Elfin' Magic

I was nestled all snug in my bed again last night, about to drift off to much-needed sleep, when it hit me: Oh, sh–! I forgot to move the elf. 

Covers off. Slippers on. Back downstairs to reluctantly make merry mischief.

Many of you have been there. Every one of you who has an Elf on the Shelf, aka, Santa's Narc. My kids named ours Elfy (clever, right?), but when they're out of earshot, I call him the same thing all parents call theirs...

Bloody But Unbowed

I did something kind of crazy today. Bordering on suicidal. I went and played soccer for my women's pick-up league, in spite of the baseball sized hematoma covering my right shin and foot.

For those of you not familiar with the sport, soccer is a game that requires nonstop use of your feet, which could possibly be why the Europeans call it football.  So there I was, running on my bruised foot, THUD! Dribbling with my bruised foot, THUMP! Passing with my bruised foot, THWACK! Kicking the heck out of the ball over and over and over again with my bruised foot, WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! And all I could think was, what the hell is wrong with me?