We just returned from spending a few days in Mountain Home with my two brothers, their wives, and their combined 6 children. Add our brood, and that's 14 people. Sounds like a recipe for insanity, I know, but it was really a lot of fun.
Each night, after the kids went to bed, the 6 adults played a game. Two of the nights, it was spades. And therein lies the event about which I wish to write today. We had a disagreement of rather spectacular proportions, and I would like some outside opinions on the topic. This is about the game of spades, so if you don't know how to play you won't be able to have an opinion on this. Well, maybe that's not the case--I know some people whose ability to create an opinion on something is completely unrelated to whether or not they know anything about it.
Anyway.
Here's the situation. Since there were 3 couples, and spades is a 2-couple game, we devised a round robin method of play, in which each couple sat out 1 of every 3 hands. So the first round was couples 1 and 2, the next round was couples 2 and 3, and the third round was couples 3 and 1. It worked beautifully. We predetermined how many rounds we would play so that each team played an equal number, and at the end the team with the highest points would win. The individual scores wouldn't matter (so even if Team 1 beat Team 2 in all their games together, Team 2 could still win if they ended up with the most overall points).
Two rounds before the end of the game, Team 1 had about 600 points. Teams 2 and 3 each had about 300 points. They both expressed the wish to play the next hand "Blind Nil," which can only be done if a team is at least 200 points behind. Team 1 opposed this, arguing that while both teams were in fact more than 200 points behind Team 1, they were NOT 200 points behind everyone, and therefore were not eligible to play Blind Nil. A heated discussion ensued, One member of the group, and I will not say which member other than to say that it is his or her birthday today, threatened to walk away from the game if he or she did not get his or her way.
Is this post dorky enough for you yet? The thing is, there really isn't a real right or wrong answer--it's not like there's an official rule book for 3 teams playing round-robin spades. So to determine the best choice, you have to use an innate sense of logic and understanding about the purpose of allowing someone to go Blind Nil in the first place.
Now the post is DEFINITELY dorky enough.
Okay, I need some feedback now. Which of the following do you believe is the right decision?
A) Teams 2 and 3 should not have been allowed to go Blind Nil at all, regardless of who they were playing in the round, because they were not 200 points behind all other teams.
B) Teams 2 and 3 should ONLY have been allowed to go Blind Nil if they were playing a round with Team 1, even though individual round scores didn't matter.
C) Teams 2 and 3 should have been able to go Blind Nil at any point, regardless of the round, as long as they were 200 points behind the leading team.
I can't wait to hear what everyone thinks! Feel free to explain your rationale. Hopefully I have explained this neutrally so as not to have swayed my loyal fans. If I end up being in the minority with my opinion, I will gracefully concede. Probably.
PS. Happy Birthday, Mike!
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Ways I can tell, without looking at a calendar, that it's almost Christmas
***A disclaimer before you read this post: I LOVE Christmas. This list might make it seem like I'm all jaded and bah-humbug-y, but that's not at all the case. Still, no one reads this blog for sweetness and light, so once again smarminess reigns on AMENMom. ***
1. It is a physical miracle to make it in and out of the toy section of Target unscathed.
2. I have to wear sunglasses to drive down my street at night or risk being blinded by "exciting" light displays.
3. Radio channels that usually play songs revolving around girls' bottoms and "hooking up" are suddenly airing music about a baby born to a virgin.
4. My newspaper is 4 times thicker due to store ads.
5. Sonic's cups have clever Christmas sayings on them.
6. People in charge at my children's schools and our church actually arrange for them to get on a stage with an audience in front of them and sing.
7. Catalogs virtually explode out of my mailbox daily.
8. Our laundry doubles. (I don't know how exactly this is connected to Christmas, but it has definitely happened.)
9. Matt is laid up for a couple of days after he strains his back pulling all of our decorations out of the attic.
10. I draw a complete blank when anyone asks me what I want for Christmas, then just blurt out the first thing I can think of that sounds remotely normal. This usually results in me getting 42 bottles of body wash for Christmas.
How do you know it's almost Christmas?
1. It is a physical miracle to make it in and out of the toy section of Target unscathed.
2. I have to wear sunglasses to drive down my street at night or risk being blinded by "exciting" light displays.
3. Radio channels that usually play songs revolving around girls' bottoms and "hooking up" are suddenly airing music about a baby born to a virgin.
4. My newspaper is 4 times thicker due to store ads.
5. Sonic's cups have clever Christmas sayings on them.
6. People in charge at my children's schools and our church actually arrange for them to get on a stage with an audience in front of them and sing.
7. Catalogs virtually explode out of my mailbox daily.
8. Our laundry doubles. (I don't know how exactly this is connected to Christmas, but it has definitely happened.)
9. Matt is laid up for a couple of days after he strains his back pulling all of our decorations out of the attic.
10. I draw a complete blank when anyone asks me what I want for Christmas, then just blurt out the first thing I can think of that sounds remotely normal. This usually results in me getting 42 bottles of body wash for Christmas.
How do you know it's almost Christmas?
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
For the record, we have very nice dish towels.
Here's the deal. When we found out I was pregnant, we knew we needed more living space. That gave us two choices: make our house bigger or buy a bigger house. We made a valiant effort to go with choice A. We LOVE our house, our street, our location, everything. We just need a couple more rooms. Unfortunately, with our house and our lot it just wasn't feasible. Also unfortunately, this meant we had to do the thing I have always feared more than just about anything on earth, except maybe homeschooling: putting our house on the market.
Have you been to my house? If so, then you know that it's a mess. We are clutter fiends. We just have a lot of STUFF. You know? I don't know what other people do with all their stuff. They have to have it though! For example. Where do other people put kids' sunglasses, unused picture frames, the channel guide for their cable, and 30 boxes of crayons? I can tell you where we put that stuff. The bar, or the desk, or the dining room table. Not anymore, though! Now we will have strangers waltzing through our house, judging us on our toothbrushes and our kitchen towels and our choice of window treatments. Ugh! I loathe the thought.
First, though, we had to spend a frantic couple of weeks prepping the house, which for us meant filling to the brim a 10 foot square storage room with things we own but in no way, shape or form actually use or need. Seriously, I am selling 95% of it as soon as it becomes garage sale weather.
We are close to being done, but still not quite there yet. If we get any lookers this weekend, they are in for a startling surprise when they go in our garage, in that it resembles a room from that show "Hoarders" more than it does an actual garage. We haven't been able to park a car in there since 2004. I am not joking.
My sincere hope is that someone will read this blog and go, "Hey! I was just thinking that I need a new house and I love Nancy's. I'm going to call her and make an offer RIGHT NOW!" Barring that, my hope is that the people who come look at the house will find it charming and will be forgiving of the little clutter that will inevitably sneak back in over time. And by over time, I mean by Friday.
Have you been to my house? If so, then you know that it's a mess. We are clutter fiends. We just have a lot of STUFF. You know? I don't know what other people do with all their stuff. They have to have it though! For example. Where do other people put kids' sunglasses, unused picture frames, the channel guide for their cable, and 30 boxes of crayons? I can tell you where we put that stuff. The bar, or the desk, or the dining room table. Not anymore, though! Now we will have strangers waltzing through our house, judging us on our toothbrushes and our kitchen towels and our choice of window treatments. Ugh! I loathe the thought.
First, though, we had to spend a frantic couple of weeks prepping the house, which for us meant filling to the brim a 10 foot square storage room with things we own but in no way, shape or form actually use or need. Seriously, I am selling 95% of it as soon as it becomes garage sale weather.
We are close to being done, but still not quite there yet. If we get any lookers this weekend, they are in for a startling surprise when they go in our garage, in that it resembles a room from that show "Hoarders" more than it does an actual garage. We haven't been able to park a car in there since 2004. I am not joking.
My sincere hope is that someone will read this blog and go, "Hey! I was just thinking that I need a new house and I love Nancy's. I'm going to call her and make an offer RIGHT NOW!" Barring that, my hope is that the people who come look at the house will find it charming and will be forgiving of the little clutter that will inevitably sneak back in over time. And by over time, I mean by Friday.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Dance on
How embarrassing. It has been almost 3 weeks since I last blogged. To my public, I apologize. To all 6 of you. It has been a busy few weeks. Right on the heels of my birthday was Thanksgiving and Matt's birthday. We've got tons of stuff going on, blah blah blah.
Last week, I left on Tuesday for Little Rock unexpectedly. My great uncle Lonnie, my grandmother's brother, passed away Tuesday evening. I stayed until the funeral on Saturday.
As I was growing up I spent a lot of time with Uncle Lonnie and his marvelous wife, Aunt Joyce. They live out in the country, and every trip to their house was filled with tractor rides, walks to the pond, and nervewracking encounters with aggressive geese (don't laugh until you've had one chasing you). All of that paled in comparison, though, to the pure entertainment package that was Uncle Lonnie.
Before I was born, Uncle Lonnie was in a car accident that ultimately caused both of his legs to be amputated and created a lifetime of medical issues for him. Most people would see this as a mountain-sized burden. Uncle Lonnie saw it as an opportunity to amuse and/or terrify people. I would go as a child to see him in the hospital after various surgeries on his legs, and he would spend his entire visit trying to convince me that if I tickled the air where his feet were supposed to be he would really feel it. Popping his legs off in front of unsuspecting visitors was one of his favorite pasttimes. I remember the first time he did it for Abby--while she was recovering in the fetal position I laughed until I cried with my uncle.
I am crazily blessed to have a huge extended family that I 1)actually like and 2) am close to. The days before and of Uncle Lonnie's funeral were a wonderful time of visiting, joking and much, much laughing. We are not a quiet bunch. In a group of cool people, Uncle Lonnie always stood out as one of the coolest, and I will miss him often. His and Aunt Joyce's 52 year marriage was one of a handful that, when we got married, Matt and I decided we want ours to look like 50 years from now. It is a lofty goal, let me assure you. No one came within 20 feet of them without knowing they were crazy in love.
Uncle Lonnie's funeral was lovely. Matt and I decided, for multiple reasons, that we wanted Abby to go. She loved my uncle, and I was worried that she couldn't handle it. She was a champ, though, and even would pat my back and tell me it was going to be okay when the emotion and pregnancy hormones collided and threated to turn me into a sobbing mess on the church floor a few times. Don't even get me started on the incredible military burial, one of which I have never witnessed in person before and is enough to make me weep just thinking about it.
I know that my uncle is in heaven, and I am sure that Uncle Lonnie is providing some serious entertainment up there. Abby asked me if he had his whole body back and was dancing with Jesus using his real legs. I told her there was no doubt.
Last week, I left on Tuesday for Little Rock unexpectedly. My great uncle Lonnie, my grandmother's brother, passed away Tuesday evening. I stayed until the funeral on Saturday.
As I was growing up I spent a lot of time with Uncle Lonnie and his marvelous wife, Aunt Joyce. They live out in the country, and every trip to their house was filled with tractor rides, walks to the pond, and nervewracking encounters with aggressive geese (don't laugh until you've had one chasing you). All of that paled in comparison, though, to the pure entertainment package that was Uncle Lonnie.
Before I was born, Uncle Lonnie was in a car accident that ultimately caused both of his legs to be amputated and created a lifetime of medical issues for him. Most people would see this as a mountain-sized burden. Uncle Lonnie saw it as an opportunity to amuse and/or terrify people. I would go as a child to see him in the hospital after various surgeries on his legs, and he would spend his entire visit trying to convince me that if I tickled the air where his feet were supposed to be he would really feel it. Popping his legs off in front of unsuspecting visitors was one of his favorite pasttimes. I remember the first time he did it for Abby--while she was recovering in the fetal position I laughed until I cried with my uncle.
I am crazily blessed to have a huge extended family that I 1)actually like and 2) am close to. The days before and of Uncle Lonnie's funeral were a wonderful time of visiting, joking and much, much laughing. We are not a quiet bunch. In a group of cool people, Uncle Lonnie always stood out as one of the coolest, and I will miss him often. His and Aunt Joyce's 52 year marriage was one of a handful that, when we got married, Matt and I decided we want ours to look like 50 years from now. It is a lofty goal, let me assure you. No one came within 20 feet of them without knowing they were crazy in love.
Uncle Lonnie's funeral was lovely. Matt and I decided, for multiple reasons, that we wanted Abby to go. She loved my uncle, and I was worried that she couldn't handle it. She was a champ, though, and even would pat my back and tell me it was going to be okay when the emotion and pregnancy hormones collided and threated to turn me into a sobbing mess on the church floor a few times. Don't even get me started on the incredible military burial, one of which I have never witnessed in person before and is enough to make me weep just thinking about it.
I know that my uncle is in heaven, and I am sure that Uncle Lonnie is providing some serious entertainment up there. Abby asked me if he had his whole body back and was dancing with Jesus using his real legs. I told her there was no doubt.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
It happens every year
It's my birthday today.
Woo hoo!
Yeah, that doesn't really work. I remember when I was a kid, I thought that adults were A) lying or B) really boring people when they said birthdays weren't a big deal to them any more. Well, call me boring, because they just don't matter as much as they used to. Don't get me wrong--I love the 7AM phone calls and 20,000 Facebook birthday wishes as much as the next gal. But when I was younger, the entire day seemed to shimmer with excitement. I can go entire stretches of time now on my brithday without even remembering that it is, in fact, my birthday. Birthdays used to be celebrated by staying up late. Now I celebrate by sleeping in late.
I am not one of those people who does not want to admit her age. Maybe I will be some day, but I somehow doubt it. I turned 33 today. For some reason, this has resonated with me on several levels.
33. Thirty three. As close to a third of 100 as you can get. Over halfway to Social Security (if it's still around in 2041). Sirty sree if you talk like Ethan.
The age Jesus was when he was betrayed by one of his best friends, tortured and killed.
Wow.
Thirty two was good to me. Thirty three is bound to be a wild ride--I'll have offspring #3, send #1 to second grade and #2 into pre-K, and have to go from saying the year beginning with "two thousand" to beginning with "twenty." BIG stuff, people. I'm not worried, though. I'm sure God will help me survive through this year and beyond--if for no other reason than to see what I can come up with to write about when I turn 40.
Woo hoo!
Yeah, that doesn't really work. I remember when I was a kid, I thought that adults were A) lying or B) really boring people when they said birthdays weren't a big deal to them any more. Well, call me boring, because they just don't matter as much as they used to. Don't get me wrong--I love the 7AM phone calls and 20,000 Facebook birthday wishes as much as the next gal. But when I was younger, the entire day seemed to shimmer with excitement. I can go entire stretches of time now on my brithday without even remembering that it is, in fact, my birthday. Birthdays used to be celebrated by staying up late. Now I celebrate by sleeping in late.
I am not one of those people who does not want to admit her age. Maybe I will be some day, but I somehow doubt it. I turned 33 today. For some reason, this has resonated with me on several levels.
33. Thirty three. As close to a third of 100 as you can get. Over halfway to Social Security (if it's still around in 2041). Sirty sree if you talk like Ethan.
The age Jesus was when he was betrayed by one of his best friends, tortured and killed.
Wow.
Thirty two was good to me. Thirty three is bound to be a wild ride--I'll have offspring #3, send #1 to second grade and #2 into pre-K, and have to go from saying the year beginning with "two thousand" to beginning with "twenty." BIG stuff, people. I'm not worried, though. I'm sure God will help me survive through this year and beyond--if for no other reason than to see what I can come up with to write about when I turn 40.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Wild things
A couple of weeks ago, Abby and I went down to Little Rock to help my aunt Linda throw my grandmother a Ladies' Lunch. I know, sounds wild, right?
It was actually quite a lot of fun. I got the idea from talking with my grandmother and hearing how much she missed just hanging out with her friends, laughing and talking and making fun of other people (she didn't admit to that, but we all know it's true). Many of her friends can't drive any more, or don't feel up to lots of outings. I knew that all of them would enjoy a chance to get together.
I was right. We had 9 ladies total--it should have been 10, but my sweet Aunt Joyce had to stay home at the last minute to care for my crazy Uncle Lonnie (he's a trip, and worthy of his own post someday). My Aunt Phyllis even drove in from Birmingham and surprised my grandmother. Once everyone got there, there was not a moment of silence. These chicks have got a lot to say. Since I grew up spending so much time with all of them, you don't have to look much further than that party to see where I got all the fun parts of my personality. Sassiness, brassiness, sarcasm, and a near-violent love of football were all borne in me by these women. Thank goodness! Someone to blame :)
Here are some pictures from the shindig:
Eating lunch. Abby was the main server, and she and the ladies thought that was grand.
The group. If there's a cooler bunch of broads on the planet, I don't think I could handle them.
It was actually quite a lot of fun. I got the idea from talking with my grandmother and hearing how much she missed just hanging out with her friends, laughing and talking and making fun of other people (she didn't admit to that, but we all know it's true). Many of her friends can't drive any more, or don't feel up to lots of outings. I knew that all of them would enjoy a chance to get together.
I was right. We had 9 ladies total--it should have been 10, but my sweet Aunt Joyce had to stay home at the last minute to care for my crazy Uncle Lonnie (he's a trip, and worthy of his own post someday). My Aunt Phyllis even drove in from Birmingham and surprised my grandmother. Once everyone got there, there was not a moment of silence. These chicks have got a lot to say. Since I grew up spending so much time with all of them, you don't have to look much further than that party to see where I got all the fun parts of my personality. Sassiness, brassiness, sarcasm, and a near-violent love of football were all borne in me by these women. Thank goodness! Someone to blame :)
Here are some pictures from the shindig:
My grandmother upon my Aunt Phyllis' surprise arrival. The surprise element did not disappoint.
Eating lunch. Abby was the main server, and she and the ladies thought that was grand.
The group. If there's a cooler bunch of broads on the planet, I don't think I could handle them.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
So glad we could have this time together
It's OVER. I did my expectant mother duty and got my flu shots today. Now my mother, aunt and nurse-friends can quit worrying that I will drop dead on the street. I can quit trying to care about germs, too.
Not that this peace didn't come at a price. I went to the mass flu clinic at the Jones Center today. Along with about 6,000 of my neighbors. I do not exaggerate. I did a little crowd-math while I was waiting, and I think I was around the 1,800-2,000 mark, with way more behind me than in front of me. I waited in line for 2 hours to get my shots, which took 30 seconds. During this time, I was afforded the opportunity to stand near lots of "interesting" people, who I have come to see as walking blog fodder.
There was the girl behind me who was furious that pregnant women didn't have a VIP line and that made racist statements the entire time, which were apparently acceptable because she "has a Hispanic for a boyfriend." There was the man who belched every 5 minutes, and the mother who frequently told her children not to dare act like the other children in line "whose parents obviously don't care if they behave or not." There were plenty of such children, but I had more than my usual amount of sympathy for the parents, as their children were being forced to wait in a long line--not for a carnival ride or candy, but to get a SHOT. Let 'em run around a little if it helps.
The wonderful workers were very efficient. They plopped me down and descended on either side. The seasonal shot wasn't too bad, but the H1N1 shot HURT. And it STILL hurts. Yes, I am whiny. It's my prerogative. At least I didn't scream and cry like most of the other recipients. Granted, they were pre-schoolers, but whatever. Pain is pain.
So it's over. I have whatever is in a flu shot (eggs? swine saliva?) floating around in my system, Scooby Doo Halloween band-aids on both arms, and a new appreciation for people who stand in line with their mouths shut.
Not that this peace didn't come at a price. I went to the mass flu clinic at the Jones Center today. Along with about 6,000 of my neighbors. I do not exaggerate. I did a little crowd-math while I was waiting, and I think I was around the 1,800-2,000 mark, with way more behind me than in front of me. I waited in line for 2 hours to get my shots, which took 30 seconds. During this time, I was afforded the opportunity to stand near lots of "interesting" people, who I have come to see as walking blog fodder.
There was the girl behind me who was furious that pregnant women didn't have a VIP line and that made racist statements the entire time, which were apparently acceptable because she "has a Hispanic for a boyfriend." There was the man who belched every 5 minutes, and the mother who frequently told her children not to dare act like the other children in line "whose parents obviously don't care if they behave or not." There were plenty of such children, but I had more than my usual amount of sympathy for the parents, as their children were being forced to wait in a long line--not for a carnival ride or candy, but to get a SHOT. Let 'em run around a little if it helps.
The wonderful workers were very efficient. They plopped me down and descended on either side. The seasonal shot wasn't too bad, but the H1N1 shot HURT. And it STILL hurts. Yes, I am whiny. It's my prerogative. At least I didn't scream and cry like most of the other recipients. Granted, they were pre-schoolers, but whatever. Pain is pain.
So it's over. I have whatever is in a flu shot (eggs? swine saliva?) floating around in my system, Scooby Doo Halloween band-aids on both arms, and a new appreciation for people who stand in line with their mouths shut.
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