Guess what folks? My brother's a WIENER! (OK, fine. Winner.) TAB and the team went home with the Organizer's Choice award which means they were generally all-around AWESOME and I think they even scored $500. In nickels, of course. And a rusty old trophy made from car parts.

Despite having a giant wiener flopping around (ok, it was actually pretty hard [you can only imagine how stimulating it was to talk about the car all weekend]) on the roof, the car placed 56th out of 147. Not bad at all! They got only two black flags (MUCH improved over the last race, which was everyone's first time) and sang their way (Oh I wish I were a Nascar Mayer Wiener....) out of one penalty.

Press coverage (kinda) of the team and their Wienermobile!

REAL press coverage!

Perhaps most notable of all is that they raise money for non-profit organizations each time they race. This time they raced for Anastasis Ballet.

Go, Bandits, GO!

(To all Lent police, I realize I linked to two Facebook pages. I thought an exception could be made in this case.)

It really is nice re-realizing that I can manage time; there's no reason it should be managing me. Take THAT, time. Pah.

I'm such a procrastinator. I am sure this is partly due to the fact that I am a perfectionist. I've found that perfectionism tends to result in very bad prioritizing. Of course I must do every job perfectly, so what's this about time constraints and having to let some things go? Can't happen! I just won't sleep! Prioritizing is important when you're running a home with two small children, a cat (Methyl is, for all intents and purposes, lost. She is microchipped and I can only hope...), two dogs and a couple adults who like to speak to each other occasionally.

I'm working very hard on being an ex-perfectionist and happy "good-enough"ist. I'm slowly inspecting each of my limitations and trying to go right along and account (dare I say, PLAN?!? *gasp*) for my inabilities instead of cringing in horror at a FLAW in my very human character/personality and vowing never again to admit that I'm less than perfect.

Pathetic, I know.

I can't even imagine what I'd be like if I hadn't acquired a husband and a few children to wake me up to the cold, hard reality that I am not now, nor ever have been, remotely perfect. It's one thing to know that nobody's perfect, but it's quite another to repeatedly experience that YOU are not perfect, in fact, YOU are far from it. Again. Superman and the girls do that for me and I am grateful, most of the time. The rest of the time I'm trying to prove them wrong. (I'm a bit thick-headed.)

"Oh Mommy! You have an owie! It hurt you?"

Yes I do, and yes, it does.

"Lemme kiss it and it feel better." She gently kisses it, her hands tenderly touching either side of the mark. "Why it not bleeding?"

Well, it is bleeding, but all the blood is underneath the skin. See all the colors? That's from blood being where it's not supposed to be.

"Oh. And all the blood, it go down your leg onto your foot?" I can tell she's thinking about where there would be blood to clean up, and then place a band-aid.

No, it's not outside my skin, it just stays inside.

"Why, Mommy?"

...at this point I'm tempted to launch into a detailed explanation of the circulatory system and skin, but I refrain, knowing it's outside her ability to comprehend even if I did use words she could understand. I always figure more information is better than too little, though. Because one day (and I don't know which one) she WILL be able to understand it, and when she's able to, I want her to at least remember that someone did tell her a little bit about it before. And maybe it'll make more sense after the fact. That sort of thing has happened to me lots of times.