the perfect gift for the sports nut in your life

For the SPORTS nut in your life: Former Kansas City Royals pitcher Mark Littell is pitching (a horrible pun, I know) his new invention, an anatomically correct protective cup for the sportsman in your life. With names like “Hammer,” “Boss,” “Hog” and for really big men, the XL-sized “Mongo,” every wearer of the Nutty Buddy will feel macho and protected at the same time. Visit nuttybuddy.com for more info.

Boys Will Be Boys

Yesterday was yet another rugby game for Hunter. We all tagged along - even Ashlyn, who normally doesn't roll over until noon. After a yummy breakfast at the Awful Waffle, we hit the road in pursuit of our goal, Sloan's Lake Park in Denver.

Naturally, we arrived way too early (thanks, Dad, for instilling in me that I have to be at least 30 minutes earlier than everyone else) and decided to take a walk around the lake. Hunter was enthralled by the geese that were there; the rest of us were just trying not to step in their poop. Denver being the disgustingly outdoorsy city that it is, created a walkway around the lake so that the various enthusiasts of the outdoor variety could, walk, bike, run, and step in goose poo.

Unfortunately it also allowed the couple walking past us to shudder with not-so-quiet laughter as Hunter yelled excitedly at the top of his voice, "Hey Mom! Look at this! The ducks had diarrhea!"

I'm glad they thought it was funny, because all I wanted to do was quietly drown.

A Taste Of Water

My friend, Lynn, and her family are visiting from Montana this week, so what better time to go out and possibly drown yourself?

Lynn, her exchange student daughter, Sang A, Ashlyn, and I drove up to Idaho Springs on Sunday and proceeded to get wet. And cold. And what a rush! I am totally doing this again!

(http://www.coloradorafting.net/#home)

(Thanks to Hunter for suggesting the music for this movie.)

And This Is Why I Stay Away Fom NASCAR Races

Thursday morning Ashlyn left to visit her dad in Georgia for 10 days. For me, that means 10 glorious, teenager-free days. For Ash and her dad, that means 5 of those 10 days will be spent sleeping with God knows how many other friends and relatives in an RV parked in the infield of the Atlanta Motor Speedway. I couldn't do it because I'm such a homebody that I prefer to be away from home for no longer than, say, oh, 12 hours or so. But they love it for some odd reason. And I mean they really love it. They take off work, fly Ashy down special just for the occasions (October and March, in case you're wondering how often the track gets a major workout), and make a big shindig out of it.

Anyway, Ash called me this morning, totally unapologetic about the fact that it was only 8 am, so that she could tell me it was snowing in Atlanta. Snow. In. Atlanta. During. A. NASCAR. Weekend. Hmph! Of all the nerve! I have to admit to a certain amount of satisfaction in the fact that my beautiful child refused to pack a coat because, "Mom, it's going to be 75 degrees down there!" Apparently there is such a thing as poetic justice after all.

While she was standing outside the RV and we were talking about the weather, she remarked to someone standing near her that "Well, at least Bill has a shirt on now." That sounded just a wee bit odd so I asked her what she was talking about. She said that the only things "Bill" ever wore while they were at the races were boxer shorts and cowboy boots. I could feel my head begin to explode just a little bit as I wondered if this was the same guy who, last October, was so drunk that he fell off the roof of the RV.

UPDATE: According to Ashlyn, no, Bill is not the same person who got drunk and fell off the RV. My thought though, is that now I know for sure that there are two idiots out there instead of just the one. Scary, no?

Because I'm So Intelligent

During the Delaware-Appalachian State football game...

Me: Delaware's getting spanked.

Kenin: I know.

About 90 seconds later, Appalachian State scores another touchdown, making the score 21-0 with 10 minutes to go in the 2nd quarter.

Kenin: Baby, Appalachian State is spanking Delaware.

Me: Didn't I just say that?

Kenin: Yeah. I'm just reiterating what you said because you're so intelligent.

Well, duh.

Well it's about time...

Oh. My. God. It's finally happened.

Hunter, my adorable, semi-psychotic, sport challenged, video game obsessed son, has finally found a sport that he not only likes, but actually wants to participate in. And it's on a team. And it's RUGBY of all things.

A few days ago, Kat, the PE teacher at the school I work at, suggested that Hunter pop on by rugby practice to check it out and see if he'd be interested. I told her I'd talk to him about it, though personally not at all sure he'd even think about it since it would take away time from his precious video games. He seemed a little unsure about it at first, but said yes, he'd see what it was all about, so we made plans to attend the practice scheduled for last night.

As we pulled up to the school's soccer field, where practice was to be held, I was thankful (okay, more like practically elated) to see Kat there. Hunter, by this time, was getting nervous, and I was keeping my fingers crossed that he'd even go through with the whole deal. Since Kat had worked with Hunter over the school year, she already knew of his unfortuate absolute lack of physical sport-partaking ability, and I knew she'd be able to coax the best he had out of him. He followed her like a puppy down the hill to the field, and I sat up on the hill like one of the other moms, except my fingers were crossed and I was prepared for, if not expecting, the worst.

My heart went out to Hunter. I hoped he wouldn't embarrass himself, and that if he did, he'd be too ignorant to notice. Thankfully, there were 3 other kids that also had never played rugby, so they got to work together, and Hunter didn't stick out much from the rest of the kids. Although I cringed when he dropped the ball and felt horrible for him when he was the last one to cross the finish line when running (though I'm pretty sure he didn't even notice), he seemed to really be having fun. God knows it was certainly the most real exercise the kid's had in his whole life. Halfway through the hour and half-long practice, he came panting up the hill for his water bottle. "Sign me up, Mom!" he told me. I felt as though a weight had been lifted.

So, now we have rugby practice every Tuesday and Thursday and games every Saturday afternoon through August. Almost unable and certainly unwilling to wipe the grin off his face or stop talking about how cool rugby is, my little man fell asleep early, still wearing his new, 2-sizes-too-big rugby jersey. And even woke up with a smile this morning, still excited. Rugby rocks.

Football Bowl Games

Depending on how old you are, you might remember that years ago, there weren't a hundred different football bowl games. Back when I was younger and dinosaurs still roamed the earth, there were only four: the Rose Bowl, the Sugar Bowl, the Orange Bowl, and the Cotton Bowl. Last year there were 28 different bowl games. 28!!! And, according to About.com, there are 30 games this year! What the hell is up with that? They range from the original bowl games to the Chik-fil-A Bowl to the GMAC Bowl to the Motor City Bowl. Apparently, anyone with a little extra cash on hand can have their very own personalized bowl game, so here's what I've decided to do... I'm going to start my very own bowl. It's going to be called the Huffstetler Toilet Bowl, and will feature the two worst college teams I can find. And, in the true spirit of competition, I'm going to change the rules in the last 5 minutes of the game and make it so that whoever has the least amount of points, wins. And why do I want to do this? Because I want my very own Toilet Bowl.