Tennis anyone? Anyone? Anyone?

Yesterday me, my hub, my mom, and my MIL travelled through rain, sleet and snow to watch my daughter play tennis against the undefeated first singles champion from West High in Salt Lake.

When it comes to state tennis tournaments, as in life, there must be a winner and loser. But for the record, it took that winner a long time to beat my daughter.

My daughter was the loser. But she was a beautiful loser.

She was almost a beautiful winner. Almost won every point she lost. Every point went to deuce, and it was hard to tell the difference between the winner and the loser. Except when it came to beauty. That's where my daughter really shined.

Sometimes the line between winning and losing is fingernail thin. But the gap between beauty and not-as-much beauty is always deep and wide.

The upside to not getting all the fame and glory is that it frees you up to focus on your strengths and weaknesses, with special emphasis on your weaknesses. Each match becomes a lesson rather than a victory.

You learn how to keep your head in the game and how to keep your opponant out of your head. You learn how to pay attention and keep score because there are no refs in tennis. It's just you and your oppoanant battling it out. Your word against hers. And the more games you win, the more your opponant will challenge those games and question those games. Your opponant may even take a game or two from you if you let them. (But don't you let them!) Especially if they eats nails for breakfast.

My daughter eats hashbrowns for breakfast. (Buy if anyone has a good nail recipe, please do share.)

High school tennis is now over. Forever. (sniff) And my daughter will have to continue learning about life from life, rather than from tennis. (sniff). But at least she's got a head start. Yesterday, after the match, she got in the car and said "Well, I learned something really important about myself this season." We all waited with baited breath. "I gotsta stand up for myself. I let people walk all over me."

"Except the drummer in the band," I told her. "You didn't let him walk all over you."

Silence.

"I mean, he threw his drumstick at you, but technically he didn't walk all over you."

Silence.

"And you kept the drumstick to prove it."

Silence.

There's a moral here. There's a definite moral here. Why? Because I'm a Mormon and we love our morals. Yes my daughter lost, but ultimately she didn't come away from the state tourney empty handed. Besides the lessons learned she is now the proud inheritor of a sweat shirt.

That's right, she got really excited when she saw my MIL's cross-stitched sweatshirt, and now she has her dibs on it in the will.

Didn't I tell you she had a dusty soul?

Betcha can't guess the first thought that popped into my head when she said she's going to wear it to her children and grandchildren's tennis matches.

The Phyllis Era and The Comfort Zone

In regards to my daughter's recent lyrical fopa, Becca said "Who even knows anyone named Phyllis anymore? Besides my aunt Phyllis?"

Oh Becca, you don't understand. I think my daughter might be a reincarnate from another era. The Phyllis Era, maybe. Fer reals. And in that era there was probably some little white kid, Alphalpha maybe, in a silent film, or a comic book, whose tag line was:

You can pick her soul off the shelf and dust it off is alls I'm sayin'. She's an oldie. But a goodie. (When she's not throwing tennis balls at the band.)

To be perfectly frank, and I wasn't going to mention this but, Phyllis is her favorite name. No lie, she asked me the other day, "Would it be weird if I named one of my kids Phyllis?"

"Very!" I said. "You might wanna stop beating the boys and throwing stuff at the band if you wanna catch a man who will agree to that."

Am I right, or am I right?

Speaking of which, she beat another boy on the varsity tennis team yesterday. Hope she doesn't try to date him too. Fingers crossed all these victories are helping her prepare for states tomorrow. Her first (and perhaps last) match is against the undefeated reigning number one first singles champion from the Salt Lake region. West High school. I understand they eat nails for breakfast at West high, but you didn't hear it from me.

But hey, I have other kids too, don't I? Raise your hand if it feels like my daughter is dominating my diaries!

I have sons too. Who are just as entertaining as my daughter. Although I don't think their souls are as dusty. I only say this because yesterday they were listing all the dumb things about middle school, like how you have to do a good job on your homework and everything, and how much everybody hates choir.

"I thought choir was supposed to be singing," said twin #1, "but you have to do stupid stuff too!!!"

"Like what?" I asked, as sincerely as humanly possible.

"Like get out of your comfort zone!"

As if!!!!

Apparently that dumb choir teacher thinks getting out of their comfort zone will help them be better performers on stage.

Teachers these dayz!!

So guess what twin #1 has decided to do to get out of his comfort zone?

Guess, guess, guess!!

He's going. to eat. a corn dog.

Baahahahahahaha!

Whodda thought eating corn dogs made him so uncomfortable.

Phyllis. And the "other" drum stick

So my daughter, as perfect as she is, has a disorder. It's a hearing disorder. She hears fine, don't worry, it's just that her ears can't quite translate lyrics correctly.


Bless her heart.


She got it from her dad.


It's true I thought Sean Kingston's eyeballs were stuck on his plate, but trust me, she got it from her dad.


You know that song by One Republic about how it's too late to apologize? For years she thought they were saying it's too late to call the child.


Again, bless her heart. That sweet sweet heart that went out to that poor, poor child waiting to hear from his parents, who were never going to call because it was just too late.


I could go on, but . . .


Okay, so remember this catch phrase?

Course you don't. You're too young. But somehow my daughter found out about it because she recently busted it out, and it went a little somethin' like this:

And I quote:

"What 'chu talkin' 'bout Phyllis!"

LoLoLoLoLoLoLoLoLoLoLoLoLoLoLoL

Ah, she kills me.

You know what else kills me? Yesterday during tennis practice she hit a few dead tennis balls (on purpose) over the fence at the band, who was also practicing.

Don't ask. I choose to believe it was a term of endearment. I also choose to believe the drummer in the band is just as endearing because he threw his dead drumstick back at her.

Are they a match made in heaven or what? She is now the proud owner of one very dead drumstick. (How romantic is that?) And I am now on a mission to find the owner of the "other" drumstick.

As Gad as my witness, If I have to search every drummer in the state of Utah, I will find that prince charming and bring them together in holy matrimony before I shuffle off this mortal coil!

(I hope he's cute.)

You would do the same thing if the drumstick was on the other foot, right?


(And btw, yes, I told my daughter that she would be one dead drumstick if I ever catch her throwing tennis balls at the band again.)

Firm Foundations

Conference weekend! My hub thought it was predictible, and in a way it was.


As expected we were inspired, uplifted and edified, but there were also a few surprises. For instance, I didn't expect to give my entire litter of children a haircut and a pedicure during the Sunday sessions. (Not breaking the sabbath if you think about it, since we were obeying the commandments to exercise self-reliance, avoid debt, and stop looking like rugrats.)


I also didn't expect my 15-year-old son's phone alarm to wake me up at 7:00 a.m. to the tune of How Firm a Foundation.


"HOLY COW!" Was alls I could think to yell at him while throwing my pillow across the hallway.


I also didn't expect my daughter to do a Nacho Libre leap in front of the whole school at the Homecoming assembly on Friday. Or to ask the boy she beat at tennis to Preference. Apparently she thinks she can have her cake and eat it too. In my day you either beat the boys, or you asked them out. You didn't get to do both.


Come to think of it, you didn't get to do either. You just got to walk to school uphill both ways in the snow.


And we liked it like that.


Another surprising thing that happened this weekend was that Martha, my ex-door neighbor from Hawaii, came to town. And she brought us Japanese rice crackers (Mmmmmmm) and strawberry belts and li hing mui powder and Seaweed (I have no idea why I capitalized that).


We were going to play tennis together at the magic cabin, except she kept getting lost, which, bet your bottom dollar, she'll blame on me.


So instead we took a partial family picture together, which sounds easier than it looks. Particularly if your holy cow son is a little on the irreverent side.





Not only does he like to take bad pictures, he also likes to take bad pictures.

You get me?

And at least my son's foundation isn't too firm.

p.s. Speaking of foundations, my house had it's by-pass surgery on Friday and is recovering like a trooper.

Visitors are welcome. And meals would be appreciated.