You're Going Where?

Unlike our parents' generation, when Hubby and I plan the family vacation we actually involve the family, so we posed the open-ended question to the kids "where do you want to go this year on vacation?" As you can imagine with the variance in ages, the kids all indicated something different. Adam requested touring the Mayan or Incan ruins. Emily immediately said "Beach!" Will said "I don't care, I just want to go on an airplane" and Lizzie's stipulations were the easiest to meet....she only required food. I believe the direct quote was "Is there food on vacation?" "Yes, Lizzie, of course there's food on vacation." "OK then, I'll go" - as if she's ever missed a meal.

We start reviewing destinations and eventually decided on Mexico. After a good bit of research and chatting with a local, we reserved a condo on Half-Moon Cay in Akumal, Mexico, which is about an hour and a half south of Cancun. Here, we realize we can meet every one's requests. We are far enough south to tour the Mayan ruins, Adam's request - check! We are on the beach, Emily's request - check! We take an airplane to Cancun, Will's request -check! And as for the food, well, Lizzie is in luck that her mommy loves to eat so that's never an issue.

About two weeks out, I really start intently thinking about packing for the vacations. Moms, you know what I mean....if you don't have a plan for packing when traveling with children, something or someone will get left behind....shades of "Home Alone". First order of business...find the passports. Ok, found those, better put them somewhere important. The problem with relocating anything to "somewhere you won't lose it" is that eventually you forget where that "somewhere" is.

Next, I make "the call". Daughters with Mothers - you know the call - can I get a witness? It is the one where you tell your mother you are taking her precious grand-babies somewhere on vacation that doesn't involve her house. "Hi Mom, thought I'd call and let you know we're going to be leaving on vacation in a couple of weeks." "Where are you going" she politely asks. "Mexico!" I respond. "Won't that be fun?!" "Mexico? Why on earth are you going there?" Funny thing is, she has traveled to Mexico herself and had quite a good time if memory serves. Now I love my mother more than just about anyone in the whole wide world, but she worries way too much.

"Why can't you ever travel somewhere in the U.S.?" Seriously, how many stamps does she think I have in my passport? Every year we talk about going somewhere "different" for vacation and every year we end up somewhere in the Caribbean, mainly because we all love it. But I don't necessarily think of the Caribbean as international travel. If fact, it's probably more Americanized than Miami for Pete's sake. It's not that I am opposed to traveling somewhere across the globe, we've even talked about it. Ireland, Canada, Greece, Israel....I'd love to go those places but I have a very strict traveling policy. I do not go anywhere that I have to get immunizations to go and I do not go where there is known as-Queda. That pretty much knocks out a lot of destinations.

Mexico it is. My mom is still not pleased. She reminds me to call her every day so she knows no drug cartel has kidnapped her granddaughters. I reassure her that I will email during the week for a safety check. Eight days in Mexico on a remote beach! Gotta practice my Espanol. I make sure I know the three most important phrases: (1) Donde esta el bano? where is the bathroom? (2) helio es bueno? is the ice good? (3) yo necessito dos cervesas I need two beers. After all a girl has got to take care of business.

About five days prior to departure, I refuse to go to the grocery store so that I avoid wasting money on food that will sit in my refrigerator or on the kitchen counter and spoil. About three days before departure, we run out of milk. For most people, not a big deal. Apparently in my house, it signals the dawn of the apocalypse. The little one refuses to go to bed without chocolate milk. Note to self, no vacation for her next year and she goes to grandma's house a week before I depart. Drug cartel concerns be banished.

Travel day arrives, the kids are very excited. We have shopped. We have packed. We have planned and now we are getting on a plane, only after the customary flight delay. We have a great flight into Cancun, but then hit this really long line backed up waiting to get into the country. Me, Hubby and all four kids stand in line with all of our luggage, passports out, it's all a little too much to keep track of and still be happy and patient for the two hour wait. At one point, I lose Lizzie in the line and while I know I should be terrified that I cannot see my child amid this sea of people, I immediately know my mother will be validated in her fear of foreign lands. I find Lizzie and make her promise to stand right next to me until she's 21.

I look up to see what is taking so long in this line and realize there are only three workers for all of these tourists. You have got to be kidding me! I have now about another hour in line to work on some process improvement suggestions for them. As it turns out, the Mexican government is less excited than the American government to hear suggestions from "the people".

Finally, we're through and off to paradise. We get checked in to our condo and the view is just amazing. From our balcony we see turtle nests up and down the beach. Over the next eight days we experience unbelievable snorkeling, complete with sea turtles, a turtle walk where we got to watch two turtles dig nests and lay their eggs, experience local Mexican and Mayan culture, and see ancient ruins that are awesome in scope and size. Adam and Emily went zip lining through the Mayan jungle and we went cave swimming. Sand castle building on the beach and searching for unique shells along the shoreline; all in all the trip was fantastic. As day would ebb into evening, the sea turtles would swim up to the shoreline and pop their heads up like little gophers. Having been raised in the Florida panhandle, salt water is in my blood and I never feel more at home or at peace than when there is salt air in my lungs and sand under my feet. The power and immenseness of the oceans have the ability to humble even the mightiest of egos, but in the same moment it connects an individual the the rest of the world in the most simple of ways. Certainly many memories were made and some were truly once in a lifetime experiences.

As the days went on, my Spanish got a little better. Hubby even seemed a little impressed, he actually considers me bilingual. Those of you who know me, can chuckle at that thought. Some memories were not as spectacular as the turtles. For example, one day we were out and Lizzie needed to use the restroom. We find a public restroom, but Pedro wants to charge me 2 pesos to use a toilet with no lid. He must be huffing paint! As beautiful as the country was, I could not get used to seeing policemen carrying AK-47's and having an assault rifle strapped to their back. We were in Soriano's (Mexico's version of a Walmart) and my kids were a little freaked out with all the firearms. Officer Friendly at school never looks like that.

About Day 7 of vacation, I was standing in the condo and looking out over the balcony at the waves crashing on the beach, contemplating packing for the return trip. I was thinking of everything I had to do when I arrived home and all I still had to do in preparation for the start of the school year which was inching closer by the day. I found myself looking forward to sleeping in my own bed and cooking on my own stove. I realized that even as magical as vacations are, after a while, I get antsy. I crave the normalcy of my chaotic, but chosen, life. Twenty-four hours later, we were on the flight back home, tired beyond belief, sunkissed more than the dermatologist would approve, but ready to face the unknown amount of time before our next big adventure.

In the Blink of an Eye

"In the blink of an eye" is a phrase that we use often to describe how quickly things happen in life. When I was a child, nothing and I mean NOTHING happened "in the blink of an eye", but now that I am an adult, it seems that EVERYTHING happens "in the blink of an eye".

At the kids' middle school, both Adam and Emily participate in Mathletes, which is a Math Club. Hubby is the "coach" of the Mathletes. As school was coming to a close, there was a big Mathletes competition inviting most schools in the district. The competition was fierce! In the end, our team not only won several individual and team awards, but came home with the "Best Overall" trophy as well.

I had scooted out of work a little early to make it to the competition in time to witness the awards ceremony. First of all, to see a huge room full of middle schoolers excited about Math of all things, was inspiring within itself. But then, to watch my husband's team (including two of our own children) win award after award was truly incredible.

After the competition had come to a close, the team gathered to take a group photo. All the kids held up their medals and smiled big for the camera. I looked through the camera lens to snap the photo. Not necessarily "in the blink of an eye", but more "in the flash of a camera", Adam was seven years old again holding a little league medal. It was the same squinty eyes, the same toothy grin, the same cheesy smile that has held my heart captive for the last fourteen years. It seemed that the only thing time had changed was he was seventeen feet taller.

Over the past year, three wonderful young ladies, with whom I have had the pleasure of working, all graduated high school. I have gotten to watch them apply to college and witness the roller coaster of emotion that comes with the life changing event of getting accepted to college. As they make their final preparations to embark on their journey into the future, I wonder if their parents feel their daughters grew up "in the blink of an eye".

Well, my oldest begins a new chapter in his life this Fall as he heads to high school. I think that at one time I foolishly thought if I kept having children, I would always stay young. (For the record, that's not the case.) Subsequently, next year, I will have one in high school, one in middle school, one starting kindergarten (how is THAT possible??) and one in pre-school. Anyone know a good chauffeur?

I find myself being caught in the moment of the Mathletes picture where for just one fraction of a second, I was transported back to a time where I still had many more years of Adam at home. I think that as I took that picture, it was the first time I really felt that scary feeling of "holy crap, he's really growing up and will be leaving soon." In the blink of an eye, he's now headed to high school. Probably "in the blink of an eye" he, too, will make those final preparations and fly from the nest. When that time comes, he will be infinitely more prepared than me!

In the blink of an eye, that is when, I'll be closer to You than I've ever been
Time will fly, but until then, I'll embrace every moment that I'm given
There's a reason I'm alive - in the blink of an eye

Thanks Mercy-Me for putting it all in words and in perspective!

Living on the Edge

A little over a year ago, I was driving Will and Lizzie to daycare. Our commute is usually about forty minutes from our door to the pre-school. Like many active families on the go, the most important meal of the day, a.k.a. breakfast, usually gets consumed in the car while we are sitting in traffic. Sometimes, the kids just want a drink and plan to eat once they arrive at school. Such was this particular day - drinks only. It was sippy cups of course, lest the beverage become a river in the back of my car.


So we are in the car cruising on along when Lizzie asks for her drink, which by the laws of sibling-hood, meant that Will immediately asked for a drink also. After I had handed the closest cup to Lizzie, I realized I was in big trouble! I quickly found that I was one drink short of being a stellar mommy for that very moment.


In typical Will response, he started to whine. Those that know me, know if there is one thing that grates my nerves, it's a whining child. Will has mastered this and unfortunately for me, uses it to his benefit often. I glanced up in the rear view mirror. God is Good - Lizzie has two drinks! The little stinker had tucked one in her car seat that morning unbeknownst to me. As she happily sucked on one cup, I asked her to please share with her brother. "NO" was the response. Being early in the morning when I'm not at my sharpest mentally, I try the unsuccessful task of trying to reason with a toddler. "Lizzie, you have two drinks and Will doesn't have any. Wouldn't it be nice if you share with him?" A shake of the head and a resounding "NO" was what I got for my efforts.


Watching her from the rear view mirror, I think "hmmm, I wonder if the vacation bible school approach will work?" "Lizzie, what would Jesus have to say about sharing?" The look I got quickly let me know that she didn't give a rat's patoottee about what Jesus would recommend regarding her beverages. OK, that didn't work, I better try something else. We were only a couple of weeks away from Christmas so I went for the ultimate trump card. "Lizzie! What would Santa think?" Now I'm not too proud of the fact that around December, Santa carries a little more weight than Jesus with the pre-school crowd in my house; but I bet if everyone were real honest, I'd be in good company, cause I know ya'lls kids do the same thing.


Anyway, the threat of Santa got her young attention. She looks at Will, grabs the other cup out of her car seat, stares me down in the rear view mirror and extends her arm across the van seat to offer him the drink. It was like Chariot's of Fire. Just as his little pudgy fingers could barely touch the cup, that ratty Lizzie opens her fingers and releases the cup and it falls straight on the floor. All the while, she was staring me down in the mirror.


Will, although whiney, doesn't have a malicious bone in his little body, so he starts trying to reassure her - "Lizzie don't cry. It was an accident. Mommy will get it." Meanwhile, the furtherest thing from Lizzie's mind, much less her eye, is a tear. I watch her from the rear view mirror (thank God there is traffic and I am able to keep an eye on her) and shoot her one of those "mother looks" saying I know what you just did! That little pre-school Madonna looks me dead in the eye of the mirror and proudly states "Don't push me...cuz I'm...close..to..the..edge!" Shut the Front Door! My first thought was "Sister, I'm about to drag your little narrow behind right over the edge!", but I didn't.



I wondered where she had heard that, then remember Happy Feet. The phrase is quoted in Happy Feet in a rather funny part of the movie. Well, lots has changed since that chilly December morning. With all the chaos of 2009 which doesn't look like it will shake out anytime soon, maybe Lizzie knew something we couldn't have - We would all be on the edge.



Yes, 2009 saw many Americans on the edge. On the edge of unemployment, on the edge of foreclosure, on the edge of sanity many days. I would guess I was not alone in my joy to bid a fond farewell to 2009 in the hopes that 2010 will be better. Is it thus far? We have witnessed the worst of Mother Nature and perhaps the best in humanity, all within the same event. And while many of us may be cutting back on our budgets, we give praise that we still have a dollar in our pocket to share with another in a far away land that we will never know. Will we be "on the edge" this year? I sure hope so! The edge of enlightenment, the edge of possibility, the edge of an era that focuses on God and each other, not ourselves. So, "livin' on the edge"? You betcha, I can't wait!

Turning Forty

Last week, I turned forty - the big four oh. Yep! We all get there....including me. I was talking with a friend who asked "What do you have planned? You going out?" At first I thought, "Yeah, going out sounds fun!" Quickly followed by "where would I go? What would I do?" It really is sad to think that many moons ago, I could go out and hoop it up all week, I'm talking five, six days in a row, living on a few hours sleep here and there, and be just fine and dandy. Now days, I go out one night and need five, six days to recover. Where's the justice in that, I ask you?

I could go dancing, I love dancing! But, the reality is that when Shawty gets "Low" on the dance floor, the old knees now pop. That's a little embarassing. Best to steer clear of any of that nonsense.

This becoming forty thing was a little thought provoking for me. Several months ago, I called another friend and was generally bitching about the everyday blahs. Mid complaint she burst out laughing. "Are you turning forty this year?" she not so tenderly asked. I stopped and thought for a minute. "Yes. Yes, I am. Why?" Amidst her hysterics, she informed me that I was having a mid-life crisis. A mid-life crisis! What the...?! She shared that the only reason she knows this is because she has experienced her own, then watched her husband experience his.

Apparently, forty may be a difficult number for overachievers. It's the magical number that causes one to re-evaluate her lives and you realize that time is only marching forward. Since my friend is three years older than I am, I revere her word as the Gospel. By now, she surmises, I thought I would have been President or something. Well, I may agree with the "or something", not the the President, as I had a little too much fun in college to actually run for President. This news sent me into deep reflection, at least until Hubby and the kids came back from the rest area bathrooms. I neglected to mention that I was given this revelation as we were driving down some major interstate. Perhaps that is what pushed me over the edge. No good can come from putting me in the car with Hubby and the four kids for more than ten minutes. So the car starts moving again and I tell Hubby it's time for some changes!

Changes we have made. I am writing this year, if for nothing else, but my own personal amusement. I bought my own company, so I guess I am President after all - President of "The Bestest Revelation, Inc." - a company name that only Hubby and I understand. I am operating a paint your own pottery studio, learning more than I ever thought I could about art and business ownership. And Hubby and I have completed classes which will allow us to foster or adopt. Brad and Angie - look out - you have nothing on the Giger's!

So back to my actual birthday. Party? Well, I suppose it depends on your definition. I met up with Hubby, the mermaid and two little guppies at the YMCA for swim practice where I realized that not only does Emily completely rock the competitive swimming pool, but those little two guppies swim the 25 meters required to join the swim team, and they are only 3 and 4 years old. That's a pretty cool birthday present. Then we left and picked up our divine dinner cuisine at Wendy's. Exciting stuff...usually Wendy's is only allowed on "Wendy Wednesdays" in the Giger House. Finally, we headed home for a big splashy party. I hoovered over my taco salad before enjoying a beautifully decorated cake baked by a few of my favorite people on the planet. It was delicious!

Although this may not be your idea of a spectacular way to welcome in forty, for me, it was just about perfect. I think many of us spend the first forty years of our lives doing, achieving and generally trying to get the whole world to know our name. We then spend the next forty trying to detatch from the rest of the world and focus on what's really important in life, in my humble opinion - faith, family, and friends.

I remember many years ago watching "Scarface". I'm sure you have seen the movie. Remember the fountain in the foyer (if memory serves)? The twirling centerpiece looked like a globe and reads "The World is Yours". Back when I was much more of an idealist, I desparately wanted that fountain. I imagined that by the time I was thirty I would have acquired one. But more than the fountain, I loved the message "The World is Yours". It was a symbol of power, money, arrogance and even prestige. With age and experience you realize those things fade and lose their luster. Therefore, I no longer have the desire to own that fountain, or the sentiment behind it. After all, with the state of the world these days, what would I do with it, if I had it? And, as for the fountain the foyer...it would just be another place for the guppies to swim.

I Don't Feel Good

Last Wednesday started like every other Wednesday in our house. Before Thing 3's eyes were ever opened, the whining started. "I don't want to go to school!" I swanee, I have the only four year old on the planet who has mastered the part of perpetual playboy. I really think he has a bright future as a rockstar or a poolboy...not sure exactly which one yet.

"I don't want to go to schoooolllll!" How does the child even know it's a school day, I ask myself as I walk right past the wailing pre-schooler on my way to the closet to get clothes for him and his sister. "Mommy, I really think I'm sick." I stop, only briefly, to see if he looks sick. You know, Moms have this amazingly clairvoyant talent to eyeball a kid at twenty paces and tell if they are fibbing about feeling ill.

The morning wore on and reluctantly Thing 3 made his way to the mini-van, the staple mode of transportation for all urban moms. As I am buckling the car seat, the whines became a little more desperate, "Mommy I really think I need to go to Granny and Pop's today because I don't feel good". At this moment, I'm wondering if he'll get the humor if I reach over and give him a friendly squeeze followed by a "you feel pretty good to me" response - like my Dad used to do.

The van begins its morning commute to work. As we approach the traffic light where one could turn and proceed to my in-laws house, Thing 3 states "Mommy, you need to turn here. I really can't go to school today, because I'm sick". Now my child is a GPS system. Maybe there will eventually be a man that knows where to turn.

I am practicing my parenting methods recently acquired at parenting classes - ignoring "junk behavior". Hubby and I are in the process of fostering/adopting another child or two because our house has not reached full chaos capacity. The fact that the parents of four had to sit through thirty plus hours of parenting skills is a little entertaining in itself. By halfway through the first class, Hubby and I looked at each other and agreed, "yep, we sure screwed up kids 1 and 2; but maybe there's still hope for 3 and 4".

The car ride continues and I ignore the junk behavior. "Mommy, my head hurts" taunts the backseat driver. Again, a flashback of my own childhood is encouraging me to refrain from the response that "a head like that ought to hurt". "Mommy my head realllly hurts. Feel it. It's hot. I have a fever." Um-huh, I nod unapologetically.

"Mommy, this ear hurts". Rats, the child has picked up on the one complaint that typically does give me cause for concern. Any parent worth their weight can tell you that kids can go from perfectly healthy to a raging ear infection in 2.6 seconds. However, I did not overreact. I did not cave in. My skepticism was confirmed when about two minutes later the cry became "Mommy, both ears hurt". I quickly realize the child has the traveling disease - in that the disease tends to travel down the body, starting at the head and working it's way south until we find a ailment that Mom considers concerning.

We pull into the daycare. I get out of the van and open his sliding door. "Mommy, my knees are hot" Are you serious? Hot knees! "Well Will, it looks like you've got a case of the hot knees" I say. "Mommy, my leg hurts. I think it's broken. Feel it." I drag the pre-school protester out of the van and direct him towards his class.

It's only 8am and I am already exhausted. We open the door to the class and he sees Miss Heidi. Miraculously he is healed! Thing three bounds off to play with his friends as if life were grand. Once again, I offer him up for sale to Miss Heidi, who just laughs.

As I make my way to work, doing LOTS of deep breathing, I have to give thanks. I give thanks that he attends a school that is attentive to his needs. I give thanks that I have a job to which I go. But most importantly, I give thanks that I have a healthy child. A whiny, yet creative, healthy child....and at the end of the day, isn't that really all that matters.

For the Record, I Am NOT Pregnant!

A dear friend called today. She was quite upset and disturbed that for approximately the 57th time in the past six months, someone has asked her when her baby is due. For the record, she is not pregnant. Not everyone bluntly asked “when is your baby due”, some used the new celebrity term “baby bump” in their inquiry. As she railed in disgust of the implication, my first thought was “Good Grief! She doesn’t look pregnant” followed quickly by “Note to self- do not stand too close to her or I will be considered pure bovine – oops, this isn’t about me…”

I listened and tried to soothe her as best I could. I can totally empathize with her. I am an apple. Ladies, you know the deal – the world divides women into two fruits – apples and pears. I am an apple; she is a pear, which completely threw me off with the whole “she looks pregger” thing.

At any rate, like all apples, I have always carried my weight in my mid-section. No hips, no boobs, just belly – talk about attractive! Rueben’s would have never asked me to model as the Madonna. Subsequently, due to my rotundness around my middle, people have always asked me “when are you due”, “is your baby a boy or girl”…Do you know how hard it is to smile through that type of humiliation? Skinny women do not!

By the way, I have not mentioned the fact that my friend is a good bit younger than I am and she looks even more youthful than her tender age. Sometimes when we are out together, mean people with poor vision assume she is my eldest daughter. I am not sure what is the worst…either I am so fat that I am mistaken for being pregnant, or I am wrinkled enough to look as if I could have a daughter who is twenty-six years old. I’ll let you be the judge of the ‘biggest insult’ in that one.

Back to her problem…What I realized was, this is one of those teachable moments, a rare opportunity for me to share my experiences from which I have learned over the years, with an up and coming budding Southern magnolia sister. When I am asked this ridiculous question about my perceived impeding delivery, I simply look the offender in the eye and respond sweetly “Why I’m not pregnant, just fat, but thanks for pointing it out.” I know that some of you think that is just downright rude of me, but I believe the social faux pas goes to the fool that inquired about my uterus.

The more I thought about my poor young friend being subjected to the same question that has plagued me for years, the more I thought, I must stop the madness! Of course I know that none of my readers would be so ill mannered to make that inquiry of an acquaintance, much less a total stranger, but I knew you all would be the vessel of grace to squelch this insidious behavior.
May my swan song be that the ONLY acceptable time to ask a lady “when is your baby due?” is when you are seated next to her in the obstetrician’s office and she is visibly 10 months pregnant – and even then, realize you are taking your chances.

What's a Girl Like Me Doing Watching WWE??

I have a secret. It's a little odd. To know me, you would never really guess this about me...but I LOVE the WWE (World Wrestling Entertainment). I hold two college degrees and I am the mother of four kids ranging from toddlers to teenagers - which sometimes feels like its one and the same. I work for a fairly conservative company, married to a Math teacher for crying out loud, and vote Republican. I can tell you how to solve the Pythagorean theorem, what makes thunder, and the difference between chardonnay and pinot grigio (and why you should drink both). I practice yoga, try to make sure my kids eat a vegetable and I recycle. And...I LOVE wrestling!



As I sit around today recovering from last night's pay-per-view event, which by the way, wasn't just any event, it was THE event - Wrestlemania - I wondered how shocked people would be to know that I LOVE the WWE? Then I started pondering all the reasons I enjoy the WWE. I think I have it narrowed down to eight main reasons.

Reason 8 - I have huge respect and admiration for the empire Vince McMahon has built. What a marketing genius to take a "sport" that we all know is really "entertainment" and make a squillion dollars off of it every year. The WWE Universe is truly world wide. Last month the Smackdown franshise accomplished its 500th show within 10 years making it the fastest weekly show to do this. The Raw and ECW franchises continue to thrive as well. Each week, Raw has more viewers than any other show on TV. In 2008, WWE made it to the Forbes 200 Best Small Companies. The retail side of this business alone is staggering. Clothes, accessories, key chains...you name, they sell with a logo. Even if you don't like the product, you have to respect the vision, ambition and execution.

Reason 7 - It's a male soap opera. Seriously, ladies, don't grumble when your man wants to watch his childhood superstars...it makes him feel young again. WWE has drama, mystery, romance and backstabbing. Throw in high fashion and an ocassional cat fight and you have all the right ingredients for a soap opera. There are many Superstars that would give Susan Lucci a run for her money (and her Emmy). Right now there's a twisted love triangle between the General Manager of Smackdown, the Ultimate Opportunist, and the World's Largest Athlete. Can anyone say "Quid Pro Quo"? There's the feuding brothers, complete with burning houses and hit and run car accidents. Finally, we just solved the mystery of the illegitimate Irish midget. Come on, how much more drama can you find on "Grey's Anatomy"?

Reason 6 - They're do-gooders, even the bad ones. WWE works with several charitable organizations. They have a 20 year history and relationship with the Make-A-Wish Foundation that grants wishes to terminally ill children. WWE Superstars and Divas are some of the most requested and most devoted celebrities. The WWE Road to Wrestlemania Reading Challenge inspired kids to make a trip to the public library and won the WWE it's first Beacon Award for community service. WWE assisted the city of Houston after Hurricane Ike performed it's own "Twist of Fate". Additionally the WWE supports American troops in ways that no other organization does or can. Annually the WWE Superstars and Divas make a pilgrimage to the Middle East and entertain the troops at various military bases. Any US military personnel gets free admission to WWE events in the US. And, John Morrison and Mr. Kennedy encouraged us all to "Smack Down our vote" this year during the presidential campaign.

Reason 5- The high flying, gravity defying moves. These guys and girls must be made of durable rubber. How else can they fly through the air. From Rey Mysterio's 619 to Jeff Hardy's Swanton Bomb, the acrobatic moves are unbelievable. I'm sore from just watching them.

Reason 4 - Wrestlemania! It's the "pinnacle of Sports Entertainment". This event is the Superbowl of the World, since more countries tune into the WWE than tune into the NFL. The pageantry, the legends, the buildup...it's another example of McMahon's marketing masterpiece. Having attended a Wrestlemania in person, I can tell you, there's nothing like it. The electricity in the air is almost palatable. As the jets fly over the stadium and the ladders are positioned to hang the "Money in the Bank" briefcase, the anticipation is just incredible. By the time the Undertaker Tombstone's his latest victim, you know you need to sleep, but you just don't want to end the party.

Reason 3 - Wrestling reminds me of being a kid. I can remember hanging out with my Dad as he watch Dusty Rhodes "The American Dream" and hearing my Mom talk about "Ravishing Rick Rude". Good times, when life was much more simple and the most important thing I had to do was homework. Boy, do I miss those days sometimes!

Reason 2 - The bevy of HOT MEN. Girlfriends, did you really think I would close this note without mentioning the Greek God-like sculpted bodies of Randy Orton and Dave Batista, the boy next door appeal of John Cena, or the perfectly designed for delectable kissing lips of Jeff Hardy? Yummy yum yum. About the only thing my 11 year old daughter and I agree on these days is John Cena - "He's Hot!" Hey, I may be married and maternal...but I'm not dead.

Reason 1 - The number one reason I love the WWE is that Friday night in our house is "Pizza and Smackdown" night. Our four year old looks forward to Friday all week long. It's the only day of the week he bounces out of bed and doesn't put up a fight about going to daycare. He knows when I pick him up, it's pizza and wrestling. We usually cook pizza, but sometimes order out. Any diet started for the week (and that's all the time for me) is forfeited on Friday night as we binge on pizza. The kids drink their fill of soda and Hubby and I may even pop a beer. It's the one time of the week that we are all together in the same room eating together and watching the same TV. Which by the way, it's the only time I watch TV. I hope that as our kids grow older they will remember these times with much fondness.

There you have it...all the reasons why I'm addicted to WWE. Feel free to join me on my addiction by tuning in. I'm sure Vince will thank you!