Close to May

Hello, Friends.



C-Woo got served



There are some things I've never done. I've never watched one second of The Hills, I've never been to the Carson City Saloon, I've never been parasailing, I've never cheated on my husband, I've never regularly played tennis, I've never purchased a designer handbag, and I can hear some of you saying I've "never used birth control."



Well...other than The Hills and the husband part, some things are about to change, and I owe it all to a local, high school tennis coach. The past few times he's called to report something at work, I've been the one to answer. I now know this is fate. He's encouraged me to play tennis. He's explained it's the fastest-growing sport in America. He's given hints that he may wear a red shoe. He's offered to teach me to play a sport that he's apparently mastered.



I've explained that I've taken lessons before, that I played with my mom when I was a child and that even last year I played in the Mt. Lebanon bubbles. Oh, and in those bubbles I got yelled at profusely by an elderly gentleman who took the game WAY TOO SERIOUSLY. I think shuffleboard was more his thing. I told my coach friend that despite my repeated exposure to "America's growing game," I just never developed a solid desire for it.



"Well if tennis ain't your thing, I can teach you volleyball," he said.



Oh.boy.



So I discussed this with another co-worker who is apparently an avid tennis player. I explained that if tennis were presented to me in event form, such as "Tennis & Tequilia" or "Tennis & Tea" (but let's be real, here), I could get behind it.



In the words of the great Ed Meena, "We'll see what happens."





Better weather



Tina and Missy would disagree with me, but I can stand the rain. Especially when it falls on my least-favorite days of the week. Much like last week, it's supposed to be nice Thursday through Sunday--and my Friends know how much I still love a Thursday.



In Pittsburgh, you just never know what you're going to see on a sunny day--anything from too many mandals to too few drag queens. While in college, it wasn't uncommon to see girls in bikinis at the Point--even when it was only 63 degrees. It was sunny, and that was apparently all that mattered. Last week while suffering a horrendous detour, I realized it was my fate to see a seemingly-homeless gentleman walking around in a cutoff-belly shirt with a huge screen print of Bob Marley on the front. He also had disheveled, gray hair, minimally tamed by a rainbow-striped headband. And he was carrying a Macy's bag and pulling a suitcase behind him. The thing is, I actually enjoyed seeing that. It was much less offensive to me than seeing a couple on the Norf Side, wearing matching visors. That moment definitely made me think more of "Highway to Hell" by ACDC and less of "Two of Us" by The Beatles.



TarantiNO



Is it just me, or did it seem like none of the Idols took Tarantino's advice last week? In nearly each clip, Mr. Tarantino gave specific advice, and then the Idol would perform live, clearly not doing whatever Tarantino asked. And, much like the last time Tarantino was on, Randy Jackson also seemed to disagree with whatever he said. Did I miss some battle over spandex a few decades ago or something? I hope not.



But I did get to see a lot of clips from Tarantino's movies--including Michael Madsen dancing around in "Reservoir Dogs." So that was successful alone.



inspIREd



Sometimes I wake up and find a toy dinosaur walking on me 10 minutes later. Ty calls it his "saur." It's just a small, little, plastic T-Rex, but he loves it. He doesn't want a bigger saur or a brighter saur or a more expensive saur. He's simply happy with what he has. It's just another reason Ty, and all children, inspire me.



Children don't have petty insecurities. They don't care to judge--though they WILL speak the truth (sometimes at unfortunate moments for their parents). They don't lie--at least not without being taught to. They don't care if another child is funnier than them--they just want to have fun.



They also have the best advice for when the Pens lose.



Yesterday when we got back from watching the Pens game with Friends, Cienna pointed out that I looked a little dejected.



"Oh, Mommy is just a mix of exhausted and bummed that the Penguins lost, but you smiling makes me feel better already," I said.



And I wasn't lying. The minute I saw her running down the stairs to give us a hug, smiling the whole time, I thanked God, again, that I was her mother.



"I think we should watch Madagascar. Those penguins don't lose," she said.



That they don't, Miss Faye. That they don't.



unFriendly Neighbors



When we lived on Beadling, we barely knew our immediate neighbors. Larry called the guy on the left "Old Man Withers." He was old, surely and only seemed to come outside to feed the birds once a day. The guy on the other side was younger and selling his house to live with his girlfriend. He was never around. Thankfully, there was a younger couple a few houses down who befriended us. They had dogs who they said were their children, and they liked to drink margaritas on summer nights in their backyard. Sometimes they invited us to join them. They were friendly people and Friend-ly neighbords.



Luckily, when we moved, we got even better neighbors. For the most part.



Connie and her husband live two houses down. She is a retired OB nurse, and he still teaches in a catholic school. They have a grown daughter who went to high school with Larry. One time Connie said, "My daughter thinks she and Larry may have had home ec together. She remembers him being sort of a clown in class a few times. Does that sound like him?" I said, "Definitely!"



Miss Connie, as the kids call her, likes to walk through the yards to see the kids when it's nice out. Because, when it's nice out, believe me--we're outside! She brings them bubbles and holds the baby, telling me how much she misses working around babies. She gardens and is probably exactly how you might imagine her. When I was pregnant, she offered a lot of help and support.



But yesterday, she told me something I hadn't known. According to Connie, "Two owners ago, there was a tall, thin woman who lived in your house. Tall, thin women can really push out babies for some reason. She had midwives. She barely made it to the hospital with her first baby, and the second baby was actually born at home in your bedroom."



Larry responded first. "Oh, I didn't need to know that. We really don't need any extra baby energy in the room."



I explained to Connie how superstitious Larry is and reminded her that I barely made it to the hospital with Dimitri. But I did kind of wonder if I should start sleeping on the couch or something.



When Connie comes by, she actually does most of the talking. And if you know me, you're probably surprised by that. She keeps me informed of our neighbors' whereabouts, even though I never ask. For example, I now know that Carol and Bill are in Florida and that if Bill (whom Larry loves and calls "Old Man Flanders") talks a lot it's because he has trouble hearing and doesn't always know when the conversation ends.



Carol and Bill have grandchildren, including a granddaughter Cienna's age. So it's nice when their grandkids visit. And Carol is famous for bringing over treats and goodies for the kids on holidays and etc.



Then there are the neighbors on the other side. Connie wonders what makes them tick. They're a young couple--maybe a few years older than Larry and me. They have a little girl, slightly younger than Ty and a black lab. They always say hello. The guy smiles a lot. But the mom looks down a lot and just occasionally apologizes when the dog barks too much. Even though we are not the type of family to care when a dog barks. Connie is like the mayor of our street, so of course she's tried to communicate with them. We've just never really tried. I guess we follow their lead. Some people are just socially awkward or not good at making friends, so it can take a long time. Maybe I'm holding out for a sunny day when we're all in our backyards, and I can initiate a conversation.



Connie just calls them the "unfriendly neighbors," but I can't give up so easily. Sometimes it's not a matter of being friendly or not. It's just that some folks are socially awkward.



Until then, though, I have absolutely no problem meeting at the fences with Carol and Connie and Larry and Old Man Flanders x 2 to discuss plants and people and kids and neighborly things. Even if Old Man Flanders is having an entirely different conversation.



Lil' Wayne's World



Friends, I think we're all in agreement that it should be Lady GoLa and not Lady GaGa, right? After all, among other things, I'm a popular music star. And my stage routine is about a bizarre as hers.



But there are some other songs out that we should discuss first.



1. Kiss Me Thru the Phone. First of all, I've been doing this for years, thanks. Second of all, the part that's "like da da dadadada da..." Ty thinks it's some form of barking, so he barks when he hears that part. And Cienna likes to sing the numbers "678 triple 9 8212." Why do I let my children hear this song in the car? Hey, we all have our failures in parenting.



Some lyrics from this artistic masterpiece:

She call my phone like / Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da /We on the phone like/ Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da/ We taking pics like/ Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da /She dial my number like/ Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da/ Six, seven, eight, triple, nine, eight, two, one, two

2. How Do You Sleep. How do you stop listening to Jesse McCartney? It's everything you've ever loved about a boy band in one person. And this song sounds just like LFO's "Summer Girls" but with a faster tempo. Plus, it includes Luda. How can you go wrong.

3. Turnin' Me On. Thank you Keri Hilson. I'm nervous though. The last time I liked chic rap this much, the girl got shot for giving someone AIDS. But, you know, I'm sure that won't happen again. But, really, I love it --especially Lil' Wayne's contribution. I love Lil' Wayne and am extremely intrigued by "Lil' Wayne's World."

May be

I just looked at my planner. Again. And I've accepted that my life is busy and there's a lot to look forward to on any given day. The errands and daily chores are dotted with wonderful family-and-friend events and new challenges.

I'm really looking forward to a girls' party this Saturday afternoon. I think Cienna is joining me. My friend is taking her daughter, and her friend is taking her daughter too. It's so cute to watch them play together and sort of drift back and forth between, "Oh, look at how young and innocent they are" and "Oh, how did they get so grown up."

I have high hopes for May, Friends. I'm working a few golf events, where I will also get to swing on a few holes. That should be interesting. And there is the Cinco de BG event, which should probably be called BG de Mayo instead. A bunch of birthdays, including Larry's! Barbecues! Another work-related DC trip. Mayhem! And a lot of ballet rehearsals.

While I'm a fan of all seasons, mostly fall, is there any time more magical than spring? Nature just takes over, and it feels like absolutely anything can happen!

Love yinz!

A wink and a smile

If you're a mom, then you're probably somewhat familiar with the kind of day I'm about to describe. And if you're not familiar, then tell me you're secret NOW please.

It all started this morning when I was trying to exercise in peace. That was my first mistake, right? Because it doesn't matter if I'm working out at 5 a.m. (the usual) or 5 p.m., that's when everyone is going to need something. And if I send the kids to the gym daycare when I go there, well that's when everyone poops. The gym daycare workers don't change diapers or escort the older kids to the bathroom, so that means mom gets paged on the loudspeaker. I'm always reminded of Mr. Mom at those moments: "Herb, we weren't even in aisle four!"

After the morning drinks were poured, and I finished an angry workout--completely missing all the benefits of stress relief--it was time to cook breakfast for the kids. I made oatmeal pancakes for Cienna and Ty, but they only ate them after what felt like 10 minutes of choosing their favorite plates. And while my rational self was encouraging them with words of joy about Spiderman and Hannah Montana, my inner bitch was fantasizing about throwing every plate in the cupboard across the room and making the secret celebrity and secret superhero simply secrets. Forever.

Of course Ty was a syrup mess. It was as though he climbed into a bad George Michael video, and no amount of baby wipes could stand up to the challenge of cleaning my toddler. So it was time for a bath. Except that Dimitri wouldn't hear of tummy time or swing time or stare-at-something-colorful time. He simply wanted mommy time. So I wore Dimitri while I bathed Ty, and of course I ended up soaking wet in the process.

While I was trying to clean up myself and the bathroom, I knocked down one of the nets of bath toys and couldn't help but feel the universe was against me. At that point, my son was running between the bathroom and his bedroom, getting the hardwood in the hallway nice and slippery. Sure enough, Cienna came running out of her room and faceplanted right in front of me. Even though she was fine, she couldn't pass up the opportunity to try and snipe a Princess band-aid.

She was healed and Ty was clothed, but then Dimitri needed a diaper change. And in true Woodall fashion, nobody poops alone. Ty wasn't about to be outdone this morning. So he made his way to the potty after several minutes of me reminding him why the potty is better than pull-ups. He sat on the talking, singing potty, clapping and pooping. You can guess who taught him to celebrate a bowel movement with such gusto. And by the time I did the wiping and washing, I was already tired of poop by 9 a.m.

Dimitri was ready for his morning nap by that point, and Cienna was getting dressed. We were going to a meeting later that morning, and I informed her that she shouldn't wear her short-sleeved high school musical shirt. It was kind of dirty and not warm enough. I made other similar suggestions, and the result was a 5 year old stomping up the stairs informing me that I had ruined her life.

After I asked her to come back down and apologize for stomping and speaking to me that way, I called my mom and cried. "Cienna said I ruined her life because of a t-shirt," I said. "Just wait," Miss Linda said. "You have a lot more of that to come." "I didn't know my precious daughter could be full of so much attitude. What did I do wrong? It's like I'm raising Cher. Or at least her gay fanbase," I said.

I was en route to the shower when Larry called for the morning dish. Still couldn't tell you what he said. I was too busy being distracted by Ty who was driving his cars all over me and everything around me--but mostly me. "OK, honey, sounds awesome. I'm off to the shower. I'll call you later." "What's awesome?" "Um, I have no idea. I'll call you later."

While I may have had high hopes for 15 minutes of Aveeno stress relief in the shower, they were quickly dashed by "Tyler Joseph and Cienna Faye! Please STOP jumping on the bed! I swear you are never allowed to have Easter candy again!"

Then the guilt set in. Did I let them eat too much Easter candy? Am I a terrible mom? Did I let them have so much sugar that they will have Type 2 diabetes by lunch? Am I a terrible mom? And what about Dimitri? I haven't even really read to him today. I haven't even really talked to him today. And Cienna and Ty...did we do anything together besides eat and then get baths? Ugh. I'm the worst mom ever today. And I've yelled at them like eight times. And I have no idea what my husband said to me. I should've had a better conversation with him. It will have to wait until we see each other later. Maybe if I just squirt this Aveeno right into my nose I'll feel relieved? Bad idea. I would need a year's supply. At least. Did the bag of toys fall down again? It's staying down this time.

And as I steeped out of the shower, hoping for enough calm to dry my hair, Ty and Cienna began arguing over the same crayon. "Really? You're not going to share today? All manners and values are just ignorned today? Really?" So of course their arguing woke up Dimitri.

At that point, I just gave up and gave in. The most I could hope for was to get out of my robe before we had to leave the house.

I laid down on our bed--that was actually, surprisingly made--and picked up Dimitri from his Boppy. "What am I going to do today, Dimmers?" And he just started to coo and gave me the biggest smile ever. Just like that, I found my stress relief. I smiled back at him and played with him a little bit, and he kept cooing and smiling--with the dimples his momma gave him--and I realized I'd go through the whole morning all over again for the rest of my life as long as I could have perfect moments like that.

Naturally that was abbreviated by my Ty man who walked in and announced, "Poot. Poot. Potty? Potty? Poooooot!"

"Again, Ty? Really? You DEFINITELY have your father's digestive tract! OK. Let's go, buddy!"

And the toilet sang again. La Boheme it is not.

Somehow, SOMEHOW, we made it out of the house, clothed and appropriate. We were on our way to the meeting, Rupert Holmes' "The Escape Song (If you like Pina Colada)" came on the radio. I thought of my friend Joe, who is Cienna's Godfather. So we then talked about Uncle Joe and Aunt Helen from L.A., which was like Aveeno too. In case you're not aware, Joe is nature's prozac.

By the time we got to our meeting, Ty had taken both shoes and socks off, as per usual, Cienna's hair was a mess, and I again declared the double stroller cannot be opened with one hand as advertised.

The baby slept through the meeting, and Cienna and Ty were perfect angels. All quiet before the storm?

We got back to the car, and I realized Dimitri had pooped. So I took him out of his seat to change him on another seat, which of course did not make him happy. But I got him back in his car seat and calmed him down and thought all was well. However, I caught my jacket in the van door and lost my balance. I wanted to just lay down on the ground and take a nap--even if it was for 10 minutes.

As I drove us home--in perfect silence as the trifecta napped--I compared mothering to a full-time job. In a full-time job there are built in breaks and lunches most of the time. In mothering, there are no breaks. And sometimes my lunch is whatever the kids don't finish. And did I forget to put the clothes in the dryer? Yes I did.

Life 1, Mom 0.

When we got home it was time to cook lunch. The kids requested their favorite soup, and I was out of celery. "It's OK, Mom. We all make mistakes sometimes," Cienna said. "Thanks, Ci." But, thankfully, they ate it without complaint. Was the day rounding the good bend?

Yes.

And then it was almost time for Larry to be home. I was a combination of a loyal dog waiting by the door and a child waiting for Santa. That's how excited I was to see him. The calvary. The break.

"I'm home! What do you want to do?" he said.

"Sleep. I just want to sleep. I don't want to eat dinner. I just want to sleep before I have to work," I said.

And I got a beautiful hour of sleep before I had to go to work. On my way out of the door, I promised the kids that we would do something fun tomorrow! And on Thursday we will do something even more fun because it's going to be nice outside!

And I assured my husband that I would be looking forward to the hours we'd have alone once I got home. He gave me a wink (or maybe it was a twitch) and told me to call him later.

I'm going with wink.

Closing out a long week

When our family woke up on April 4th, Nana's birthday, we looked forward to a sunny, spring day full of Easter eggs, the Pens, Final Four fun and family parties. And, in our family, the day went as planned.

But not all Pittsburgh families shared such peace that same Saturday morning. Some found their lives changed forever by senseless violence.

Of course I'm referring to the three Pittsburgh Police Officers who lost their lives in Stanton Heights.

While my kids searched a Mt. Lebanon lawn for plastic eggs, news updates and texts from colleagues filled my phone, telling of a much different, horrific, scene on the other side of the city. It was still early morning, and not all of the facts had been reported yet, but enough had been said and done to ensure the week ahead would be difficult.

I'm not going to get all morose and verbose on you about this, though. If you know me, then you already know what I think about it. And chances are you saw the same moving images I saw and read the same moving words.

But I don't know if I really felt it until I was in Breezewood extremely early Friday morning on my way to D.C. I was refueling at a gas station when I crossed paths with some New Jersey police who said they were on their way home from the memorial service the day before. One of the men had a full shift waiting for him when he got back.

It was the first thing I was asked about during my interview later that morning. How was Pittsburgh?

I think we discussed it for the first 10 minutes, and in my answer I realized how professionally programmed I've become to dealing with loss. I keep it at arms' length until the job is done before I can feel it. This has transferred to my personal life as well.

Which is pretty much how Wednesday happened.

Friends, I'd love to tell you about my life last Wednesday in full detail, but that's not going to happen. 1. I'm tired. 2. There's a chance that some of you may think I'm slightly awesome, and I don't want to change that. (OK. So you all know me too well to think I'm awesome, but still...)

However, I would like to share some quotes that came out of an evening my some of my best college friends when we just needed to laugh. And we did.

A Friend: "As long as I have a clitoris, I can do anything."

....

A Friend: "I don't prefer anal, but I'm certainly not opposed to it."

....

A Friend: "Maybe next time you should stop being nice to girls on dates and just tell them you have a big penis."

....

A Friend: "Erotic Toy Disposal. You know how people need a place to take freon and old computers? It would work the same way, providing a service."

....

A Friend: "Some weird guy just told me not to worry because he took his meds."
A Friend: "I think that same weird guy told me he made 400K working in the grocery business."
A Friend: "I think he may have confused 400K with 401K."

....

A Friend: "I overheard a conversation earlier where a guy told his friend that he was dating a girl who was completely insane but great in bed."

A Friend: "You just described the majority of men's relationships with women."

....

And by the time the Woodalls came home from Washington, in time for sleep and Easter morning, we welcomed more inspired laughter from family and friends.

Me: "Just so you all know, I'm keeping my eggs hidden this year."
....

A trio of family members via text DURING CHURCH! (so wrong): "first row. completely inappropriate. but I'd bang it."

Response: "she dresses like that every time. those pants are so tight you can see her thong."

Response: "no. those pants are so tight you can see she's not wearing a thong. or anything."

Response: "look at that guy across the aisle. the skinny jack black. you can see his nipps through his sweater. ew."

Response: "seriously not trying to be mean here, but is that other guy mentally handicapped or just a midget. i can't tell."

Response: "too far. you're an idiot. i'm embarrassed to be related to you."
....

while discussing my stepdad's bean dish I was successfully avoiding:
D-Baby: "Did he marinate his beans in Stroh's first?"

.....

during Easter dinner from BG: "Imagine it. Steve, my mom, Ashy, Nick and Nicholas. Send me to North Korea. I got negotiating skillz."
....

with Aubrianni

Me: "4 dark chocolate Hershey minis down. 3 Sarris balls down. I'm counting on you today. Don't let me down, Chief."

Aubrianni: "I had a Kit Kat for breakfast and getting ready to have a sarris cashew egg for lunch. I won't let you down. I'll have hot tea with lunch."

....

Cienna: "Mommy, I know how the Easter bunny gets to all those houses! He has GPS! But he doesn't drive. He hops."

Blame it on the Foxx

Hello, Friends.

It's been somewhat of a talent of mine to make something out of nothing. This has come in the form of an overreaction or a moment of creative genius. In journalism, a Friend of mine would call this "turning chicken shit into chicken salad." In more desperate times, a different Friend has called it "Magolver."

And, Friends, I was forced to channel my Magolver at a recent bridal shower. The lovely evening was coming to a close. Gifts were being carried to the trunk, leftovers were being Ziplocked and people were in pursuit of "more alcohol." The remaining bottles of wine were not an option. They stood, corked, like brave soldiers, destined for pre-game activities at the next evening's bachelorette party. But a second batch of delicious punch--think mimosa--remained. And when there's a man down, we don't leave him behind.

It was an exit that would require some creativity.

While the venue was gorgeous and glowing with rows of candlelight, it lacked an empty container and an important device for siphoning leftover booze--a funnel. A brave, classy Friend found a bottle of wine that was about a quarter full and took it to the face. All we needed was the funnel. I decided to make a funnel out of a Ziploc bag, using scissors from my infant first aid kid (CLASSY!), much the same way you'd make a pastry bag. One Friend held the empty bottle, another held the makeshift funnel, and I poured the punch.

We filled it too full to re-cork it, so again my services were called upon. With, yet another, Ziploc bag and some tulle, I created white-trash magic.

My brother-in-law's girlfriend, Alyson, held the aforementioned magic in her lap while we drove home, eager to share the tulle-tied, adult beverage with Lar and Justin. I confessed to her that even when I don't drink and drive, I'm a hazard on the highway. Because of Jamie Foxx. Shut up. Everyone likes that Jamie Foxx song, and you know it.

But not everyone likes other songs on WAMO.

Me: "Um, so I have no idea what this song is, but I have a feeling that you do."

Ahri Son: "Why's that?"

Me: "Because I'm pretty sure you have Lil' Wayne on your speed dial. And someone who has Lil' Wayne on their speed dial would know this song."

Ahri Son promised that for every one of my future birthdays she would present me with two bottles of wine that had their contents switched and secured with tulle. And, Friends, I intend to collect.

We enjoyed the Magolver Mimosas with Lar and Justin, though Lar refused to drink his from a wine glass. He partook in the festivities from his "man cup." (This would be a plastic Pens cup from a home game we attended.)

Because Ahri Son and I have children, we were falling asleep between laughs and sips, as were Lar and Justin. We knew morning, and an Easter Egg hunt, would come early, so we settled into warm cuddles and comfy sheets.

And as the week ahead unfolded, it turned out that I needed every second of that sleep.