We Wuv the Wubble Bubble

Ok, I have the best life.

I say this with the full-on knowledge that some mommas might be reading this while they are buried under a pile of dirty (choose one!): diapers/children/dishes/housing/pets , and thus are not really feeling how I started this blog.

Ok, let’s face it, you don’t have to choose one. I know it. You’re buried under all five of those things, aren’t you? I feel you, momma.

But TODAY, I do have the best life. LET ME TELL YOU WHY:



Backstory: It’s Spring Break, or, as many mothers refer to it:


…and just the other day, these lovely little squishy things arrived. Every once in a while, as mom blogger, I get weird squishy things in the mail, and I get to review them, and it’s like SQUISHY CHRISTMAS ALL OVER THE PLACE.



I’m telling you. These saved Spring Break.


Look at the wonderment on his face, people. MY PRESHUS.

And also: these Wubble Fulla things? They’re… kind of addictive. But in a good way. I mean, I’m not the kind of person to steal toys from my children, but it’s just possible the husband came home to me, sitting with my own personal Wubble in the kitchen, just squooshing away with a somewhat dreamy expression on my face.

(I get stressed, people. I take my relaxation where I can get it.)

Wubble Fulla is the newest addition to a Wubble family of products that includes Super Wubble, Tiny Wubble, Super Wubble Brite (a light-up Wubble for playing in the dark), Wubble X (a helium-filled “anti-gravity” ball that can hover in mid-air) and Water Wubble (refillable water balloon balls that splash, but don’t pop).

The new ball comes in three super squooshy sizes: Huge (5″), Big (4″) or Tiny (just under 2 ½”)! Each size comes stuffed with either slime or Magic Marbles – colorful and squishy round balls made of a super-absorbent polymer that absorbs water. Whichever you choose, once you pick up Wubble Fulla, you won’t want to put it down!

Here’s a link to the very professional and cool Wubble Fulla commercial:

(But, wait! There’s more!! If you look a bit further down the post, you’ll also get to view Momsie’s very amateur, with sketchy production values video of her kid and his Wubble. And who wouldn’t want to see that? IT’S IN SLO-MO, PEOPLE.)

Like to know more? Want to order one or find them in stores? Go to: http://wubbleball.com 


Ours has no soundtrack, just the creepy moo-ing sounds of me laughing in slow motion. I’m sorry. I’m no George Lucas.



Royals, We are Watching You.


Famous moments in sports history:

  • The USA believes in miracles and beats the Russians in the Olympics.
  • We totally tick off Hitler with Jesse Owens.
  • Lou Gehrig brings us to tears with his “Luckiest Man” speech.
  • Pretty much anything that Michael Jordan on the court.  Also: Space Jam.
  • I am completely addicted to Royals baseball.

For those of you who know me, you are aware of a few things about how sports and I get along:

In the past, I only participated in track. Why? Track has very little equipment. Equipment meant falling over or getting hit by things. I don’t like that. I’ve never really been the same since the killer tether ball incident of 1977.

But lately, I have fallen rather in love with this little team of ours, The Kansas City Royals. Surely, you have heard of them?

Ok, Boys in Blue, here’s the thing:

I have watched you, surrounded by two small squirmy boys, for at least six years now. I got roped into this action because I married a total sports nutball. This is the beauty of marriage.

My boys have grown up with you, and they watch your behavior. Your passion. They watch how much fun you are having.

They are learning from you.

I thank you for bringing my family together and making us a team, watching your team. It is magical. Win or lose, we are yours. I don’t care if you go into the next game and lose all feeling in your extremities and thus play like my boys’ tball team circa 2014.

(Ok, that’s not true. I care. Just a little bit. A skotch. A teensy bit.)

Oh, and Eric, did you know? We named our dog after you. He’s scruffy, the great and mighty Hoz. The name fits him. He plays outfield rather well, but we’re still trying to teach him about not peeing on the bases. This seems to not a problem for your team. Yet another reason why we love you guys!

You just go ahead and do what you do best: play your heart out, and we will watch with glee. We’ll holler for Hosmer’s starter-mullet, and that every pitcher on the planet wants to try and walk Lo Cain. They can’t help it – he’s scary that way. We will soak up the relentless artistry that is Cueto’s pitching. Oh, and we will wait with Julianna Zobrist and plan baby names (Homer, of course).

And we will pray for Volquez. We are all praying for Volquez.

Thank you.


We are Forever Royal.

There is no crying in T-ball.



For the most part, I do happen to function normally.

But every once in a while, I take leave of my senses. It’s like a vacation.

So, recently, I was humming along, all normal and ignorance is bluss stuff, and then, I thought, “Hey! Why don’t my husband and I coach T-ball this summer!”

I know, right? NUTBALL. Just like that, BOOM. My senses just up and left the building.

It started out ok. We have a team of ten five-year-olds, and their cuteness kinda makes me stop every once in a while, put my hands on my knees, and take a breath. Also, I am completely out of shape, so there’s that.

It’s a good thing they’re cute. Because y’all, they are no Lorenzo Cain.

Ok, but the truth of it is, the kids have heart. They are all Bad News Bears and totally into the hustle and the love of the game. One kid who looks EXACTLY like Charlie Brown hit the ball, fielded it himself, and then proceeded to slide into home base (completely foregoing those pesky second and third bases because who needs ’em?) with straight-up flair.

“You, kid,” I said, as I stood over him and his cloud of dust, “You, kid, have got heart.”

We are not short on heart. We are, however, a bit short on stellar coaching skills.

When I first informed the husband about this, he, of course, was all, “Yes! Sure! Let’s coach T-ball! Great idea!” Have I mentioned, he’s a golden retriever husband? Everything in his life engenders tail wagging and a lot of happy panting.

That sounded rather saucy. Anyhow. It’s not that kinda blog.

So, I threw the ball at the husband, and he gleefully galloped out and retrieved it, all thrilled with life. We’re gonna coach T-ball! This will be a blast! Family time! Togetherness!

And then, he left me. He left the togetherness.

And our team. He left us.

The husband left us to do this nutball thing called Bike Across Kansas. It’s when a bunch of people get together and ride their bikes across Kansas. If you wanna read about adventures with this last year, click here.  I kinda think all this is crazy, but hey, he wasn’t the one to volunteer us to coach T-ball.

I did hope that maybe this year they would bike across the upper eastern corner of Kansas because, if you know your geography… making it across our state wasn’t gonna end anytime soon.

So he’s… in Kansas. On a bike. For a while.

And lo, I am now the coach of T-ball. All by myself.

This is the part of the blog where you need to cue the scary music in your head.

You know the movie, Jaws? You remember at the beginning where all those inebriated tan kids are sitting around the campfire, and it’s all so mellow and kinda… groovy? And then, WHAMMO, that poor blonde girl becomes a shish kebab for Jaws and the movie kinda takes a difficult turn?

Well, that’s how it was at our last T-ball practice. Except there was no skinny dipping or bad 70’s hair or, well, a gigantic man-eating shark.

But other than that, it was the SAME. I mean it!

So, anyhow. Practice.

Started out just fine. We did some stretching… did a few jumping jacks (which is hilarious, by the way. Five year olds often look like jack rabbits on crack when they do these), and then we ran bases. We even ran them in the correct order! It was awesome!

We were a well-oiled machine, people. Poetry in motion. It was all very The Natural home run scene, I tell you.

Until I decided to actually get balls into play.

You see, up until then we had been using imaginary balls. Imaginary bats. It was PERFECTION.

As we all know, real balls do cause trouble. And again, I know it’s not that kinda blog.

So – I put a ball on the T… and stepped back, and then watched as all of my five-year olds lost their little minds. Bases were stolen. No, I mean LITERALLY stolen. Balls were fought over. One kid had a solid hit to center field that no one really saw at all. No one. Not one of them. AS IT FLEW OVER THEIR HEADS THEY DID NOT SEE IT. Some of the kids totally shut down and just started picking flowers. There’s a lot of flowers in the outfield, so it was really quite absorbing.

I too considered picking flowers in the outfield.

In case you didn’t know, “Picking flowers in the outfield,” is grown-up code for “Taking leave of my senses.” Which, neatly and oh-so English teachery takes us back to the introduction of this post!

Wow! Full circle! Perhaps I haven’t lost my mind after all!

One can always hope.



Our first game is tonight. Stay tuned.








Baseball has been very good to me.



It seems lately baseball has been kinda a thing around here.

Wanna know why?



By “we” I mean MY team – The Royals.


I am in no way a sports person. I claim this early in the post, unless you start thinking I am going to be able to provide batting averages or any other sort of technical talk about the team. I cannot, alas. But I can comment on a few other things, like how I think this video is the cutest thing I have ever seen. And how I really think the pitcher for that other team could benefit from a hair cut. That’s as good as it gets.

But still, I really do love baseball.

Here’s why.


1. As a kid, tired and dirty, coming home from our farm, we would listen to the game. Fred White was on the radio. I would slide around the back of the station wagon, sticking to the vinyls seats, no seat belt and look out the window and be lulled by the sounds of the game. We were all quiet. Tired. It is a sound from my childhood.

2. Attending a game means cotton candy. If we attend we must have cotton candy.  It’s the law.  And yes, I realize it is air with sugar attached but it doesn’t matter. I love it. I got to introduce my boys to it when they attended their first Royals game this summer. The look on their faces was priceless, like I had been holding out on them all this time…

3. My boys’ first game. It rained the entire time. We had to leave finally, but not after we had become so wet my fingers were pruney. We ran to the car with puddles the size of the Grand Canyon. Somehow we survived, but for a minute there it felt like we were in our own Die Hard At the Royals Game movie. Awwwwsome.

4. And as for that first game – I can’t explain it. Watching the hubs lead the boys to their seats and show them the score card, like his mom did for him all those years ago… the hubs was in soggy, rain drenched heaven.  Made my heart smile.

5. Oh, and this picture:

Screenshot 2014-10-24 09.14.05


6. Watching my boys play IN a game. The first time Blonde got a hit at practice, he ran out and fielded the ball for the coach. Then ran to first. Very thorough.

7. Sitting with the other parents, watching the awesomeness that is toddler baseball, and just feeling joy. Simple, in-place, seated JOY.

8.  Did I mention we were in the World Series? Every game, we sit and watch the television together, and my boys scream (often at totally wrong moments, but still, they’re trying) and we watch. Together.

9.  And we eat hotdogs. You had to know that two of these numbers had to be dedicated to food, right? Hebrew National, you had me at hello.

10.  There are no teams with black uniforms. This stems from a particularly traumatizing football game against the Raiders where blonde decided to start shouting, “Get da black guys!  I don’t like the black guys! GET THEMMMMM!!!” This was unfortunate and so impossibly bad that my way of fixing it was simply to walk out of the room. Parenting win!


And so, I love baseball.  And if blonde’s fervor for the sport is any indication, I will be attending quite a few more games in my future, so loving it is good.  I am hoping he will get past hitting AND fielding his own balls at some point.

I am pairing up with Netflix Streamteam today to share two of my favorite baseball documentaries of all time:









Both are excellent viewing!  Ken Burn’s documentary has numerous celebrity interviews weighing  in on how much they too love the game, and lots of history and rich background.

The Battered film (saucy language in the title and all) is my favorite, though. These guys are the real “Bad News Bears,” and their story is simply amazing. And rather hilarious.

I love them both so much they are on “repeat” in our Netflix cue. Along with eighteen million Thomas the Train episodes. What can I say? In this family, we like trains or baseball.  One-track minds. (Get it? YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE? PUNDERFUL!!)


As for tonight? I will be watching a little game called: GAME THREE. WOOP!




MLB: ALCS-Baltimore Orioles at Kansas City Royals