Short Story

I can't go into all of the details, but the short story is that I have my very own stalker. I have to go file a restraining order today and everything.

If all goes well, he'll also be in jail tonight. And the FBI suddenly wants to talk to him as well. Note to self: It's not a good idea to threaten someone over email these days.

Did I mention that the guy is batshit crazy? And at 5'8" and 150 pounds, I can probably take him without the use of the various weapons at my disposal, should he choose to enter my house while I'm home. . . Why is it always the little guys that think they are so tough? He totally has small dog syndrome.

Anyway, two things:
1) I am probably moving the blog to a new blog address. Even though I don't think he has found this yet.
2) For the short term, until I decide, I am placing the blog on a password. I hope. If I know how.

If you have my email address and want to continue to read this, please let me know. Otherwise, post a comment and I will let you know how to find me or what password to use.

And for your reading enjoyment, a little snippet of the email that this guy claims was just to "get my attention and make me call him back". I'm sorry I can't get into the back story on this. Just as soon as I can, I will. . .

" So i will see you later and i will see you later and just remember that you bought this all on yourself,i dont know what kind of people your used to dealing with,but i dont think you meet a motherf****r quit like me...and dont trip Im a night owl,and the homies in the neighborhood love to do things at night so it works out for all of us.....I cant wait to see the look on your face....God is a forgiving God for I am Not....."

Kinda funny that he will now barely be able to move between all of the FBI, Sheriffs, and even CHP officers who think he's scum. I may be a suburban house wife, but I'm much better connected than he realizes. And I am good to my friends, so they like to help me, however possible.

Bubbles

Once there was a child who was supposed to be babysitting.
She was supposed to make sure her brothers didn't burn the house down or drown in the bathtub or flood the hallway or make giant messes in the 10 minutes her mother was gone.
She was very good at ordering her brothers around.
Until she went in the garage and lit matches and burned things.

Once there was a mom who found a mess of burned paper, coated with carpet powder, all over the garage.
She was cranky and upset and most of all, freaked out that there were burned scraps of paper near gas cans and fertilizer and oil.
She asked all of her kids to tell the truth and fess up.
No one did.
Not even the child that had been left babysitting. That child blamed it on her brother.

And then mom figured it out.
And now that child has had her mouth washed out with soap for lying. Lots of liquid soap.
She is also residing in her room for a few months days.

Once there was a mom who needs a better punishment to get the point across on all levels of this disobedience and poor decision making. Please comment and share your thoughts.

Pictures of Dance Festival

I'm sitting in a hotel room by the Ontario airport, feeling like there is no possible way I can stay awake for the hour it will take me to get home.

But, the busiest week of the summer is over and now the rest of my life can resume again.

We fell into our beds at 1 am, only to get up at 3:30 am to get Rebi to the airport for Yunasa summer camp with friends she rarely sees from all over the country. She woke me up twice in the night, singing in her sleep.

Apparently, dance festival was a hit. She'd better not still be singing in her sleep when she gets home.

I think I'm going back to sleep for another day or two.

More insanity

For Dance Festival, the 12 and 13 year old boys are dancing to High School Musical, Get Your Head in the Game.
This is a random sampling of the boys. It is representative of all boys this age. . .

So, it was a really great idea to try to teach them to dance and dribble a basketball at the same time. . .

The boys loved it. Every practice, basketballs were thrown, flung, kicked, and lobbed all directions, and women kept yelling, "Boys, Hold your balls!" None of the boys ever laughed at that. . .

And as it turns out, when you combine a google of boys with a google of basketballs, none of the boys hold their balls at all. Rather, they lob them quite firmly at other boys' faces. And, well, balls.

But thankfully, the Dance Festival coordinators took into account how immature a horde of 12 and 13 year old boys can be and gave them costumes that can't be used against them by the other boys. . .

Oh wait. My mistake. They all have elastic waisted shorts on. In that case, hold your balls and let the depantsing begin. . .

Insanity

Albert Einstein once said “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results”.

Which, by definition, makes me insane. This comes as a surprise to exactly no one.

But just to confirm it, today I let Rebi buy another point and shoot camera. Because the destruction of the previous one was so much fun, I'm dying to relive it. Over and over again. Wait. If I expect the same results, am I still insane?

I don't think I want you to answer that. I certainly don't want you to provide examples to prove your point.

Dance Festival

I haven't posted much about dance festival, because it's one of those things that is too big to wrap my brain around. It's 3500+ kids doing 6 or 8 dances. Lots of practices. Lots of mistakes. Lots of funny things, but difficult to condense into a few blog posts.

So, let me share a little bit of what happened last Saturday.

For months, the kids have been practicing here, learning the routines in groups of 50-100, depending on the dance. This week, it was time for them to get together with everyone else dancing their same dance and coordinating all of the formations and such. We did this in Riverside, on a high school field. And it was hot.

They spent the first 2 and 1/2 hours standing on Astroturf trying to figure out the intro dance, and were eventually released to sit with their groups under the shade for some cooling down. As the kids filtered back in, it was clear that Evan was not in good shape. Several of the kids let me know he had a headache, his stomach hurt, and he was looking bad. His arms also hurt from having immunizations the day before. So, we plopped him on the cool grass, soaked his clothes with cold water, and made him start drinking up. Within about an hour, he still had a headache, but his skin was much cooler to the touch and he seemed to be perking back up.

And then he went to the bathroom, which was a couple of blocks away, through the sun.

I found him, slumped against the bathroom wall, out in the sun, pale as a ghost and shaking. I took him to the first aid tent, where they had buckets of ice water, and rags to soak him with.

The first thing they did was stripped him of as much clothing as possible, so there Evan sat, 1500 girls passing by, flexing his abs for all he was worth. Which was good. It told me we didn't need an ambulance or anything. . .

But I did feel it necessary to tell him that if he really wanted to impress the ladies, he should probably think about peeling the matching Tweety Bird band aids off each arm.

Surfing Pics

Serious. And addicted.

What a surfer.

"Maybe I'll wait for the next one. . ."

Paddling out to where the waves were cresting (sadly the other photos of Ellie didn't turn out).

Tyler headed back down the beach to catch some waves.

"Are you sure I can't try? I don't have a cast yet. . . and my butt crack isn't exposed."