To My Dad

Tomorrow is Father's Day.

I am so glad I'll be able to spend it with my dad.

He's pretty special to me.

I love being his daughter,

and him being my dad.
We have a lot of things in common.

We have the same-shaped hands and feet.

We are both firstborns.

We both like to please.

We both love being with our family-

immediate and extended.

(Remember, I have 34 first cousins!)

We both have selective perfectionist tendencies.

(you can check out what that means on

my  "That's Why Pencils Have Erasers" blog.)

We both hate to throw things away.

There might be a use for it somewhere down the line.

We are both night owls.

We love weather changes.

We both like bluegrass music.

We are both strong, like an ox.

So was my grandma.

We don't give up when something doesn't work right

or we don't have a piece.

There's always a way to makeshift.

We both like to be on the water.

We are both thrifty and frugal.

We both like road trips.

We both like to read magazines more than books.

We both hate to make a quick decision.

We don't accept change easily.

Our idea of a good time is staying up late talking

to family and laughing together.

We both are olive-toned

and tan easily.

We both have unusually hot hands and feet.

We both like to go barefoot.

There are so many more, but

Dad, I just want to say I am so proud to

be like you in so many ways.

You are such a good man 

and I've been so lucky to 

have you as my daddy.

Happy Father's Day

I love you

xoxo

Tam

I'll Be Your Fairy DOGmother

I think I would make a good Dogmother.

You know, kind of like a child's Godmother,

but for dogs.

Evidently,

although I don't seem to want to keep a dog,

or live permanently with one,

they keep coming into my life.

And working some sort of

unexplainable magic dog-spell 

on me.

There was Dixie, my "niece" dog.

I loved her. 

She was a beautiful, vibrant,

happy-go-lucky girl.

She's the one I might have taken

home and given it another shot with,

if my sister ever needed to 

give her away for some reason.

Alas, she disappeared after many years.

Next, there was my sweet little Rudy.
(Actually, there was another dog attempt before
Rudy, but we're not going there.)

I brought him home for the boys.

I thought they'd love him and he would love them.

Unfortunately, their lives were too filled

with sports, school, and activities

to have much time for a puppy.

And he attached to me.

I felt too sorry for him being home all 

day and most of the evening by himself

to keep him.  
So back to the farm he went. 

I cried when I took him back

after two weeks.

But he was a happy camper there.

Lots of room to run around and chase animals

and live inside with the family.

And his owner told me he was very 

protective of the stuffed-duck toy I sent with him.

Probably cause he knew it was from me. Smile.

Riley is my son's girlfriend's dog.

She is such a cutie. 

She loves cheese and will shake, turn around,

and lie down for a little treat.

She thinks she's human

and LOVES Rhiannan.

She also loves Matt and will

lay next to him, put her paw over his leg,

and lay her head on him.

I like to think of her as my granddog.

I like it when she comes to visit.

Matt had a foster dog, Lily, for a few months.

I babysat her one night when I went to 

his house to do a little decorating.

She, of course, won me over quickly

with her baby qualities -

playing

then sleeping, eating then sleeping,

yawning then snuggling next to me

and sleeping.

How could I not love that?

Matt accused her of being a little naughty sometimes-

but I just don't believe it.

And most recently,

there was Sadie.

She is a friend's dog...a very lovable,

old, sweet dog of thirteen years.

Last time I stayed with Sadie, 

while her family was out of town,
she still liked to get in on the action.

She would thump her tail loudly, 

slurp her water

ridiculously loud and messy from her bowl,

and huff and puff like an old granny.

Yet, somehow, this non-lover of dogs

managed to fall for her.  I missed her when we left.

I had the privilege of staying with her again 

last weekend.

She's even older and sweeter now.

She still slurps loudly and 

huffs and puffs after just barely moving,

which she is hardly able to do,

bless her heart. 

One thing she CAN still do quite well is emit gas.

She felt the need to lay down right next to me

while I was on the computer,

and prove exactly that.

Everyone else was already in bed, 

but I managed to choke out a loud,

"You've GOT to be kidding me!", 

before letting her outside to get rid of 

the demon inside her.

But I still love her.
She is her owner's baby-

part of their family, and much loved.

In fact, they almost lost her a couple of weeks ago.

But she's still here.

Thank goodness.

Sweet ol' Sadie dog.

I think I will definitely deem myself as her

out-of-town dogmother.

So there you have it.

I think I have proved myself worthy

of being Dogmother extraordinaire.

If you need one,

just let me know.

I will love your dog, let it come play at my house,

and enjoy spoiling it.

I just won't keep it.

Deal?

Here's Looking At You, Kid!

Why I Could Never Be a Baseball Pitcher

by

The Mom of a Baseball Pitcher

I've come to realize that being a pitcher and 

doing so in front of many people,

just might be enough

to send me

over the

edge.

First of all, pitching in front of 3,000 people,

(2,950 of those being opposing fans 

many of whom are yelling rude, obnoxious

things at you specifically because they are

trying to get under your skin,)

WOULD get under my skin.

How do you tune that out?

And, you've got to try to ignore all that, 

AND watch for the catcher's sign, keep an eye

on the runners, possibly try to pick 

off the runner at the coach's say-so,

and get the ball where it's suppose to go.

Umm, I would still be stuck on the

rude guy who's yelling at me.

I also might cover my eyes after I threw the ball,

or look away, cause that's what I do sometimes

when my son makes the pitch.

I just get too nervous.

The coach probably wouldn't like that.

I also throw like a girl.  

Hurling the fast ball at an unnatural speed

would only apply to me if you call

30 mph unnatural.

Evidently, I would 

have to remember which way to hold that little ball...

where to place my fingers according 

to how fast and where I wanted it to go.

Uh uh....

sorry, but I know one way to hold it,

wrap all my fingers around it 

and give it my best sissy-arm throw.

My fielders would expect me to know

what base to throw that ball to

anytime it came toward me...

already have it in my mind

{roll it up, send it home, etc.)

Are you kidding me?

I have enough to worry about right now, thank you.

And...it might show on the 

scoreboard that it's 109 degrees outside,

and those of you who know how much

I hate to be hot,

know that would already hack me off 

before I even got started.

I don't like to sweat.

And I see how those guys have a little problem

with the extra paraphernalia they have to wear,

(you know, in front,)

and how it can cause a few slight problems

with the heat and all.

THEY don't mind touching it in front of everyone.

I'm thinking I would.

I would NOT want to 

wear a hot, polyester baseball uniform

with long socks and heavy shoes

to pitch my best-

In hot weather.

I'd lobby for linen suits,

and lightweight sandals

(with cleats, of course.)

I WOULD like the part at the end of the game
when they wrap my arm with ice-
I'd request a full- body ice wrap, though.

And lastly,

when I had played my best,

possibly come from behind,

watched my team give it their all,

and we still lost the game,

I don't think it would be cool

to show the ugly-cry face to

everyone who was there.

And I would definitely

have the ugly cry...

That's why I'm just the mom of a baseball pitcher.

And if I seem a little too proud of him sometimes,

now you know why.

Here's looking at you, kid!

(I'm going to go get a manicure.)

©2011tbowenblog