Stolen Credit Card

Someone in San Francisco who likes Redbox and gas stations has access to our credit card number.

I stand corrected: HAD access.

My husband realized what was going on early this morning and canceled our credit card immediately.

Unfortunately, I didn't catch wind of the situation until long after $150 worth of groceries were bagged and sitting in my shopping cart.

Talk about awkward.

"Do you have another card I could try?" the cashier asked. Three of the five people in line behind me sighed and moved to a different line.

I shook my head. I had 43 cents in cash on me and my debit card was next to my computer at home.

Double awkward since Cameron had already sat on a bag of hamburger buns (killing them instantly) and was eating his way through a box of graham crackers.

I started sweating bullets. Then I called my husband, who was in a meeting and didn't pick up the phone.

I offered the woman my Driver's License and an Ulta Frequent Shopper card.

"I'll be right back," I told her. "I promise."

The woman smiled sweetly. "I know you will," she said, as she slipped my driver's license into the pocket of her apron.

I made my husband go back and pay for the groceries.

Other People's Underwear

Yesterday afternoon, I told my boys that I had a special surprise waiting for them in the space that someday will be a walled-in study (right now it's just an open and empty formal living room).

They dug through two loads of clean laundry looking for their presents until they realized that the clothing piles were their presents.

"Thank you!" I chirped and went off to make dinner.

Over the next thirty minutes, lots of activity took place in the empty living room. Unfortunately, none of it was productive.

When I peeked around the corner to check on the progress, the boys were fighting over who had to fold all of the underwear.

"Do you have any plastic gloves?" they asked me.

"The longer you guys drag this out," I told them, "The less time you're going to have in the pool."

When I turned my back, one of them (I don't know who) threw a bra at me. And a pair of toddler-sized Lighting McQueen underpants.

They landed next to my foot.

"Be careful," I said with a crazy look in my eye. "Or I might make you wear them."

Shockingly, everyone got over their issue with touching other people's underwear.

Shopping at Target

I rarely take my kids to Target anymore. One reason is that bright lights and toy aisles tend to bring out the worst in them. The other has to do with how clothing racks make them all have to urinate.

I quickly grabbed what I needed to get today and was headed for the checkout lane when I spotted something as rare and elusive as the Hope Diamond: a 50% off clothing rack stocked with clothes that I actually would wear.

"Two minutes," I promised when the whining began. "That's all I ask."

Ten seconds into the ordeal, the first one said he had to use the bathroom.

"Too bad," I replied. I had just taken everyone to the bathroom literally five minutes earlier.

"But I didn't go when everyone else went," he cried. When pressed, he said that he had spent the time playing with the soap dispenser.

"That's too bad," I said. "You can wait for two minutes."

About this time, another shopper in the vicinity began scowling at me.

"I have to go too!" cried the other one.

The shopper began to make weird noises with her tongue.

"I am going to pee my pants!" the first one yelled. He started hopping on one foot.

The shopper looked like she was going to start hopping on one foot too.

"Agh!" I cried, succumbing to peer pressure. "Forget it! Let's go!"

I took my boys to the bathroom and left my fall wardrobe on the rack.

When I came back, my fall wardrobe was in the other shopper's cart.

Of course.

Chuck-E-Cheese's

I celebrated my fourteenth birthday at Chuck-E-Cheese's.

This wasn't by choice.

I'm the oldest of seven and the indoor arcade was the only place where all of my younger siblings could be safely contained.

Needless to say, I was traumatized by the experience of being forced to wear a party hat as a surly teenager and have a large mouse sing "Happy Birthday" to me.

There is another reason why I haven't frequented Chuck-E-Cheese's as much as my kids would like: the pizza.

By design or default, Chuck-E-Cheese's pizza has never been one of its strengths. It is the company's hope that that is all about to change.



This afternoon, my kids and I tried out the restaurant's new pizza recipe on the house...and it's pretty dang good. I'd place it alongside its competitors in terms of quality and value.

This is good news if you are like me and spend every other Saturday at the Cheeser celebrating the birthday of one of your child's classmates. It is also good news for those of us who were scarred for life at Chuck-E-Cheese's as teenagers and are looking for a way to reclaim what was lost.

After today, I'm entertaining the idea of celebrating my next birthday at Chuck-E-Cheese's. On purpose.

The Cheerleadering Tic

Last weekend, I put Camber on a plane to California. Right at this moment she's experiencing what life is like at grandma and grandpa's house...with no brothers.

Here in Orlando, it's all sports all the time. It has been so blazing hot in the afternoons that I have started taking my boys to a local college gymnasium to play basketball.

On Monday, my boys shared the court with a group of very tall guys, one of whom looked like Grant Hill.

I immediately put the thought out of my mind. "Why would he be here?" I asked myself.

Then I remembered the NBA lockout.



Needless to say, my boys freaked out.

While my sons were drooling over the privilege of being in the company of current and former NBA superstars, I joined a dozen cheerleaders in line at the ladies' room. While we waited, I talked to some of them. They told me that they were in Orlando for a week-long camp.

The girls were very pleasant and easy to talk with, but I couldn't help but notice that they all had trouble standing still during our conversation. Specifically, they appeared to be doing little cheers and mouthing the words "Go-Fight-Win" while we discussed important things like the weather and frozen yogurt.

I found this extremely odd and a bit unnerving until I remembered that one of my college roommates, who was a former high school cheerleader, used to do the same thing when we were in line at the grocery store. And walking to school. And eating in restaurants. My roommate was always very grateful when I stopped her from cheering at bizarre times and in public places, as she claimed not to even be aware of what she was doing.

As I watched these girls today, something came into my mind: maybe cheering is a tic.