Sad day for motorsports

I was all set to chronicle our adventures in apple picking in 35 mph winds and marathon applesauce making session tonight, but my heart and mind aren't in it. 

Like many Sundays, we filled it watching sports - football, baseball, and of course, racing. 

I was happy to hear that 2011 Indy 500 winner Dan Wheldon was racing today at Las Vegas and I was pulling for him. He didn't have a full-time ride this year, and I think it was a shame. The only benefit from an idle season was that he hopped into the broadcast booth and showed his enthusiasm and his personality for Versus. 

The sport is inherently dangerous, and the perfect storm happened today: too many cars riding too close going too fast. One mistake led to 15 cars being collected in a mess of twisted metal, fire and billowing smoke. 

Hubby and I sat on the couch transfixed. It was hard to pick out which car was Wheldon's until it had already been covered with a yellow sheet, which broadcasters blamed on trying to keep the pieces together. It also made it harder to see that the car was flat; the part of the car normally behind the driver's head was gone.

As time ticked away on the red flag, I had a sinking feeling that word from the hospital would not be good. If he had been OK, it would have been a priority to get word back to everyone at the track.

Instead, the word was not good. 

As a mother and someone who has lost a loved one, I think I feel things differently now. I hugged my children extra tight tonight, knowing that Wheldon leaves behind two little boys who will never get another good night hug from their daddy.

Heartbreaking.

Rest in peace, Dan. 

Crazy sports weekend

Anyone who knows me knows I try to do everything. I hate to say no. It applies to every aspect of my life, although now that I have two monkeys in tow, I do recognize their limits. But not my own.

ND Band

In June, we got information on how to apply for Notre Dame football tickets. (Yay alumni status!) We picked Air Force, a game that we thought wouldn't be 95 degrees or 35 and snowing, and one that we could get up to four tickets for (ie not a premium game. USC, for example, we could only get two). Lucky for us we got them, and asked another couple to join us.

Fast forward a few weeks from getting the tickets and planning the day, another friend texts me that she won the chance to buy four Colts tickets at work. We were the first people she thought of to join them. Flattering, but once I realized it was the day after our ND game, I got a little flustered. With one football game already a definite and me hoping to go to the Colts-Steelers game (alas, I did not) AND our trip to Florida at the end of the month, I didn't think our checkbook would speak to us if we did everything, never mind how we would feel after all the running.

But they asked us first. And Hubby can't turn down football tickets. I'm pretty sure it's in his DNA. And I would have actually had to say "NO." Huh-uh.

Touchdown Jesus!

But what to do with the monkeys? One quick call to Granny, who hadn't seen them in a while and was itching for some time with them, and we had a plan to meet halfway on Friday after school and do a kid-swap. That meant in addition to two football games, we also had a date night that didn't involve finding a babysitter. We went for a bike ride (which was WAY more fun before he started doing triathlons) and then went out for a late(r) dinner at the "new" Japanese steak house in town. We came home and watched baseball on DVR.

The Notre Dame game was something, especially since they shellacked Air Force (didn't see that one coming). I had fun and so did our friends, so I see doing it again next year. But it was a loooong day. After the game, our friend called her mom - who was watching their kids - to let her know we were grabbing a bite to eat before heading home.

But you ate before the game, her mom said.

"Mom, that was eight hours ago..."


We finally got home and should have gone right to bed since we needed to be up early to head to Indy, but we didn't. Shocker.

See this guy? Not
what you'd call a happy
camper.

The Colts game was fun, except for that whole "they can't win without Peyton Manning" thing. Luckily there was good people watching. We were sitting behind two women who were dressed like they did something unspeakable for a living. Tank tops, bras showing (when did THAT become acceptable?! I so don't get it) and leggings that were probably painted on. And their assets were anything BUT real. They had no idea what happens in a football game, so they kept turning around to ask Craig questions. A guy a few rows down pretended to take a picture of his son, but was really getting a picture of them. Classy.

A few seats down was Mike Ditka. Or his twin. I kid you not. If I had a little more guts, I would have sneakily taken a picture with my phone, because I know no one will believe me. He had the mustache, the sunglasses, the slicked back hair, everything. Who knew Ditka was a closet Colts fan?

We collected very hyper and overly tired children from Granny and Grandpa's house, and after another long drive home, we watched baseball on DVR. Another late night.

I loved it and I'm sure we'll do it again. Just hopefully not both games in one weekend. I'm looking forward to a hot date with my pillow tonight.

...After we watch baseball.

The Brickyard 400

I did something Sunday I never thought I would do.

I went to a NASCAR race without Hubby. Or his grandfather.

I still remember the first time I sat down to watch a race on TV with Hubby. It was the summer before our junior year of college and I was asking a lot of questions (as I tend to do) to try to understand what it was about racing that held his attention. I just thought it was a bunch of guys turning left forever.

Hubby has attended every Indianapolis 500 since he turned 13 and until now had only missed the inaugural Brickyard 400. His grandfather has been attending the 500 since the 1960s, and Hubby was the only one of his family who really got into racing, so has been at his side for years.

The following year I got to go to my first 500. I was hooked. There's something about being at the track, watching the cars whiz by at amazing speed and with the kind of high-pitched whine that the unruliest toddler can't rival. Helio Castronevez won that year, and famously climbed the fence.

Grandpa had enough clout to get a few more tickets so I could eventually go to the Brickyard as well. Hubby's favorite driver, Tony Stewart, won his first that year. The cars are so much brighter in person and if you close your eyes, you can feel your ribs vibrating when the cars drive past.

Every year, we get up early and head to breakfast. We talk about who's on the pole, who didn't qualify and I end up picking Grandpa's brain about the history of the race. The last few years, my brother-in-law has joined us as well.

I've frozen to death at the 500 and melted in the failed-tire-fiasco that was the 2008 Brickyard, when tires were blowing out left and right and they had to bring in the cars every 5 laps for new ones. I've seen 4 races pregnant, and wondered why I thought sitting in Indiana's 90-degree July heat was a good idea. I was keeping hydrated, but had to pee about every 10 laps. I saw Danica Patrick nearly become the first woman to win at Indy, when 250,000+ people were on their feet, cheering for a chance at history.

And the whole time, I had Hubby and Grandpa with me. I never met my grandfather, so he's as special to me as if he were a blood relative. But this year, after a terribly slow and painful walk into the track in May, Grandpa admitted his knees weren't up for the Brickyard this year. He's gonna talk to his doctor and see what he needs to do to be in top shape by the next 500. Can't let that nearly 50-year attendance streak die so easily.

Hubby stayed home with a mystery illness that we now know is an ulcer. Like HOME home. I drove to Indy without him. I couldn't believe that I was doing all the things we normally do on race day, just me and my brother-in-law. I was even more impressed that I remembered the back way into the neighborhood where we park, without needing my brother-in-law's GPS or the over-the-phone walk-through with a map in front of me that Hubby insisted on the night before. I couldn't tell you road names, but I knew exactly where I was going.

Hubby's cousin and her boyfriend used two of the tickets too. The four of us had fun, and maybe this was foreshadowing what is to come - the younger generation taking over. We probably won't wait until 13 before we take Nathaniel to his first race, if we have the opportunity. And I was kinda "in charge." I still feel like a kid a lot of the time, especially with family (never mind the fact that next month I'm turning th... thhh... well I can't say it, but that number after 29).

I texted Hubby throughout the race, knowing it pained him to be missing it, but I couldn't NOT turn to him when something happened. I had to have him to talk to.

And I hope I don't ever have to do that all again alone.

Top Ten - Indy 500 edition

Memorial Day weekend is my favorite and yet one of the most exhausting of the summer. We end up running around, sweating, eating and drinking a lot, and come home after 4 days more tired than when I left.

But in all that mess, Hubby and I get to go to "The greatest spectacle in all of racing." And now that we have two little race car lovers-in-training, we get to take Nathaniel to the track for the last day of practice (Carb Day) and for the Indy Lights race. So that means TWO days at the track, with lots of family time sandwiched in between.

Top Ten Things I Learned Over Memorial Day Weekend

10.) If I ever want a jacket on a road trip, I must put it in the car MYSELF. Despite the fact that a jacket was ON TOP of the pile of bags to be put in the car, SOMEONE still missed it.

9.) It is possible to forget more things than you pack.

8.)  If you don't actually have to catch anything to be good at fishing, I. Am. Awesome.

7.) When you only have one long-sleeved anything, you will drop burger juice on the front of it within 5 seconds. Boobstain fail.

6.) My 4-year-old knows who Danica Patrick is, what number her car is and what color too. But really, I think it has nothing to do with the Go Daddy commercials and everything to do with the fact he thinks Patrick from Spongebob is driving it. Let's hope that innocence lasts a long time...

5.) Elizabeth loves Tony Konan and she felt the need to write it on a bathroom stall. She also needs to learn to spell.

4.) The crowd at Carb Day is in training to be Parrotheads. The only time I have seen more drunk people in one place at one time was at a Jimmy Buffett concert. And that was when a woman got stuck trying to go through a turnstile WITH Hubby. Ah, good times...

3.) I am probably the only one of my friends (of a similar age) who can sing "Back Home Again in Indiana." I am that cool. And I <3 Jim Nabors.

2.) Pit stop competitions are really cool.

1.) There's a reason they call them "rookie mistakes." Sorry, JR.

Church league softball fail

I was all ready to come home and write about Hubby's first experience playing church league softball.

Yes, I said Church. League. Softball. And not just a bunch of old dudes moseying around the bases. This is hard-core stuff. And lucky for him, he only has to be a "member" of the church. I couldn't even tell you what denomination we are supposed to be. 

But sshhh, don't tell.


You see, I thought a) it was too cold to watch the game and b) that it was early enough Hubby would be home before the monkeys went to bed, so not worth it, right? Well it was cold, and it was an hour later than we thought, so instead of taking them home after a worthwhile trip to the library (ie no books with typos), I grabbed some warm clothes on my way past the house and went on down to where Hubby works to meet him for dinner before the game.

Clearly I was not in my right mind. I didn't even get frozen custard out of the deal. Boo.

I should have learned from my cold experience at the preschool picnic this morning and said "No." Enjoyed our new library books, mac n cheese for dinner and maybe even some movie snuggle time. But they miss Daddy.

I am a sucker.

I threatened that if they didn't listen, we would go home. Okay, Mommy, we got it, they told me. Bah.

I gave them quite a few warnings before the game even started. I was pretty much on my last nerve when Leah tumbled off the front of the bleachers. She was fine, swore she would sit, but five minutes later was jumping, crawling, giggling... just being two. When she asked to go to the bathroom in the bottom of the first, I sighed, but took her, because she's been a trooper about staying dry and has an odd affinity for pooing in public places.

Long story short, that trip was uneventful, but the next five minutes sitting in the stands was. Mommy was DONE. I told them we were leaving, and both of them howled the long, five minute walk to the van. Hubby said he could hear them (mostly Nathaniel) all the way to the car. I got to hear him halfway home too, until he passed out.



So I have no idea if there were any brawls on the mound, or other un-Christian-like behavior, like Tim Wilson says...

Bummer. Maybe next time.

Revenge of the soccer mom

I am not ready for soccer-mommyhood yet. But I think it's only a matter of time. So far the organization - or lack thereof - is driving me batty.

We are halfway through our second season of magnet ball, aka youth soccer. When you have 4-and 5-year-olds running around, all following the ball with complete disregard for order, positions or passing, I think the term "soccer" should be used very loosely.

While Nathaniel has the coordination and energy level for running up and down the field incessantly, he is lacking one important thing. Height.

I know, shocker. Our kid is short.

He is at least a foot shorter than all the kids on his team. Only one girl has about an inch on him. He can keep with the herd and if he could actually get to the ball, he has good dribbling skills. But there are a few taller, older kids on his team that can just flat out out-run everyone.

One kid in particular is miles ahead of everyone else. He's just fast. And good. And he knows it. He wants the ball all. the. time. And the volunteer coaches are too nice to tell him to back off and let his teammates have a chance too. I love that he seems to have talent and a love of the game at a young age, but this is also the perfect time to teach a little bit about being a member of a TEAM.

He scored 7 goals in one game. No one else - on either team - scored until the end, when the coaches all but duct-taped him to his own goal post. I get that no one is really keeping score, but come on.

After striking up a brief conversation with his mom, who was at a recent game and was paying more attention to who she knew on the sidelines, I found out that he has never played this well (not buying it) and that he just turned 6. Um, excuse me? This is a 5 and under league. My kid can barely keep up with kids his own age, let alone someone who's two years older.

I have heard through the grapevine that the league had too many kids in the 7 and under age bracket, so they moved some down into ours. How is that fair? Cap the sign-ups or add more teams where you need them. Trying to take shortcuts effects the kids more than anyone.

It's not fair to our superstar that he can run rampant over everyone on the field. Aren't sports supposed to be about rising to the challenge and learning to succeed? It's not fair to my runt that he has extra tall and developed kids to try to keep up with. Set the bar higher than it should be and he's going to get discouraged.

He's gonna figure out soon enough how the world really works.

Basketball fever

It's that time of year again - March Madness.

When you got to a college with no football team (Marquette Football - undefeated since 1963), basketball is a Big Deal. Add to that I was am a band geek and this time of year brings back memories of long bus rides to conference tournaments and hoping and praying for a trip to the NCAA tourney.

My senior year was 2003, when Marquette made a miraculous run to the Final Four in New Orleans with Dwyane Wade. And I was there... when we got absolutely shellacked by Kansas (...I F-ing HATE Kansas...) and the band got unused tickets to the championship game to watch Carmelo Anthony and Syracuse whoop some Jayhawk behind.

But man was it a fun ride. We took out Holy Cross, Missouri, Pittsburgh and Kentucky to get there.

This year we'll be lucky to see our team make the tournament. By some fluke, MU beat Providence last night in the Big East tourney to match up against my hometown sentimental favorite West Virginia tonight. Here's hoping they can hand Huggy Bear a defeat.

Ring out ahoya!