Thinking of Mom

We miss you, Mom (Grandma).

We are praying for a speedy recovery.

(Mom and Dad (Grandma and Grandpa))

(Grandma at Joey's 1st Birthday)

Baseballs, Soccer Balls and Birthday Candles

Henry's baseball team -- the Owlz -- finished their baseball season undefeated (again).  Since there's no score kept in the games, I have every right to make that claim.  I witnessed 13 ties.  In three years, my son's baseball team has not won or lost a single game.

Leave it to the local baseball league to teach the kids the valuable lesson of mediocrity.  Charlie Brown would be proud.  No winners and no losers.  Just confused children.  

Unfortunately, once again, the kids received a lame trophy for the accomplishment.  Last year, it was a mini baseball bat used primarily in our house as a nightstick.  We had to hide those from the kids for fear Caroline was going to go Tonya Harding on Henry.  

This year, it was a ceramic wall plate that looked like it was forged by Hans Nowak on a mid-afternoon bender.

Cheap crap.

I want some fake gold on a RC Cola can.  

Now that's a trophy.

Anyway, here's the squad: 

(Henry is the first kid kneeling in the front row from the left.  Dig the kid giving himself bunny ears.   Who does that?)

(Oh, and don't be fooled into thinking we played on that diamond.  We played on the equivalent of three dirt-covered parking lots this year.)

The same day as the end of baseball season brought our third rendition of Hoosierpalooza -- our family's tribute to all things Indiana.  We deep-fried pork tenderloins, swilled copious amounts of PBR, listened to Henry Lee Summer and John Mellencamp music and made the neighbors regret their neighborhood selection.

Unfortunately, due to the fact that I drank too much, I was unable to take photos during the event.  Instead, all I have is the Hoffman-Holman-Funkhouser kid photos which closed out the day after Hoosierpalooza.

Maybe, next year.

(As a further tribute to Indiana, it was 92 degrees when this picture was taken.  Look at all those happy faces!)

Moving on from Hoosierpalooza was Henry's birthday -- which we will cover later -- and Caroline's soccer debut.

Caroline is an athlete waiting to blossom.  She's got her mother's mad skills, but a Hoffman-esque shyness that is sweet and stubborn at the same time.   This is the first year that she's opened up to the idea of playing sports without her wingman (Henry) being involved.  Henry is playing soccer but on a different field from Caroline.

Caroline has taken to this separation extremely well.

(Caroline [black shorts at right] getting ready to dribble the soccer ball.)

(Caroline on a breakaway!)

So far, soccer has been a success for the Big C.

Now, back to Henry's birthday.

Henry and his buds did an afternoon trip to Fun N' Stuff to celebrate his 7th birthday and he did a family gathering with everyone prior to the Palooza.

(They're all friendly before the Laser Tag breaks out.)

For whatever reason, for each of the past seven birthdays, one of our children invariably cries during the singing of "Happy Birthday".  This year was no different.  Josie has acquired the gene.  Here's proof:

It's been a tiring couple of weeks at the Holman house.  I caught Josie sleeping in Henry's room and took the picture below. 

Sleep has never looked so peaceful.

We could use a truckload of these moments.

Bloomington Through the Minimalist Lense

It takes at least two full weeks before it is safe to legally blog about the Holman family's annual kidless trek to Bloomington.

This year is no different.

The amnesty period is needed so we can return replace the mattresses we launched from the hotel room, the couches set ablaze and the pure devastation that follows our assemblage in B-Town.  Not since a Henry Lee Summer concert at the Clay County Fairgrounds in 1989 has a town seen such repeat destruction like that which occurs in Bloomington each and every June.

Unfortunately for the viewing patrons of Poogieville, pictures from me during these visits are a difficult task.

There are multiple reasons for this:

1.  A near constant state of alcohol-induced euphoria.

2.  The blazing HOT Indiana sun.

3.  Lack of sleep.

4.  A stomach consisting of eight parts PBR, one part breaded pork tenderloin and one part Trojan Horse/Pizza Express medley.

Picture-taking becomes a chore.

Therefore, this year I distilled the weekend plus a day into five simple pictures.

(Yes, this is Seymour, Indiana - Seymour is not Bloomington, but that's where this randomness begins)

(This is the fireplace in the South Lounge of the IMU.  It was 93 degrees outside in Bloomington on Friday and -- true to tradition -- the South Lounge fireplace was still on.)

(This is Bill.  I have collected numerous Bloomington vignettes of him.  Last year, he drank Irish Lion gravy through a straw.  This year, no gravy.  Just a ridiculous pool shot at the Video Saloon [not pictured] and drunken revelry concerning the coolness of Miller Lite's latest beer gimmick -- the metallic pint can.)

(On Sunday, Erica and I drove back to Terre Haute to pick up the kids.  This is what Terre Haute looks like when you are stuck at a train that is no longer moving.  It happens quite a bit in TH.)

(This is Joey and Mommy at Noodles and Company on the way home from the weekend.)

Driving six hours on spicy Thai food and the beer s@#$ is a great way to end a long weekend in Bloomington!

Next year, we'll do it all over again.

All for the glory of old IU!

48 Hours of Travel -- Southern Indiana Style

Fishers, Sheridan, Lebanon, Zionsville, Seymour.

Sleep.

Seymour, Bloomington, Terre Haute, Bloomington.

Sleep.

No pictures. 

306 miles and a screwy trip around the state. Trip from Fishers, IN to Bloomington, IN
 
However, I can tell you that I did not find Mellencamp's "Tasty Freeze" nor the "house in escrow."  And if you can name the two Mellencamp songs those quoted lines come from, you are a big loser -- like me.

Saw the wife (too briefly) and got to hang out with the kids tonight.  Wifee was hanging out with girlfriends in Plainfield, Indiana.  Apparently, they needed a designated driver.  The way I was moving around this God-forsaken state, they could have just used me. 

Without her, the kids and I completed an orgy of Terre Haute food establishments with Nana.

BOGO Kroger nacho cheese and chips.

Check.

A bucket of spaghetti and a loaf of garlic bread from Spaghetti House.

Check.

Six hard shell tacos from Taco Casita.  Three hot, three mild.

Check.

We destroyed it.

What did Henry eat?  Why, a bologna and cheese sandwich, of course. 

He's a weirdo.

Marian Anderson or Marion and Anderson: The Long Strange Trip Continues

This is Marian Anderson.  She was one of the greatest singers in American history.

She was not in Marion or Anderson today.  However, I visited both Marion and Anderson (cities in Indiana) today on my continuing working tour of the state.

Brief thoughts on both fine cities? 

Anderson.  Well, it was hot and sort of depressing.

Spin me around ten times and move me into another small town in the Midwest this month and I'm pretty sure I'd say the same thing about that town.

Any town that is more than 5 miles from the interstate exit is a goner in this economy.  Anderson is a perfect example. 

Other than proximity to Indianapolis, if the Colts think they are getting a huge advantage moving their training camp from Terre Haute to Anderson, they are morons.  SSDD.

Marion.  The home of Lyndon Jones and Jay Edwards?  Well, it was hot and sort of depressing.

I did pass the birthplace of James Dean and the guy who created the Garfield comic strip on the way to Marion. 

I would have stopped to take photos, but I was trying to race back to my hotel so I could avoid the nightly ritual of Indiana tornadoes.

I am not joking.  Each of the past two nights has been a dodge-fest of golf-ball sized hail, torrential rains, 60 mph winds, bluish-green skies and tornadoes.

God is apparently pissed at us.

Don't believe me?

Well, a lightning bolt destroyed the "Touchdown Jesus" or "Butter Jesus" monstrosity near Middletown, Ohio last night.  For those of you who have driven down I-75 north of Cincinnati, Ohio and saw this thing:

You know the end is near.  It burned to the ground in two brilliant minutes of flame and irony.

Yesterday, I enjoyed a window seat to a tornado-producing thunderstorm in Zionsville, Indiana.  Tornado sirens and all. 

I discovered that the best way to enjoy a tornado is over a six pack of Modelos with your sister.

Seriously.  When it comes for you, what would you rather be doing?

Today was no different.  I had to wait for more tornado-producing thunderstorms to clear the Indy area before heading to the only sign of life in southeastern Hamilton County...

 
Yes, that's the sun emerging from the heavens as I dodged lightning strikes to reach the front door of Five Guys in Fishers, IN. 

Eleven dollars for a bacon cheeseburger, fries and a Mr. Pibb never tasted so damn good!

I'm off to Lebanon tomorrow.

No, not that Lebanon.

This Lebanon.  The Friendly City.

The above is an actual picture from the Lebanon, Indiana website.  Apparently, there's a new definition of "friendly" in the Friendly City. 

Yikes.

I am sure not to F with these bad asses.  I mean, they have totally got that soccer game under control.  I know tensions are high with the World Cup and all but is SWAT training really necessary at a soccer field in Indiana?

I can't wait for tomorrow to come.  I'm already fearful of what will happen next.

A plague of locusts?  Pestilience?  A giant meteor?