Dear Kid,

We’ve been in Pittsburgh for several hours now and I’m happy to report that I haven’t been mauled by raving Steeler fans. I haven’t even seen a Steeler fan (although they might be traveling incognito).

Quick: What professional sports teams call Pittsburgh home? That should be an easy one, so you don’t get any extra points for adding the Pirates and the Penguins to the list with the Steelers. But can you name the professional soccer team? They’re called the Riverhounds and they are an affiliate partner with the Columbus Crew (don’t fuss—I said professional, not MLS).

There are several women’s full-contact football teams in Pittsburgh, as well as a whole slew of rugby teams. There have to be a lot of teams—they keep murdering each other, and need replacement players.

Today we are off to play the sport of Not Freezing To Death At The End of March. (It was snowing last night. Ridiculous.)

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Happy Day After Oops! I Forgot It Was Saint Patrick’s Day and I Have To Go Change My Shirt Madness Day.

There were lots of reasons to have fun yesterday: Basketball, Shamrocks, Basketball, Leprechauns, Basketball, Pots o’ Gold, and Basketball, and reruns of Project Runway All-stars.

Also, it was the start of March Madness. (Just in case you weren’t sure.) You can tell it’s March Madness because I just threw a pair of jeans across the room and they landed (more or less) in the chair I was aiming for. (You’re impressed, right?)

We’ve talked before about basketball, and more basketball, and more basketball, because March Madness shows up each year. Here’s the important part: basketball players are tall. Really tall.

J2 and I were at the gym the evening, walking on the track and solving all the world’s problems when we noticed a basketball-player-type person also walking on the track. We could tell he wasn’t a professional player because A) he was at our gym and B) we could see his head without binoculars. We could tell he was a basketball-player-type because A) he was bouncing along in the way only a “type” can and B) tall.

As we passed him (“type” not an actual player), I said, “I feel like an ant.” J2 said, “I know! I think I could walk between his legs and not hit anything.” This was comment on his height, not a slur on his manliness. At least that was my assumption.

The thing is that on TV the actual b-ball players playing actual b-ball look like they are normal sized. They’re not. They are huge. They just look normal because A) all the players are about the same size so it’s hard to tell how much bigger they are than normal humans and B) your TV isn’t life size. Well, your TV is the size of your TV, but the images (and by “images” I mean people) aren’t the size they are IRL.

Love, Mom

P.S. Tomorrow is National Poultry Day (don’t chicken out).

Dear Kid,

We’re coming up on March Madness season, and I speak not of St. Pat, but of the basketball craziness.

Doubtless, there will be craziness on the 17^th, but we’ll deal with that another day.

So since MM is fast approaching, I thought I’d turn to My Friend the Internet and find some wonky rules to make fun of highlight.

Turns out that on the day when wacky rules were being handed out, college basketball stayed home. There just isn’t a basket-load (see how I did that?) of crazy, who-thought-that-would-be-a-good-idea regulations.

Other sports have plenty of crazy rules. Even chess has rules no one knows about (and even fewer understand). Cricket is a game made up entirely of crazy rules.

But apparently not so in bball.

Note: There are plenty of crazy (as in certifiable) NCAA rules, but they apply to all sports, not just basketball, so they don’t count. At least not in this respect.

Speaking of things I didn’t know, who knew that baskets grew on trees?

Enjoy the Madness of March—even without entertaining rules.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I am on my way to Dallas.

Dallas, Texas, that is. Turns out there are 5 or 6 (depending on which website you check) cities in other states with the name Dallas, not to mention a few counties, and at least one very important guiding eyes dog.

Dallas is the 9^th largest city in the US. It was once part of Mexico, and then from 1836 to 1846 it was part of the sovereign country the Republic of Texas. Mostly it’s part of the state of sports (primarily football, but we’ll get to that), We Do Things Big Here, and weird stuff.

It is illegal to modify the weather in Dallas unless you warn residents via local newspaper. It is also illegal to fish using electric shock.

We’ll be flying in to the DFW (Dallas/Fort Worth) airport which is bigger than Manhattan Island and may or may not be home to the world’s largest parking lot. We will not be sprinting from the gate to the car rental and we will allow plenty of time to hike to the gate on our way home Friday.

German chocolate cake was invented by Sam German of Baker’s Chocolate Company. The recipe first appeared in the Dallas Morning Star in 1957. The cake is named after the inventor not the country.

Dallas was founded in 1839, by John Neely Bryan, a lawyer from Tennessee, who wandered into the area and decided to start a metropolis (20 streets).

At the State Fair of Texas (also known by me as the Fried State Fair) you can purchase fried beer, fried Coke, and fried Cadbury Creme Eggs. There is a 52 foot Big Tex statue at the entrance of the fair. Makes you want to buy a ticket right now, doesn’t it?

Dallas is known for oil, although there aren’t any oil wells in the city.

Dallas has a zoo which was founded in 1888 with two mountain lions and two deer. It’s a lot bigger now (both the city and the zoo).

According to Fortune magazine’s marketing research, more popcorn is consumed in Dallas-Fort Worth than anywhere else.

Dallas is known for invention and industry (in addition to oil). The frozen margarita machine was invented there (it was a repurposed soft ice cream machine), the integrated circuit computer chip was invented there (not frozen), and the ATM was invented there by someone who was tired of waiting in bank lines. Clearly, the modern world would not be possible without Dallas.

A piece of cake from President Wilson’s daughter’s wedding is built into the Woodrow Wilson High School’s cornerstone.

Where there is oil and margaritas, there is shopping, and Dallas has a lot (and by “a lot” I mean more places to shop per capita than anywhere else in the world). The first planned shopping center in America was developed in Dallas in 1931. At one end of the shopping scale, 7-Eleven was founded in Dallas; at the other end, Neiman Marcus opened there.

The Dallas Cowboys were originally known as the Dallas Steers. The name was quickly changed, however, when the team’s general manager decided he didn’t want a castrated mascot.

And sports. Texas sports. Dallas Mavericks, Dallas Cowboys, Dallas Hams (the original name of the professional baseball team), Dallas Stars (hockey), Texas Rangers, FC Dallas (soccer), and countless minor league/college/high school/club/misc teams. Lots and lots of sports. But mostly football.

And for the next few days, me.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I, your favorite mother, took my first spin class last night.

Lindsey TheBloggerJournalist and Spinning Instructor is crazy fit and has been teaching spinning for quite some time. I met Lindsey when she was blogging for TEDxCincinnati and she told me she taught spin at the Rec Center. I thought Why not? Turns out there Are Reasons Why Not.

I walked into the room basically the same mom you know and love. I crawled out a mere puddle of person.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

When I got to the spin room, Lindsey greeted me cheerfully. The spin bike gloated. When machinery gloats, you should probably worry.

The first thing one does when one goes to a spin class is set the bike for your (lack of) height. Of course if one isn’t careful, one gets bitten by the bike pedal. Which looks like a lion swatted the back of my leg. It was even more elegant in person. Lindsey, to her credit, did not laugh. At least not out loud.

So we (and by “we” I mean Lindsey) adjusted the bike. The bike purred—it likes her. I climbed on to test the fit. The bike bit me. Relationship established.

Then Lindsey explained how the gears and the monitor worked. So far so good.

The music started and we were off.

While we gently peddled through the warm up (I’ve got this!), Lindsey the Sadist showed us how to ride sitting and how to ride standing. She talked about setting intentions for the ride. (My intention is to not fall off the bike and to make it out alive.) She glowed as she talked about spinning and how much she loves it and loves sharing it with people.

My bike chuckled softly.

When machinery chuckles softly in an evil manner, you should probably worry.

“Set your bike at your base level!” called Lindsey, “That should be between 4 and 10 on your gears!”

I set my gears at negative 273. The bike helpfully settled in and shifted itself to positive 500.

“Ok!” called Lindsey, “We’re going to climb! Set your gear level up 2!” Against my better judgement (and by “better judgement” I mean physical capabilities) I shifted up two levels. The bike called me a wuss. I ignored the bike’s commentary and focused on pedaling. “Up another level!” I shifted. “And one more! We’re almost halfway there!” Halfway? Are you nuts?

Meanwhile, the fat cells in my body were having great fun. They played musical chairs but refined the rules so no one was “out.” In fact, I’m pretty sure they invited a few new fat cell friends to join them. I am the only person in the world who can go to a spin class and gain weight.

We climbed. We recovered (“This is active recovery!” I’m aware. Thanks.) We climbed again.

Once I was completely dead, Lindsey chirped, “Now we’re going to stand up!” We’re done? I did this! No problem! Only she meant we were going to keep spinning while standing up.

Do you know what is harder than spinning? Spinning while you stand up.

Do you know why? I have no clue. The bike probably knew, but it was too busy going all 50 Shades of Spinning on me.

I stood. I sat. I stood more. Sit! Stand! Sit! Stand! Sit! Roll over and play dead! No prob.

You know how the first time you ride a bike after a long time of not riding a bike you get saddle sore? Double it for spin. Triple it if you have a bike that hates you.

I dialed 1-800-SEND-A-WHEELCHAIR.

After the class, I decided to tweet about it.

Took first spin class. #Survived

And then

First spin class ever. Not sure if I’m exhilarated or too dead to feel pain.

I’ll probably spin again. Possibly even before I hit my grave.

Love, Mom