I will not be outstubborned.

Some miscellaneous thoughts that have not yet made it to my blog:

We went to the UH vs. UCF softball game today. It was a lot of fun! We lost that game, but we won the first game of the doubleheader, so we came out even. I think the kids had fun, but sometimes it's hard to tell. Joe almost caught a foul ball. He would've caught it had he not been holding the baby. As it was, he made sure it didn't hit any of our small children, which is what really matters. He and Alaina took it to the concession stand, where she traded it in for a blow pop. Good times.

Ravi was the color commentator for the radio broadcast of the Omaha Beef game last night. He was really good. I actually listened to 3 hours of an indoor football game on the radio and enjoyed it. The Beef won.

I discovered something depressing the week before last. When I was growing up in Omaha, I always said that when I had a house of my own, I wasn't going to live so far out that I'd have to drive by cornfields to get there. (The cornfields across from my parents' neighborhood don't count because they are owned by Boys Town.) When Joe was looking for our first apartment the summer before we got married, he kindly took a picture of the fields he drove by to get there. But that didn't really count because those fields aren't there anymore.

So a few weeks back, I decided that the equivalent of the cornfield rule around here was Buc-ee's. For the uninitiated, Buc-ee's is a gas station chain with a near-cult following. I don't know, I don't really understand it. I suspect the beaver mascot has brainwashed people or something. ("The moon and stars..." Sorry, better now.) Anyway, the new rule was that if you had to drive past a Buc-ee's to get to your house, you lived too far out. To my dismay, the week before last I discovered that there is a Buc-ee's on the other side of the freeway from my neighborhood.

Apparently my rules are a cosmic joke.

Last Tuesday, as I was changing Jared's third dirty diaper of the day, I asked, in what I thought to be a rhetorical fashion, "Jared, what did you eat?" To which he responded, without missing a beat, "Dirt. Eat dirt, Mama." (That wasn't a command, he just skipped the sentence subject of "I.")

In case you were curious, I won the stubborn contest. I knew when Jared napped until 7 the day was not going to end well...(it's 2am right now).