Guest Post ... Starring The Trophy Wife!

Hey everyone. I know I took about a month off. Bad choice. My mom recently was telling me that she needed me to post. Therefore, she offered to do a guest post. As most of you know, my mom has her own personal blog where she shares her unique perspective on everything in the world. Seriously, it's a good blog. She posts daily and it's a very recommended read.

I promise I'll come back ... I promise. In the meantime, however, enjoy the mind of my mom. And please, continue to read her blog. I promise you won't regret it. Here goes!

So, here’s the deal. Matthew Gamblin thinks his life is boring. That’s probably true, but that is no excuse for his lack of posts as of late. Matt needs to understand that blogging is not about excitement. No. Blogging is a state of mind.

My mind, usually.

Hence, the guest post idea is born.

As Matt’s mother, I have some unique and most importantly, correct, insights into how Matt Gamblin became the man he is today. I would like to share some of those early occasions when, I knew without a doubt, that this child was destined for great things. In no particular order, let us begin:

Matt was thrown from a horse when he was two, requiring a visit to the emergency room. Never mind that the horse in question was red and required a quarter to be placed in its slot before the incident occurred. Those details don’t really matter. The point is: Matt handled it well. Actually, he had to be sedated and placed in a papoose-straightjacket-thingy.

Note: Okay, that wasn’t the best example. Let us continue.

One beautiful summer day at Lake Shasta, the family boat exploded. Seriously. The engine starts, sputtering noises are made, flames roar and dudes in fancy noisy ski boats skid around the now-sad family boat, dousing the flames with their hot-dogging. Matt remembers every moment of this frightening day. He swears he remembers. Except, however, for the small fact that it happened before he was born. The point is: I apologize. There is no point.

I went to the Homecoming Dance with Matt. Now, before you get all weirded out, I wasn’t his date, thank you very much. I was his State-of-California-Can’t-Drive-Without-An-Adult in the car Whatnot. Fear not, however. I was discreet. I lay down on the backseat floor of the Firebird (which, I believe, was still purple at the time) and he picked up his date and drove to the dance. Quiet as a little mouse, I was. Then I drove home and returned later, parking the car in the same spot and hiding on the floorboard. Discreetly. Again.

Note: I admit that I may have peeked out the window when he walked his date to the front door. Maybe.

But that’s not the point. The point is: Best obey the law, Dude.

Matt loved the A’s, back in the powerhouse, juiced-up Bash Brother good-old-days. It is 1989. Matt sits through a four-hour game and the A’s are throttling whomever and it’s like 27-5. Or something. Seriously. The game is rebroadcast two hours later. Matt watches it again, doing a play-by-play. Matt, it’s time for dinner, I say. Not now, Mom, he answers, Walt Weiss is going to hit a homerun in a minute! The point: You may choose the point. Either a) Matt is a genius with an amazing memory or b) Matt is a little on the obsessive side.

There are many more instances to share. Oh yes. It takes decades to produce a twenty-six year old. Two and half, to be exact. And as The Mother, I can assure you that the point is: Sons don’t get any better than this one.

Note: But then again, I only have one son, so it’s hard to be sure.