Mud On The Tires

Funny title. huh? But in reality it's not. See, when W and I were dating, Brad Paisley's song Mud On The Tires appropriately described our relationship. He was a country boy. I was a city girl. Yet somehow, someway (fate maybe?) our paths crossed. And pretty soon, this city girl was head over heals in love with that country boy. Every waking moment I had, I wanted to be with him. Every breath I took, I wanted to take them with him.

That has not changed. This city girl is still head over heels in love with that country boy. Except now, I'm more of a country girl than a city one. And he made me that way. He took me out of my city house and put me in a country one. He taught me that riding 4-wheelers was tons of fun. That fishing is fun (though I still refuse to bait my own hook or remove the catch from the line), that swimming in the river and the lake aren't bad at all, that sometimes it is ok to get dirty, and about a million other "country" things.

No matter where we go or what we do, I'm happy as long as he is by my side. No matter what we face or what we have to overcome, we can because we are together. We've had our moments. Lots of moments. But we've come through, stronger, better, than we ever, ever were. I am thankful, I am blessed, and I am loved. By this man. He is my rock. He is my fortress. He is my strength. He is my other half.

Can I Have a Moment?

To discuss the fact that after this Friday, Friday Night Lights will be gone? FOR EVER? That after this Friday, I will no longer spend my Friday evenings with the good-looking specimen of a man known as Eric Taylor? (Or, in reality, Kyle Chandler?)

Really? How could you let this happen America? How is that a country can embrace the Kardashians or Snooky or Paris Hilton but you can't get on the bandwagon of one of the greatest television shows ever?

I love football. I especially love high school and college football. I'm not really a fan of the NFL because I feel like once you get paid megamillions to do something, you no longer play with the same heart and passion you played with before. And here, here was an honest show set in a football-crazy town (and yeah, I live in one of those) centered around the star players and the super hot coach. It was classic TV people. Yet somehow the people of this country never embraced it. The fact that it survived 5 seasons is almost a miracle.

So on Friday night at 7:00, I will hold my own little memorial service for this amazing little show. Or maybe I'm not the only one?

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Is There Anything Worse....

.....than a summer cold?

I don't think so. And I have one. A yucky, ears hurting, throat hurting, head feels like it might explode, summer cold.

Boo. Hiss.

So, because of this, today's agenda is pretty boring. I'm working a bit this morning (because my docs don't care if I'm sick), then I'm gonna curl up in my bed, take some medicine, and get better now. Darnit. Here's to hoping that A will be down with this. I'd let her have a friend over, but I don't think that other mothers want me exposing their children to whatever yuckiness it is that has invaded my body. So, I hope she's down with a day on the couch and some movies.

I seriously DO NOT have time to be sick. Do you hear me body? I don't have time for this. I've got fun things to do. An 8-year-old daughter to hang out with. Pools to swim in. It is summer for goodness sakes. I am NOT supposed to be sick. Not. Not. Not. Maybe if I keep repeating it, my body will actually LISTEN to me. No time body. No time. No time to be sick.

But yet, here I am. Sick. My ears hurt. My throat hurts. And my head is KILLING me. Seriously. I feel like it might explode into a million pieces at any moment. And part of me wishes that would happen. Why? Well because then it wouldn't hurt like the devil anymore. Not sure where I picked up this particular ray of sunshine that has invaded my body, but I sure as heck wish I'd missed it, that is for sure.

Being sick sucks. Being sick in the summer sucks worse. Here's to hoping that this yuckiness is VERY short lived. VERY.

I'm Here to "Pump You Up"

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Remember these guys? Hans and Franz? From Saturday Night Live? For some reason, I have them stuck in my head. Well, the reason is because I've started a new workout called Body Pump, and now all I can hear is Hans and Franz telling me they want to "pump me up". Not that I'm doing much "pumping up" right now. Right now? I'm just managing to not d-i-e while doing it. I'm managing to not fall out while doing one million squats.

Exercise? Yeah. It ain't fun. And it ain't pretty. Or it least it isn't when I do it. Which is why I prefer the comfort of my own home as opposed to embarrasing the mess out of myself at a gym. Maybe one day I'll work out in a gym. You know, one day when I'm not 30 pounds overweight.

So, here I go. Ready to get "pumped up". Which now brings up a stupid high-school football cheer in my head. Well, maybe between Hans and Franz and my inner cheerleader, I'll actually be able to do this.

Time to tell those 30 extra pounds where to go. And it ain't my hips.