I suppose I was hootin’ (yes, 2nd pun intended) and hollerin’ too energetically for the Owls because JAMP turned to me and said, “Mommy! Quit cheering and clapping! You are embarrassing me!” I imagine it’s only a matter of time before he wants me to drop him off for school a block away so no one will see me.

Being the twelve time recipient of “Mother of the Year,” which is odd since he’s only four, I’m proud to say I did not tell him he embarrassed me when one night this week, in front of my darling Mr. Gravity, he asked “Mommy, why are your boobies down there?”

“Down where?” I responded. He pointed to my tummy and said “Down there!” I smiled and asked “Where should they be, son?” He pointed just below his clavicle and said “Up here, like mine.” While I was crushed when faced with the harsh reality of gravity taking its toll (not to be confused with Mr. Gravity – he doesn’t make me pay a toll), I opted to keep my dismay to myself. Along with the response that was at the tip of my tongue… “YOU DID THIS TO ME, YOUNG MAN!!!”

I just got this a few minutes ago. Those tiny feet belong to my grandson, Brady.

I’m surprised at how this photograph stopped me in my tracks and at how easily I cried as I looked at it.

Right now, those feet can’t bear any weight. Brady depends on the love & care of the people around him to get him where he needs to go.

But before I’m ready, those feet will be walking, then running, then off to kindergarten, and out the door to play with friends.

They’ll carry him to places he’s curious about, but has no business going, and they’ll push him up a tree, and when he falls down, with blood painting his shin, they’ll get him to his Mom, who will make it all better with nothing more than a Band-Aid and a kiss.

As he grows, his feet will sometimes be dirty, and his Dad will remind him to wipe them when he comes in the front door. He won’t listen, and muddy boy tracks will leave a trail all across nice floors. He won’t understand why he gets in trouble, and his Mom won’t understand how such small feet can get so filthy.

Unfortunately, I’m betting his feet will learn to stomp, and when, just like his MeeMaw,  his temper gets the best of him, they’ll be especially heavy.

One day too soon, he’ll meet a girl that makes him feel ten feet tall, and his feet will carry him to her door, walking taller than he ever knew he could.

I think of all the places his feet will take him, and I feel happy and sad all at once. If I can kiss them and pray a blessing over them before he’s big enough to walk – I will ask God that his feet never take him into some place they can’t get him out of; that they never march in combat boots; that they never run from doing what’s right; and that, should he find himself in a dark place that feels scary and lonely and somehow inescapable, that his feet will carry him back into the arms of someone who loves him well.

I wonder where he’ll walk.

That’s why I did this. Ryland wanted me to post it here. That’s why I’m doing this.

What you should ask yourself is: If I will do THIS to win a Tempur-Pedic, what in the name of poor taste would I do to win something even bigger – like a car?

Or a pony.

Several months ago, in a fit of self-loathing and feeling like I had “shown my ass,” for the lack of a lady like term, I deleted this most amazing tribute video that Sher, the mother of all non-Ermas made about yours truly. No, that is not a comment about her age – rather her loving, nurturing nature. She is the mother hen of all the non-Ermas everywhere. Wait, she is a MeeMaw now, maybe it is about her age. Anyway, I deleted it. And of course, within minutes, maybe even seconds, I regretted it. Well, imagine my surprise when after spending three hours of my life I’ll never get back trying to upload the videos about KK’s new ride, I found it!! Tucked away for safe keeping in the Media Library, there it was… the most loving thing anyone has ever given me. Not counting cash or jewelry.

Thank you, MeeMaw. I feel wrapped in your love (or maybe it’s this bathrobe I’m wearing) all over again.

So, I pretty much had the longest day of my life today. Just as I was shutting down my office computer at 7:30pm, I got a call from our fairy Godmother. I say “our” because I share her with Sher. I told her I was damn near dead from being so tired. And right on cue, just like always, she asked if I wanted to come over for dinner. Now, I wasn’t really in it for the dinner, but the love, fun, and let’s face it… gossip. She, JoJo and I were in the middle of an important discussion about hair color and JoJo’s cute new jeans when the biggest, baddest, most fabulously tricked-out Daddilac Escalade rolled up. This thing had bells and whistles, or should I say horns and seizure-inducing lights I had never seen in my whole life! Well, except for when I watch Cops. My favorite part was the loud speaker that we plan to use to taunt joggers at Memorial Park as we drive around. No, don’t worry, the irony is not lost on me. CT Customs boss man Todd and his darling wife Amy hooked her up, but good. For a glimpse at the bling on this thing, see the photos below. I don’t even know what a Strutt grill is, but I know know I should! Watch the videos for a giggle, but take some Dramamine… I’m still learning how to use the iPhone 4 video.

Based on this photo, and being an expert at the subject, I’m going with the dentist. He is at the dentist having his Mr. Ed caps redone.

I must. I must. I must increase my bust.

There have only been two who have been somewhat interesting to me, and my friend says it’s in my best interest to engage with them. I don’t know why. Maybe my friend thinks if I don’t hear the word “engage” every 7 days or so, I’ll have a seizure. In any case, I’m mulling it over.

Mulling. Like the spicey spices you do the do to at Christmas AND the thinking it over thinking you do when you’re an overthinker.

But what if I do talk to them and they talk back to me? What if they say, “Hey, let’s you and I grab a cup of joe and talk about current events?” What will I do? The only thing I know about current events is that I should have gotten an easy A in that class my senior year of high school, but I was too busy perfecting the art of tying the ribbon I wore around the neck of all my button down shirts into a perfect Colonel Sanders bow.

Fashion was my life.

I don’t know what to do. I know I need to do something to get my schwagger back, but talking and drinking coffee seem extreme to me. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe a man and a woman should meet and fall in love the way God intended… in a bar right before last call.

And then they should get married. Preferably before the hangover wears off.

Lord help me, I do love that new husband smell.