Stinkin’ Leaves

raking

Raking!  AHHHH!

I really think God made a mistake when he created trees.  Not the tree itself, they’re necessary and in most cases very attractive to the eye.  But why did He have the leaves fall off?  Huge, huge mistake.

Why can’t they just stay on there?  They could still turn colors.  I’m even fine with them being brown in the winter.  Imagine, green for spring and summer; multicolored for fall and then brown in the winter.  Actually, if He was really concentrating when He tackled the whole tree deal, if He would have really thought this through, He would have had them turn white in the winter.  Now wouldn’t that be nice, huh?

I think the whole seven days thing really cut into his creativity.  He would have much greater success had he taken billions of years to create our world.

When we first bought our house, I raked until I had hemorrhoids.  I literally thought my insides were coming out.  I had blisters on my hands the size of quarters.  I couldn’t hold the offering plate when it came by my pew at church  after a Saturday in the yard.  He should have thought these things through.  Less leaves, more financial support for the kingdom.

I have this obsession with grass which does not help the situation.  I work so hard for the green, aerating and seeding, which has to occur in the fall.  And then, without fail, those dang leaves fall.  We go through this every single year.

Since we’ve lived on Smallwood Drive, we’ve lost about 7 large oaks in hurricanes which has drastically cut down on the number of hours I spend with blower and rake in hand.  Thank goodness.

I don’t have any warm memories of playing in a big pile of leaves as a kid.  I don’t think they have trees in Fayetteville where I grew up.  They don’t have much fescue grass either.  In the sandhills they grow centipede which would grow over your children as they play in your yard.

I think I’ll move back home.  Less leaves, great grass and likely less discomfort in the derriere.

Purchase Danny’s Book:  Laughter, Tears and Braids or at Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh

Razorback Bra

More and more I find myself in a room as the only man with a group of women.  That would be nice if they were all single and looking for love.  In my case, they are not.  Most are married and parenting my children’s classmates.

Dads just don’t participate that much in these parent meetings for their daughters’ activities.  It’s dumped on poor mom.  Would be too in my house if there was one for the dumping.

Last Saturday was the mandatory parent meeting for the cheerleaders at St. Timothy’s School; me and 15 lovely mothers were in attendance.  They all looked fairly nice.  I was in flip-flops and had a visor on to cover my bed head.

Although I’ve attended this meeting for the past five years, I think they felt a good refresher was in order.

We discussed the game and practice schedule and debated how much “stunting” should be done.  I’m not too worried but don’t care to see my 13-year-old flying across the gymnasium like a final second NBA half court shot.

We were reminded no jewelry – hoop earrings and “Rah Rah Ree” just don’t mix.  Did you know that a neighboring teammate’s finger could get caught in the loop and split the lobe right open?  Yuuuuck.  Had to put my head between my legs when that image ran through my brain.  Thought I was going to pass out.

If I were female and that was even a remote possibility, guess whose ears would not be pierced?

Then we covered the topic of uniforms.  Not too short we were informed, it is an Episcopal School.  Interestingly, we parents pointed out that the team we play against with the poodle skirts look pretty outdated in the year 2013 (that school is apparently a bit more conservative).  But Mrs. Ready, the Middle School Principal, says that the skirt can’t be shorter than 6 inches above the knee when you’re kneeling.  I measured my kids’ when they were doing their nightly prayers.

“Put on your school uniform and kneel!”

“Why do you have the yardstick dad?  Are you doing to beat me?”

“Nah.  Just following up on Mrs. Ready’s request.”

Incidentally, she’s also the one who walks through the gym during the school dances reminding kids to “leave room for Jesus.”  I love that woman.

Then, the coach said everyone on the team needed to wear a “razorback bra.”

I’d never heard of such a thing, my curiosity was piqued.  I almost raised my hand for clarity but from the looks of the others in the room, I was the only one who needed to be enlightened.  Plus, I have DJ, a good resource in these situations.

I’ll have to admit, I had a difficult time concentrating for the duration of the meeting…

What in the heck is a “razorback bra?”  Does it keep the hair off your back?  If so, Uncle Jesse needs one of those.  Does it have spikes on the back?  Kind of a reverse Lady Gaga?  Is it manufactured by students from the University of Arkansas?

On Tuesday, a friend from work announced that she was going to Target and asked if anyone needed anything.  I know her fairly well so I pulled her in my office.

“Hey, when you’re there, could you see if they have any razorback bras?  Stephanie needs one for cheerleading, and I don’t know where to find those.”

“Do you mean racerback?”

“Hmmm.”  RACERback.  That –  makes –  sense.  “Yea.  Yea.  Racerback.  You wear them when you race!  That’s it.  That’s what I mean.”  (Nervous laugh.)

So for all the dads out there who are responsible for bra purchases in their home, a racerback bra swoops in on both sides of the shoulder blades, sort of like a swervey capital letter I.  If you’re still unsure, picture it on backwards.  If you envision something you saw at your bachelor party, you’re on the right track.

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