I'd Like to Thank the Academy...

So my friend Sam over at Scarlett, called Scout was sweet enough to give me a little blog award. The conditions of the award are that I dish seven things about myself and pass the award on to a few other bloggers/blogs I love. So here goes nothing:

1. Don’t get me wrong—I love shoes. But, if given a choice, I would always be barefoot. The first thing I do when I sit down anywhere that I’ll be for more than half an hour is take off my shoes. I think my feet appreciate the freedom.

2. I am obsessed with advice columns. Like I read Carolyn Hax and Ask Amy everyday. I think it’s the more self-respecting person’s version of watching Jersey Shore. I mean the people in these columns and their families/relationships are train wrecks. It creates a kind of drama that my life just can’t generate on its own.

3. When I eat fruit snacks, which is everyday, I always put them into patterns by color and shape before I consume them. Don’t judge me.

4. If I could have a famous BFF it would be a toss up between Princess Catherine and Taylor Swift. I’m kind of in love with them both.

5. One of the things I look forward to most each week is reading the Wedding Section of the Washington Post. Oh my goodness, I love love. The weddings are hardly talked about—it’s all the story of the people and I may or may not tear up every time I read one.

6. If you don’t watch Modern Family this will be less meaningful but after watching the episode “Punkin Chunkin” with my family, my sister said, “Rachel’s Claire and Nik’s Phil.” And nothing could be closer to the truth.

7. My husband intimidates me. Not in the scary kind of way, in the I feel slightly inferior kind of way. Specifically, his dance moves intimidate me. He could do any dance you could imagine—the jitterbug, the sprinkler, the dougy—it would look cool. It’s just how he is. And I look on amazed, thinking how could I possibly measure up to the glorious specimen before me. I mean really. How could I be worthy of this?

Or this?

Or especially this?


Now for the blogs that I just can’t get enough of:

1. Rog and Lyndzee over at EP Love

2. Sam at Bright Eyed & Bushy Tailed
(given it right back to her—that’s the trouble with having multiple blogs)

3. Carli at Kurt and Carli
(Can’t resist pictures of my niece!)

4. Natalie at Nat the Fat Rat
(Don’t know her personally but love her blog and her fat little baby!)

5. Nicole and company at Baseball Wife Blog

I like other people’s blogs too but they don’t write enough for me to alert you to their greatness. They should get on that.

Life Without Baseball

I haven’t written much lately because, well, I’m the baseball WAG and there’s just not too much baseball going on at the moment. And maybe you don’t want to hear about my everyday life without the complications of America’s favorite pastime?

But, I’m going to take a chance and tell you about it anyway. But in a sort of abbreviated, good for people (like me) with non-existent attention spans way so it might not be too painful. My friend calls this the rose, thorn, bud game or perhaps the blossom, thorn, bud game. I don’t know. I’m old and married and my memory fails me regularly these days.

Anyway, the premise is to share something good, something bad and something that you are hoping for that day. I have made a unilateral decision to share two good things and two bad things and no things I hope for. I apologize to anyone who was waiting with bated breath to find out my daily hopes.

The bad things aka thorns
1. Daylight Savings Time: Who could possibly like this time? Perhaps, you do. But that is neither here nor there. Besides the extra hour of sleep one night (which I so appreciate) Daylight Savings Time is probably the worst invention ever. Some people say they like going to work in the daylight. To them I say, do you really need another reminder via the sun that the world is bright and beautiful and you are driving to a prison for the next eight hours of your life? I much preferred going to work in the dark—at least I didn’t feel like I was missing out on anything.

2. Traffic: After spending a significant amount of time in Los Angeles this year, I know I have nothing to complain about and yet traffic infuriates me every day. There is always someone to blame for why it takes me 15 minutes to drive one mile. Yesterday I threatened to write a letter to the people who control the traffic lights. I don’t even know who controls the traffic lights but you know what Nik said? You should do it. And that is why I love him.

The good things aka roses aka blossoms
1. Tampa: I’m not bragging or trying to bring you down if you live somewhere less paradise-like but OH MY GOSH! This city has been gorgeous for the past month. Absolutely perfectly beautiful every day. Highs and lows spanning the mid-60s to the low-80s. A breeze that you feel everywhere. I roll my windows down every time I get in the car and just inhale all that climatic perfection. The sun, the clouds, the water—it’s like a dream. And, even though I’ve given Tampa a hard time, I’m starting to realize what saying goodbye will mean.

2. My new shoes: For the first time since I didn’t know better, I wore tennis shoes with jeans last night. Why, you ask? Because my tennis shoes are so freaking cute that I can wear them with jeans! But really. I’m obsessed. I comment on how awesome they are at least once a day and they are my main motivation for running. It gives me a chance to wear them and show them to other people—those people being strangers who are walking their dogs/children through the apartment complex. No matter! They are the best. I will take a picture because apparently (according to Google Images) they only exist in my closet.

Maybe I’ll come up with a baseball post soon but, hey, don’t I deserve an offseason too?!

Down in the Unemployment Line

Yep, that’s where (figuratively, of course) Mr. Turley currently resides. The minor leaguers don’t get paid in the offseason, which means you either drain your bonus, live at home or get another job.

In this economy, it’s hard for anyone to get a job but try getting one when you’re a baseball player. I’m sure Nik’s situation isn’t unique. Wouldn’t you want to hire a 6-4, strapping young man with no resume and no work experience besides pitching in the minor leagues? Oh, and did I mention he can really only work until February because, well, Spring Training and all that.

I try to tell Nik that it’s not so hard to make a resume sound good even with only one entry. We could talk about how he’s a team player (classic) or punctual (threaten to fine him), resilient (some days you get hit pretty hard), strong (he can lift a lot of weights) and…and…he can throw a ball fast. Not impressing you yet future employer? Well, we’re about out of ways to translate baseball skills to real-world jobs so I suppose we’re also about out of luck.

Nik’s looked around and talked to people and gone to at least 20 places. Even when he drops the Y bomb—nothing. Apparently, it’s more important to these people to hire skilled, experienced, long-term workers than employ someone who could one day be the face of the Yankees. Boy, do they have their priorities very mixed-up.

It’s looking like the second job is a no go. What’s a WAG to do but embrace her Sugar Mamma status (and I do not mean like the ladies on that web site—disturbing) and wait for the Spring?

Team Turley

Well, I've officially moved up in the world of WAGs taking the coveted top spot of WIFE! You will be happy to know there were not any baseball-infused anythings in our wedding (or maybe you will be disappointed--i can't make that judgment). However, we did do a traditional receiving line and boy, i heard more about baseball than I have in a long time. Everyone asking Nik what happened to the Yankees and how do the Cardinals look and they heard this and saw that and blah, blah, blah. That baseball talk...you can never escape. Anyway, this is a little teaser picture our photographer gave us. Annie Randall. SO AMAZING!




Also, I haven't written anything in a long time. I'm not good at this whole blogging regularly thing. Sorry.

September 11

A little heavy for the fare normally contained on this blog, I know. But bear with me. I thought the least I could do this year was remember.

For me, these days, September 11 is both a personal holiday and a national tragedy. My sweet fiancé was born on September 11 almost 22 years ago. If that’s not one heck of a loaded birthday, I just don’t know what is. As we’ve celebrated these past couple of years, it’s seemed like any other birthday, any other day. I’ve been running away from 9/11 since it happened. I’ve never talked to anyone about it. I’ve tried not to think about it. Not that anything tragic or unique happened to me on or because of that day; but there were too many emotions-too much anger, too much grief, too much pain. I didn’t have the heart to sit down and think about what that day was like for the people who died and their families and friends. I was scared that the emotional toll would be more than I could bear. And unlike the people who were actually and directly and horribly affected on that day, I have the option and the luxury to look away. I had the choice and I took the easy way out for almost ten years. But this time is different. Ten years later. So when I saw a special on the National Geographic channel, I thought you need to do this. You owe them that much. So here’s my story:

It was Tuesday, September 11, 2001, (I would have never remembered the day of the week except for all the specials) and I was an 8th grader at Wilson Middle School in Tampa, Florida. School started at 9 a.m. We went to homeroom first where we had the normal beginning of the day routine and took attendance. The teacher would put cards with the names of the students who were present in an envelope and someone would be selected to take the envelope to the media center. That day, I was chosen. I headed off to the media center, envelope in hand, not knowing what had already happened. As I walked up to the desk to hand in our envelope, the librarian and another person were watching a small television in horror. I saw the images we’ve all seen a hundred times by now. Smoke pouring out of the towers. I put the envelope down, watched for a few seconds and returned to my homeroom. I was probably the first kid in school to know what was going on in the world outside our walls. I went back to class and told Mr. Thorton what I saw on TV. It was a long time ago but I recognize now that I had no idea of the impact of the attacks. I didn’t realize what it meant. I didn’t see the bigger picture. I wasn’t overcome by the fear and uncertainty that shown on the faces of the adults around me. In fact, I’m ashamed to say, I probably told him in an attitude of the first person in on the secret. I know I was young but it still makes me sick to know how little I understood. He didn’t believe me. But he turned on the television in our classroom. After that, things get kind of hazy. I’m sure the principal made an announcement at some point. And I know we switched classes like usual. And our math teacher got made because someone made an offhand comment that was probably insensitive. I don’t remember what it was but I remember the look on her face and the tone of her voice as she scolded. She was from Long Island. It was during her class that I was called to the office. My parents were there to pick me up. We went home and watched the television for hours. It was the same all day. After the towers fell, nothing new happened but we kept watching. I remember my parents crying. I don’t know if I did or not. I remember being proud of them for going to donate blood at the Sam’s down the street. They waited in line for over two hours there were so many people who wanted to give. I was the president or vice-president of the National Junior Honor Society and in the weeks following the attack, it was my idea to sell American flag ribbons and donate the proceeds to help with 9/11. I remember at our end of the year assembly, our vice principal told us that when the planes hit the towers, we were saying the pledge of allegiance. I don’t know if that’s true but it made me feel good. On a day when so many people showed a truly American spirit and personified the noblest ideals of this country, at a time when others were trying to tear down everything this nation stands for, I was saying the pledge of allegiance.

Today, at my job, they are broadcasting a 9/11 tribute ceremony that will take place in New York. The company headquarters operated out of floors 93-100 in the North Tower of the World Trade Center. The impact zone of the first plane spanned floors 93 to 99. Nobody in the office survived. They lost 295 employees and 63 consultants.

Maybe your story’s like mine, unremarkable, but many people’s are not. Tens of thousands of people, maybe more, lost someone they loved that day and for the victims and their families and for ourselves and our families and especially for those who were too young to have memories of their own, the least we can do is remember.

This is the Staten Island 9/11 Memorial. I used to read all the names while I waited for Nik to finish games when I was up in New York. The memorial honors the 274 Staten Islanders killed on 9/11.

It’s Officially Official

As of Sunday, September 4, the season is over. Nik’s team, the Tampa Yankees, did well but not quite good enough to make the playoffs (they finished in second place, 2.5 games back). The last game was at 11 a.m. Sunday and when Nik and I got back to the apartment around 5, two of his three roommates were already gone. Impressive.

Nik can’t move into our apartment until the 14th so his new roommate, much to her delight, is my grandmother. She adores Nik and just happens to have a spare bedroom with his name all over it. He’ll stay there until Friday when we go to California for a few days. Then next week, it’s yet another move!

I’ve lived in the same house since 1997. Moving is not a thing I have too much experience with, but since Nik and I started dating I feel like I’ve become a pro. I’ve helped him move at least five times and things are always the same. Nik sort of stands around doing something my mother would probably classify as dillydallying while I shove miscellaneous items in his face and ask, “Can this be thrown away?” You’d be surprised how much trash accumulates around these apartments. Surprised because hello! there is a trash can ten feet from you so the fact that you have a burrito wrapper from two months ago makes no sense.

Then we get serious. There’s the clothes packing and, more recently, the air mattress deflating and the ensuing debacle of trying to fold it just so in order to fit it back in the bag. Luckily, Nik doesn’t have a lot of stuff and things move pretty quickly once the air mattress is wrestled back into the packaging. Then we load up the truck giving special consideration to the gloves, of course, and the electronics (what on earth would baseball players do without a gaming system?). And off we go, to a new place, for now, until the next big adventure.

You (Probably Shouldn’t) Be the Judge

[disclaimer: this is directed at the guilty parties in general. I promise I’m not mad at YOU!]

When Nik and I started hanging out, I’ll admit I was expecting what’s normally considered a “typical jock.” You know the type. Arrogant, womanizing, not so bright. How could I have guessed he would know all the words to Mister Roboto or have a strange affinity for Kenny Loggins or regularly use the word “otay” like Buckwheat in Little Rascals (totally true. last use: yesterday)?

The thing is, as we’ve dated, I’ve noticed the stereotyping isn’t just reserved for me. The typical things come to mind but there’s a more subtle form of judgment I’ve seen over the past couple of years that’s really starting to get under my skin- it’s like an oversimplified pigeonholing (so eloquent i know).

When you play baseball professionally, you are a baseball player—at the expense of absolutely everything else. Normally when you meet someone new, you usually classify them in order to keep your categorical mind happy. You meet Shirley at a party and she’s really nice and her brother is in the military. You meet Tom at the grocery store (for the record, I’ve never met anyone at the grocery store but let’s just go with it) and you guys like the same music and he loves Odwalla juice. You meet Nik anywhere and he’s a baseball player. No more, no less.

When Nik talks to people, it’s always the same. Meeting for the first time-they ask a million questions about baseball and the minors and how everything works. Catching up-they ask a million questions about baseball and his last outing and how the team looks this year. It’s like the 24-hour baseball network for this guy. And I feel bad. Because guess what? He’s more than a baseball player. He’s a person. He’s funny and musical and artistic and all these other things that people don’t notice because HOW COOL IS IT THAT HE'S A BASEBALL PLAYER?!?

Now, don’t get me wrong. I understand the compulsion. It’s not everyday you meet a professional baseball player. And that’s the draw. It’s unique. People always notice what’s different. I get it but there has to be a balance because when enough people tell you the same thing enough times, you usually start to believe it.

All the self-help gurus tell the workaholics your job is what you do, it’s not who you are. But when everyone defines you by what you do, the message starts to get hazy. Because what happens when baseball’s over? What happens when you’re hurt or retired or past your prime? I never want Nik to think that baseball is all he has to offer because that’s absolutely not true. So do us a favor and treat athletes like real people with real lives and real challenges who have something more to contribute than what you see on the field. They already have enough people in their lives that think they’re only as good as their last outing.