First off, I would like to state this is a misnomer. There is one giant mud pit at the end – which, while fun, does not make for the dirty girl run I was expecting.
Really it was more of a Dusty Trusty. Continue reading
First off, I would like to state this is a misnomer. There is one giant mud pit at the end – which, while fun, does not make for the dirty girl run I was expecting.
Really it was more of a Dusty Trusty. Continue reading
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At age 4, I joined the Wild Cats in the youngest division of AYSO region 72. Family legend says I was relatively cooperative during weekly practice, but would have nothing to do with the games. In spite of looking absolutely adorable in my black and white uniform.
One of my earliest actual memories is standing in the goal, swimming in a jersey that was way to big, before running off the field toward my parents because I didn’t want to play anymore. But I’d stayed on the field tear free for almost half the game! A new personal best. Continue reading
Every day throughout the week Destroy would find the opportunity to burst into the room, inquiring if it was time to go to gymnastics. Until it was time to go, of course.
“I DON’T WANNA GO TO GYMNASTICS!” Continue reading
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You know you’ve seen them all. Any additions? Continue reading
You know that scene at the end of Jerry Maguire – where the little boy hurls the baseball over the fence?
Yeah. That’s my kid. Except substitute shoe and roof for the ball and fence. Continue reading
The sun is out in full force. It’s 80 degrees outside; the backyard is blizarding with wisteria petals. The neighborhood is perfumed by the scent of gardenias. Baseball is on TV. A rousing amalgamation of t-ball/basketball/soccer/curling is underway just outside the patio doors.
It’s April. And as spring represents the season of rebirth, the memories fit. Continue reading
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Baseball’s back! Continue reading
While one whirling dervish flung himself off stacks of mats and hurled himself up and over a balance structure twice his height – proudly chanting “POMMEL HORSE” at the top of his lungs, our other son was quiet.
This was not our most stellar gymnastics class outing. Continue reading