Change Of Heart

Yep. This girl right here has changed me. How you ask? I now actually look forward to Hot Yoga. 

What!?

That's right. You heard me. I used to be like this. 

Now, I'm like this. 

What's the change? I'm not entirely sure. People have told me about the magical "sixth time." They get real quiet when they mention it. Like it's a secret. Or like magic is supposed to be discussed in whispers, which it is.

Maybe it's the fact I turned 40 this year.

Maybe it's the simple truth that I can no longer do the things I normally could just do without first stretching a lot. 

Maybe it's the fact that an eight dollar foam roller was the best Christmas present I received this year. Thanks Hugh!

All I know is a year ago I wrote this post about the dangers of this pastime. Here I am a year later asking Lia when the next class is. 

Yep. That about sums it up.

Pass Me The Rock

A-Ro has started playing basketball this winter. Here she is demonstrating some of her mad dribbling skills. 

I must say we have totally lucked out with coaches. Libby Kelly is phenomenal. Her enthusiasm is contagious. I know she is a physician, but I totally think she has missed out on her true calling. (I think she knows it, too.) 

We took the kids to a Wake Women's Basketball Game a few weeks ago. Anna Rose asked for a pen and paper. She wanted to take notes to share with her team! Here they are.

Translation:

Get the rebounds

Put your hands up

Fast passes

Use both hands

Bring water

Move your feet

Reward your team

Fast goals

Put your hands up

Translation:

Don't get the ball when out of bounds

Get close to the goal

Cheer for your team

Talk to your team

Always dribble the ball

Love the ball

Have fun

Play hard

Steal the ball

No touching other team

Cheer for your team

Words to live by...

A-Ro missed the first game and the only jersey they had left was a Youth Medium.

Today, while I was walking into the gym I prayed that she would score. I didn't believe at all it would happen. She hasn't gotten close to even shooting. "I'm a passer dad," is the way she explains it. Which is true. She's a pass first, shoot second kind of player. She just hasn't gotten to the second part yet. But late in the second quarter, she got the ball along the baseline about six feet from the net. I don't know what exactly went through her mind, but there was no one to pass to. And so she went for it. SWISH. Nothing but net. The crowd went crazy! Seriously, everybody, not just me. 

She was a bit embarrassed by my enthusiasm. 

But here she is after the game with her BFFTLE, Olivia. 

(Best Friends For Totally Like Ever).

The Farm Life

I don't know if this is true for all dads, but it's true for this dad. Life seems to bring it's own kind of pressures.

These pressures come from unexpected places. Like when Lia, as she walks out the door to go to work, asks me to remember to bring home the cookie sheets that were left at the office after our staff Christmas party. It's the memory pressure, the camel breaking straws - the ones that are not so difficult when considered on their own merits. The challenge comes from the fact that they are add-ons. I already had a list of ten things to remember, and now I have to remember this. How in the world am I going to remember cookie sheets?

There's another kind of pressure: these usually come in announcement form. That's why I call them "The Announcement." Lia goes "the dishwasher is clean," meaning can you put the dishes away? Or Lia proclaims "the garage door won't stay down," which means that it better be down when I get home. Well, actually it means, "Ned will you stop 'fixing' the garage door and hire a real man to do it." Something like that. Those pressures get me, too. The out of the mainstream of life ones that need to be dealt with - like the fence that looks like it might fall down this year. It might fall down if I don't do anything about it. Then again, it might stay up another six months. I'd rather not real with it. I've got other things to think about, thank you. Crash! Guess those other things can wait.

Finally, there is what I refer to as "The Dripping Faucet" (which, when dripping is a pressure all it's own). My daughter has mastered this technique. Right now, she wants a farm. That's right, a house attached to a barn with animals. She has talked about it for weeks. It all started when we visited a few this fall. 

Ginger Top Farm, owned by our friends the Halls.

  Nomad Farm, owned by our friends the Nicholsons. 

Then, by accident, I took our family to visit Rob Mangum's pottery studio/estate just for fun. 

After thirty years, he's selling it. I believe it could be turned into an incredible retreat center. If you are interested in getting this idea off the ground, contact me. But Anna Rose has another idea for it. She wants to own it. 

Can you picture us here?

In her mind, it's been decided. She's been working on scale drawings, thinking through the necessary renovations, researching what kinds of goats we should get. It's all very fun. And incessant. The dripping faucet. The worst part is that she knows the technique works. Three years of asking for a dog - she get's Summer. 

Six months of asking for a turtle - she gets Squirt. And there is no one to blame for her boldness but me. 

I cave to pressure. I remember the cookie sheets (I forget my favorite hat, but I remember the cookie sheets). I fix the garage door. No handyman needed (yet). But so far, no farm. I'm standing firm on this one. Although I haven't stopped her from making plans for the chicken coop she wants me to install in our backyard. 

Oh boy. 

Here's to 2015. The year of no pressure...seriously. None. 

Anybody interested in living in Sherwood Forest? I know a house that might go on the market soon...