Did you know that there is such a thing as the International Cherry Pit Spitting Championship? Me neither, but why the hell not? There are contests for all kinds of crap we don’t know about. This particular contest is held annually in Michigan. Apparently there is a cherry-pitt-spitting dynasty in that only two different families have won the title in the last twenty years.

The Krause and Lessard families apparently have the competition sewn up. In fact this year there were three Krauses in the top five finishers. Brian “Young Gun” Krause was fifth, Rick “Pellet Gun” Krause was second and Matt Krause was third. I don’t know why Matt doesn’t get a nickname, but apparently he is not worthy. I kind of feel bad for Matt, but what do I know. Maybe he’s a complete ass.

Forget hockey, Now I’m all about the pit spitters. Not!

The thing that made this year’s competition über exciting was that a dark horse competitor entered the contest – and won. His name is conspicuously not Krause, or Lessard either for that matter. Ronn Matt entered the contest cause his wife told him to.

All smart men listen to their wives.

Mr. Matt (whom I’m assuming has no connection to the Matt with no nickname) won this year’s contest when he spit a pit 69 feet. SIXTY-NINE FEET! I thought that was pretty damn far until I read that the world record is held by “Young Gun” Krause with a pit spit of 93 feet. You realize that’s 1/3 of a football field, don’t you?

I have no intention of entering this contest, or of actually even attending the show. First of all, I can’t spit. Anytime I’ve ever tried to spit I’ve ended up getting crap all over my shirt. Second of all, I make it a point of avoiding places with a high volume of spit. That’s number seven in my book of policies.

The thing is though, I’m thinking of starting my own contest and I have a lock on the winner. Instead of spitting, what if the contest was for who can leave the most cherry pits around the house?  Special points for creativity. Places like shoved between couch cushions and in little piles in the corner of your bedroom or under pillow cases will earn lots of points. The real kicker will be if the competitor can get the judge to step on one at 2:30 in the morning on the way to pee.

The Bandit is totally going to own that contest.

What contest would you totally rock? How about your kids? If you created a stupid contest what would it be?

The Sisters thought this was going to be a gloriously easy week, what with a holiday smack dab in the middle of it – but, as it turns out, not so much. You know why? Because a Wednesday off turns into a Thursday that masquerades quite like a Monday, that’s why. However, there was some salvation today, since it’s Friday, even though it feels like Tuesday but tomorrow is really Saturday…okay, enough of that – here’s why we laughed or rose above our ennui this week:

1. My Dog Ate My Homework.A college girl confessed that she lied to police about being abducted by three men for twenty four hours. That certainly would not be funny if it were true – but it wasn’t. What is funny about the story is why she did it

Maybe if she said she’d been kidnapped by beagles?

It seems “Miss Liar Liar Pants On Fire” had an end-of-the-year university project due that she failed to hand in. She didn’t tell the lie to gain sympathy from her professors but because she “didn’t want to upset her mother” with news of her school problems. All we can say about that is we hope Sassy and the girl who lives at Ava’s house have the same care and concern for us when they become college students by not wanting us to be upset over such academic failings by our offspring. We don’t want the

Talk about dreadful!

police involved, mind you, these are our girls and we expect something far more creative than an easily disproved kidnapping tale.

2. Dreadful.We know it’s a little crazy but we can’t seem to stop ourselves from having favorite words. One of them is dreadful, which is dreadful, isn’t it? We like to say it, we like to use it. Dreadful. We mention it because we over heard a lady use it this week – she said it about nine times in one minute but we couldn’t really hear her conversation so we have no idea what was soooooo very dreadful. But we’ll bet it was, well, dreadful.

Oooooooh!

3. The Big Bang. Poor San Diego. Sometimes, when a man is involved or a computer or both, the best laid plans go astray and that’s exactly what happened on Wednesday night in San Diego for their firework show. The twenty minutes of awe invoking fireworks turned into about twenty seconds of a re-enactment of the beginning of the world. We know all of the San Diegans were upset but the photo of the debacle is amazing – it truly looks like a new planet being born, see what you think.

4. New Orleans comes to the desert. We live in the desert and it’s hot here. Like 106 degrees of hot. We serve frozen drinks from about March to October because, did I mention? – It’s really hot here. One thing we’ve always wanted is frozen slushee wine. Why doesn’t someone invent that already? The Sisters love wine! Well, praise all the gods ever created! Amylynn discovered wine slurpys right in the local grocery store and for only a miniscule $1.19!!! You simply put them in your freezer, throw on your swim burkha call your sisters over and sit next to the pool! Ahhhhh, paradise.

5. One man’s goat is another man’s panda. We know that some of you go to the

We’re naming ours Nibbles

airport to board planes and travel. The sisters use the airport for that as well but we also like to be entertained while we’re there since you have to get there sixteen days in advance of your flight for security purposes. We are here to tell you that San Francisco has that covered. They have rounded up a herd of about 250 to 300 goats to eat up their dry and excess grass, there’s even a goat herder. Sadly, they’ll only be there for a few weeks as part of an annual organic weed abatement program. Dear Desert International Airport, please call the San Francisco airport people about their organic weed abatement program for instructions on how to take care of that nasty bamboo weed problem we have down here. Sincerely, the Quill Sisters AKA bear herders

This new ad campaign has come to my attention. It should come to your attention, too.

You’re welcome.

Are you all about the firemen, too? Or is it any man in uniform? OR – and here’s an idea – is there some other genre of crush material? Share! The Sisters are always in the market for crush material.

The Sisters have had trouble with our spouses and gifts, a whole range of trouble. I’m not going to go into most of it. Really, it’s obnoxious and it makes some of us a wee bit irrational.

Now mostly, I don’t have any trouble with My Honey. He’s an excellent gift giver. That’s not his problem.

I pride myself in buying perfect presents. I always put a lot of thought into what to buy for each person. I enjoy it immensely. That’s why I was flabbergasted at what has occurred over several years.

Years ago I bought My Honey two gift certificates – one to have a mobile detailer come to his work and detail his truck and the other for an executive massage at a very high-end men’s spa in town. I thought I’d made a gift coup. I managed to get him the two things he was always talking about and wishing for.

Years went by and he never used the certificates. La la la la la, then the spa shut down.

The first year I volunteered for the book festival, he gave me the gift certificate for the car detailing so I didn’t have to have bestselling authors riding around in the car my children are systematically destroying.

Then, last weekend, he hands me the spa gift certificate.

“Here,” he says, “I’ll ever use this. You can have it.”

“Oh, come on. You complain that your back hurts all the time.”

“The spa is closed,” he points out. It is true that this particular branch closed, the one specifically for men, but the main company is still around and still huge.

“Go to one of the other spas. Just call them up. Have a pretty girl rub your back.”

“Really, honey, I hate to see it go to waste.” He hands me the card, again. “Use it for your hair or whatever.”

I took the card. I’m not an idiot. There is still $100 on that card. Should I do my toes? Get a massage? Both?

As I looked at the spa website and contemplated what I would do with HIS present, he sidled up to me at the computer. He had on the puppy dog eyes.

“Will you come rub my back? It’s really tight.”

You have got to be freaking kidding me.

I looked all over for a great picture or quote for today….

 If you can’t read it:

Patriotism is loving your country all the time and your leaders when they deserve it.

Mark was a smart guy.

It was our first day back to work from our vacation and My Honey and I came home exhausted, demoralized, beat down. Neither of us was inclined to make dinner, so we put our shoes back on and loaded back in the car to seek out food.

We decided on Mexican food. While we were sitting there eating dinner two police men came in. They looked about twelve years old, like little boys loaded up with cop toys on their belts. They sat several tables away, far enough that they probably couldn’t hear all the bickering at our table.

There’s always bickering at the table. Most of it centers around Sassy’s refusal to eat any actual food. She has made pushing food around on her plate an art form. Talking non-stop, I’m convinced she never swallows anything.

Understandably, her father and I get really tired of buying her food she doesn’t eat.

Perhaps it was because we were so tired, but My Honey and I were getting a little silly, a little punchy. I spent most of the meal giggling at my husband giving my kids a hard time.

When we left the restaurant, we had to pass by the cops.

my new “apartment”

I paused at their table. “If you can guarantee me solitary confinement, I’ll turn myself in right now.”

Cop #1 started to giggle. What more would you expect from a twelve year-old? Cop #2 looked at me with wide eyes.

“Too bad it doesn’t work like that,” Cop #1 told me, the giggle still evident in his voice.

I was persistent. “I’m serious. What’s on your hot sheet that you want cleared up tonight. I’ll cop to it. Really.”

Now Cop #2 was giggling. I think he might have been drinking chocolate milk.

I shrugged and walked away. Clearly I wasn’t getting any help from them. They probably still bicker with their siblings at family dinners.

My Honey got the last word, though. When he passed by their table, he confided. “I told her it wasn’t that easy.”

Yeah, but what if they’d taken me up on it? How awesome would that have been?

I’m a horrible mother. There are lots of reasons, but I have a specific example of my ineptitude today.

Before I begin, let me give you some back ground information. I did have some misspent youth. There was some occasional underage drinking (no snickering you old friends) and some drag racing (not at the same time. I was never that irresponsible), I mostly focused my rebellion in the form of a smart mouth. I got my first tattoo at 18. There was a pact with my circle of friends. As we turned 18, we were all getting cartoon character tattoos. I’d like to point out, I am the only one brave enough to do it. I’ve since gotten four more, each thought out and symbolizing something specific or an event in my life. Each of them is tucked away, generally hidden from view, with the exception of the first one which is on my ankle.

I also have multiple ear piercings and a belly ring which I refuse to remove because it hurt like a *&%^#$@ to get.

I tell you all this because I don’t want Sassy to do any of these things. I did not pierce her ears when she was a baby because I wanted her to make the decision to decorate her body herself. I realize that ear-piercing is a very mundane example of body art, but still, it’s her body and I want her to be responsible for it.

She started asking to have it done when she was around six because, I suppose, so many of her friends had theirs done. I told her repeatedly that I would allow it when she was old enough to take care of her ears herself, clean them properly, keep track of her earrings, etc.

I also told her over and over, ad nauseam, that piercings and tattoos hurt. Badly. With excruciating consequences.

Then while we were on vacation last week, she saw a sign in a store that promised free ear-piercing and she was hooked.

I convinced her to wait until we got home so we’d have all the stuff to take care of her ears. I promised I’d take her today. I promised.

I never thought it would come to pass. I totally thought she’d weenie out. At the very least, I expected tears and clutching at my hands and begging me not to make her go through with it – which of course, I wouldn’t. I’d then be able to stave her off for a couple more months, maybe even a year, before the asking started up again, by using her fear against her – that’s the part that makes me a bad mom. It’s odd. I spend so much time trying to help her conquer fears in other ways in her life and yet I really foster this one. Awful, awful, awful.

Yeah, none of that happened.

She decided she wanted it done, she picked out earrings, she sat in the chair expectantly at the store. What was I to do? I promised.

I paid the $45.00 (Holy crap!) and bought her some plain, gold studs to wear.

The twelve year-old clerk in the store was really awesome. Awesome if you wanted the outcome to be pierced ears. I was undecided. I still thought right up to the very second, that she would back out.

I can’t decide if I’m more proud of her for going through with it and accomplishing what she wanted to get done, or if I’m more disappointed that there wasn’t tears and a scene.

That’s why I’m an awful mother. I was hoping for a scene.

This better not mean my baby is growing up or I’m going to be really pissed.

What was it that made you realize that your kids were growing up? Or you? What examples of horrible parenting are you willing to cop to?

Amylynn has heard nothing but complaining from the other Sisters this week. Complaining and whining but, truth be told, that’s really just fine considering she’s in San Diego and her Sisters are in Hell. It hasn’t made it over 80 degrees in San Diego and the wretched desert has been over 105 all week. Still, soon enough the Sisters will desert her for cooler climes in the coming weeks and months so as far as she is concerned they can just suck it up. Since the vacation provided many more opportunities for favorite things this week, today’s post is sponsored by San Diego.

1. Seaworld. All the world goes gaga over Shamu and, yes, he’s awesome – all 79 of them or how ever many there are now. But the real cuteness is smaller and fuzzier in the shape of groovy penguins and the almost unbearably adorable sea otters. We love how they swim around with their lunch on their tummies. Or when they hold hands when they sleep. Or fall into the ocean while wrestling with their brothers. The “zoo” keepers saw us dawdling and let us into the back of their habitat to see the babies. You’d better believe if the wardens had blinked for just a minute, one of those cuties would have been nestled in Amylynn’s purse in a heartbeat. I really need to work with the Bandit on his diversion tactics.

 2. San Diego Zoo. It’s entirely possible the San Diegans are sadists. There really is no other explanation for the topography of that park. Who builds a zoo that’s so hilly it needs escalators? Sadists, that’s who. At Sea World, there were defibrillator stations all over the park. We counted sixteen on the map. Not a one at the zoo. I think they want you to die. In fact, they probably have hidden cameras all over the park and a top-secret lounge where they sit around and watch the paying customers pant and wheeze. The password is probably “Death to Fatties” or something else equally rotten. Also, their security is way too high. I’m just saying.

3. Sunscreen and floppy hats. There have been a few sunburns, but nothing like it could have been. That is because Amylynn wears her sunscreen like a half inch thick. She watches people dab it on and sighs in longing, knowing those people probably tan, too. Also, there was the floppy hat she wore all over town. A hat so big she suspects people wonder if there is even a person under there. It’s almost like wearing an umbrella on her head. She likes to pretend that if she wears her giant sunglasses and floppy hat that she’s channeling Jackie O, but she knows that’s just ridiculous. She looks like a crazy-ass tourist and she knows it. Quite tragic, really.

4. Restaurants. The best part of vacation is eating out for every meal. There is no arguing over the dinner menu for the evening. No burnt spaghetti sauce because someone was busy with a crossword puzzle. No dishes to wash. Everyone gets what they want, someone refills your water glass. If you’re really lucky, you get a waiter with some wit. Also, there is the extraordinary opportunity to people watch to your hearts content. Hopefully, you’re able to pretend that the children sitting at your table actually belong to someone else. Plus, there’s always the dessert menu. Ahhhh, vacation.

5. Reading on the beach. Amylynn made it a personal mission not to set foot in the Pacific the entire time she was in San Diego. Instead, she finds a quant little cabana or a comfy beach blanket, spreads out under her gargantuan hat and reads to her hearts content. A nice breeze, plenty of shade and the fresh, salty smell of the ocean is the perfect reading environment. Add a drink with an umbrella and honest to Zeus, it doesn’t get any better than that.