RAWR!

It happened! It happened!

No, not that elusive, only-ever-talking-about-it, never-happening, hard-to-attain size 6.

No, not *that*, either.

No, I didn't win a Pulitzer.

No, I didn't prepare a 3-course meal for my family. (Does McD's count when you get a sandwich, fries, and a drink?)

No, no lottery winnings...

Okay...are you ready?

I became a momma bear, ready and willing to attack for the sake of my kids.

Wednesday, Miles was playing in his first 8th grade football game, and he took a cheap shot (late hit in the back) by another player (#20, I don't know your name, but I have your number!). I watched it happen, saw Miles get up, and I suddenly had the urge to run out to the field and tackle that #20 (did you hear me? I have your number!). Luckily, my rational, logical side kept me sitting still...sitting on that bleacher as if I had super glue stuck to my ass.

Then, last night Ella called to tell me goodnight (she's at Eben's for the weekend). In our conversation, we chit chatted for a few about radom things and she finally says, "Mommy, guess what happened?" I said, "Tell me baby. Tell mommy what happened." She then proceeds to tell me that she fell down on the wet floor at "Bob Heavens" (Bob Evans) and hurt her mouth. I asked how hurt is hurt. She told me it was all bloody. Instantly, my stomach rolled, mouth went dry, and those floor moppers at Bob Heavens should thank their ever-lovin' lucky stars that I was in Newark and not Zanesville or I would have beat them to death with their mop.

Granted, the rational, logical side of me says that she probably did not heed the "Warning: Wet Floor" sign (she is, after all, almost four and not truly able to read signage that warns of imminent danger). However, my baby was hurt, and someone was going to pay for it. That's the primal instinct of a momma bear.

YAY!