New Addition: My cute niece Lily is holding a vote on possible titles for my book.* (Echo vs. The Echo Lives in Blackfoot). Which title would you sooner buy? So please click here to vote on your favorite!

*This is all for fun, and may or may not have any bearing on the actual title.

Patience Status: Patience runneth over. Zen holding strong. Peace aboundeth.
So, for the love of the universe, STOP ASKING!!! Or somebody is gonna lose a finger! AARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!

I kid. But I may have been exaggerating about the patience...

It was a long weekend, filled with gumby-headed moves. I hope they entertain.

Showed up to my friend's baby shower one week early (but still 45 minutes late):

Yep. Knocked on the door, big huge purple present in hand, and the husband answers. In his pajamas. (Keep in mind, I've never met him.)

Him: "Um, I think it's next week."

me: "Don't be ridiculous. I checked the invitation like a hundred times."

Him (asking his wife on cell phone): "Yep, it's not til next week."

me (totally embarassed): "Whoops."

Him: "What's your name? So I can tell my wife?" (So he can tell his wife who the gumby-head is).

me: "Ummmmm..." I momentarily considered owning up to my mistake, but instead I took off running! "You'll never know my name!! So long sucker!!!"

Him (To his wife on the phone): "She's running away. So I'll just point her out next week."

So, yes Monae, it was me.


Mother of the Year Status:

So, I'm taking Carter (6 years old) to tennis, and Beckham (3 years old) is tagging along. I get following Carter in to the tennis courts, and I'm talking to my sister and her daughter (Necie- 5) and I'm thinking: "Boy, Necie and Carter in the same class. This could be trouble. I hope Erin keeps her eye on Necie."

When all of a sudden, Erin turns to me: "Where's Beckham?"

And I'm stumped.

So here was my thought process in response to Erin's question:
1. Beckham who?
2. Oh yeah, Beckham my son.
3. I brought him, didn't I?
4. Yes. So, at what point did I lose him? Retrace your steps, Brodi.

I ran back through the courts, out the heavy doors, where Beckham was wandering aimlessly, like a little lost street urchin.

So, for those of you wishing to nominate me for mother of the year, maybe rethink that decision...

Congratulations, Rafa! Australian Open Champion! First hardcourt major title!

I bet you all thought I'd have started this post talking about my mocha-honey's stellar performance in the Australian Open Championship match. Well, I am not that obsessed. I mean, perhaps it deserves a mention. But nothing more. Because, as the saying goes, woman shall not live on biceps alone.

He has so much more to him. Like intensity.
My sister-in-law Emily says he's boring. He's only got one face; that look of determination. But below is proof he has another face besides the look of determination. And it's kinda goofy.

After the final point, he levitated inches off the ground just to entertain the crowd.

His greatest rival is Roger Federer. A totally classy player, who's made tennis practically an art form. When Rafa beat him, Roger was going for his 14th major title, to tie Pete Sampras' record. But Rafa stood in his way.

I wish he'd stand in my way. Do any of my readers have the ability to make it so?

Okay, okay. Calm down. Fine. I'll include one gratuitous shot of Rafa, just because I'm giving in to your demands. But I am rolling my eyes the entire time, and I am grudgingly obliging, because I like you all so much.

Reading other people's book status:
Still working on "A Great and Terrible Beauty." I think a few of my readers are joining in, so feel free to do the same.

In the cue: "Graceling" and then "The Book Thief."