"Do you want to talk about it?"

That's Erika's latest way to get me to laugh. ... It's hard to not crack a smile when your 13-year-old leans over to you at the local pizza place and says, in a serious tone, "Mom, do you want to talk about it?"

We had been talking about what a complete idiot I was ... Nels and I recently bought his mother's old car, a Toyota Camry, so we're going to attempt to sell our oil-burning Toyota Corrolla. The Camry is older than my car (a year younger than Erika, actually) but it's got the same number of miles as the Corrolla and is in relatively good shape. It's also roomier so I won't have to hear Erika's friends from the backseat grumbling stuff like, "I'm so glad my mom drives an Expedition." Ugh.

Anyhow, on Thursday we stopped at the local grocery store in town so Erika could get some snacks to bring to her speech team practice/potluck (Are you thinking I'd actually bake something??? Even though I was on vacation from work all week? Puh-lease.) and when we got out to our car, it wouldn't start. The engine wouldn't even turn over. It was dead.

We had to walk to the church where the speech team was meeting and then I cut over across the highway and walked several more blocks home where I had left my cell phone and other car. I had left the milk in the dead Camry. How pathetic would I look if people saw me walking home with a gallon of skim milk?

A friend of my dad's tried to jumpstart the Camry for me to no avail. Nels has been in Las Vegas at a wedding photography convention this week so between speakers he got to hear voicemail messages from me cursing out the dumb Camry he made me buy.

So Friday I met the tow truck driver at the grocery store to get the car towed to Brainerd and the man gets in the Camry, notices the car is in DRIVE, not PARK. He puts it in PARK and it starts right up.... Yep, it was my own dumb fault.

After he drove the Camry to our house, with Erika and I following him in the Corrolla, we drove him back to his tow truck at the grocery store. Man, did I feel like a dumb ass.

Erika couldn't wait to call Nels on my cell phone and tell him the news. She thought it was hilarious.

"If it makes you feel any better," Nels told me later, during his and his friend Biff's 5-hour delay at the Las Vegas airport. "Biff now knows you're a dumb ass, too."

Fabulous.

True Love = Motor oil and toilet seats

My friend Tami and I happened to run into each other at the Nisswa Jubilee parade Saturday. It was fun to see her and catch up. I was there covering the event for the paper while she was there with her two young daughters and other family members to watch the parade.

We started talking about Valentine's Day and our presents from our darling hubbies. She told me how Shane got her a new toilet seat for their bathroom - and a promise of dinner on Saturday night. No card, even.

I could totally relate.

For Valentine's Day I received a plastic jug of my very own motor oil from Nels for Valentine's Day. My Toyota has an oil-burning problem. Yep, I didn't get a card either. But I did get dinner out that night, just the two of us, at Sibley Station.

It just goes to show that some men have their own way of showing that they care. Tami and I are the fortunate ones to have found loving, but very practical life partners.

Did I happen to mention that for Christmas one year Nels got me a set of wooden cutting boards? And for my birthday two years ago I got my very own push lawnmower WITH a mulching bag attachment.

I don't care what Dr. Phil may say ... motor oil and toilet seats, that's true love, baby.

True Love = Motor oil and toilet seats

My friend Tami and I happened to run into each other at the Nisswa Jubilee parade Saturday. It was fun to see her and catch up. I was there covering the event for the paper while she was there with her two young daughters and other family members to watch the parade.

We started talking about Valentine's Day and our presents from our darling hubbies. She told me how Shane got her a new toilet seat for their bathroom - and a promise of dinner on Saturday night. No card, even.

I could totally relate.

For Valentine's Day I received a plastic jug of my very own motor oil from Nels for Valentine's Day. My Toyota has an oil-burning problem. Yep, I didn't get a card either. But I did get dinner out that night, just the two of us, at Sibley Station.

It just goes to show that some men have their own way of showing that they care. Tami and I are the fortunate ones to have found loving, but very practical life partners.

Did I happen to mention that for Christmas one year Nels got me a set of wooden cutting boards? And for my birthday two years ago I got my very own push lawnmower WITH a mulching bag attachment.

I don't care what Dr. Phil may say ... motor oil and toilet seats, that's true love, baby.

Bragging rights

My hubby recently upgraded his Web site for his business, Maple Leaf Photography. It looks awesome! Check it out if you're interested.

Also, my brilliant daughter has been asked to apply for membership to the National Junior Honor Society. She has a 3.8 GPA or higher, which qualifies her to become a member. The next step is for her to submit an application and three letters of recommendation, which we're working on. I'm so excited for her. She is a natural volunteer and leader, much more than her mom. For example, she has volunteered to be a reader at the 8 a.m. church service and will lead the songs with another girl at the 10:30 a.m. service. So I'll be pulling a double feature on Sunday morning, attending both church services, along with teaching my little 3-year-olds during Sunday school.

I envision a nap in my future Sunday afternoon.

Anyway. I just had to brag about my talented family!

Say it ain't so!

When you live in a metropolitan area, or even just a larger community, there are often things you take for granted that the rest of us who live in the sticks aren't as fortunate to have.

For example, 24-hour convenience stores, a Red Lobster, a Costco (never even been in one) or a youthful, growing church that contains more than pews filled with Q-tips, as my daughter refers to gray-haired old people.

So I was in mourning Thursday when I opened the Lake Country Echo and discovered that Sunset Cinema, the movie theater build a few years ago only FIVE minutes from our house has closed. So instead of a quick trip to go see a movie, now we have to travel 30 minutes again to go see the latest flick. So sad.

Our city recently got a Giovanni's Pizza, where Erika and I stopped in Friday night to pick up some food. They actually deliver. You should have seen the three of us (Nels included), giddy with anticipation a few weeks ago when we waited for our pizza to be delivered to OUR OWN HOME for the first time. Before the pizza arrived, I actually cleaned the living room to make sure our delivery person didn't think we were slobs.

I hope someone resurrects the movie theater, which is a nice beautiful facility. We'll make sure to be first in line to buy popcorn on opening night.

My "Don't ask, don't tell" policy

I think there are two types of people in this world, the people who notice your flaws but don't say anything and those who notice them but feel compelled to point them out to you.

I have a co-worker who always seems to point out when: I need my hair colored, I have a zit on my face, I have a salad dressing stain on my shirt from lunch or if for some reason (and no, I don't know why, nothing is wrong with me!) I look flushed or pale. It's really the strangest thing and I think she honestly thinks she's just making conversation or trying to be helpful. There is no obvious malicious intent there.

Here's an example. About a month ago I had a pimple near my neck. Not something I was too excited about but hey, I had my period. Whatever. Like I need to explain why I get zits. She asks me, in front of others in the newsroom, "What happened to your neck?" Here's the conversation that followed:

Me: "It's a zit."
Her: "Oh."

Here's another similar conversation:

Her: "You look really pale."
Me: "Ok. Not sure why."

End of conversation.

Here's one more:

Her: "Your face looks really red."
Me: "That's because I'm hot."
Her: "Oh."

End of conversation.

In sharp contrast, when someone at work (who is not a close friend) has some issues, like yellow armpit stains, a large zit on her face, a booger dangling from his nose, white deodorant on the sides of his sweater — stuff like that, I won't point it out. I notice it, I may snicker to myself or e-mail someone else so she can privately laugh with me, but rarely would I ever say anything.

Heck, I didn't even say anything when one of my bosses, who was eating peanuts, spewed a peanutty chunk onto my computer while he was talking to me. It was quite nasty but my lips were sealed. (Mainly to avoid getting struck with more debris, I guess.) I cleaned the mess off my computer with a tissue after he left my desk. That still grosses me out.

Although, when it involves something like lettuce in someone's teeth, it only seems polite to mention it. This fall my daughter and I were at church and chatting with a woman after Sunday School. It wasn't until we got to the car when Erika happened to mention that I have lipstick all over my front teeth AND that I had the lipstick all over my teeth when I was talking to people at church. She thought that was quite funny. I scrapped the lipstick from my teeth and admonished her for not helping her own mother out.

"C'mon, I birthed you," I told her.

She said she didn't want to interrupt me.

Fabulous.

So what type of person are you? Do you say something or have a "don't ask, don't tell" policy like I do? Is it just plain mean not to point out some of these things or is it much more polite to not say anything?

I'm not sure.

But if Heidi and DeLynn are reading this, I hope to God you let me know when I have lipstick on my teeth or eyeliner smeared under my eyes before I head out on an assignment.

The strange pod people

When my alarm went off at 4:50 a.m. this morning I sat up, stunned, not comprehending why the heck it was going off so dang early.

Even more surprising than the fact that I was up so early, I shocked myself by hauling my butt out of bed and dragging myself and Erika to the YMCA by 5:45 a.m. to work out.

Today was the first day of our BodyWorks Fitness Challenge, a five-week challenge where you earn points by following certain guidelines, like drinking 48 ounces of water a day, eating six servings of veggies and fruits each day and exercising.

My team, called the Flab Four, made it a goal to work out together at the Y early this morning. I managed to talk Erika into coming with me, so we were the Flab Five. :)

It was amazing to see so many people working out at 6 a.m. Who are these people?, I asked myself as I looked around the fitness room, my face red as a ripe tomato and sweat dripping from my forehead. Nearly every machine was taken.

I'm not sure if I'll head to the YMCA at that ungodly hour on a regular basis, but Erika said she had fun this morning, meeting my friends and workout buddies for a heart-healthy workout together so we might do it again.

Who knows? Maybe someday we'll be like those strange pod people I saw today, running like gazelles on the treadmills instead of me looking like a big sweaty ape trying not to fall off the elipical machine while switching to a new song on my iPod. :)

We're so great, we're so fine ...

... We're the Class of '89!"

I'm meeting up with my high school friends in a couple of weeks at our 20th annual Christmas party. We've been celebrating with our own girls' Christmas party since we were 15.

Christmas in February, you may ask. Well, now that many of us are married, have kids, busy jobs, etc., it's tough to meet around the holidays. January/February seems to work out the best.

Anyway, I stumbled upon our high school fight song on our high school Web site so I thought I'd pass it along for my '80s chicas so we can sing it when we're downing margaritas.

Here it is:

Pequot Lakes Patriots School Song

We’re loyal to you Pequot High

We’re red, white, and blue, Pequot High

We’ll back you to stand

Against the best in the land,

For we know you will stand, Pequot High

Rah, Rah!

So smash those blockades Pequot High

Go crashing ahead Pequot High

Our team is the famed protector

On team for we expect a Victory

from you, Pequot High

V-I-C-T-O-R-Y

Yea, Patriots Fight

So smash those blockades Pequot High!

Go crashing ahead Pequot High!

Our team is the famed Protector,

On team, for we expect a Victory

from you Pequot High.

A few of my favorite things ...

Often my co-workers will glance over at my cubicle and catch me chuckling to myself.

This can mean one of two things:

My friend Suze sent me an e-mail detailing her latest online dating disaster.
or
I'm reading one of my favorite blogs.
(or I've gone mad. This, too, is possible.)

A friend (you know who you are!) mentioned a favorite blogger of hers on her blogsite so I followed her link and fell in love with it, too.

So I thought I'd share the links to a few of my favorite writers I check out nearly every day:

• Mom-101, a New York City writer and mom.
• Suburban Turmoil, a Nashville writer and mom.
• Looky, Daddy!, a New York City writer and father of three (Thanks, Rebecca!)
• Cribsheet, a Star Tribune blog for Twin Cities moms and dads.
• SnarkSpot, chick lit author Jennifer Weiner's weblog.

Enjoy! :)

Welcome to the world, Izaak!

I thought I'd show off a photo of my new little cousin, Izaak, born Wednesday to my cousin Heather and her boyfriend, Todd.

Izaak Russell weighed in at 8 pounds, 1 ounce, and is 20-1/2 inches long.

An argument for state-mandated birth control

As an education reporter, I write a lot of stories about kids in schools.

Duh.

Well, I'm still constantly amazed at the parents out there who act as immature as their offspring. At the paper we get calls all the time from parents who want to complain about things that their children SAY have happened at school but the parents themselves never actually call the schools to check it out themselves. Instead, they call the newspaper to do the work for them — Drives me crazy.

Case in point: I've had to call two different principals at separate schools during the past year to check out a complaint from the same parent that the schools have run out of food in the cafeteria and her little darling went without a meal. ("Please, sir, may I have some more?" - Reminds me of "Oliver.") The truth was (and this was the same circumstance at both the middle school and high school) that the schools have 4-5 lunch lines of offerings for students, much different that the choices I had at PLHS back in the day (hot lunch drowning in gravy, salad bar or hard butter slathered between two slices of white bread. Who serves kids this kind of crap?).

Well, since the lunch ladies can't guess what meals students will be most hungry for that day (hamburger and fries or pizza or spaghetti or a sub sandwich, for example) then sometimes one line runs out before the others...but the point is, THERE IS ALWAYS FOOD TO BE EATEN THERE, it just might not be the chicken nuggets you've been craving all morning.

I had to argue with this parent on the phone, telling her what the high school principal told me. She swore her daughter "always" tells the truth and does not lie about things like this.

Another parent called my editor a couple of weeks ago to report that a bunch of students at a local high school were going to stage a walkout during a math class at a specific time to protest the unfair treatment and mental abuse of the teacher.

Puh-lease.

But yes, I had to waste my time tracking down this potential story, which didn't happen.

Another parent last fall during Homecoming called to tell me how her daughter called her during lunch and told her she had to go home and change her blue-and-white clothing and wash the school colors off her face, as did her friends, because school administrators weren't allowing them to show any school spirit during Homecoming Week.

After the principal stopped laughing at me, he said that it absolutely was not true.

So I guess my point is, there are probably many parents out there who do take an active role in their children's education and would call their teachers or principals immediately if they had any concerns they were being starved or mentally abused at school.

But why does it seem the irrational ones have the newspaper phone numbers on speed dial?

Birthdays in Heaven

I just noticed the date after I posted my previous blog entry — Jan. 11. It would have been my grandma Hester Knapp's 96th birthday today. She was 92 when she died July 2, 2003, of Alzheimer's.



My grandma had the best birthdate. She was born Jan. 11, 1911, or 1-11-11. One of my coworkers is hoping she'll die on her birthday so the dates on her grave marker match up, but I think having a cool birthdate is something you can actually enjoy — and brag about to others — your whole life. Who really cares what day you die — as long as you've led a happy, long life.

So grandma, I hope you're enjoying your birthday in Heaven. Every Jan. 11th I'll be thinking about you, and look forward to your 100th birthday four years from now.

I'll show you mine, if you show me yours ...

So I'm off to the dermatologist tomorrow to have him check out a strange mole on the side of my calf, something my ob/gyn was concerned about when I had an appt. a few weeks ago.

The problem is, I've actually been in the operating room when a doctor sawed off a chunk of someone's face once in order to remove the mole. I was there doing a story on skin cancer. I watched the blood oozing out of the incision site as he cut a square around the mole. They take more skin than you'd think when they do lob the mole off.

So now armed with this information — and flashbacks from the surgery — I'm hoping that I don't have to go through that tomorrow. I'm probably worrying for nothing, but I managed to get most of the newsroom chatting about moles today — and experiencing our own twisted adult version of "Show and Tell." My coworker Matt and I have strange moles located in nearly the exact same spot on our calves but his is much larger. How weird is that?

But we all concluded that it was even more strange that we know WAY too much about one another than is probably normal!

Paging Dr. McDreamy

I spent a couple of hours last night in the emergency room with my grandma and my great-aunt Sal, who happens to work in the ER. My grandpa was taken by ambulance to the ER from the nursing home he lives at because he was having trouble breathing and was very lethargic.

He has some sort of respiratory infection and had a fever but seemed to be feeling better after they pumped him full of Tylenol and antibiotics. He'll probably be staying overnight there for a couple of days.

It's a surreal experience to see the man who gave you whisker rubs and snowmobile rides and who could make and fix anything in his woodshop looking so small and helpless in his hospital bed, hooked up to machines.

Get better soon, grandpa.

Post-Christmas Blues

So sad that Christmas is over. I keep wanting to listen to my Christmas songs I downloaded from iTunes, but somehow can't retain that holiday spirit to stick it out through two or three songs. Bummer. The magic of the season is gone.

I took the week before Christmas off, which was the best thing I could have done. I got so much accomplished and felt like a half-way decent mother who was able to stay home and clean, bake cookies, etc. Heck, even the dog was happy to see me around during the day. I was able to attend Erika's choir concert without feeling rushed and the house was clean enough to have Erika's grandmothers over for brownies afterwards (ok, the baked goods were actually store-bought, but whatever.)

Now our house is a mess with post-Christmas crap scattered everywhere. Our tree is drying up and spreading needles everywhere, poking me through my new socks from Santa when I step on them. Erika needs to go back to school. She calls me at work several times a day, telling me I need to bring home dinner from: Quiznos, Rafferty's, McDonalds, etc. - you name it - and that we need to go shopping at Target so she can get outfits for her new iDog.

I'm looking forward to New Year's Eve. Erika may be staying at a friend's house and Nels and I will likely be parked in front of the TV watching Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve. We're not an exciting couple, but hey, we have fun.

I'm sure our sad little tree will still be in our living room as we ring in the new year.

There's going to be a wedding!

We got a call today from Nels' brother, Mark, who told us that he and his girlfriend, Patti, are getting married! Yay! I get another sister-in-law. I'm very happy for them. She's a great person.

But it sounds to me like their wedding plans are going to be TomKat or J.Lo style ... quite secretive until the big day so the paparazzi don't show up in their helicopters. The wedding will be the weekend of Feb. 22, but they're not telling us where, just that we have to take that Friday off from work and make sure our entire weekend is free for the festivities. Our only clue is that the wedding will take place about three hours from Brainerd.

Sounds intriguing, doesn't it?

No sooner had I written this and ...

So Erika babysat for a new family that lives in our neighborhood tonight, the same night that I had my column published about her babysitting experiences ... and I mentioned she hadn't had any big problems babysitting ... until, of course, tonight, of all nights, she had a mini-disaster.

Erika was caring for two little boys, ages 2 and 4, and the oldest has severe food allergies. While nothing bad happened in that way and the boys were great, Erika was checking out one of the epi-pens a little too closely, opened the top, thinking it was the "pretend" epi-pen that the dad used for a demonstration because she couldn't see the thin needle and the thing discharged on the table. She cleaned it up, she wasn't poked with the epi-pen but she spent the night tormented, feeling guilty and worrying that they were going to be mad at her. She called me a couple of times, saying that she just felt so guilty. I felt so bad for her. She said they were really nice about the whole disaster, she told them immediately, but she still felt so bad.

I guess it's a good lesson for her -- to leave the dang epi-pens alone -- but it's hard when you're the mom and it's your kid that makes a bad choice. I guess I just need to be prepared. I'm sure she's got bigger mistakes to make along the way.

Here's the column I wrote:

The baby sitter sometimes needs baby-sitting
Mom sometimes feels like a receptionist for the baby sitter in demand.
By JODIE TWEED
Staff Writer
There's that oh-so-brief moment in a young girl's life after the Barbies and Bratz dolls are packed away into storage but the trappings of teen life - dating boys, summer jobs, cell phones - have yet to fully consume their lives.

It's the age of the perfect baby sitter, or the time when most girls begin their teenage baby-sitting careers with unbridled enthusiasm.

My 13-year-old daughter, Erika, started baby-sitting for other families about six months ago, which has made my life as a parent all the more busy.

I've become her receptionist of sorts, making sure she is aware of her various baby-sitting duties and briefing her on the names and ages of the children she will be caring for. While she could easily do much of that herself - and it annoys her when I'm constantly reminding her of the obvious - it's hard to stop being a parent. Plus, her baby-sitting has to be worked out with our family schedule, which can be hectic.But I'm thrilled that's she's found something she truly enjoys and she's helping out other families as well. She is mostly baby-sitting for families from our church and those who live in our neighborhood.

I've noticed that baby-sitting for other people's children has made her more responsible at home. She's also proud of herself for earning some extra spending money, which came in handy for her when we went to a concert at the Xcel Energy Center this week. She could spend her own hard-earned cash, instead of mine, on an overpriced concert T-shirt.

Baby-sitting is more than just about earning money. A teen has to enjoy it. As my daughter has told me before, baby-sitting allows her to be a kid again by playing with the children and she likes that part the best.Baby-sitting starting at 11 allowed me to earn enough money to pay for my Madonna and Duran Duran cassette tapes and countless Tiger Beat magazines, but I haven't heard of a lot of other teens who baby-sit as often as my friends and I once did. So I asked a few moms what they look for in a baby-sitter or even if they use them. Several moms said they find their sitters through referrals from friends or by finding teen sitters through their church.

Courtney Neifert, a stay-at-home mom, moved to Baxter four years ago with her husband. They don't have any local family members to lean on to occasionally baby-sit so they've had to rely on hiring baby-sitters for their daughter, Lindsey, 1, and son, Brandon, 3."Sometimes it's tough," Neifert said on finding a sitter. She said she and her husband try to go out two to three times a month and are in need of a sitter those nights. They have two older teen girls they now use, but she recommends having at least three different names of sitters in case they're too busy with their own activities.

"They're about to get their driver's licenses, which is great, but their social lives are expanding," Neifert said of her teen sitters.

Joleen Merrill, Breezy Point, is a coordinator of the Mothers of Preschoolers group that meets at the Crosslake Log Church. She said finding a sitter is often a topic among the other moms in MOPS, who often make recommendations to one another. Merrill has two children, ages 1 and 3. She said they haven't yet hired a baby-sitter but she and her husband "talk about it a lot." She said they've done a baby-sitting swap with their friends where they watch each other's children when they need it.

"It works out nice because you don't have that added expense of baby-sitting and going out for dinner too," said Merrill of trading baby-sitting services with friends.Merrill said she, too, started baby-sitting at age 11 or 12 adding, "And I don't know for the life of me how those people learned to trust me."

She said when she and her husband do decide to hire a sitter, it'll likely be a girl who attends their church where she would know the family.While I trust my daughter, no matter who she's baby-sitting for I'm at home wondering how things are going. I'm always worrying about whether she's being responsible, respectful and picking up after herself and the children. I'm hoping the children aren't dangling precariously from a balcony or that whatever she's making for dinner isn't burning on the stove. But so far, she hasn't had any baby-sitting disasters (that I'm aware of) and I try to call at least once while she's baby-sitting to check and see how she's faring.

Like a teenage Mary Poppins, she has a red canvas tote bag she designed in her baby-sitter's training class last spring that she carries with her whenever she goes baby-sitting. The bag contains all the essentials - stickers to use as a reward or bribe, coloring sheets, parent information forms and a copy of her baby-sitting training certificate.

It's been a transition for me to become a baby-sitter's mom, especially when you still consider your child to be your own baby. But it's so much fun to watch her come home after a long night's work and be happy with the job she accomplished all on her own.

Cheetah mamas and their girls

Erika, her friend, Carissa, and I had a Cheetahlicious good time Wednesday night at the Xcel Energy Center.

We went to the Cheetah Girls concert and from what I could see, the entire audience was made up of moms and their daughters, some as young as 3 or 4, dressed in leggings and cheetah prints. And I'm talking about the Cheetah moms AND their daughters, many of whom were wearing matching cheetah clothing. Yikes.

Vanessa Hudgens, the female lead in High School Musical, was supposed to be the opening act but the girls were so excited that in her place were Aly and A.J. (And if you don't have a preteen daughter or a guilty pleasure of watching the Disney Channel , you probably have no idea who I'm talking about.) Erika and Carissa knew all of Aly and A.J.'s songs and had a great time singing and dancing along.

When the audience would scream or cheer, it was like 50,000 school girls were yelling in unison on the playground. Pretty funny, but sweet, too. It was nice to see all these young girls at a G-rated highly entertaining performance. (Unlike the Gwen Stefani concert, which Erika and I enjoyed, but where we had a long row of girls under the age of 10 seated behind us singing along to "This shit is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S." That seemed a little inappropriate.)

Erika and I have been to a few concerts together in the past year. In addition to the Black-eyed Peas/Gwen Stefani concert, we've been to see Sara Evans, Jessica Andrews, SheDaisy, SuperChick, and maybe one or two others I can't remember.

Until I moved to Nashville when I was 20, I hadn't seen many musical performances live so it was fun when I got the internship at the "Nashville Now" show, formerly on TNN. Every night for a year I was able to watch celebrities and entertainers perform, which was great for a small-town girl like me.

While for a long time I thought concerts were sort of a waste of money, a 5-year-old girl named Mariah and her dad, Scott, taught me otherwise.

When Erika and I went to the Jessica Andrews concert in Walker last summer, we ended up sitting right next to Scott and Mariah, whom I've known for many years but not very well. Scott had lost his wife, Mariah's mom, to a brain tumor about six months before the concert and I told him how sorry I was about him losing his wife and that I hoped they were doing well. His wife had been ill for quite some time, since Mariah was 2, I believe.

He told me that he and Mariah had been going to many, many concerts together from Barney the purple dinosaur (Mariah's favorite) to jazz concerts with no words (Scott's favorite, Mariah couldn't stand them, she told us) since around the time that his wife got sick.

He said doctors told him that live music released endorphins in your brain, making you feel good. So concerts were their own version of therapy, to help them both get through losing Mariah's mom.

It was touching, too, to see little Mariah snuggled in on her dad's lap, clapping along and smiling, as she watched the show.

So even though it seemed a bit silly to see those moms dressed in cheetah prints at Wednesday's concert, I soon found myself thinking of Mariah and her dad, wondering if they were out there somewhere in the Xcel Energy Center, and hoped if they were, that she was having a cheetahlicious good time, too.

Don't forget to

There's a separation of church and state for a reason

If I have to watch one more political ad on TV I think I'm going to vomit. I can't wait until Wednesday when this whole election is over. I'll be busy working all night I'm sure covering the local House races. Hopefully results will magically come in early so I can get outta here.

I've been trying to get Erika to come with me to go vote (They have a Kids Voting program here where kids can vote, obviously unofficially, at the same time as their parents) but she refuses because she's sick of all the campaign ads.

So I've been trying to become more involved with my church lately ... Erika enjoys the youth activities, including being a member of the church drama club, and she's also involved in Confirmation. Also, I've been having fun teaching Sunday school to the 3-year-olds.

I get a lot of e-mails from our youth director about various events and I've been trying to volunteer often in some capacity. I was a waitress at the recent lutefisk supper and then I helped with this intergenerational Reformation Day event last weekend.

Anyway, so I open up an e-mail from her today and it's a forwarded message from Dr. James Dobson to his "Minnesota friends," telling us why we need to vote for Mark Kennedy, rather than Amy Klobuchar. She had literally e-mailed at least 100 people, including all the Sunday School teachers.

So I'm now fuming. I don't need to be told whom I should vote for ... I'm capable of figuring that out for myself.

Nels doesn't think it's such a big deal, that people are entitled to their own opinions and just delete the e-mails. (She sent it to me twice.) But I feel if I don't stand up and say something, that it looks like I'm complacent. Then again, I may change my mind once my blood pressure returns to normal.

In any case, I think it's best when the church butts out of my politics ... and politics butts out of my church.

I'll step down from the pulpit now. :)