Go Comets!

The first soccer game of the season went down last night. Sam and Ben and I had to shuffle to baseball practice on the other side of town, so all I have is the second-hand play-by-play. But the final score was 4 to 1, a loss for the Comets (I still like Atomic Flounders, but it seems E and I are the only ones partial to that team name!). This is the fifth season the girls have spent together. I can't believe how much they've grown since Cubs!






And I can't believe how snarky they've become, either. Joel told me that during a time-out, he asked the girls why the other team was able to score goals on them. One of the girls shouted out, "Because we SUCK!" Not exactly (they WERE playing against a team of farm kids who may or may not have been in the 9 to 10 age group).





This is probably the last year Joel will be coaching "his girls". They'll be moving up to the competitive league soon. It's bittersweet. He enjoys coaching so much, but he insists he knows too little about soccer to actually do the girls any good. We both know, though, that the depth of his soccer knowledge doesn't really matter. I'm pretty sure all of the girls will remember Coach Joel for the rest of their lives. Good role models tend to stick with you in your memories.





The Easter Bunny spent the morning at Michael's with a hot little 30% off everything coupon in her hand. The Easter Bunny is not a very fun Easter Bunny, in a traditional sense. The LeMar kids get one chocolate bunny each, but the rest of their basket will be filled with art supplies. The Easter Bunny pilfered the Crayola aisle, of course, but also snagged some fun paintbrushes, sketch books, five big bottles of glitter-infused tempera paint, and naked wooden picture frames. Stickers, too, of course. And she has a few other things up her sleeve for Sunday morning, including mixing cement and creating some garden stones for the backyard.

I also stopped in to Jo-Ann. Fifty-percent off all notions, and this girl uses lots of notions. I prefer glass-head pins, and for three little reasons (Sam, Ben, and Elizabeth), they seem to disappear. Poof. Just like that. So I needed more of those. And I treated myself to this while I was at it:

Those Stampington people. Crazy creative. I'm treating myself to a good read after class tonight. And Papa Murphy's (it's my "free time", these next 12 hours, and although I don't go as hog wild as some, I do allow a little craziness with the food).

Ben and I raked through the garden this afternoon. Now, the rake is about five times as large as my little fella, but he wanted to help Mom, so I let him try. He went back to his spade, though, and worked diligently to move scoops of dirt from one side of the yard to the other. My hyacinths and vinca are blooming. And we even dug up a few earthworms. Tiny ones, but fascinating nonetheless. All of my piles of garden rubbish are built up around the plantings right now, and I'm hoping that Grandpa Jerry owns a woodchipper that he wouldn't mind lending to an in-law in need. I could seriously run a mulch manufacturing outfit from my backyard, and that's only counting the branches dropped from my neighbor's rather bountiful (and quite dying) walnut trees.

Costco has a big ugly Eco-Composter on sale next week, and I might actually spring for it if I can find a place to conceal it (Jodie would be so proud of me!). The Habitat For Humanity Re-Store also carries Earth Machine composters, which aren't quite as ugly and whose purchase benefits more than my Costco account. Here in West Des Moines, yard waste must be placed in bio-degradable bags. You buy them in bundles of five at the supermarkets. If they aren't Metro Waste Authority bags, then you have to buy Compost It! stickers for the store brand bags. Gail calls them "extortion stickers". I couldn't agree more.

This summer, though, West Des Moines actually has a new program: buy a container for $100 and a season pass for $100 more, and you can just forgo the bags and stickers.

What. A deal.

Although I totally understand the reasoning behind keeping yard waste separate from recyclables and regular trash, it's almost too much to keep up with all the rules. Why not chuck it all into a big black bug-looking contraption and make my own dirt? Could be fun, right?

Off to order my sinful pizza and then off to be beaten into shape by the "Fitness Nazi". She's this spunky little sadist in charge of Friday Fitness Kickboxing. She looks so sweet and charming. Until she starts barking orders. When she's in charge, I nearly pass out by the end of class. But you know what? I rather like that feeling. Once I make it home and reflect on it while soaking in a bath hot enough to numb my poor body into a muscle coma, that is.

I complain, but it's all in jest. I'm loving this. Next Saturday is our Five-Week Assessment. I already know I can perform in the sit-ups. Now it's just a matter of running that mile, running it the entire distance, and shutting out the thought that I have to walk somewhere along the route or I will surely die. That's the hardest thing for me, and I'm sort of excited to see if I can actually make it happen when it counts.

I just wish I could exchange the run for a 30-mile bike ride. Even 100 miles, I hate running so much. But apparently they don't allow exchanges.

Dang it.