He Shoots, He Scores!

I tell you what, Tim won the Valentine's Day Game by a huge margin this year. An impressive display of forethought and execution. A home run, a slam dunk, a field goal and any other winning sports analogy you can insert into this sentence.

This, my friends, is what triumph looks like:

 

 Kolache is a Czech pastry that I get to eat exactly once a year, when (and if) I make it back to the little Czech community in eastern South Dakota where my father was raised and where I would visit every summer growing up. Not only did Tim get up early and make them, he made them from my late grandmother's recipe. A little piece of home. A little piece of family. A little piece of my roots.

Hands down, the best Valentine's Day gift I've ever received.

(....AAAannnnnd I'd tell you what he got in return, but we'll keep this a G rated post.....)

Karma's A.......

Teenagerdom is alive and well in our house these days and I admit that I have a new found appreciation for all the parents that haven't developed permanent facial ticks from its landmines. Sometimes I feel completely ill-equip for the job as the hoodoo curse my mom put on me as a teenager rolls around in my head....you know, the one that goes: When you grow up, I hope you have a daughter just. like. you.   (Because if she's anything close, I am so. screwed.)

Here's what I'm up against these days: Sydney's lovelier by the day. She's curvy; she's graceful; she's witty, charismatic and spunky. This combination makes me teeter between beaming pride,wanting to nurture her blossoming womanhood and doing a swat team style take down, throwing a sack over her head and whisking her off to a bomb shelter in the remoteness of Idaho.

Karma

Here is an all too typical conversation between the two of us as of late:

Sydney: Mom, can I get these shoes? (showing 4 inch black heels)
Me: Sure.
S: Really??!
Me: Absolutely. Oh, wait. You meant in this lifetime....yeah, not a chance.
S: *grumble grumble*  Fine. How about these? (showing more ridiculously high heels)
Me: I'm sorry, are you working in a strip club somewhere that I should be aware of?
S: MOM!!
Me: You're 13. Talk to me about those shoes when you're 30.
S:*grumble grumble* What about this dress? (presenting what looks like a small piece of fabric that someone forgot to sew the back into)
Me: How about a gunny sack?
S: MOM! (*rolling her big doe eyes)
Me: I'll get you one for every day of the week.
S: *grumble* *sulk*


Yeah, one word: Idaho.