awareness to his toys. We go into downward dog. He head-butts me. It’s an interesting dynamic.

Not only are we doing yoga at home, Dad has been going to the gym with me. He’ll walk with me a little and then ride the bike a little. He’s even jogged a bit with me, but he insists on trying to correct my running form so I don’t encourage the jogging as I am not there for criticism or instruction.

New year, new us.

Love, Mom

Making 2017 Better One Day at a Time

Dear Kid,

Last night I picked up my official license plates for my car (and by “picked up” I mean watched as John the Salesguy installed them).

The letters on my plates are GZT. The naming the car contest is now officially begun. Go. 

After that I went shopping.

I went shopping because I had a gift card. And because I needed a sports bra. And because I had a few minutes.

So I shopped.

Now, I’m reasonably sure that you, being a male-type-person, have never gone sports bra shopping. If you have, I really don’t need to know about it. Working on the assumption that you have not personally tried on sports bras, I am here to enlighten you.

First, I found a bunch of pieces of fabric labeled as sports bras. Clearly, the only sport they are intended to be used for is chess. There was nothing either “sports” or “bra” about them. I moved on.

And found – and I have the photo evidence to prove it – push-up sports bras. Here’s the thing. I expect a lot from a sports bra. I want it to squeeze in, I want it to contain, I want it to hold down. In no way, shape, or form do I want it to push up. Seriously, who wants to work out with their boobs competing for air space? I can’t breathe, my boobs are blocking my nose! Um, no and no. On the other hand, the idea of my bra doing push-ups for me is incredibly appealing. And hilarious. If I can find a bra that will do squats for me, I will buy it in every shade available. I moved on. 

And found a rack of what might properly be considered sports bras. I grabbed a few and into the fitting room we went, the bras and I.

The thing about putting on a sports bra is that getting the darn thing on is where you get all the exercise. Forget working out afterward, you’re already exhausted. It take the strength of six people, the dexterity of a professional yoga teacher, and the willpower of a stubborn three year old to get it on. And if you’re putting on one with the zipper in the front, you need at an additional set of hands to get the zipper zipped. And a degree in mechanical engineering. It also helps if you have the vocabulary of a drunk sailor. Seriously, you’d think it would reasonably easy. You’d be wrong.

Not only is it nearly a feat beyond human capacity to try on sports bras, this store had cleverly positioned the tags so that it was impossible to adjust the straps. So I had to guess at whether loosening or tightening them would make the bra fit better. Guessing is not my preferred method of shopping for sports bras.

The first one I tried on was a tad too tight. It was like trying to put the toothpaste back in the tube. With the straps completely wrong. Did I mention the lighting in the dressing room was designed by someone who hates people?

So I tried one size bigger. Which was made for a person twice as big as a hefty elephant. Seriously, we could have put an entire family in this thing and had room left over for a concert piano.

By this time, I was warmed up, so I tried on a third. Which was somehow simultaneously too big and too small. But the design was really cute so after I’d wrestled it on I actually contemplated buying it.

In the end, I did the only reasonable thing. I left the lingerie area empty handed, went to the clearance section and bought an adorable little top which I can’t wear until the temperature warms up about 50 degrees by which time it will be completely out of fashion and obsolete.

Love, Mom

Making 2017 a good year one day at a time

Dear Kid,

We’ve made it (mostly) through College Bowl Game Season.

Which is no small task when you think about the incredible number of games and the difficulty we mere mortals have in keeping track of everything.

I get that you know which game is which and what players are where and which teams are facing which teams. I’m more of the “hey, look! Football on TV!” kind of gal.

I was never good at keeping track of who was where. But now that they’ve changed all the names (The Joe’s Pizza Bowl—wait, what?) I’m not always even sure if it’s real or made up.

Personally, I think they should re-think the sponsorship thing. I’m sure die-hard fans are going to follow the playoffs no matter what they call it. And those of us who don’t really follow might be a bit more interested if we found out that there was a DSW Bowl and an (Easy Breezy Beautiful) Cover Girl Bowl.

Then again, maybe not. We kinda know better and the teams probably wouldn’t appreciate the swag.

Raspberry suede peeky toe boots? Size 7 with 4 inch heels? Fabulous! Not.

Oh, well.

Fortunately, I have you to make sure I know what’s going on. Thankful for your footnotes. (Get it? Shoes? Footnotes? Sigh.)

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

This is fantastic! We’re on the second day of the year and (as of this writing) we’ve had no major catastrophes in our house.

This is a good start to 2017 and a good sign for the year.

I recognize that there have been some not-so-great things happening in the world. But 2017 just got started; you can’t expect perfection and redirection overnight.

I have confidence.

I’ve decided that we (and by “we” I mean everyone in the universe—most of whom won’t pay any attention to me) should make 2017 better one day at a time. I’m not talking about world peace of curing urban blight or finding a good tasting non-caloric chocolate. Some things are best left to the experts.

I’m talking about the things we can impact.

Making someone smile.

Giving an unexpected compliment.

Holding a door.

Letting your mother watch something other than football on TV. (Oops, there I go with the crazy talk again.)

I’m pretty sure we can make a difference if we all try.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Yesterday was our company Holiday Outing. (“Holiday Outing.” Noun. Defn: Three hours of enforced fun.)

Actually I did have fun (it goes against type, I know, but sometimes these things happen).

We went to the Main Event in West Chester which is basically an indoor adult fun park on steroids.

We bowled.

I’m not sure how long it’s been since I last bowled, but I’m pretty sure carbon dating would need to be involved to figure it out.

Not all my throws were gutter balls. But enough were to make me very excited when I actually got a few pins to fall down.

Between the two games I bowled, I got quite a good score. For golf.

I did badly on purpose to protect the fragile egos around me. (That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.)

According to My Friend the Internet, bowling is the number one participation sport in the US. This is, of course, ridiculous. Anyone who has spent ten minutes in ‘Murica knows that our number one participation sport is eating and our number two participation sport is texting, so at best bowling is a poor third.

Things you don’t know about bowling:

Bowling is highly hazardous. I broke a nail.

More things you don’t know about bowling:

• There is no minimum weight for a bowling ball. Whether you can convince a pile of feathers to make it all the way down the lane is another question.
• Bowling balls were made out of wood until the early 1900s, creating the opportunity for simultaneous broken nails and splinters.
• The maximum number of holes allowed in bowling ball is 12. Even contemplating the manicure on that individual is mind boggling.

Happy today.

Love, Mom