My sweet little elector

Conversation and insight at my house-

"Mommy, when is the election?"

"Next Tuesday."

"Then, how can someone be ahead if we haven't voted yet?"

Exactly.

Thursday Thirteen: All I Needed to Know I Learned At A Writer's Conference

1. When you have loved to write since you were a little kid, chances are that itch will never go away.

Ever.

So, go ahead and scratch.

2. That feeling that you are weird?

Yep, you are. But, guess what! There are a whole bunch of people out there just as weird as you.

Maybe even weider. (Like in an Ernest Hemingway kind of way!)

3. Allowing the word "weider" to stay in your post will make you twitch. The grammar snob in you shall never die.

4. Meeting people who like to doodle or play with fun verbs validates you in some way.

The fun verbs part proves that you are a nerd.

5. Don't feel bad about math. Those other people you met, you know the ones who think like you? They aren't good at math either.

They could rename Writer's Conferences "Math Phobics Anonymous"

And we already know that Anonymous has written a lot of good stuff.

6. The people you meet are so talented and, even though they are a weird like you, they are weird in a cool way. Which means there is a small chance that you may be cool, too.

Or also.

7. Meeting Carol and Amy was awesome.

And if it were not for Carol's careful nudging, OKAY, I'LL GO ALREADY! you would not have gone at all.

8. And learned that you are weird.

9. And maybe a little cool.

10. And grateful that there are Christian Writer's Conferences out there.

11. For the people who are weird and maybe a little cool.

12. All for Jesus.

13. And that there is no way you would ever sign up for the Calculus Conference.

No mathematical way.

Yes, we have brains.

I've been catching up on all of my favorite blogs and I found the best post I've read in a very long time.

Take a minute and read this post by Veronica.

Her perspective and insight are dead-on.

Altitude Adjustment

I am nearing the end of my little trip and just can't stay away from the blog.

The auto post is your friend, but it is the Nicorette Gum of a blog addiction.

I'm here in Santa Fe at the Glorieta Christian Writer's Conference. I am so excited about this trip, all of the things I've learned, the great people I've met, and the fact that there is nothing better than being with Christians who love the Lord for nearly a week.

I've met a few people that I had only known over the Internet. Now I know there is more to them than just their profile photo. (BTW, they are awesome!)

I'll share more of that later.

When I first arrived, I noticed that I was huffing and puffing a lot and it had nothing to do with Nicorette gum. It had everything to do with the fact that I am at 7,000 feet.

Talk about a spiritual high.

All of this thin air reminds me of the last time I was high in the hills.

Only I wasn't the least bit encouraged.

Although, I did make a friend.

I'm headed home today to love on my sweet family. I can take a break from the blog but no kind of gum (even Hubba Bubba) substitutes for my husband and daughter.

Real decorators don't use spray paint. Really cheap ones do.

Originally published July 7, 2007

Y'all know how it is when you move into a new place. After you go through all of the boxes and put things away, then you are able to start the fun stuff. Decorating.

We've had our patio furniture for about five years. All this time, it has been either on a screened porch or outside, exposed to the elements.

The set was a deep, forest green and still in pretty good shape. I threw out the old cushions because, frankly my dear, I hate mildew and after so many bleach applications, the lovely magnolia pattern just became a faded flowery mess.

There were a few rust spots and some craft paint spills. Other than that, the set was completely salvageable. All it needed was a fresh coat of paint and some bright, new cushions.

I bought some sunshine yellow cushions while they were on sale, so all I needed to finish the revamp was to spray paint the furniture.

I originally thought I would spray it all black, but when I went to the home improvement store I saw it.

Charleston Green.

Oh. My. I was just giddy.

You mean this huge place filled with trucks that go "beep" and piles of plywood has a little bit of Charleston history tucked neatly on a shelf and packaged in an aerosol can? Someone give me a tissue. I think a tear actually trickled down my cheek.

Charleston Green in a can. Spray Paint Heaven.

You shall never see it on any interstate overpass. This color must be reserved for patio chairs, front doors and porch railings.

"I Love Bobby Ray" in Charleston Green on the Willacoochee, Georgia water tower? {Gasp!}

I fell in love with Charleston,SC while on our honeymoon. We rode our bikes down Meeting Street, along the Battery, and past lovely homes with sideways porches. I learned of the culture and history, including the story behind Charleston Green.

The story just reminds me of how people in the South used what they had to still try and make things beautiful. I love that.

So I was in the yard today spraying my patio furniture, just tickled to death that it was going to be Charleston Green, knowing that everyone is going to think it is black, and thinking to myself, "I don't care. The chairs and I will know the truth. Sniff, sniff."

While spraying the gorgeous hue of greenish black from an aerosol can, I also realized something else. Although we may be known for our culture and history, we Southerners are not known for our protection of the environment.

I realize Al Gore is from Tennessee, but, well, he's Al Gore.

As Mama would say, "He's just different."

The closest thing to recycling my grandparents ever did was turn in their glass Coca Cola bottle at the local grocery. (To get another "Co-Cola.") My grandmother would have looked at you funny if you had told her not to use her Aqua Net hair spray or even suggested that she recycle newspapers to save the trees.

My grandfather worked in the Lumber Industry. They don't save trees. Trees are planted to be cut down or leaned upon in a nice tree stand during deer season.

I have never seen a Bubba cut up his six-pack rings or drive a load of recyclables to the recycling center.

Um, what recycling center?

The only load Bubba hauls is to the city dump or to the place everyone has designated as the city dump- that spot at the end of the clay road past the Old Johnson Place.

I'm not sayin' it's a good thing. I'm just sayin.'

My generation is really starting to change things, but for the most part, The South's contribution to the organic approach is cotton. (We grow it.)

Well, what do you expect from a People who had to mix their own paint? Other people were painting their front doors in Colonial Blues and Reds. We were mixing black with a touch of yellow just to get by.

The horror of it all.

*Uncle Peter... my smelling salts!

:>)The smelling salts quote is from Aunt PittyPat in Gone With The Wind.

My Cat is Cujo

Originally published June 7, 2007


Some people have cute and cuddly kittens who mew and purr. Some people have sweet, old cats who sleep on sun drenched sofas.

We have Maggie.

I picked her up from the kennel this afternoon and I felt a little like the parent who gets a call from school in the middle of the day.

A call that goes something like this-"M'am? This is Mrs. Peabody, the school principal. You need to come pick up Maggie right now. She has terrorized the entire school."

Maggie hates the kennel now. When she was a kitten, she loved it. The staff actually looked forward to her staying. Small children would drop by after school just to pet Maggie. Seriously, she was the belle of the ball.

Now, when we get out of the car with the carrier, the kennel staff peers out the office window and gasps in sheer terror. One time I walked in with Maggie, and I promise you, I think I saw one of them pop a nerve pill.

It was no shock to me when my husband came home the other day and said he had to get Maggie out of the carrier and put her in her cat cage. She hissed and arched her old lady back in her kitty cat protest.

So I knew when I went to pick her up today that the news would not be good.The lady at the front desk showed me Maggie's chart.

These were the entries-

"Hissed."

"Not happy."

"Caution."

"VERY MAD."

"Ask owner to take her out and put her in her carrier."

Not what a mother wants to hear when she walks in the Principal's office.

I apologized profusely. The sweet staff member reassured me that there were many cats just like Maggie. In fact, she owns one of them.

She said,"The last time my cat was here, the last entry in her record was 'Spawn of Satan."

This is supposed to make me feel better?

I went back and got Maggie out of her cage. As soon as she heard my voice, she meowed her pitiful "meow" and climbed right into her own little carrier. The kennel technician was in awe.

Some people are frightened by the sight of a white doctor's coat or a nurse's uniform. My cat is terrified of colorful scrub tops decorated with happy kittens and puppies.

Sweet. Mercy.

Bloggy Break

I'll be on a blog break for a few days and I've auto-posted a few old posts.

Like re-runs on a writer's strike.

Only I'm not on strike.

Well, you get the picture.

I'm faux excited!

The last time I took a trip by myself for no good reason, other than to just have fun was...

I can't remember.

But this week I am getting away for a few days to do something just for me and it feels strangely energizing.

I'm like the Phoenix rising from Arizona. (Points to the person who knows that quote!)

The thing about traveling and being away from home for more than a day or so is that I have to have clothes. Real clothes. Not bleach spotted, torn yoga pants and Hanes t-shirts.

So yesterday I went shopping. We do not have a lot of stores here in Smalltown, New Mexico so I was taking a chance that I'd actually find something. We don't even have Target which is usually my fashion-saving grace.

Since becoming a mom, no matter the size, I have decided that I hate shopping for clothes. Really. I do not enjoy trying them on. I do still love buying shoes and purses.

Because no matter how much Ben and Jerry's you eat, your shoe size pretty much stays the same.

And purses? A great purse can make bleach spotted, torn yoga pants look good.

Well, maybe not. But it can be a lovely distraction.

I've been searching for a giraffe print purse for a while now. I never fell for the cheetah or the leopard prints, but the giraffe has reeled me in. Maybe it's because giraffes don't eat people.

Anyway.

The only cute giraffe print bag I found yesterday was a whopping $300. All I can figure is that it must have been made of real giraffe. Or a cow that thought it was going to be sacrificed for a woman's style and left in a nice leather bovine look only to be tricked into looking like a giraffe.

It was so pricey, it had been chained down. I couldn't even try it on and wish it were marked down to 90% off.

Seriously, when the purse is chained to the shelf, it's a good sign that you can't afford it.

My goal is to have some money to put in the giraffe purse. If I bought the purse, I'd have nothing to go in it. I'd have to give up all my cash, my CVS card, pawn my cell phone and sell my driver's license to someone on the corner.

And pay the medical bill for the massive head injury which left me incapacitated.

But the purse. It was fabulous. It could totally hide the holes in my yoga pants.

During my fashion safari, I discovered a few cute basic outfits, some great classic wide leg trousers, a few trendy tops (on sale!),but my best find was a pair of faux crocodile shoes.

Hey, Stacy London, "Shut UP!"


I think they go well with the yoga pants. Don't you?

They were only $30! And comfortable, too.

Here is what Maggie thinks about them. Honestly, the more I look at them, the more they look like real crocodiles. Something about the shape of the toe and the buckle. But, I love 'em, mate!



Just so you know, I didn't buy the purse. I haven't found $300 under the couch cushions and I haven't hit my head recently either.

The purse remains in chains on the store shelf. Someone from the ASPCA will have to free it or maybe those guys at AIG will buy it for their next trip to the Spa.

Keep Singing

I'm posting over at the Cafe today.

Put on some of your favorite music, grab your cup of coffee, and join me.

Then we plowed the field and churned the butter.

My daughter and I were making soap yesterday. We melted the glycerin, added coloring and fragrance, poured it into the plastic mold and waited.

In about an hour, we had some lovely shell soaps.

As we sat at the kitchen table admiring our work, I decided to share a little perspective.

"You know, years ago, you had to make all of your soap," I said," not just for a craft. It was made of something called Lye and it smelled awful. People made their soap for baths and for washing clothes."

"Really?"

"Yes, and you had to haul water from somewhere to wash the clothes."

"Was this when you were a kid?"

sigh

Works For Me: A few of my favorite products

After yesterday's post, I thought I'd share a few more of my favorite products.

And really, I should be posting something called, "How To Keep A Cat From Stealing Your Breath" because Maggie is sitting next to me staring me down. It is borderline creepy.

Of course, I realize that she is not evil. Just high maintenance.

Anyway.

Here are a few of my favs.

Viva Paper Towels- I like Bounty, but Viva is so soft. And strong. And sometimes cheaper.

Eucerin Calming Cream- The goodness of Eucerin with an added soothing ingredient for extra dry, irritated skin. It is helping a lot with my dry skin in New Mexico. LOVE IT.

Arm & Hammer Baking Soda/ Peroxide Toothpaste- Leaves your mouth fresh and is easy on the gums. I use the one without tartar control.

Brummel and Brown Strawberry Spread- Tastes better than cream cheese. Oh, yes it does. And it's yogurt! I found mine at Wal-mart.

Swiffer dusters with lavender scent- Ahhh, clean.



Visit Shannon this week for more great tips!

At least we're good tippers.

If I could remember every conversation Hubs and I have had with waitresses and waiters over the years, I would have enough material to fill this blog for a month.

Aren't you glad my memory isn't what it used to be?

Seriously, over the years we have had some pretty, um, weird discussions with the folks who bring us food. It usually starts off with an odd comment from Hubs, then I try to explain that he is in fact weird and the back and forth banter ensues.

Kind of like Good Customer, Bad Customer.

Most of the time, the waitress goes along with us. In fact, she usually adds to the drama and makes us laugh. Other times, I am sure she went straight back to the kitchen and asked the chef to add a lil somethin' special to our dish.


Enough with the intro. Here's what happened yesterday at Chili's. (How's that for a segue?)

Our family hates germs. Specifically germs from people's hands. And more specifically germs from people's hands after the Force Yourself To Talk To Your Neighbor meet and greet at church. When we go out to eat after the service, my family sits down and waits for me to reach in my purse for the Bath And Body hand foam.

The Bath and Body hand foam is precious to me. It is the Starbucks of hand sanitizer. They once threatened to discontinue it and I nearly bought out the store. I left a few on the shelf for the next customer. I couldn't deal with the guilt of the next germ freak mom walking in and finding an empty shelf.

So, back to our neurosis.


Hubs has a system when we go out. He excuses himself, washes his hands, then returns for the coveted Bath and Body Hand Foam. (My current supply is cucumber melon.)

My daughter and I always tease him about his Howard Hughes potential (OKAY, she doesn't know who that is) and yesterday was no different.


As we waited for our waitress, I said, "You know, I am really your enabler. If I didn't provide the hand sanitizer, you would not be able to do this every time. Really, I am part of the problem."


"Yes, you are," Hubs said in sarcasm, " we are codependent."

"I know. I depend on your dependence," I said," it's sad, really."

You are probably wondering what our daughter is thinking at this point. I'll tell you. She thinks this is completely normal for her parents.


The waitress walked up, pen and pad in hand, and asked for our drink order.

"We're codependent," Hubs told her.

"Okaaaay," she said cautiously.

"He depends on me and I depend on that," I began to explain.

The waitress looked at me and said,"I see you have a ring on your finger. Does that have something to do with it?"

"No, it's much deeper than that," I answered.

"And darker," Hubs offered.


"I like that. I like dark," our waitress said with a giggle.

Then she took Hubs' order for a Coke, looked at both of us and said,"Should I bring two straws?"


Edited to add: For the hand foam that will destroy those icky bacteria and leave nothing but a fresh, clean scent of cucumber melon, go here.

You will wonder how you ever survived without it!

Observations From My Remote

It has been raining here for days. And it's cold. Yesterday we stayed in the house the entire time and my mind began to wander...

1. Why do the people in scary movies never have Brinks or ADT?

Don't they know that there is a guy in a blue oxford shirt sitting in an office that looks like a spaceship, just waiting to call the police for them?

2. Why is it that the Christmas trees in movies never lose any needles? They bring them in the house, drag them across the floor and decorate them in like 15 minutes. You never see the mom vacuuming the needles or better yet, picking one out of her foot.

And they're always soooo happy. And drinking hot cocoa. And no one has to look for hooks to hang the ornaments. Then some kid is off to bed before Santa arrives.

Who decorates their tree on Christmas Eve?

3. Why do they never tear the wrapping paper on gifts in Soap Operas? They just take the lid off and that's it. (I know the technical answer- the sound of ripping paper is not pleasant for audio, but this is just stupid.)

People don't do that in real life. And we know that Soap Operas are just like real life.

Proof- Marlena.

4. Why don't people ever sit down on TV? They spend all of that money on decorating the set with a sofa and chairs and no one ever sits down to talk. Folks are just standing around for a whole hour and no one offers anyone a seat.

Except for Friends.

5. Not counting Forrest Gump, how many times have you ever seen a movie or TV character tie his shoes?

Okay, now count Forrest Gump.

6. People eat a lot of salad on TV.

And potatoes. You always hear, "Will you please pass the potatoes?"

You never hear, "Will you please pass the collard greens?"

7. People in movies have noisy trash cans. The aluminum kind. Not Rubbermaid like the rest of us. And I never found a cat around my trash can. Maybe they are attracted to aluminum.

8. In the movies, some woman is always falsely alarmed by a cat hanging around an aluminum trash can. She thinks someone is out there and then she picks up Fluffy to give her a bowl of milk. Within seconds the bad guy shows up and there is no one to help.

If only she had Brinks.

Eric Carle nailed it.

The caterpillar raisin' has gotten a bit out of hand.

One of them has gone and gotten grouchy and decided not to share with the triplets. I fed them fresh leaves (yes, my life is just brimming with excitement) and the big guy reared up at a little guy. His little mouth was too small for me to hear and, um, well, caterpillars don't talk, but I can bet he was being sassy.

Hey, buddy. I can put you on the porch for the crows. Yes, I can.

When I picked up my daughter from school this afternoon, she was walking down the hall with her backpack, chatting away with some friends and holding a pill bottle.

It seems a very sweet boy found two caterpillars at his house, plopped them in an old Wal-mart pharmacy pill bottle, added a few sprigs of grass and VOILA!

Gift to my daughter.

Note to class: She is not Marlin Perkins.

Of course, she was thrilled to pieces.

Two kids in the class wanted to take them home with them, and this placed my daughter in an awkward position. She wanted to make them smile but we aren't re-gifters. Besides the sweetness of the gift, the gifter actually caught the gifts, so I'd say it's pretty special.

So now we have six caterpillars. Count them. Six. And an old pill bottle to return.

I'm so glad she doesn't like snakes!

Left Behind

Your comments about Maggie had me rolling! Y'all are hilarious. If I didn't know any better, I'd think that even a few of you dog people have grown to love our Miss Congeniality.


You'll be happy to know that as I write this, Maggie is resting peacefully on the rug completely stress and odor free. Truthfully, she is probably scheming about which spot on the rug she will use for her next hair ball deposit.


With all of the excitement about grooming cats, I forgot to share our other news. We are raising caterpillars again.


Critters seem to love us. Or they know when they see a couple of suckers.


We think these caterpillars are moth caterpillars and that they'll become a type of tiger moth. For now, they are teenage mutant ninja insects eating us out of house and home.


My word. They can eat.


We started out with just one, then another, then three more. The triplets stayed, along with the first guy. Number two ended up in the yard after we decided he wasn't eating the leaves we provided.


The Number Two Guy AKA Hamster was rescued from the playground. A few of the boys found him and immediately brought him to my daughter. It hasn't taken long for the kids at my daughter's new school to realize she is the bug expert.

The big excitement happened in the middle of the night last night. Two of the triplets had molted and turned black (like a Woolly Bear.) AND THEY LEFT THEIR TAILS.

Yes. They did.

I wish I could do that. Morph into a new shape, get a great tan and leave my tail. Call Jenny. I have a new idea...

An update of sorts

Yeah, about today.



We lived.

May I remind you of the severity of the situation?

Yes, it could be considered a health hazard to bathe a cat.

Or just plain stupid.

Edited to add: This is an old photo of a previous traumatic experience (for me, she was fine.)I wanted a photo of today but I was afraid to turn my back long enough to get the camera.

At which point I've just lost my mind.

So, I decided I should take a break from all the Political Introspection Bloggity Boredom and just do something completely irrational.

Today, Maggie gets a bath.

I've given my login information to a friend in case of emergencies, so if this is the last time you hear from me, please know I heart you all.

Fall Into Flavor: Mighty Good Cornbread

Linda is hosting Fall Into Flavor, a wonderful way for us to share our favorite comfort foods of the season.

When cold weather rolls in, I often head to the stove to make chili. One thing that always goes well with chili is cornbread.

This is my favorite cornbread recipe. I wish I could take credit for it, but it can be found in many Southern cookbooks. It is so easy and moist! YUM! And it tastes great crumbled in your favorite chili.



Mighty Good Cornbread

1 cup self-rising corn meal
2 eggs, slightly beaten
1/2 cup veg. oil
1 8 oz. can cream style corn (I like Green Giant)
1 cup regular sour cream (do not use low fat or light)

Preheat oven to 425. Mix corn meal, eggs, oil and corn until well blended. Fold in sour cream until just mixed. Pour into greased, preheated iron skillet or in round baking pan. Bake 30 minutes or until golden brown.

Future Headline: Changed

This great post at Roxanne's (love the last line) inspired me to write the following. I began to think about what exactly we all are clothed in and if anyone really notices.

Imagine the fictitious article below appearing in the next issue of your favorite national newspaper. Then, consider the possibilities if it were indeed news.


Changed

The leading candidate was seen today, campaigning in one of the swing states, shaking hands and kissing babies.

Leading by a slim margin, this politician appears to be taking drastic measures.

He has turned down all campaign contributions and has given most of his campaign fund away to Disaster Relief and Food Bank Ministries.

He has dismissed all campaign advisers.

His boldest move yet? When asked a question, he told the truth.

Washington is buzzing with the news of a brand new kind of campaign. No one knew that truth mattered, yet every politician swears by it.

But this congressman swears by real truth. The Truth.

Promising to be the example for real change, the leading candidate stood behind a small podium Sunday night in church where he called a press conference.

Before reporters and cameras, he gave his testimony of how Jesus has changed his life, of how God has shown him His Purpose, and how he is not afraid to share his testimony.

Even if it means losing the election.

When posed the question,"Why now?" the candidate answered, "It's about time. Don't you think?"

Media and lobbyists across the nation are already on the bashing bandwagon claiming the overused, not-in-the-Constitution "separation of church and state." Even some Christian groups say that there is no room for God in the White House.

But when asked who they cried out to on 9-11, most of them said, "God."

The candidate, who has now withdrawn completely from his party's affiliation and from any other affiliation was asked if he is now an Independent.

He replied,"No. I'm a dependent. In fact, I always have been. The only difference is that now I depend on God instead of polls, lobbyists and CNN."

During the press conference, a well-dressed reporter raised her hand and asked,"There is something different about you, congressman. Is it your wardrobe? I have to ask, who are you wearing?"

"That would be a robe of righteousness, His righteousness, madam. It was given to me for a price; no special interest group could finance this," the congressman answered, "and thanks for noticing."

The congressman can be seen in church this Sunday, praising the Lord and asking for guidance. The liberal media and doubting Thomases are invited to join him.

Remember, the above article is complete fiction.
What if it were true? What would you think?

Talk to the hand, 'cause the lapel pin ain't listenin.'

Y'all know I love politics. I love elections, campaign tactics, and the blessed democratic process.

Rumor has it that I have a box filled with tiny chads tucked away under my bed.

Ahem.

But I do not like, I loathe, OKAY, I hate debates.

There. I said it.

I'm sitting here right now listening to the Vice Presidential debate because I do love me some politics. Enough to suffer through the blah, blah, blah of debate.

And I do mean blah.

While listening to the dullness of it all, I've figured out that it is not the debate I dislike.

It's the format.

What I'd love to see is two candidates debate like normal people. You know, like you "debated" that kid on the playground or that girl in high school who was on the cheerleader squad.

THAT would be entertaining.

And it would go something like this.

"Your running mate is a liar."

"Nuh-uhhh!"

"Yes, huh! Liar-liar. Pants on fire."

"I know you are, but what am I?"

"I can run the country better than you!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yes-huh!"

"I dare you to make me come over there!"

"I double dare you. I double dog dare you."

"I would come over there, but this podium is in the way."

"Then move the podium, big mouth!"

"I can move this podium if I wanted to, but I don't want to."

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yes-huh!"

Then somebody says something about somebody's mama and they go to commercial.

Now that's more exciting than any hanging chad.

Call me Posh.

The other night, we were at Red Lobster waiting on my freshly frozen flounder fillets (how's that for alliteration?) and snacking on some garlic cheese biscuits.

Somehow, oddly enough for us, we wandered down a path of weird conversation. Most of the time we are talking the DOW and Global Warming and all that jazz.

Yeah, right.

So, anyway.

We started talking about getting old. I said that only mean people live a long time. Mean and crazy people. Meanness keeps the heart pumping and the blood flowing. So, really, the people who are living to 100 are probably cranky as well as old.

Just a theory.

And really, when it comes time to plan the party for 101, Ole Mrs. Crank's relatives are sitting around, rolling their eyes and saying, "Well, we've gotta plan another party. What are we gonna do this year?"

"I dunno. We'd better get her cake from Publix because she did not like that cake from Wal-mart last year. She said it was too sweet and would run up her blood sugar."

Then everyone pitches in for a donation to the church because, what do you buy a woman who has one foot in the grave and the other in the bingo parlor?

At this point we are on our salads.

Hubs piped up and said that youth is wasted on the young. Then he turned to our daughter and said,"I would bet that most people, no matter how long they lived, wished they had more time or wished they had done something different."

"I disagree," I said while munching stale croutons, "I think that most people are happy with their lives."

"So," I prodded, "what would you do differently?"

He thought for a moment and said,"I would have practiced my sports more."

(Huh?)

My husband is not into sports. He is athletic, but does not watch sports on TV, does not keep up with pro teams, and doesn't really take an interest in any sport except for soccer.

He went on to say that he would have practiced his soccer more just to be better. I knew what he meant but I couldn't help myself from saying the following.

"So, do you think you would have been David Beckham?" I said jokingly.

"Maybe."

"Well, I'm sorry you're not sitting across from Victoria Beckham right now."

"Like I said, I should have practiced my soccer more..." he said with a wink.

Touche'