Dancing Without Rhythm

7 AM

2007-05-18T06:18:00.000-06:00

I don't know if I'm sentimental, or if this is the kind of stuff that makes every mom's day complete.

Avery was sitting at the table eating cereal when Ben woke up. She heard the bedroom door open and without even seeing him she yelled, "Beeeeeean! I wuv you!" Only, he didn't hear it, because when he saw me he opened up his arms wide and yelled, "Surprise!"

Shouldn't we all be so sure of ourselves that merely waking up in the morning is the greatest gift we can think of to give? Not only did I get that from Ben, it came as a surprise as well!!

Avery's inflection was identical to mine with her emphatic and spontaneous "I love you". I can pronounce my "L's" so it was a little different, but it makes me feel like I'm doing something right when I hear her repeat something so sweet.

Also, Sketchy, anyone thoughtful enough to include a link to how to induce labor, deserves a full response to her question...

"Not Happy Bob" is from The Incredibles. Which, is just shy of worshipped in this house. Adults not excluded. Ben was getting all sorts of positive attention for answering every question with "I don't know, something amazing I guess" so Avery thought she'd up the competition.

When Bob gets pulled into his boss's office, his boss, with that really annoying voice (the Sicilian from Princess Bride) says, "Sit down Bob. I'm not happy Bob. Not happy." So, that was Avery's contribution to our incessant quoting of The Incredibles.

The funny thing is, Jay has tried to teach Ben to adapt his catch phrase to fit the situation. "What do you want for lunch Ben?" "I don't know, something delicious I guess" etc. Ben can't stray from the script. Avery, took no time changing "Bob" to "Mom" when her displeasure was aimed at me.

Ben's new quote as of yesterday, which seriously makes me guffaw every time is, "You sly dog, you got me monologuing!" Just see if you can resist the hilarity of a three year old saying the word "monologuing".

P.S. Even though Ben will be 4 in 4 days, I am not allowed to call him a 4 year old until he has a birthday. Per His Majesty's orders.

This absolutely charming pose of Ben's is reserved for special

occasions, like during Primary Sharing Time and in the middle of

the aisle at the grocery store when people innocently "try" to pass

by our cart. It's not for every day.

Open Letter Season

2007-05-17T12:53:00.000-06:00

Dear Wal-Mart Greeter,

You are very sweet. And I appreciate the stickers and attention you gave to my children. When my daughter threw the sticker back at you and yelled, "Not happy Bob!" at you, believe me when I say it's not you, it's her.

But I have to say, my son, he's not quite 4. He's very young. And yes he was wearing a Spiderman shirt and knew all the characters of Spiderman 3 and even saw the movie the day after it opened---he still doesn't get it. That blank stare he gave you when you philosophized about the dual nature of man in relation to the Sandman---it was real. I'm sorry you were disappointed that the conversation with him fell so flat so suddenly. Ask him what color Venom is, and why, and that's more likely to get results.

Also, when you suggested as we were leaving that he "web you" and then froze in place until we could no longer see you---that was "totally awesome" and had both my kids giggling all the way to the car.

Not to be rude, but as much as I loved the attention you were giving my children, at nine months pregnant, my bladder is on a limited schedule and I really needed to get those pineapples and diapers and get home. Public bathrooms are digusting.

Sincerely,
The Shopper Who's Quick Errand Turned Into Spiderman Philosophizing and Kegal Exercising

Dear Daughter,

I am on to you. I just need to verbalize it. I know you are smarter than me in so many ways, but I am on to you. When you tilt your head and reach out your arms and say, "I hug you mama, huuuuuuuug" I know darn well that you just want to get out of the boring and not as soft and squishy as me shopping cart. Sure I love your hugs, and you do follow through. But don't think I don't know what you are doing.

All My Love,
Your Mother Who's Manipulative Ways Came First

Dear Rebecca,

When I told you I had read that pineapple can induce labor and I thought I'd give it a try---naturally I assumed you would think as I had, that it was the INGESTION of pineapple that does the trick. My bad. But thanks for the hearty laugh.

Love,
Your Friend Who's Mouth Is Now Raw And None Closer To Labor

Dear Friend and/or Family Member That I Happen To Be Calling,

No, I'm not in labor. But I promise, you will be the FIRST to know when I am.

Expectantly,
She Who Wishes It Even More Than You

Dear OB/GYN That I Have Been Seeing Regularly Since December,

Isn't being an OB that isn't on-call on the weekends kind of like an oxy-moron? Or totally ridiculous if nothing else? This is the kind of information that would have been helpful to me 6 MONTHS AGO. Part of seeing you regularly is to build a rapport and to feel comfortable in your care when you deliver my baby. Had I known that you don't do weekends, I might have gone elsewhere. Now I'm going have to break in some newbie with my bad jokes and unnaturally pleasant disposition while enduring a Uterine Rave if this baby decides on a weekend arrival.

Thanks A Lot,
Your Patient Who Probably Wouldn't Care As Much If Her Baby In-Utero Didn't Already Weigh 23 Pounds

Dear Angela,

Stop being such a baby, being pregnant can be hard, but having a newborn is even harder. Also, just because you haven't gained any weight in the last 6 weeks, it doesn't mean your diet of cheeseburgers and Ben and Jerry's is the answer. You can pretend, but soon enough it's gonna come back and bite you in the butt. Your very ample butt.

Stop yelling at your kids so much. It's not their fault that bending over to pick up the banana that's been dropped 5 times in 90 seconds makes you want to fall over and sleep for 3 hours. And you're the dumbhead that bought the ridiculously hard puzzle, you can't blame your child for wanting to put it together five.times.a.day.

Stop watching The Medium. It scares you. You always think you're tougher than some fictional show, but you aren't. So just stop it. It makes Thursday mornings hard on both of us.

Your children are every bit as hilarious and adorable as you think they are. But other people don't need to be told about it constantly. When Ben says, "awwwwwwwww, it's too haaaaaaaaard" when you tell him to put on some underwear, it really is funny---but only to us. And when Avery substitutes "Not HAPPY Bob" for a simple "no" it's pretty funny, but not alert-the-press funny like you think it is.

Love,
Angela

Dear Sara,
You can't come soon enough. Even though I have my own two redhaired kissables around here, I need a chubby one that can't tell me to stop kissing them. Rebekah will do.

Plus my garden tub and non-garden toilet really need to be cleaned.

Love,
You're Non-Demanding Sister

Dear Sonic Crushed Ice,

Will You Marry Me?

Love,
Pregnant And Parched In Texas

It Was Worth It In The End

2007-05-15T15:59:00.000-06:00

I just sat on the floor for an hour putting together this puzzle with Benjamin. It was NOT an easy task. I was overly ambitious in purchasing it, but I was only thinking of Ben's future at Harvard Medical school. Every three-year-old should have a mother so conscientious.

There were at least 8 times I wanted to chuck a handful of solid blue edges across the room because none of them fit with another. The baby nailed my bladder 12 times. I turned it into a teaching moment and showed Ben exactly where the baby was nailing me. My back ached 10 minutes into it.

Avery woke up from her nap halfway through and kept kicking the puzzle because it was keeping the attention from her. Ben kept trying to shove scapulas where scapulas just
don't go and I cursed my motherly teach-my-child-in-fun-bonding-ways lapse no less than 17 times. In my head of course. It was bad enough that Ben was already repeating
everything Dr. Phil said. "Where does this go mom? Lady, you can take a hike if you don't like what I have to say! I know! I'll put it here!" His own flavor of afternoon talk-show tourette's.

Anyway, in the end, it was all worth it when Ben jumped around and clapped for what we'd accomplished and pointed at different parts on the puzzle saying, "I can totally feel that part inside me!"

But the cake for me was, "Fyoosh, I'm sho sweaty from all this puzzling!"
That's my boy.

Cleaning Habits of Jay and Angela

2007-05-12T18:17:00.000-06:00

This afternoon I was trying to bribe Ben into cleaning up some of the stuff scattered about the living room. I wasn't really invested in getting him to work, so I wasn't really deterred by his lack of response, or polite offers of, "It's okay mom, you can do it."

After 10 minutes of my hardly noteworthy efforts, Jay picked up a flashlight and said, "Here Ben, I'll shine the light on what needs to be put away and you put it away." Ben jumped to it and within 10 minutes the living room was spotless and Ben had exclaimed NO LESS than FOUR TIMES, "This is the funnest game EVOH!"

This is all well and good---Jay making chores the funnest game evoh---I'm happy to be a part of such a family. I really thought Jay was a genius for coming up with this "game". Benjamin finding joy in cleaning up and reveling in the cleanliness, he gets from Jay. I cannot lie. I'm okay with that.

However, contrast it with what I found Avery doing shortly after, it's embarrassing what I'VE contributed to the gene pool.

Avery had been trotting around with a bag of cheese puffs. They're organic, by the way, right next to the organic candy bars in our cupboard. She happened to spill about half the bag, unbeknownst to any of us. I turned a corner and found her dealing with the situation all by herself. She was standing there, cleaning them up. "What a good girl," I thought.

My pride suddenly turned to embarrassment when I saw her, still standing, grab a cheese puff WITH HER TOES and raise her leg to drop it back into the bag, all without moving her upper body one bit. She couldn't be bothered to bend the six inches it takes for her to reach the ground. I know that this takes skill for a two year old; But it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out where she learned that technique.

Dr. Feel

2007-05-11T07:48:00.000-06:00

The other day Ben came up to me and asked, "What does it mean to crush all your dreams?"

Whaaaaaa!? I think to myself, I need to crack down on the cartoons he's watching---he really doesn't need to be exposed to some hybrid-monstrous character who is clothed as a super-hero, saying such things into his precious, innocent ears.

"Where did you hear that phrase Ben?"

"Oh, Dr. Feel said it."

Well, if it's a television star psychologist he overheard it from, then that's fine.

I actually wanted to jump up off the couch today and kiss Dr. Phil. I've never really thought the middle-aged, married, bald, psychotherapist kind was my type, but my love for him was real today.

As an expression of my love, I would like to write him a love letter. You can read it if you want.

Dear Dr. Phil,

Do you mind if I just call you Phil? I first fell for your wit and charm and straight shootin' ways a couple of years ago. You had a guest on your show who was LDS. She was sort of an embarrassing representative. She was abusive to her children, one more than the others even. This was particularly distressing to me. She was just in general very unkind to her husband, but she had also cheated on him more than once. She had a Masters Degree, but didn't work, claimed her religion "didn't allow it." She had run her family into debt more than $60 thousand dollars in a fairly short period of time. I kept feeling embarrassed and a little angry that she behaved the way she did and then pulled out the religion card when you pressed her for some accountability for the family's financial distress.

I didn't know how shrewd you were. I was just a beginner. Imagine my shock when you whipped out our church leaders Proclamation on the Family and quoted it. You pointed out, not only did it not say "thou shalt not work" but you quoted it saying, "We warn that individuals who violate covenants of chastity, who abuse spouse or offspring, or who fail to fulfill family responsibilities will one day stand accountable before God." You called her on the carpet about using her religion as an excuse for having no accountability for finances, but certainly didn't adhere to her religion's clearly stated position on infidelity and abuse.

Phil, I have to say, you won me over that day.

Then when I'd watch your show now and then, I always got a big kick out of how you called stupid people stupid. And half the time, they wouldn't even know it. But us smart people, we knew.

One day I heard you talk about your wife, and wives in general. You stated that you believed one of the most important things you could do for your wife, is to give her the security, that when she walked into a room with 1,000 other women she knew without a doubt, no other woman in that room was treated better or more valued than she was.

I genuinely love that philosophy. I loved then that it was a way I could gauge how I felt as a wife. I am quite confident my husband provides that security for me, and he's got great cheekbones to boot. Sometimes I wish there were a few more chocolate covered strawberries in the equation, but I know I'm a lucky girl. It made me happy that you were putting that "expectation" out there for the world. The world needs more confident women who are loved by their husbands.

I confess, I haven't been able to watch your show much. Sometimes it's a little boring, other times, just bad timing. But today I got to watch. And you had a meth user on your show. He was strung out while on your show. I kept expecting you to say, "I can't work under these conditions" or something like that, but you didn't. You plowed ahead with this man who gave completely illogical, nonsensical responses to your questions.

When his wife mentioned his paranoia, you asked the man, "How are you feeling right now, are you feeling paranoid? Do you think I'm out to get you?" And he answered not really, but sorta, he'd like to "hope" you weren't since you invited them there and all, but yes, he was feeling a little paranoid. You leaned in, gently put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Let me clear something up for ya right now, I AM out to get you."

I whooped and hollered, and all nine months pregnant of me did a little couch jig. People need to be talked to honestly. There's too much pampering of ridiculousness in this world. In my humble opinion. You took it even a step further, in a way that truly amazed me. I got tears in my eyes. Yeah, it's a little embarrassing to get teary-eyed watching your show, but it's a risk I'm willing to take for you Phil. You explained that you weren't after the strung out meth user, you were after the man inside, the healthy, responsible, productive, loving man he used to be, that is inside, trying desperately to be freed.

Seriously, I wanted to kiss you.

Later when you told the lying addict that you knew she was lying because her lips were moving, I laughed and laughed.

I have to say, I'm always amazed at the angles you take. I think you'll be rude and cut them down, and you put on kid gloves. I think you'll be patient and understanding and you threaten to give them a good ol' fashion southern arse whoopin'. And somehow it always seems to be just right.

Oh, I could go on for ages, but---you're happily married, I'm happily married---there's really no point. However, in light of your well-known philosophy "You teach people how to treat you" I'd like to teach you to treat me to a Caribbean cruise, a personal trainer, and a whole new wardrobe. Let me know.

With Love,
Angela

His Brand of Sweet Nothings

2007-05-09T09:54:00.000-06:00

Jay's in Illinois right now. We've been spoiled to have been together for 6 weeks straight, so I'm adjusting poorly to his absence. But yesterday I got to spend a good portion of the day with friends and distractions and someone else entertaining my children, so it was an easy day.

I got home last night after hanging out at my friends house and letting the kids run wild, in time to let them fall in to bed, exhausted.

I was delighted to find a message waiting for me on the phone from Jay.

It's not often I get romanced so when he leaves tender messages like this for me, I'm on top of the world for quite some time. You know the sweet things your husband can say, the kind that make your knees go weak. The kind that make you know, to the world you're just one girl, but to HIM, you are the whole world....

**"Hi Angela, this is Jay. Just callin' to say hi and check in and whatnot. I'm done for the day. You can call me anytime about anything and I'll. be. here.
I'm kind of missing you because I had a frustrating conversation dealing with _____________ and holy crap, I'm so glad I'm married to a normal person...."

Wouldn't you say he knows how to melt a girl's heart?

I think so.

**Disclaimer: Leaking his voicemail message to my blog could perhaps be a breech of some kind of marital confidence but Jay did know when he married a Smith, we will say or do anything for a laugh. It's the slogan on our family crest.

Every Vote Counts

2007-05-06T14:30:00.000-06:00

Wow, you guys are amazing! I thought having lots of great ideas would be oh-so-helpful. Turns out, it’s just as hard as having no ideas. I STILL can’t decide.

So again, I’ll pass the buck.

Now, don’t anybody get offended (Breitmama, you KNOW you weren’t going to get picked, but you just couldn’t help yourself though, could you!?) if I don’t list your suggestion---it’s all about the bottom line here.

Carrot’s probably quite busy with her NEW BABY but I just want to acknowledge that for some reason, Hot Diggity made me laugh and Que Sera Sera is good, but it’s the title of a blog I already read. So sad. And she’s a really good writer, so I don’t want that kind of pressure on me….

No Cool---Fpeck Attacks made me think about referring to us as the Fpeck Family and for some reason, I felt like I was losing brain cells when I used that phrase. Heeeeeeeey, how about Pho Family?

Red. Beautiful. Is TOTALLY up my alley, but my husband laughed when he heard it. I’m vain, he’s not.

>l< This made me laugh too, but then I’d have to be something like >l< the Artist Formerly Known as Angela.

Okay S, et al. You gave me some good'ns.

Got A Minute is good. I’m afraid I ramble too much to keep that an honest blog title.
Three Cardinals and a Bluejay got my attention. If I have another redhead, I’ll want to change it to Three Cardinals, and Bluejay, and One Cardinal Sinner. Just to be honest and stuff.
Subjects of the Queen just scares me. You know, all that stuff about saying things out loud so they can be fulfilled?
Will blog for (Insert any kind of Ben and Jerry’s here) is definitely a front runner
Go Bears REALLY made me laugh.
I like Dishes? What Dishes!? But that just says too much about me up front, don’t you think?
Real Cool Story made me laugh too, but I think someone beat me to the punch. Someone with good ideas too….

TMM-- Apply Directly To the Forehead
I have to confess, I’m slow. I didn’t get it. But Jay did. And it made him laugh. And then when he explained to me, I laughed too.

Rebecca---Brilliant. See Breitmama's answer. :)

Sketchy---Stop Bugging Avee is a great idea! I love the idea of using stuff from signs. One of my favorite signs here in Texas is: “Humps Ahead”. Who calls speed bumps humps? Seriously!?

NCS---Yay? Is that like, “Jay” in Spanish? Because, if it is, I’ll TOTALLY do it.

Millie---But, but, but I AM hot. To quote Ben “Could you please turn on that sing that makes me not feel so hot and sticky, or else let me take off my clothes?” If I had a quarter for every time I’ve had to bite my tongue when I wanted to say that in public…..

Okay, Here are the final ones I won’t mind being identified as for the rest of my blog career. Or at least until a crazy stalker finds me….

Cookie Dough for Dinner
Apply Directly To the Forehead (okay, I’m torn about this one because it’s funny now with those completely annoying commercials, but will it be in 10 years when I’m a famous blogger, paying y’all royalties for my blog title?)
Will blog for (Insert any kind of Ben and Jerry’s here)
Three Cardinals and a Bluejay
Got A Minute---I like this for it’s simplicity.

Oh yeah, and I forgot, not to influence you or anything, but I LOVE “Nobody Called Today” just for the image it conjures. I could just get on my blog and go ON and ON and ON and it will be okay because I will have WARNED you---nobody called today...

I could be persuaded by “Subjects of the Queen” but it is true, if this baby is a girl---that could be disastrous. Like a blog-coup or something equally heinous. Then again, if the baby is a boy, then it will probably be the most accurate description of our lives here.

Okay, I just got a new comment with a new idea that was too good to pass up. SPIT HAPPENS. What do you think? Showly makes me laugh! Thanks Julie!

So, give me your votes. If you don’t want to post it in comments, you can email it. Withoutrhythm@gmail.com.

After this, could you come and fold some of my laundry, and my bathrooms really need cleaning…

p.s. Suzanne, I have a sister-in-law named Suzanne. So then my baby would be cursed with the title of "Little Suzanne" or even worse, "Big Suzanne" or "Red Suzanne" or sadly, "The Boy Suzanne".

Oh, it's random all right

2007-05-02T12:00:00.000-06:00

Okay y'all, I'm ready to go public again. I'll probably switch to a new blog service or something like that, but who cares, as long as you don't have to type the word "Rhythm" anymore, right?

Since my creativity has slowly been sucked out of me for the last 8 months I can't think of a blessed blog title to get the ball rolling.

That's where you come in. Help me? Please? I'll name our third child after you if you do. Or I'll name it after your sister. Or brother. Whatever, I'm flexible.

I have to forgo the simplicity of "Angela" when talking about myself or commenting on other blogs, but I don't want some weird name like "She Who Walks Like a Duck But Looks Like A Bear" every time I comment or refer to myself. And believe me, I will be talking about myself A LOT.

And it has to be the most cleverest blog title in all the land. That's really all the expectations I have.

I have 5 zillion things I feel like I need to get in order before this baby comes and none of it seems to be getting done very quickly. After showering and laying down to recuperate from showering, half my day is gone. Throw in the regular child bum-wipings and child-feeding and my own nigh-incessant bathroom visits, you can IMAGINE how hectic my life has gotten. My point being, I might not be posting much, but I'm anxiously awaiting your ideas and suggestions.

Please remember, there are no stupid ideas, just stupid people and I won't laugh at you.
Much.

And on a side note which will also serve as a conclusion, Ben has hit the stage I have long awaited. I can remember looking down into his precious newborn face and saying to him how much I loved him and kissing him and just not being able to say it or kiss him, enough. And then realizing that one day he'd reciprocate---I couldn't wait!

Well, last night, for the first time, without my saying it first, he said "I love you mom." I am certain I left parts of my heart all over the play area of Carmax because it burst into a million little pieces from the love and the pride. I said, "Oh thank you Ben, that makes me so happy to hear." He continued, "I love dad too." I said, "I love dad also!" and Ben said, "And I bet you guys love your mom and dad like I do."

Later when he was in bed he offered a simple, "I like you mom." It was immediately followed by a threat that he wouldn't lay down to go to sleep if I didn't bring him the right kind of water bottle. But still.

Avery just told Ben, "Stop bugging AVEE!" Um, maybe I better take a different approach in breaking up their disagreements.

Round 2

2007-04-30T14:59:00.000-06:00

Ben came traipsing into the living room carrying a license plate frame that he only could have gotten to by climbing into the baby's crib.

"Did you get into the baby's crib? Were you playing in it? Is Avery in there now?"

Nothing like a barrage of questions at a small child to make him feel like communicating.

"No, I didn't get in the crib."
"Tell the truth Ben, I don't want you telling me a lie."
"I didn't get in the crib."
"Ben, that's not okay, I happen to know for a fact you got into the crib and I really don't like you not telling the truth. Now tell me, did you get into the crib?"

Silence.

"I need your answer."
"I really don't want to answer you mom."
"Well, I really need to hear you tell me the truth," I say matter-of-factly.
He replies, just as matter-of-factly, "Well, I really don't want to hear you feel mad at me."

And he won. Why does he keep doing this to me? I'm so weak.

You Can't Blame Them For Genetics

2007-04-29T17:29:00.000-06:00

This morning before church:

Avery voluntarily leaned in against Benjamin as her interpretation of "Smile!"

This sweet photo shoot was followed immediately by me griping at Benjamin about not listening and not smiling normally, and basically how acting his age is suddenly a crime. Yeah, I was at my best this morning. So on the way to church I say something about his nice smile and how it made me feel sad that he wouldn't just do what I ask and pose for the picture. From the back seat he mutters, "Yeah, well I feel pretty bad about it too."

I shut my trap.

This evening, Jay was on the phone and I was lying on the bed reading. When we both made our ways back to the living room to check on the kids, we found this:

Note the complete lack of regard for the supposedly stern parent hovering over her. Granted, I was taking pictures, but STILL.

But these are the kinds of things where I know I can't get mad because I helped make her, and in so doing, made her this way.

On a completely different note: I tried to fix the below post so you can see the handwritten note. Did it work?

Love Letter From Mom

2007-04-28T07:32:00.000-06:00

In the box I dug through the other day, unearthing all sorts of lovely reminders of my past, I found this:

This was written when I was 14 or 15 years old. It tells you everything you ever need to know about me. And my mom. I've mentioned in the past how my mom used our kitchen cupboards as her personal "1980's ghetto planner" and I just happen to have saved one of the exhibits. This actually may have been taped across the front door to greet me when I got home from school. Or taped to my bedroom door. Or taped around the phone. With duct tape.

I also can't help notice that, for a former school teacher and MAJOR stickler for proper english and grammer, this note is quite the run-on sentence. It's like she started with a simple request "immaculate room" and remembered who she was dealing with and added "permanently" and then thought, "Oh what the heck, while I'm asking for the impossible, why not throw in practicing!?"

I still can't keep anything immaculate. I still spend inordinate amounts of time on the phone. On the other hand, I don't have to practice anymore! Oh yeah, and my mom doesn't get after me about how I keep my house. She's thoughtful like that.

He's Got My Brains

2007-04-26T16:03:00.000-06:00

Benjamin is outside playing with a couple of neighbor kids. One is 8, the other 11.
Benjamin says, "Hey 8 year old friend, Spiderman 3 is coming out tomorrow!" They discuss it briefly, I stick my head out and say, "Next week Ben, it's not coming out until next Friday."
Benjamin then says, "Yeah 11 year old friend, next Friday. It goes like this, (singing) Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Friday, Thursday, Monday, Saturday, then FRIDAY! Just like that! Isn't that great!?"

Hey, 32 year old friend, isn't my boy a crack-up?

*Jay just read this post and asked "so who were the kids?" and I realized that it looks like I was trying to keep their identities secret---but no---I don't know their names, Ben called them "8 year old friend" and "11 year old friend" the entire 2 hours he played with them.

I Might Make It A Musical

2007-04-25T17:56:00.000-06:00

Last night I got to park in front of one of these:

It was every bit as thrilling as I imagined it would be. I have only ever seen these signs when I'm not pregnant. So, pulling into Kroger and seeing it, and being it and then doing it, it was all very exciting for me.

And now, I would like to share a scene with you from my appointment with the doctor this morning.

Scene: Expectant mother (see above) lying reclined on ever-so-comfortable ultrasound table.
Enter, Very Serious Doctor
(it should be noted, but is not overtly portrayed in this scene, expectant mother doesn't talk as much as she usually does or has in the past because her attempts at humor are either completely lost on or not appreciated by Very Serious Doctor. She also hates being talked to like she has a 3rd grade education when she is about to give birth to her 3rd child. However, it should also be noted, she understands most doctor's tendency to do this and is quite understanding. And beautiful.)

Doctor: Well hello there (briefly scans folder label)...Angela! How are things going?
Angela: They are going well!
Doctor: Do you have any questions for me?
Angela: (slight pause because she is a pleaser and would love nothing more than to offer a question to do her part with conversation and make the doctor feel good about having been so intuitive as to have asked, but remembers last time she asked a VERY good question, it didn't get answered, in. the. least. and really, she just can't be bothered by that kind of stuff) Nope. No questions. Things are going great.
Doctor: All right, let's check things out, see how things are going. He walks to the other side of room to retrieve ultrasound gel, with his back turned, Do you have any questions?
Angela: Nope. Meanwhile she shifts and maneuvers clothing as though she actually thinks there's any hope of decorum while lying on a table in a gynecology office. She modestly slides her maternity pants down an inch below her belly button because, well, there's still some decency in just an inch below the belly button. She knows Britney Spears didn't get in the tabloids showing her belly button. Doctor returns with gel, sees patients pathetic attempts to remain "proper", sighs and yanks waist of pants considerably lower than any ultrasound has any business being and the ultrasounding begins.
There are two minutes of complete silence and then:
Doctor: Looking good here--any questions?
Angela: (Biting tongue because she wants to say: Nope, not in the two minutes since you last asked. Or in the 30 seconds before that. Or in the 90 seconds before that...) Brightly: No, no questions here!
Doctor: (Finishing up and wiping 1 tablespoon's worth of the 4 cups of gel he has lathered on the patient's belly) All right, everything's looking good---now, do you have questions?
Angela: (Forcing herself to answer) No--but thanks!
Doctor: Okay, I want to see you in a week, take care, if you have any questions during the week, call me.
Angela: What, and miss an opportunity to actually have a question the 37 times you ask when I'm HERE?
Doctor exits, unaware that Angela has spoken. Mostly because she said it in her head, and OBVIOUSLY he ISN'T A MIND READER!!!

I Need To Be Cool

2007-04-23T19:36:00.001-06:00

I wondered when it would happen, Ben getting an opinion on what he should wear. Avery came out of the womb screaming, "I am NOT wearing this another second, it's not my color, get it off me!" Apparently wrinkly, red, newborn doesn't appeal to her sense of style.

Well it happened. And it's consistent, but I can't figure it out. Suddenly he won't wear sports clothing, like those basketball shorts or the longer pants made of the same material. Maybe my attitude about exercise rubbed off on him and he can be heard to say, "these are for exohcising---I am NOT wearing them".

He's easy-going enough that sometimes I can persuade him by promising him he only has to wear them until we get back from the store and then he can find something else. Or telling him that Amy's boys wear those kinds of shorts/pants all the time.

But today, he wasn't having any of it. I just needed to walk a little bit across the complex and thought that he should at least have pants on while we did that. I'm classy like that.
So, I pulled out the only clean pair of shorts he had and tossed them to him.

I don't want to wear these showts, I don't like them!
C'mon Ben we're just walking over to the garage for a little bit, put them on.
I hate these pants!
What are you talking about, they are great shorts---those are the kind that __________ (at least five really cool kids) wear!
Fine. I'll wear them, but I'm taking them off as soon as I get home!
Why don't you like to wear them? They are so comfortable!
I need to be cool.
Completely alarmed by this statement, we don't DO cool in this family, how did he possibly get the notion that he could or should? Certain that he doesn't exactly know what cool means, I ask-- What's cool Ben?
Not these!

Sure enough, after we finished our errand and I waddled in the front door, a good 20 feet behind him, I tripped over his very uncool shorts in the entry way. He must have had them off before the front door was opened.

Mix Tape

2007-04-23T12:43:00.000-06:00

Yesterday Jay and I spent most of the afternoon sifting through boxes of books and papers trying to eliminate boxes we've been hauling around since we got married.

While Jay slimmed five boxes of books (his sentimental attachments) down to 2 or 3 boxes, I spent the entire time on one box of papers and letters. They were things I had saved since I was about 14 years old. Looking at the dates of 1990 and 1991, I hardly batted an eye. That seems like yesterday in print. Then I realized that was SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO and I almost couldn't breathe. I don't feel like I've even been on this earth long enough to have been constructing complete sentences on paper and compiling them in a book 17 years ago.

I found a few treasures in the midst of a bunch of crap. One was a snarky note I wrote to an English teacher my freshman year. I was touched, as a 31 year old reading it, by the kindness of her response. I was moved to email her and thank her. Not just for the note, but she was one of my favorite teachers ever. I'm sure she'll remember the nondescript girl she had 17 years ago who's last name was Smith. But, I felt compelled.

I found a mix tape that one of my best friends who I later developed a hopeless crush on and who even later turned into a gay guy---had made for me. I couldn't wait to hear what was on that tape. I just turned it on while I was making lunch and basically it's all those sappy songs that now they play in the dentist office while you are reclined, mouth pried open, having slobber kindly sucked out of your mouth because you can't do it yourself.

I had my back to my children as I lathered mayonnaise on bread and "our" song came on. It was Vanessa William's "Saved The Best For Last". I can remember so clearly the anguish I felt as I listened to that song when I was 16. ".....All of the nights you came to me, when some silly girl had set you free. You wondered how you'd make it through, I wondered what was wrong with you...." I closed my eyes mid-mayonnaise stroke and tried to conjure up those old feelings. They were so REAL back then. There seemed to be no relief, there seemed no other way than to feel that way.

Nothing.

I turn around and barked at Ben and Avery to get off the table, for the 4th time since I started making their lunch. They are still in their pajamas. I'm not sure if either of them ate breakfast, I can't remember that long ago.

I turn back to the sandwich and smile at my failed attempt to relive the past. I remember how desperately I wanted things to go back then, and how none of it did. And now, none of what might have been--is my history. No heartbreak of a boyfriend telling me after all, "I've decided to be gay" (he did "decide" by the way---his words, not mine). No time wasted in a town or in a relationship, hoping for something that shouldn't have been. No history of turning someone gay...:)

I smile because I've been struggling lately with feeling worthwhile. Feeling like I'm doing right by my kids---particularly when most days turning on the TV is the most I can do for them. Feeling like I'm holding up my end of the deal in marriage. Did Jay really mean to marry a smart, sassy, slender, redhead, only to end up with 3 kids and a plump, frumpy wife five years into it? Could keeping a house and finances really be this hard?

Tonight I have a husband coming home after work who is more of a friend, husband, and father than I ever dreamed I would have. I have a home I love to be in. I have friends I can call at any time for any reason. I have a blog. :) I have an almost 4 year old who's smile melts my heart, who gets my jokes, who tells me daily--things like, "I'm smiling because I was sinking about that joke dad told me about greasy chicken" and every time he has to use the bathroom, and then long monologues while he does. I have a two year old who says "I need a hug" right after I scold her and always wants "one more tiss" at nap time and night time. I have stretch marks. I have dirty dishes in my sink. I have a future I look forward to.

I hope in 17 years I can close my eyes as I lather flax seed spread for regularity on my wheat germ bread and "relive" these moments and feel the perfectly blessed way I feel now.

And Again

2007-04-19T17:43:00.000-06:00

My head is pounding. My nose is running. My throat is scratchy. My eyes are watery. I'm sick again. Just to recap my health in this here pregnancy:
Two days before I found out I was pregnant, in the throws of my children's chicken pox epidemic, I got strep throat. First time I've ever had it.
That was September.
October was good to me.
November, head cold and morning sickness.
December, head cold.
End of January, sinus infection.
Middle of February, head cold/stomach ickies combination.
March was kind.
April, it's back.

Tell me that's not fascinating information.

Tonight's dinner conversation.
Ben: So, who lives on Mars?
Me: Nobody
Ben: Who?
Me: Nobody
Ben: Who's that?
Me: Are you kidding me, nobody means---no people live on Mars.
Ben: (chuckling), I knew that. Well, then who lives on the green part of Oaf (Earth) and who lives on the blue parts?
Me: What?
Ben: Who's on the blue team of Oaf, and who's on the green team?
Me: I have no idea.
Ben: Well, I sink Aunt Sehwa lives on the green team and we live on the blue team.
(I later realized he meant water and land shown on a map)

Ben: So, Monica had a birthday yestohday, who's bowthday is next?
Me: Yours
Ben: YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS! Is it tomorrow?
Me: No, it's next month.
Ben: Is it the next day aftoh tomorrow?
Me: No, it's in a month--30 days away.
Ben: Oh, well lets go look at the number chart and see what a 30 looks like.
Me: No, I'm eating my dinner.
Ben: Whoa Mom 30 looks like a three and a zero! That's almost here!!

Ben: An upside down "Oh" is a "zero". And an upside down "7" is an "L". An upside down "M" is a "W". And upside down "H"...well, it's still just an "H".

ALL of these conversations/obvservation took place within a span of about 5 minutes. And I'm not even telling you about his philosphies on meat and playgroups for girls that were mingled in there.

Because I Thought I Could Spend Half an Hour On The Computer This Morning

2007-04-17T10:19:00.000-06:00

Due to popular demand,

Update on Naptime: Avery DID stay asleep. It was a miracle.
That part about weaning Ben from naps---just kidding. He will be napping today.

Naptime

2007-04-16T13:00:00.000-06:00

We just transitioned Avery to a toddler bed. I have heard people say things about the uselessness of toddler beds, but I LOVE ours. I love that it fits in a small space and that the kid doesn't have far to fall if he or she falls. And there's just something really cute about tucking a little petite girl into a little petite bed. She in turn, tucks a not-so-petite frog in under a petite corner of her little blanket.

The transition has been flawless. Her and Ben are in the same room and are asleep within probably 15 minutes of us putting them down. Or, they are at least quiet, and I don't really care about anything beyond that.

I have exclaimed aloud at least half a dozen times in the 4 days we've had this sleeping arrangement, "Man that went better than I thought it would!"

Today, I put Avery down for her nap, while Ben and his friend stayed up to play. I'm also transitioning Ben out of naps. He goes to bed earlier and easier without, so we're trying it.

Ben and his friend got noisey playing outside and woke up Avery. I knew she wasn't ready to be awake because she woke up crying and couldn't manuever the door handle. Two things that are very uncommon for her.

I ran into her room to lay her back down before she woke up too much. I stumbled into her darkened room and sat down on no less than 3 toys as I positioned myself to soothe her back to sleep. I didn't pay attention to the racket I was making, I had one goal, to get her back to sleep.
It worked. I stroked her hair and she fell back asleep almost immediately.

I did the waiting game every mother has done.

I decreased the number of hair strokes per minute. I lightened the pressure of the soothing hand, so it was barely noticeable. I manuevered my elbow off her pillow so the indentation it made, combined with the removal of my hand, wouldn't make her stir.

I held my breath.

I positioned my body and hands and feet to make the most graceful, noiseless exit possible. No small feat right now, I guarantee you.

I was ready, I was sure, her breathing was deep, her eyes didn't flutter, I was going to move out and wait for just the right moment to breathe again. I made my move.

SWEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH POP!!!!

In my rush and hurry to get to Avery, and in all my stumbling in the dark, I had rested my batootie squarely on a squeaky ball.

Apparently, it too was waiting for just the right moment to let out it's breath.

Poor Bereft Me

2007-04-15T18:02:00.000-06:00

In October of 1996 I had been on a mission for 2 months. A new set of missionaries arrived, and my group suddenly wasn't the youngest anymore. And we loved the group of girls who removed us from that lowly state by taking it over.

There was one girl in the class that I liked pretty immediately. I don't even remember our first encounter(s) but I remember always thinking she was pretty cool.

Then one day she said to me, "I think you were in my freshman Spanish class in college." And it turned out, I was. I stand out in crowds. I make people stop and notice. My Spanish-speaking skills are superb.

We became fast friends and we spent the duration of our missions together with a lot of highs and lows. A lot. And then we went our separate ways. She married soon after the mission and I showed up to her very classy and nice reception dinner, late, carrying a laundry basket with a mop and broom sticking out of it, surrounded by several other cleaning supplies. It was incredibly tacky, but she still smiled and greeted me, and we stayed friends. :)

She started the whole married and children thing long before me, but we kept in touch over the years. She was full of spit and vinegar and had a way of saying things as they were, in a way I was always envious. Spit and vinegar isn't bad, right? I mean, I think Avery's full of it and I'm her mother.

So, a year and a half ago when Jay found out he was getting the job here in Texas, I emailed and then called my friend to see just how far she was from the "Dallas Area". I knew that they had not so long ago bought a house in Tyler, and I was just hopeful that Tyler was within a couple of hours of where we were going to move.

Talk about joy of all joys when I learned that because of a sudden job change, THEY had moved to Plano, just a few months before. And they were living in an apartment, something we had planned to do while Jay was in this stage of his career, traveling all the time.

Jay was flying to Texas the next day or so to look for housing and I told him he had to check out at least 5-7 apartments before looking at the one Amy lived in because I knew I couldn't be unbiased enough to not want to live there, no matter the cost or convenience. He did just that, and was immediately most impressed with where Amy lived. So we moved in. Our doors are a football field length from each other. When Jay described it to me over the phone, I expressed dissatisfaction that it wasn't next door, with a suite-like door between our homes, so we could live more communally. Or something. I remember actually being disappointed it wasn't closer. I'm really good at finding even the greatest of circumstances disappointing.

Well, we've lived near each other since the first of January, 2006. It has been heaven. I have dumped my kids on her at times because I'm afraid I might hurt them. I've gone over to her house at dinner time and sat at the table and watched them eat, just for the company, and they've never made me feel like an intruder. Even though I was. I've spent countless hours on their gigantic bean bag (I'm sure it has a better name than that, I just don't know...) saying over and over without meaning it "Well, I really should go now."
I've borrowed eggs, flour, nutmeg, 1/4 cup of mayonnaise, dozens of cups of milk, butter, salsa, salad dressing, freshly made chocolate chip cookies, water, and at least a dozen other random things. The best part was I could send Ben over, sometimes just in his skivvies and I wouldn't have to leave my very important task of burning or completely screwing up dinner.

She would come over and hang out with me for an hour or two in the morning and give my life some semblance of sanity with adult conversation. She never once made me feel like the slob I am with laundry strewn all across my living room, a weeks worth of dishes on the table and kitchen counters, and magic marker masterpieces on my carpet.

She's taught me the therapeutic powers of late-night Target runs or getting away just for some frozen custard or Chili's dessert.

She's calmed my parenting concerns with having "been there and done that" with two very active boys.

I don't have to put on airs with her. Ever. She can see me in the completely disgusting state I often let myself get into with no husband to answer to during the week, and I never feel self-conscious. Don't get me wrong, Amy's not all fluffy and sweet like I may be making her look, but she isn't critical or judgmental. She'll be the first to compliment my snot-stained shirt or nappy hair. But some things just can't be ignored. I understand that.

Oh, and since I'm being honest---another really annoying thing about her is she doesn't gossip. Try as I may to get her to, she won't. It's really annoying. Trust me. In my defense, I don't repeat gossip. I only say it once.

Avery adores her. Ben does too, but in a different, boy kind of way. Avery thinks she's her mom. The first year we were here, Avery basically preferred Amy to me. I was usually okay with it because then it was Amy's knees she was clinging to while Amy prepared dinner. I had no problem sitting on the gigantic bean bag watching it all.

Well, Amy bought a house. A friggin beautiful, completely enviable, with a backyard and bonus room---house. You may or may not recall a post I did last July on feeling jealous. I'm not easily prone to it, but Amy was the subject of my feeling it then, and it's happened again. In combination with feeling very happy for the house they scored, I'm immensely jealous. It's the kind of house I could live in for the rest of my life. But I wasn't invited.

Most of the details of buying and negotiating and closing and all the stuff that goes with buying a house, happened as I was preparing for our trip to the Carolinas and then while were gone. It made it less threatening that I had something else going on to focus on.

Then Thursday they closed.
And Friday they moved.
And this morning when I woke up, I realized that there was no chance of her two little guys knocking on my door in pajamas to borrow some eggs. Or cheese. Or each holding the ends of a cookie sheet so that they could BOTH return it to me. Or knocking on my door to return Avery in her pajamas. She's always trying to bust out of here.

And today when I woke up from my Sunday nap, I felt so sad for the loss of that proximity. I actually thought I'd escape feeling sad. She's only moved a mile away. But that's a mile I can't send Ben in his underwear, and a mile that Avery, even on her best day, can't navigate safely.

I'm glad for the year and 3 and a half months I had. It really was heaven, and a huge blessing with this "single-parenting" stage of my life. And, on the upside, now when I go to Walmart on Sunday for an ice cream fix I didn't prepare for, I don't have to duck and run to the car in fear of her children seeing me and asking why I go to the store on Sunday but they don't.

But even if they ever did see me, I'm sure Amy would just tell them I like the heat. And I want to burn in hell.

Today

2007-04-12T16:59:00.000-06:00

I got up at 5:22 AM CST because no matter what time zone I am in, my pregnancy insomnia kicks in at 5:30ish AM. I usually don't get up. I usually lay in bed and swear at the damn insomnia. But today I had 3 suitcases to unpack. Which I didn't. And 4 loads of laundry to do. Which I didn't. And blogs to read. Which I did.

I had a regular dr's appt today and there I learned that because of a positive result on a screening they did in my first trimester, my doctor now wants to monitor the baby's heart weekly and do ultrasounds to make sure everything is going as it should. I should be grateful that modern science makes this kind of care possible. I should be grateful that after today, everything looks great and there's probably little to no chance of a problem. I should be grateful that I am in good care and can have children. But to be perfectly honest, I'm totally annoyed. I know the doctor has to do what he has to do. But I spent a total of FOUR HOURS in his office today. 3 of them were butt numbing hours spent with lube all over my girth and monitors or ultrasound wands pressed to my belly. The baby is measuring bigger than any of my babies have measured and the main thing they are looking for with all this monitoring is to make sure the baby is growing properly. He/she is doing more than properly. The end.

Avery got a birthday package from Grandma while we were gone and we opened it this morning. While pushing Ben away and yelling, "No mom, no birthday" at me over and over, she pilfered through the box of tissue paper and goodies. Tucked at the bottom was a lovely, coral scarf. For me. Since I began dressing myself, my mom has been trying to get me to wear things around my neck. I think it started with turtlenecks.

Most recently, in my adult life, she has tried at least once every time we've gotten together to get me to accessorize with a scarf. I can't do it. I feel like a big baffoon. It just don't flow, you know. They look lovely on some people. Namely, my mother. Even both my sisters can pull off scarf wearing. On me, scarves look like loose, sheer, nooses.

Well, the scarf is a beautiful color. In fact, it's MY color---and that is first and foremost why it got sent to me. In my daughter's birthday package. She can't help herself.

I know that.

Well, I can't help myself either.

Mama, I tried.

SEE: Coral Scarf-Wearin' Baffoon

Avery on the other hand had NO problem figuring out to do with her presents. A baby who came with her OWN 'night-night' and some purple bling for the baby's mama. Excellent choices Grandma!

Oh No I Dih-unt!

2007-04-11T21:22:00.000-06:00

Yes, yes I did.

I wore this shirt all day as I traveled from Charlotte, North Carolina to Dallas, Texas.

I must confess, a part of me felt like po' white trash, but the bigger part of me (which is MUCH more dominate right about now) thinks this is one of the funniest things I've seen in a long time. And I just can't help myself.

I didn't show my face in this picture not because I want to keep my identity super secret, but because I've been packing, traveling, or eating all day long and I don't really need the face confirming any suspicions of po' white trash.

And also, try not to look to closely at the fat aaaaaarms in the little sleee-eeeves.

Happy Headed

2007-04-09T20:55:00.000-06:00

I don't know who Don Imus is. I mean I've seen him on tv before, but never knew his name. Then over the weekend, Jay and I kept seeing the tail end of news reports on what he'd said, but never hearing what the hooplah was about. After like, the 6th time of seeing it in the news and not knowing what it was referring to, Jay said, "I'm gonna google it." A few minutes later Jay came back and said, "They are saying he's racist because he called the Rutgers basketball team happy-headed ho's." I screwed up my face and thought, "so since when is publicly calling someone a ho so horrible and racist? Rappers do it all the time."

We had this conversation about 36 hours ago. For the last day and a half we've been completely baffled by all the uproar. Then today as we were driving to dinner, I said it aloud again, "WHAT is such a big deal about calling someone happy headed, are we really so out of the loop that we don't know the insult behind those words!?" And as I said it, I realized how remarkably similar to "Nappy-headed" it sounded. And then realized how much an "h" can look like an "n" in the dark, on a laptop. So I say to Jay, "Are you sure it wasn't NAPPY-headed---because that's a pretty awful thing for him to have said." Jay says, "What's nappy mean, why is that racist?" I explained that the word nappy is a pretty derogatory comment usually in reference to a black person's hair, even though, I've had some pretty nappy days myself. And then it was all clear. And then I laughed and laughed and laughed that Jay, the news guru, the man who knows everything, verbatim, almost before the dadgum news anchors do, reported the phrase "happy headed ho" and stuck with it for a day and a half. Now I can't stop laughing.

Interestingly, Benjamin overhearing the conversation wanted to know if he was black. This then started a conversation about who was black and Ben wanted to know all the names of all the black people we know. I was coming up short after a few real people we know---and Ben got exasperated with my ignorance and turned to his dad. Dad triumphed by listing off every famous black person he could think of. Like Will Smith and Martin Luther King Jr were close personal friends of his.

He's such a cheater. Happy headed cheater.

To The General Public OR, Those Who Like To Stare

2007-04-08T07:45:00.000-06:00

She's two.

It's called a fit.

Yes, I see her.

No, I don't care.

I know, I know, stop blogging on vacation already!

2007-04-04T20:39:00.000-06:00

How much could one person have to say when she spends her days loitering around a hotel. Well, whatever---it's my blog. :)

Mostly I just want to document a few things, as we all know how fleeting things can be with small children. Avery talks all the time and a few of the things she says need to be recorded because she passes through her phrases and her speech impediments too quickly.

Yesterday Jay said to her, "Just a minute, it's hot!" and she replied very subdued, "oookaaaaaaaaay" and has been doing that all day in response to my "Hang on's, just a minute's, not right now's" It's totally appropriate and I wonder how much she knows that.

She also likes to rush to the hotel door to let herself out before the rest of us anytime we are headed that way. It's always locked. And she immediately informs us. Only, she hasn't quite mastered the word "locked". So every time she sounds like she's dropping the f-bomb. Which I find entirely hilarious. "Oh man, we're f-ed" she says. I tell her to go open the door regularly, just for the entertainment. "Me tan't, we're f-ed!" It reminds me of Everett on "O Brother Where Art Thou" when they are trapped in the upper part of the barn. "damn, we're in a tight spot" over and over. Yeah, good comedy.

We have Nick Jr on constantly here. Ben's in heaven. He looooooooooves Wonder Pets which seriously baffles me. It's probably the most low budget kids show I have ever seen in my life. But, to be fair, I haven't really ever watched it, just heard it. I just hear him bellowing, "What's gonna wohk, TEAM WOHK" and I am amazed at how he already knows all the words to everything they say on that show routinely.

Anyway, like, 52 years ago I turned off "Lazy Town" once, back when we had cable in our home. Something about that show really bugs me---particularly the villain. I'm not sure what it is---but I really do dislike it. Enough to put up with his contesting loudly when I put it off. Apparently this made a lasting impression. I've overheard him telling at least half a dozen people that I don't like Lazy Town. And now, since he sees commercials for it while indulging in his 6 hour marathon of tv watching, he comments on it ALL the time. "So, is it that skinny guy that you don't like on Lazy Town?" As a rule, I don't like skinny guys. Or, "Those people right there are why you don't like Lazy Town, huh mom?" There really isn't a cute punch line to this story, but it has really amazed me at how much it matters to him that I don't like this show and why.

Tonight at dinner he did ask Jay if he liked Lazy Town. Jay thought he was talking about me and told him "Don't call your mom lazy, and it's a house, not a town." Just kidding, but when Jay said he hadn't ever seen it, Ben responded, "Well, I've seen two episodes." Excuse me? What three year old uses the word "episodes" in conversation? Probably one who's mother watches too many episodes of tv. Or has episodes herself. Either one.

Just now I read a book to Ben and on one of the pages was a picture of the Humpty Dumpty character. He started reciting the nursery rhyme word for word and I just looked at him filled with pride. I'm not so great with reciting nursery rhymes or regular nursery songs with my kids. I just forget to and stuff. Plus, that's what church and preschool are for, right? Well, I know I have only said Humpty Dumpty to him maybe twice. Maybe. I am just amazed with his memory. I look on at him proudly and he finished, "...couldn't put Humpty together again...but Dora can!" So, now that I know he learned it from Dora, I know now that he's probably heard it 732 times and half of those yelled at the top of her sweet little lungs. So what, he still has a good memory.

I've been trying to get Avery to say Ben for a long time. Pretty much since she started saying anything. She never would. Until today. And it's "Bean" and she says it sort of patronizingly, like she's the adult and he's the 2 year old who still has no problem walking around with his own excrement smooshed in his pants until someone stops blogging and catches ~~her~~ him. And sometimes it's "Baby Bean" which I quickly got Benjamin to laugh at the first time so as to keep him from knocking her block off.

And last but not least---well, yeah, it's least. If you haven't seen the Alannis Morisett spoof on the totally crass song "Humps", you should. It's hilarious. But not you mom, you shouldn't watch it. And you should also know, I would never watch or listen to anything like that. Ever. Let alone promote it on my blog.

From The King-Size Hotel Bed

2007-04-02T18:38:00.000-06:00

I could really get used to this life.

We are at Residence Inn now and they serve a full breakfast and a light dinner. Room service, meals, Nick Jr, good books. What more could a girl want?

We had a fantastic time in DC with our friends. Code Yellow is the perfect hostess. She's much more of a domestic goddess than I knew. Or will ever be myself.

We rolled into town around 12:30 am and plunked Avery and Ben down on the pullout bed around 1 am. Avery's never slept "unconfined" before. Unconfined is such a joke---she hasn't been confined by anything since about 17 months old. Anyway, we rigged up some couch cushions and tables and chairs to keep her from falling off the edge----and they slept perfectly all night.

This morning I woke up to the most tender sound of Ben singing softly. He was the only one awake and just laid quietly in the bed, next to Avery, softly singing. "I'm trying to be like Jesus, I'm following in his ways...." It truly melted my heart. Avery woke up soon after and they stayed in bed whispering and giggling with each other. THAT melted my heart again. Then both of them spent the morning yelling and whining at me and I wanted to leave both of them strapped in the cart at target and just take my chocolate eggs and run.

Right now Avery is scaling every surface in this hotel room, and Jay is reading the Winston-Salem tour guide magazine to Ben. He's extolling the virtues of the Melting Pot. Which he's been to like 5 times and I've never even seen the outside of. He probably won't ever take me until I learn how to not end sentences in prepositions.

Earlier Jay was playing hide and seek with the kids. Ben has a pretty good handle on the game, but this is the first time I've seen Avery actively playing the "right" way. She hid herself in the closet while Jay was counting and from the closet she yelled along, "Eight! One! Fie!" and then lets herself out saying "Red-done!" as Jay says, "ready or not, here I come!"

Tomorrow is a long day of walking 20 yards to prepared meals and laying around reading.

While I don't miss the dishes in my sink, I do miss Texas.

Happy Birthday Stinky Pants

2007-03-27T08:17:00.000-06:00

I can say that in all sincerity because I haven't changed her diaper yet, and she's been yelling at me all morning. But OH it's a big girl yell! When I rolled over in the oh-so-comfortable hotel bed this morning, I saw her long body lying in the crib next to me and I had to blink over and over. She's two, and she looks it! I don't know when that happened.

North Carolina is BEAUTIFUL. I really really like it here and just might not come back. Except I miss my bed desperately. When we were planning this trip over a month ago, I checked about 8-10 different hotels and every single one of them was booked completely. There's some furniture showcase or something and apparently, furniture people REALLY plan in advance. So, this hotel has "spa" tagged on the end of the name, and I think that title comes from having some rocks arranged artistically in random places, you know, like a Japanese garden. Oh there's a couple of cascading fountain wall-art type things. Jay just keeps saying, "Oh, they try". We're not really hotel snobs---well, I'm not, but when we walked into the room with two full beds, that was all I needed to know about this place. Full beds? Who does that? And then later when the children were completely inaccessible to me in the bathtub, that was the second indication.

I really don't want to blog about our hotel.

I'd like to blog about something 10 times more interesting.

2 years ago today was Easter Sunday. I had gone into labor the night before. I spent most of Easter morning puttering around our neighborhood trying to encourage the contractions along. I had had great dreams of Easter morning with my husband, 22 month old, and my mom who had come to stay with us to help with the baby. My husband was busy with Ben because I was in no mood to care for him. And my mom was in the hospital recovering from a major surgery having part of her colon removed. Yeah, that was an interesting twist to our "how to smoothly transistion from one child to two" plan.

Later that day I swore at my husband, cursed the Utah hospital system, proposed to my anesthesiologist, and just before 9 pm gave birth to a tiny little redhead.

And now she is sitting on my lap, forcing cries, crocodile tears, and smacking my wrist for not letting HER do the typing. How did we get here?

We're going to celebrate by driving around WS looking for a park and a Walmart, in no particular order. Maybe later, if she's lucky, we'll have sushi again.

We're Off

2007-03-25T19:11:00.000-06:00

We're flying to North Carolina tomorrow. Anybody know of any thrilling things to do in Winston-Salem? Besides smoke cigarettes.

We're also going to Charleston, South Carolina for Easter Weekend. I'm hoping we'll find an Easter egg hunt to crash. Think they'll notice we're not locals? We're going to DC this upcoming weekend and I don't really need any ideas on what to do because I already don't know how we're going to squeeze in childcare, diaper changing, personal hygiene, and sleeping with all the talking and eating Code Yellow and I have to do in two short days.

Avery turns 2 on Tuesday. Suddenly she just looks so big to me.

Today in nursery they sang Happy Birthday to her, I happened to be in there to take her home a little early. I'm teaching her the fine art of playing hookie---early. The entire time they sang to her she stared at me and didn't move her eyes. She was either VERY aware that all attention was on her and she froze in a moment of "This is all I have ever wanted in life, and now I have it and don't know what to do!" or she couldn't figure out what was going on. "What is this birthday of which they speak? And how come this is the first time I'm hearing this lovely song with my name in it?" It looked like the latter. Either way, it was a pretty funny reaction.

Jay has arranged for a coworker to babysit for us so we can have a night on the town. I'm wondering what kind of sick joke this is and what this imposter has done with my husband. Or maybe it just takes going to one of the Carolinas for him to woo me. I'm pretty thrilled either way. I can talk openly about this because I didn't invite Jay to read my blog. He was the undesireable commenter.

I haven't packed my deoderant, toothpaste, shirts, makeup...oh I'll stop there. I haven't packed anything.

Hope y'all have a wonderful week. I might be posting tomorrow at noon. Who knows.

THANK YOU---in all caps

2007-03-23T21:00:00.000-06:00

I have to say, there is something pretty darn liberating about knowing exactly who is reading my blog. I didn't necessarily feel restrained before, but this is cool! Now if only there was a way to know what you are wearing while you read....

I just really want to say thank you to all of you for lettin' me go private like this and sending me encouraging emails. And if you didn't send an encouraging email, you know who you are...
Just kidding. It's difficult for me to relate how hard this "invasion" is on me. It sometimes surprises even myself.

When Jay and I lived in Provo our cars got broken into 3 different times. His twice (and it's the biggest piece of crap in any parking lot in any town---go figure) and mine once. Sadly, the one time mine was broken into, that very night my friend had left a brand new $400 digital camera, her purse and checkbook in the car. It all got stolen. The checkbook thieves ordered pizza 7 times in the next 18 hours. Who can eat that much pizza? That's just insane. Anyway, I of course felt HORRIBLE that her stuff was gone from my car. I didn't know she had left it. And she figured, "It's Provo, what's the worst that could happen." Yeah well, she forgot which side of the tracks we lived on.

So, I was really really sick about it and just sort of heartbroken about the violation of someone having rifled through my personal possessions. This feeling stuck with me long after everything had been resolved, and I remember it surprising me that it was so lingering and so strong.

Interestingly enough, they rifled through all of my CDs and didn't care for my taste. Not a one was stolen. They did break my Michael McLean CD. Right in half. Probably just on principle alone. I actually understand that.

My whole point is this, I sort of have a similar surprising reaction to this "event". I was really sad and bothered that someone I didn't want to find me had found me.

I caught Ms. No Cool online shortly after I got my undesireable comment and my heart was just a lump in my throat, waiting to spill out all over my keyboard. I kept it together. You know, for the monitor's sake. But it was my online friend who offered typed sympathy and then distracted me with idle chatter and flattering words. I felt much better afterwards. She is one smooth talkin' Mexi.

Then I sent two pleas for email addresses to two people I have never met in my life. But they think I'm funny, and say nice things to me, so we're like, tight and stuff. And they responded kindly. Even though one of them yelled at me for making her have to type the word "rhythm" at 10:40 at night. I totally think she was right to get after me for that. And it made me feel better that these two "strangers" didn't flip me the bird, and responded kindly, and that was comforting.

And yesterday, before my late-night drama, I came home to a gift bag full of the most luscious looking grapefruits you have ever seen. And if Ben were here to read this he would add loudly, "And some chocolate chip cookies too that I only got two of, but Avery got three because she sneaked!" There were cookies too. But I was smitten by the grapefruits. That was a nice sweet surprise, that I kept thinking about through the night, and realized---the fruits of my blogging are SO worth it. Thanks Rebecca. Even though it was "no Ben and Jerry's" like you say, every true friend knows the key to my heart is well placed food. :) You are a good friend to me.

And Code Yellow Mom indulged me in a venting email where I may or may not have said some totally inflammatory things. And she let me, and still loves me. And offered to let me blog at her house since I'M GOING TO BE THERE IN A WEEK!!!!!!!

And tonight I called my friend Millie because honestly, she has the friendliest voice IN THE WORLD. And I can divulge that on my blog because unless Leslie, you really are a 53 year old man sitting at the computer in your boxers, in the basement of your mother's house---that secret is safe here. And I told her something completely juvenile and inappropriate that I did and she laughed and laughed and laughed, and I can't even tell you how refreshing that was. She could have just as easily said, "Your attempts at humor are offensive, I need to go pray for you" and hung up on me. Honestly---just as easily. But she laughed. She has a great laugh too. Makes you feel funnier than you really are.

As you can see, I am feeling considerably better about my membership in the blogging world, than I did last night. So thanks.

Grapefruit Abuse

2007-03-22T09:24:00.000-06:00

So, I remember as a child, grapefruits being bitter and disgusting and a definite adult food.

When I was in my early 20's someone told me that cold sores in your mouth could be taken care of by drinking unsweetened grapefruit juice. It worked like a charm, but the cure was not pleasant at all for me.

About 6 or 7 years later J was in charge of bringing drinks to one of his class activities and he returned with his large gallon of grapefruit juice, untouched. He couldn't believe no one wanted any. I hadn't seen what drink he had selected beforehand, so I laughed and laughed that he actually thought he was treating people by bringing grapefruit juice. He still stands by his belief that grapefruit juice was the best choice. I still laugh about it.

When I'm pregnant I tend to whale on grapefruits. I'd whale on oranges, but I can't handle a bad orange and it's not worth the risk. So, having grapefruits on hand is a treat indeed. And I think for once it's something I can sit down and eat without little mouths suddenly appearing out of nowhere, opened wide like I'm some kind of full service mother bird or something.

I was wrong. My kids act like grapefruits are the be all end all of the fruit kingdom. I suspect it's because they get it spoon fed to them like the royalty that they are. But I keep watching their faces every time I give them some, waiting for some sign that they are faking and they really don't like them. They love grapefruit. And it annoys my immensely. I mean, there's only like 13-14 little sections of delectable juiciness for me and my little fetus. And I have to share. I try to say no. But the wailing that ensues is more than I can handle. Don't get me wrong, I can ignore a fit with the best of them. But the image of my 23 pound 2 year old writhing on the floor red faced, tears streaming, all for the want of a bit of grapefruit---juxtaposed to her hulking mother with beady, darting eyes, gorging herself, refusing her offspring food---is more than I can handle. So I give in.

Well, today I sat down and the whole scene started before I had even sliced the darn fruit. Avee leaped from her booster seat, scrambled over her half finished yogurt and lunged for my grapefruit spoon. (Those things are SO COOL). Ben's friend his here and he was intrigued by Avee's response, and having never tasted a grapefruit, asked for a bite. I almost didn't do it. But, the images started flooding my mind and I decided I could share one bite. I stared at his face, anticipating the wrinkling up nose to express distaste for the putrid fruit. Instead his eyebrows shoot up and he exclaims, "Mmm, that's kinda yummy!"

I didn't care. I hunkered down and gorged anyway. It's my blessed grapefruit.

Well, you should also know that one of my biggest peeves is when children don't ask directly for something and just hint around. Every kid does it---but it bugs me. And pretty much as a rule, I insist on direct questions before I will respond. My kids haven't hit that stage yet, but I'm sure they will.

So, this little guy wants more, I've decided I'm not sharing, and he has a habit of only speaking in hint-language. So he continues, "Mmmm, that grapefruit sure is delicious." And I ignore. I decide, while I'm hogging all those little wedges of fruity goodness, I'll see how many times he'll hint at me like this.

13.

THIRTEEN TIMES he said it. There were 13 wedges in each of my grapefruit halves. That means, since I shared and had at least two wedges down before he started, I heard this statement more than every other bite. He got desperate toward the end and said, "Ben, don't you want another bite?" Ben didn't, but he's clueless to that advanced art of peer manipulation and did just what his friend wanted him to and asked for a bite. I had no problem denying my yogurt faced boy something he didn't really want.

You might think I'm mean. I kind of am. You may wonder why I didn't just get the kid his own grapefruit---it was the last one. And did you know those things are $1.28 each if you don't buy them in a bag and risk getting some bad ones? And you may not ever want me watching your children, and well---you're probably right again. Except Amy and Rebecca, I'll give your kids all the grapefruits they want. For a small fee.

Day 2

2007-03-20T10:23:00.000-06:00

Oh Children's Motrin how deceiving thou art. I thought my little guy was getting better. I thought our super incredible genes and unique power to leverage leukocytes at will was the cause of Benja's improvement. I was mistaken.

Last night I was awakened by Benja trying to manuever MY body to serve his needs for comfort and a blanket. I guess nobody has really explained to that boy some rudamentary laws of physics. I'm sure there's at least one out there pertaining to muy pregnant mama's and weak sickly 3 year old boys. After kindly barking for him to leave me alone, he appeased himself by practicing counting to 29. He felt a little warm, but I figured if he didn't complain, we should try to ride it out drug free.

Two hours later I woke up to him thrashing and wimpering. And much hotter. He tried to make it to the bathroom to go potty and only got to the door of the bedroom, where wailing and sobbing to beat all wailing and sobbing commenced. I exercised some serious self-restraint not laughing at him standing bowl-legged over a puddle of pee with his head thrown back in a primitive howl. And I really wanted to say, "Hey little guy, not even a year ago you thought this exact thing was your greatest contribution to our household!"

Instead I spent 20 minutes teaching him how to breath deeply. And then the art of "through the nose and out the mouth". He spent most of those twenty minutes expelling stuttered breaths and wailing, "I....caaaan't....stop....cryyyyyyyying." He really wanted to, and just couldn't get the control. You may think I'm heartless, but I gotta say in my defense, at this point, I'm glad I can laugh.

One clean pair of underwear and happy ibuprofen pill later, I lay listening to his shallow, slightly labored breaths get deeper and longer and more peaceful. And I began to think about how much he's changed my life and who I am. And how, deep breaths or not, I wouldn't know how to breath anymore if he wasn't in it. Even keeping me awake during my hours of precious of sleeptime. Even peeing on my bedroom floor at 3 am. Even rarely distinguishing between which of our bodies is his to control and flop around on, pinch, pull, prod, maul---at any hour. I'll take it. Gladly.

Daylight eases my sentimentality a little and fighting with Avee over peeled vs unpeeled apples and Benja over pants vs no pants definitely brings on a different mood.

I'm watching a little boy and Benja is laying on the couch facing the wall while his friend plays Nintendo 64, Super Mario. Some of you may know Ben's obsessed with this game and even after wimpering a few instructions at his friend to salvage the high standard of conduct Benja works hard to maintain for Mario, it was too much and he turned to face the wall. It probably didn't help that Avee, playing in the corner with a piggy bank kept yelling, "Dop! Dop kyyying baby!" everytime he said something. We're so proud of her compassion toward others.

I'd like to go hold and snuggle the little burrito, but apparently, my attempts to cuddle him "just make his skin feel wohse." Pobricito.

The Serious Sick Type

2007-03-19T10:43:00.000-06:00

Apparently Benja is a very serious boy when he's sick.

I woke up this morning, this very morning and thought, "Wow, it's been over a month since my kids have been sick, that's gotta be a record." Unbeknownst to me in that moment, something was attacking little Benja's immune system. I'm not sure what it is yet, it seems flu-like, but what do I know? I put bandaids on acute respiratory distress. He is engaging in Sick Angela-like behavior, so I know it's real. Whining, moaning, thrashing a little for effect. I do feel for the little guy.

I had a quick dr's appointment this morning, just to get a shot in my right flank. I'm RH negative and so I always have to get that rhogam shot at 28 weeks. I'm 30 weeks, but both Benja and Avee have ended up being A- also, so this time around, I forgot and my doctor did too. Good thing he makes the big bucks and is required to remember.

I called my friend last minute and asked if I could dump my kids on her. She said yes. Benja had started whining a few minutes before we loaded into the car so I wasn't sure if he was up for playing. I gave him the choice and he chose to come with me rather than stay at a very fun house full of cool toys. That was my first clue. Second clue was when I did a curb check with the car and he started wailing like I had used his body to jump the curb and not the poor car's.

In a span of about 20 minutes I felt his temperature jump. And then that strange mom-feeling sets in where you just feel so bad that your baby is sick, but it's not your fault (or so you tell yourself) and really not much you can do. To assuage my guilt for his suffering, I offered to stop and get him a Sprite.

In his halted, wimpery voice: But mom, you can't have sprite when you are sick!
"Well, sometimes people drink it when they are sick to feel better."
To which he very seriously replied, "But not when I'M sick, it's FOH of sugoh!"

Minus the sweet little 3 year old "accent", that is doctrine straight from Grandma's mouth. And apparently mine.

Later, after we got Avee from her friend's house we were driving down the road and I said, "I love you Avee!" and she immediately yelled, "No I NOT!" She just learned this game and given that it's very amusing for me as well, I joined in, "Yes I do!"
"No y'NOT!"
"Yes I do!"
"No y'not do!"
Since she was shaking things up, I thought I would too.
"No I don't!"
"Yesth y'do!"

At which point Benja interrupted urgently with all the force of a wimper he could muster (he really is actually in bad shape) and scolded me, "Mom, you shouldn't say you don't love her, even if you are just joking, those aren't the kind of jokes we have in our family."

He is exactly right. But what's up with an impending illness making him all serious and preachy? Lighten UP dude!

The Little Things

2007-03-15T12:17:00.000-06:00

It's easy for me to get caught up in the monotony of the little things and forget to appreciate them for what they are. Everyday while the kids are eating breakfast I clean up the kitchen. I know a lot of people, and most of my friends are the kind, who get up from dinner and immediately start cleaning. I'm the exact opposite of that. In case you wondered. Knowing my kitchen is clean doesn't make me sleep better at night. I have no problem laying on the couch and watching Law and Order with dirty dishes just 10 feet away. I'd like to be that kind of person who cares, but you know---when you're lazy like me, you gotta learn to choose your battles.

However, I really do kind of enjoy cleaning the kitchen in the morning. The kids are at the table yapping, Avee's inhaling an inordinate amount of food and Benja is alternating bites of food with jumping off of his chair to imitate a Mario maneuver. And I am near enough to them to be a part of the breakfast experience, but I don't have to sit and just watch the inhaling and the Mario-ing.

But, I have found I've started to let that kind of thing dominate how I run the house. I rarely sit and just play or just talk with the kids. And they are incessantly trying to get me to. So everyday I sort of take a mental inventory of what kind of approach I am taking, and try to make an effort of "dancing" with the kids. You know, like my blog title implies I'm prone to.

And I'm really good at this. It's made me a phenomenal mother and my children are undoubtedly gifted as a result and I find nothing but joy in all I do around this house, and the icing on the cake is that my house just magically keeps itself clean. So, I suggest everyone follow my lead.

Actually, what I've discovered is, the funniest moments, or the ones I find myself so glad I get to be a part of, are when I'm not really involved and I'm sort of eavesdropping.

Benja has become obsessed with letters and numbers. Letters because, well that happened naturally, but numbers because J has really been spending time with him on them. He's in no way ready for them to find a secure place in his brain, but that doesn't stop him from talking about them incessantly, and acting like the know-it-all he isn't about them. And he loves the individual time with his dad. Pretty regularly he and I have arguments like this, "Benja I have asked you THREE times to put your pants on, and it annoys me to no end that I have to tell you something that simple THREE TIMES and you still don't do it, I should only have to ask you ONCE!"

To which he just as rudely replies, "You didn't tell me THREE TIMES, you told me SEVEN TIMES!!!" This is a regular occurrence. Only, what I say to him, I say it nicely---I don't know where he gets his rude tone.

And everywhere we go, at the checkout line, "What does c-u-s-t-o-m-e-r-s-e-r-v-is-that-an-"I"-or-an-"l"-c-e spell, huh mom, what does it spell?" or driving down the road, from the back seat, "What does m-o-r-t-g-a-hey stop you didn't let me finishing reading, stop the car!"

So, recently he's had a regular playdate over 2-3 times a week. This boy is 4 years old. He's 6 months older than Benja. He says the most hysterical things like, "Whoa, look at all those chips, you got the mother load!" and "Why does this door always have to be so difficult with me" after one minor struggle with it. He hasn't the least bit of interest in letters or numbers. But Benja is like me, and with our friends, we talk about what WE are interested in. And that is all. So he's constantly talking numbers and letters and this little guy says, "I don't know I told you I'm not in school yet!" Finally he's given up and has just conceded that Benja knows everything, which Benja also tells him regularly.

So today while they are painting, Benja says matter-of-factly "Blue and purple make yellow, any time you mix them together, they always make yellow." His friend tired of "not knowing as much" says, "Yes. I know. I actually already knew that." And I laugh and laugh and feel like my day has already been made because I got to hear that ridiculous little conversation.

Benja is sometimes really annoying with that know-it-all stuff, and even actually corrected the story time lady earlier this week. The book character jumped on two different couches and she said, "should he be jumping on the couch?" and Benja says, "No, couchES" and I slunk down in my chair. Half moon or not, Know-it-alls are annoying. Is this a stage I should ride out? Is there something I could be saying or doing to curb it? I mean besides, "Shut yer yapper kid, no one likes a know-it-all!" Is my kid going to be the obnoxious co-ed in the social psych class who sits in the front row and quotes entire paragraphs from the textbook and corrects the tenured professor? Because even I, the nice church girl, wanted to beat the hell out of that kid. So, tell me, because I'll do whatever it takes starting now, to dumb him down.

Another "little thing" that I've been thinking about all day, happened with Avee last night. After I put her to bed she came sauntering out like a drunk to the bar for last call. I told her to get back to bed. She told me no. I threatened her. She flipped me the bird. Oh just kidding, mom, I don't teach my kids that stuff. Yet.

As I was making her walk back to her bed, I towered and waddled behind her like Goliath, intimidating my little Israelite. She went the whole way whining and wailing about this injustice. As we turned into her ~~bedroom~~ ~~closet~~ bedroom I stubbed my 2nd to last toe on the door frame. I leaned back my head and howled a little, because everyone knows that howling alleviates stubbing pain. Avee stopped mid-whine and said, "Ye okay mom?" I looked down in surprise that she a) pulled herself together that fast and b) had a perfectly appropriate response to my spontaneous howling. I nodded but was still wincing and she came back and hugged my kneecaps and said, "S'okay mom."

It's the little things, really.

On Being Gifted

2007-03-13T22:07:00.000-06:00

Tonight I read an article written about determining whether or not your preschooler is gifted.
In general, I can't be bothered by the hooplah. Probably because my preschoolers will be raised by a person who uses words like "hooplah" and doesn't even know how to spell them. Or necessarily what they mean...

Oviously when a child is in school and it becomes apparent he or she is gifted, there are things a parent will need to do to make the child's learning experiences positive. But as it stands I have a preschooler who spends much of his day choosing not to wear pants after the tedious task of taking them off to go to the bathroom. So I really don't think it matters much.

But curiousity did get the best of me and I read through the list of things to look for in a gifted child. "Yes, yes, no, no, I wish, never, absolutely, sort-of, oh since the day he was born", etc. I bet every parent could read the same list and answer just like me. But every kid can't be gifted. There are too many dumb adults in this world that prove that fact. Unless of course there is an age where you go from being a gifted child to being well on your way to dumb adult. Actually, I think that may have happened to me...

Even though I did click on the link out of curiousity, in my defense, I stopped reading after the heading, "Testing for Giftedness". Is giftedness a word? Do you have to be gifted to know that? Is it gifted people who know that others make up words in the name of being gifted, but aren't really gifted? Are there gifted adults? Am I one of them? What would be on the adult gifted checklist? I think one of them should be being able to properly use the word "criterion". It's not as easy as it may look.

I'll tell you gifted.

Tonight Benjamin asked me to lay with him at bedtime, as he asks every night. I rarely do it anymore. Tonight when I declined his invitation, he asked why. I told him that we were having playgroup at our house in the morning and there were some things I'd like to get done before I go to bed. "Like what?" the nosey (yet full of giftedness) little boy asked.

"Uh, well, I'd like to take out the trash and clean up the living room a little bit."

His eyes swept around the room and in one last desperate attempt he said, "Well, it all looks pretty clean and nice to me mom."

If only he had included, "and you're petite and beautiful in your last trimester of pregnancy" he SO would have gotten his way. He'll learn though, because even though I can't be certain, I'm pretty sure he's being raised up in the way of gifted people.

Love Is...

2007-03-12T11:49:00.000-06:00

Sitting behind 27 preschoolers during story time at the public libarary. Seeing your child's impossible-to-keep-up pants resting low in their "normal" position, just enough to share his half moon with everyone else.
And thinking he's the cutest kid within miles.

Church Edification

2007-03-11T13:07:00.000-06:00

Last week the RS teacher at church approached me with a small slip of paper. She asked me if I would be willing to prepare a short two minute "talk" on Joseph, being tempted by Potiphar's wife, as a part of her lesson. Specifically, the slip of paper read, "Joseph with the luxury of Egypt being tempted by a beautiful woman and what we can learn from this."

Well, I was happy. I LOVE the story of Joseph. I have loved it since my mother first told it to me when I was a little girl. I think I fancied he and I had a lot in common, I was my parent's favorite and I was sure any day they would prove it by giving me a lovely coat of many colors. Or some Jordache jeans.

When I was 22 my oldest sister took me to a broadway performance of "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat". My sister was giving me this great gift and I was shocked and disappointed by it. It was about halfway through when I realized it was a Broadway performance, not a religious demonstration to uplift and edify. I was pious in those days. I remember looking over at my sister who was in hysterics as Pharoah "the King" came out in Elvis garb and recounted his dreams to the tune of "All Shook Up", I was disgusted. I was sure the Pharoah would roll over in his tomb if they could see what we'd done to him in our day.

Then I pulled my head out and FELL IN LOVE with the music from this show. I listened to it nonstop for years and still would if both my husband and son weren't always all, "Why is there music on and why is it so loud!?" all the time.

So, of course when I was given the opportunity to expound on my love of the story of Joseph, you can believe I was thrilled.

I mentioned it to J in hopes of getting some ideas, feedback, insights that he may have.
So I say to him, "So-And-So has asked me to talk for a couple of minutes about Joseph and his temptation with a beautiful woman." Since this particular beautiful woman is more readily known as "Potiphar's Wife" I think me referring to her as "a beautiful woman" threw J for a minute. He is master of all bible stories and knows obscure dialogue between obscure characters in obscure books of the bible. So, you can imagine my surprise when he responded, "His temptation with Bathsheba?"

Yeah well, I don't know a lot, but I know that Bathsheba was David's problem, and MY Joseph didn't succumb to temptation, so how dare he!? I haughtily replied to J, "No! Not David and Bathsheba, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat!"

Talk about looking stupid.

Without missing a beat, J replied, "Well, in that case, I definitely think you should talk about the part in the bible story when Joseph says, "Please stop! I don't believe in free love!"

Look Who's an RN!

2007-03-10T12:30:00.000-06:00

Now she can poke people with needles and get paid for it.

Now when I call her at 6:30 AM to come "fish the whistle toy" out of my 9 month old daughter's throat, and she tells me after 5 minutes of unsuccessful fishing that it's probably actually croup and that I should take her to the doctor, she can charge me a per minute fishing rate. And consultation fee.

Now when I answer the phone, "Helllllooooooooooo NURSE!" it'll be f'real.

Now when she has to work with stupid people....well, she'll still have to work with stupid people. Ain't no degree ever saved any of us from that.

Congratulations "S". I'm muy proud because I know you worked very hard and it wasn't easy particularly in the last 10 months when you were pregnant. I also knew you could do it from the moment you started. I really just didn't know you'd do it so darn well!

So let us recap. I'm not jealous. I'm not feeling like an underachiever. Really. I still have my wit and charm to get me through. And chocolate Easter candy.
She earned one of THESE in December

Then she did THIS 4 days later

And now she's officially one of these

In keeping with the tradition of this blog being about ME---this is what I've been working on.

I won't earn a degree from it or a better paying job or anything.

But I'll probably end up getting a bigger brassiere or something.

Maybe someone will build me a cake or something.

Epiphany

2007-03-09T12:50:00.000-06:00

So wait a minute, I'm supposed to take care of my kids and clean the house?

From Outside the Institution

2007-03-08T18:21:00.000-06:00

I was thinking today, while driving with the kids, that I might have to be institutionalized if I didn't get to at least talk to Jay on the phone every day. That's a lovely thought to have while driving around town with two darling kids in the backseat, isn't it?

In my defense, they are the reason I'd have to be institutionalized if I didn't have at least one guarantee of adult interaction in a day. Today has been a kid day, so this sad fact seemed to stand out more than usual. J hasn't called yet today, so the jury is still out as to where I may be sleeping tomorrow night.

Here is a sampling of the kind of institution-heading "conversation" I'm referring to.

While driving through the Target parking lot, at a reasonable, safe, non-obnoxious speed, some teeny-bopper in a BMW whipped around me and turned left in front of/beside me just as I was turning left. I had to stop abruptly and she and I briefly made eye contact as she cut me off. I was genuinely surprised by this and I'm sure it registered on my face. But what I said was, "What the hell!? Are you kidding me!?"

"What? What mama? What?"
"What what Benja?"
"Am I kidding you about what, and what does 'what the hell' mean?"
"Oh geez Ben, don't listen to everything I say. Well, do listen to everything I say. But I wasn't talking to you. And 'what the hell' means there are some ridiculous drivers on the road and mom isn't being very smart to talk like that."
"Oh, well stop being ridiculous yourself then."
"Thanks for that."

I didn't say the last line out loud because I really don't want to have to define sarcasm to a three year old.

Later he asked me if Dad was older than "thirty-eleven". Which is actually "soe-dee uh-weven".
"Well, actually, 30-11 isn't a number."
"Yes it is."
"No, it isn't"
"Yes it is! Soe-dee, soe-dee uh-weven, Fohdee!"
"No, it isn't, let's count all the numbers that have 30 in it though."
"No, I don't want to unless Dad's older than 30-11."

And then, I had a strange communication experience with Avee. The girl seems to have lept from the womb walking and expressing herself. There hasn't really been a "learning to talk" stage, she just suddenly started talking in "complete" sentences. And all very necessary phrases.
A few of them:
Get ow-uh way!
Dohn-do-at!
Oh hep me mama.
No way mom, no way! (a simple "no" has never occurred to her)
Juh-see-at!?
Want-to waaaatch!

So, with this obvious grasp on the english language at such an early age, you can imagine my utter shock when this exchange took place.

"You like those cheetos Avee?"
"Ya mama! Ya, baby wike!"
"Can you say cheetos?"
"Ya!"
"Okay, say cheetos."
"Meeeer-wad! Yay! Happy!"
"Cheeeeeeeeee-toooooooooos"
"Meeeeeeeer-waaaaaaaaaaaaad! Yay!"

What the?

Dreams And American Idol. Totally Unrelated.

2007-03-07T20:20:00.000-06:00

This morning at 4:52 AM when I made my regularly scheduled pre-dawn visit to the loo, I got back in bed and began recalling my dreams of the night. I remembered several "segments" vividly and at the lucid hour of 5 AM, thought they were so bizarre. There's nothing like pregnancy or pizza to make my nighttime visions completely psychotic. Or random.

Now, at 8:24 PM after a long day at the zoo, waddling my pregnant butt around in 70 degree weather with two overdressed and scarcely napped children, I can't for the life of me remember any of those fascinating dreams.

I remember one small bit of one dream, there was something akin to kidney stealing but it was a small "organ" under the armpit that was easily retrieved by pulling back a thick flap of skin (almost like a fish gill) and removing a horseshoe shaped organ. This organ was easily interchangeable among people. This is important to know, I'm not just giving you useless information here.

I do remember from my ponderings as I lay in the dark how blogworthy these fascinating dream details were and I even came up with the clever line of, "Who needs LSD trips with pregnancy dreams like this." I won't even try to convey to you how clever I thought this line was at 5 AM. I could hardly wait until daybreak to type it all. And all I can say now is, too bad for you I'm a lazy mamacita. If I had only gotten out of bed then and blogged, you would be better for it. I am sure.

Nextly. I have never watched a whole American Idol Season. I've never really watched it at all, actually. I have flipped through it a lot in the past, but that was the extent of my commitment. I think it was Season 2 when Reuben and Clay were the finalists. I happened to be in labor the final night when Reuben won. My mom, who lived 4 hours away from me, came for Benja's delivery and managed to show up at the hospital 3 minutes after J and I checked in. She has impeccable timing.

However, while I thought she was there to offer support and encouragement, and advice, having birthed 9 children of her own, she showed up with another agenda. It was to watch the American Idol finale. Pardon my preshy for gettin' in the way of that. In between horrendous labor pains (oh, no more horrendous than anyone else's, but lest you think I wasn't in pain...) and then sobs of relief from the horrendous pains, I got to hear things like, "Oh, I sure hope that effeminate boy wins, I like the big boy, but I LOVE the effeminate one" and "shouldn't you get a bigger birthing ball, that one looks awful small for you." This was my first real exposure to American Idol and to be honest, it didn't do much for me. To be fair, anything compared to an epidural after a long day of contractions is going to pale in comparison. Big Big and Effeminate Boy notwithstanding. (I would just like to note here, in case you are the offendable type, which, I'm shocked you're reading my blog if you are, "effeminate" is not my mom's way of secretly calling the contestant gay without saying the word---there's a good chance that never even crossed her mind. However, she is 70, she can and does see fit to dress entirely in hot pink on a good day and doesn't feel the least bit confined by PC rules in not calling a spade a spade. If she sees a spade. Or in this case, an effeminate boy.)

Well, now I'm a pregnant, lonely, SAHM of two and I have all the time in the world to watch AI right when I should be helping brush teeth, put on jammies, read books, etc. So I do.

And tonight while I ~~sat upright on the couch productively folding clothes~~ lay on the couch, tears came to my eyes when Latisha started singing. I know, I know, I'm pregnant. But her voice moves me. I love her story. I love her demeanor. She doesn't seem contrived. It seemed like the first 5 or 6 times I watched her perform, and she blew the socks off of any competition, she would stand there nervously, not having any idea how phenomenal she is, waiting to be criticized. And instead she leaves Randy and Paula speechless or sputtering the same compliments over and over and makes Simon look like a fluffy ball of niceness. I'm good with words, aren't I?

Anyway, what I wanted to say about Latisha, besides what I've already said, is this. In my humble opinion, one should not try to imitate Whitney, Celine, or Martina and hope for it to turn out well. Those women's voices are just not easily imitated. So, most of the time when people try to sing one of their songs just like them, I just think "Oh honey, don't."

So tonight, I wasn't prepared for Latisha to sing Whitney, and halfway through the song I got tears in my eyes and chills up and down my arms. I have NEVER heard someone sing BETTER than the original. That just blows me away. And of course, it's just an opinion, but I swear it was even better. Perhaps I'm a little bias because Latisha doesn't have a known history with the wacky crack and crazy Bobby. I'm willing to accept that.

Also, Melinda's explanation of her OCD behavior made me laugh out loud. Being compelled to chew gum the same number of times on each side of her mouth and calling it "equal opportunity" and willingly confessing it on national television to millions is beyond cool in my book.

I just wanted to include this picture from our trip to the zoo. Seven kids photographed here. 6 of them are older than Avee. 2/3rds of them capable of complex thought processes and completing full sentences. All of them with ideas, opinions, minds of their owns. And who has to be facing in the complete opposite direction? The thing is, in her pantsless pose (yes, I'm that trashy), she makes it look like all the rest are facing the wrong way. How does she do it?

Monday Musings

2007-03-05T12:26:00.000-06:00

Hey, I just realized I missed my 100th post. This is my 123rd. I'm sorry you all didn't get in on that important milestone in my blogging career. I remember looking forward to it around #53, and here I've passed it. Oh well. I started blogging a year ago at the end of this month. I'll just warn you in advance that I probably won't be acknowledging that date either because I will be holed up in a hotel in the beautiful smoke-free city of Winston-Salem, North Carolina. It's "take your family to work week" at J's company. We may be the only ones actually doing it. In fact, it may not be official, now that I think about it. But we'll be there. Just in case you are dying to know, I started blogging on Avee's 1st birthday, March 27th. You can mark that in your PDA's and wall calendars for reference. Just don't abbreviate because you probably won't be able to remember what it's commemorating.

I just wanted to document a couple of things from this weekend that really need to be preserved. You know, for the kids.

First, the husband:
I ran to the grocery store for some essentials and when I returned, upon walking through the doorway, J says to me, "Have you been in our bedroom recently?" I say no, a little concerned about what could have happened in the 45 minutes I was gone. "Well," he says "It just smells really bad in there and I can't figure out why." At first I naively assumed he wondered if I had smelled it and may have an idea of the cause. But no, in fact, that was NOT the case. The truth is, he can't figure out why it smells, if I hadn't been in there recently.

J was a philosophy major before we were married and before I could help him find direction. During this time he often used and referred to syllogistic reasoning. So, it's hard for me not to think the above exchange was sort of a revisit to the way he was back then.
A) Angela smells
B) Our bedroom REALLY smells
C) Thus the bedroom could only smell if Angela was in it

I have to say, it's made me laugh ever since.

The Son:
Yesterday at church I played hookie from Sunday School and sat in the back of Primary. I may or may not have been chatting incessantly with a friend. However, I did get in on Benja's name getting pulled from the jar to "participate." He was brought to the microphone stand and given the statement, "I play video games and watch tv all day". Of course I snapped to attention when I heard this. I wondered, "Did they ask the parents to contribute ideas before Primary?" Then I realized that it was just random statement, not necessarily attributed to my child alone. Next the question was asked, "Would this make Heavenly Father happy?" I'm really rooting for my little buddy up there. I see the wheels-a-turning in his mind. They go something like this: "Well, it makes my mom happy when I finally shut my mouth and get engrossed in something for hours on end so she can lay around and eat bon bons in peace, so well, I guess that would make Heavenly Father happy too."

"Yes!" He answers. And he's gently guided to give the right answer. Then asked, "What could we do instead of playing video games and watching tv all day?" Well I don't know nice Primary leader, because that's what my mom does all day! How's a boy to know?

The leader got some ideas from other kids and then tried to thank Benja for his help and he busted out in some impromptu testimony-bearing. I couldn't hear him, but he was clearly making some profound statements into the microphone. Actually, he had the microphone in his mouth, so I'm not sure who was in charge in that encounter. I saw the Primary leader's eyes get big and then she kind of started laughing and I heard other teachers sort of laughing. I had to wait until the drive home to find out what he had said. Turns out he mistook primary for a sort of Couch-Potatos Anonymous meeting and had said, "I watch too much tv and play too many video games, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen."

There is something so priceless about watching my children navigate their ways through new territory. Yesterday I learned that Benja will be like his father, fearless and free and even if he doesn't know what he's doing, he'll sure look like he does.

The Daughter:
The last week or so has been really nice weather here, and so for the last several days I have dressed Aves in little summery dresses. Mostly for my own amusement. I can think of only a few things more entertaining than watching a darling little girl, with curls, in a pretty princess dress, acting like a hellion. Yelling, "Don'tdo-at!" and "Geh-owa-waaaaaaaay!" and "No way!" at anyone who crosses her. Or exists.

This was her response when I asked her to sit down. If you've never met Avee, it might need some interpretation. All 32 inches, 23 pounds of her are posed here in what we call the "bully stance". You could blow it off because it sure doesn't look threatening. Kind of sweet, actually. But that would be a novice, and frankly, stupid thing to do. Do not touch her. And I'd even say don't be so dumb as to repeat your request to her. At least not until the stance has softened to a more agreeable "I can be bribed" pose.

See, now isn't it just funny to see something like that all while wearing a frilly dress?
The Mom:
Here are some photos for your comparison pleasure. I'm smiling in these pictures, but to quote an old client from my gainfully employed days, Something needs to be did about this!

6 months pregnant with Avee:

8 months pregnant with Avee

6 months pregnant with Amazon Child of '07

"I Loved Her First"

2007-03-03T16:38:00.000-06:00

Today I was driving in my car
And a song came on the radio
A man was singing about his little girl
That he was now giving away as a bride

“I loved her first” he sang,
About the day that she was born
And tears streamed down my face
As I thought of my own daughter at home

My morning was spent changing and dressing her
And doing her hair fourteen times
Followed by a battle to get buckled in her car seat
Just to hear her wail “no way mom!” two dozen times

Later she wanted me to hold her
But my body ached from the child I carry inside
Nothing I did seem to make her happy
And it was hard not to be annoyed by her whines

But alone in my car an hour later
My tears flowed uncontrollably
So that I had to pull over my car
And let them fall as I sat there alone.

Two short years ago she was the child I carried inside
Who made me too uncomfortable to hold my son
Every night she jabbed my ribs to say hello
Starting early to make her presence known

Then a tiny bundle of pink wrinkly skin
With the most sparse head of red hair
We all fell in love with her immediately
And I didn’t remember my heart before she was in it.

Eye contact, smiling, rolling, giggling, crawling, climbing.
Walking, climbing, singing, talking, signing, climbing.
Giggles, running, greeting, climbing, complaining.
Laughing, hugging, testing, climbing, and she can do it herself.

Every little thing she does, I get to be a witness to.
Kicking a ball, tasting lemons, loving her brother.
Suddenly two years are gone and I sit on the side of the road,
Crying about my two year old becoming an adult bride.

Will I forget to cherish the moments that lead there?
Will I accidentally get caught up in the trivial things,
And forget to notice the woman she’s becoming?
Will remembering I loved her first feel like I missed too much?

Oh meeeeeeeeee!

2007-03-01T14:35:00.000-06:00

This is Avee's new phrase. It means, "Oh maaaaaaan" best I can tell.
So, conversations have gone like this today:

A: nack mama, nack, naaaaaack!
M: No snack until you eat some breakfast.
A: Oh meeeeeeeee!

A: Lego-me mama, lego!
M: No, I'm not going to let go, I don't want you going in there, Benja's asleep.
A: (complete with shoulders slumping in defeat) Oh meeeeeee!

I'd like to blog some great personal blogging stuff, but alas, I have nothing. Really, NCS, I'm not taking any liberties. Anywhere.

However, in the span of about 10 minutes I got two messages from my sister-in-law and my sister who BOTH said, "If I had a blog, I'd blog this." Since both stories were blogworthy, and I am the judge of all that is blogworthy, I'm going to steal them and post them on my blog. Because I have a blog. And I'm a stealer.

First, my SIL was volunteering in my nephew's Kindergarten class. A student kept inturrupting the group she was trying to lead with, "I'm Japanese!" The redhaired, freckled-face boy certainly didn't look it. And he was being disruptive. Finally my SIL told him he probably wasn't Japanese and that they needed to move on. He insisted he was because he was born in Japan and then threw a fit that got the teacher's attention. The teacher came over and dealt with it, and it was done. Japanese or not, the boy wasn't doing what he was supposed to.

Three days later this red haired Japanese boy's mother confronted my SIL about telling her son he wasn't Japanese. My SIL shouldn't do such things because she doesn't know what he's told at home. Besides, he has dual citizenship! My SIL clarified that she was clearly talking about being of Japanese decent and the mom stormed off. Fortunately my SIL has a good enough sense of humor that she could laugh about this. But STILL. Some people's mothers!

It seems like once upon a time a child would be told, "So why were you talking about being Japanese during tetrahedron making time? Seems like you should have been listening..." etc But nowadays, it's more appropriate to accost the volunteer mother. Yeah, that's a good approach.

Now, my sister. She lives in England and has for the past 6 and a half years. She's American. This is the IM she sent me while I was chatting with my SIL.

"Today I called the English tax people and cried to them that I couldn't pay their exorbitant taxes and was advised to go have a cup of tea. I thought that was pretty rich. Considering, I'm American and the whole tax war thing started with tea."

Yeah, that made me laugh out loud. Wouldn't you love to live in a country where the customer service agents tell you to go have a cup of tea? It just seems so charming, no matter how unhelpful the advice is.

I also find it pretty funny that she even thought to call the "English tax people". Have you ever considered calling the IRS and giving them a piece of your mind? I find it much more effective to swear, bluster, crumple up notices (because I've gotten so many in my adult life), and swear some more.

These stories were repeated with authorization of any kind. If this bothers you, you should probably stop reading this blog. If it bothers you and you are my relative from whom I stole the stories, why don't you just come over here and try to stop me.

That's what I thought.

High Speed My Friend

2007-02-27T08:24:00.000-06:00

So, I have this friend. She's my best friend, actually. She lives in another state, but we talk nearly every day. And even though our lives are one fascinating round of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and cleaning up, after another---we somehow manage to find stuff to talk about for hours throughout the week. And we have a good rhythm. She can talk right through one of my battles with The Queen without missing a beat and I can talk right through her neighbors knocking on her door, her answering, and them telling her the most recent Southern Utah gossip. We're good like that.

In some ways, Jen and I are so completely alike. We got similar degrees in college. We served our missions together and had very similar approaches to what we did there. Except she ran at 5 in the morning by choice and I would rather have an un-anesthetized root canal. We're both tall. She's sassy, I wish I was. And we have very similar perspectives on life. And on people. All the people we talk about and make fun of in our long phone conversations. We both have red haired children.

In other ways, we couldn't be more opposite. She's very fashionable without really trying. She loves to shop. She has a beautiful home which she decorates beautifully and keeps immaculate. Need I tell you how I differ? I think not.

One major difference we have is the Internet.

I spent hours in the computer lab on campus when I was in college. Sometimes just staring at the web browser, in awe of all that it could do for me. I was one of those people who compulsively forwarded every forward I got. "This is SO funny" I would preface the most recent political joke that had already circled the entire planet 14 times before I read it. Or "If this doesn't melt your heart, you are cruel and heartless and in ten minutes your worst nightmare will happen." In the early days, they didn't give you the option of forwarding it to 27 people to save yourself. Those days were hard.

After college the only real expense I knew I had to have was high speed internet. Some days my refrigerator had one grapefruit, a bottle of ketchup and a jar of pickles, but I had high speed.

When J and I were married---this necessity was a given. Our only fights were over who's turn it was to play on the internet. With our high speed connection.

When J went back to school and we slimmed down our lifestyle extensively---high speed, our dear friend high speed, remained.

And now, I fill my days of being a SAHM with delightful interruptions at the computer reading blogs, online ~~shopping~~ coveting, and sending ~~racey~~ nagging emails to my out-of-town husband.

What more could a girl want?

And then there's Jen. For the past decade the girl has had DIAL-UP INTERNET SERVICE.

Sometimes when she'd call I would refer to something I saw on the internet, just moments before she called and suggest she check it out. "Send me the link, but not if it's too long, it will take too long to open my email. I'll check it out this weekend when my husband is home and has three hours to watch the kids while I sign on and check my email."

You can't imagine the pain this has caused me. The toll it has taken on our friendship. I have harped incessantly on this matter. "Come ON Jen, it's worth the $20 extra dollars a month, I PROMISE." She'd always reply the same, "You know how much joy I get pinching pennies, why deprive me of that joy?" And so we'd agree to disagree, for a short while.

Well, it appears that those small towns in Southern Utah are catching up with the times. A few weeks ago she told me she found a smoking deal that entailed long distance, other phone "luxuries", 142 channels of cable tv, and high speed internet service, all for one low price. She was going to take the plunge. I won't even tell you the countless conversations we've had where she "couldn't really watch that show because they don't really 'get' that channel" or how 43 minutes of her day were lost when she innocently answered the phone without knowing who'd be on the other end. Maybe another time I'll share my testimony of caller ID with y'all.

So, Jen got all the goods on Friday. I didn't remember, but I called her yesterday afternoon for a nice leisurely chat while I sat outside with the kids. No answer. I got my loyal, best friend butt kicked to voicemail. But it was voicemail. Not her 1982 answering machine that blared my message to the ever-living world. Like the time I called and accused her of screening my call like she screened everyone else's and how I couldn't believe I was finally one of "them" that she didn't care to talk to, etc. All the while, she was trying to conduct a presidency meeting 3 feet away. With a group full of past-screened people. :)

I can't say it didn't hurt, people. It did. I knew I had been passed up for the joys of endless internet browsing whilst talking on the phone to people she WANTED to talk to.
All these years, those "hellos" when I called, I thought they were willing.

Oh, don't worry about me too much. She called me back. After my accusatory message, she really didn't have much choice. And to add insult to injury she confessed, "I was on the phone, I got to see that it was you because I have caller ID WITH my calling waiting, and I decided not to click over."

Welcome to the 21st Century Jen. Oh yeah, this probably means she'll read my blog now and actually get a taste for what blogging means instead of saying, "Did you blog today?" like it's a close relative of a colonoscopy.

Why The Internets Shouldn't Raise Your Children

2007-02-26T11:34:00.000-06:00

Several months ago Benja's aunt showed him a Spiderman trailer on Youtube and he's been a junkie ever since. He recognizes the screen immediately and asks for a "Spidohman Chwayloh" every time. So I put one on for him and walked away to microwave him a nutritious frozen burrito for lunch. When I came back a short 5 minutes later he was halfway through a trailer of the movie "Lucky Number Slevin" I don't know anything about that movie, only that it didn't hold my interest in the previews because it looked dark and violent. I immediately start my mama chant, "uh-uh-UH!" and quickly start clicking the back button on the internet browser. Where I learned he already made it through a preview for Terminator 4 before getting an eyeful of Lucky Number Slevin. Yeah, I'm a good mom.

He asks me why I'm making all his movies go away and I tell him it's not stuff for little boys to watch. Well, Spidohman isn't for little boys "eelo"(either), says he, but he's not like other little boys. Perhaps we may need to ease up on the positive reinforcement of every little thing and start teaching humility and modesty.

On another note, I am so blessed tired ALL THE TIME lately. The first wave of it hit me in the doctor's office last Wednesday when I had two blissful hours away from my children and pages and pages of Britney Spears sludge to catch up on. In the 4 minutes between the nurse taking my blood pressure and the doctor showing up to listen to the baby's heartbeat, I curled up on that comfortable, paper covered, exam ~~slab~~ table and fell asleep. I think I showed sincere annoyance at the doctor disturbing my sleep when he came in. He asked me if I was taking my prenatals, like that ever solves any problem. Just kidding. Since that incident, I have gone to bed around 9:30 every night, gotten really great sleep, taken naps, limited my activities such as, getting up to get a handful of cashews every 20 minutes, to just bringing the entire container to the couch with me. I hope it passes because this parenting in a drunken stupor is going to come back to haunt me, I'm sure.

I watched a little bit of the Oscars last night. I was really excited for Jennifer Hudson. That's about it for me. However, I did notice something I have never noticed before, the really ticked off faces of the nominees who didn't win. Particularly after Jennifer Hudson, there were two faces (I don't know who they were) and then I noticed it after Alan Arkin won. I thought that was thoroughly enjoyable. Sore losers. Heh.

The other thought/emotion I had was, since when did Al Gore become such a superstar? Dude! And I sure wish I could have been there when Ellen made her joke about him being robbed of his presidency SEVEN YEARS AGO!! Geez louise. Talk about sore losers.

Oh yeah and that Will Ferrell/Jack Black performance was classic. I was really glad I got to see that. In case you didn't see it:

I laughed pretty hard when they threatened to beat up all these nominees and then got to Mark Wahlberg and were all, "You're cool, you're talented, good luck." THAT was good stuff.

Overheard--updated

2007-02-22T19:36:00.000-06:00

Last week Jay caught me sitting at the computer with about 15 different windows open, looking at every type of bedding set known to man. Maybe this is my type of nesting. I don't nest, but I do, every six months or so (pregnant or not), wish I had a nice matching, luxurious bedding set. So, looking at different bedding for an hour at a time on the computer is for some reason very enjoyable for me.

J stood behind me for about 42 seconds, trying to be interested in what I'm interested in, heaved a big sigh and said, "I cannot believe this is holding your attention." I could say the same about Command and Conquer, but we still make it work in our marriage.

Well, I unwittingly snagged myself a minion. Tonight while taking a bath, Benja was flying a little plastic boat around the tub and through the air, yelling, "To Bed, Bath and Beyooooooond!"

When J and I were first married, we lived in St. Louis and worked at the same office. We had a young coworker who loved nothing more than to be compared to Britney Spears. And she used to use a phrase all the time that made both of us laugh. A lot. She'd say, "I hate wearing the color green, I look like a$$ in green" or "Oh sick, what are you heating up, it smells like a$$" or my personal favorite, "Ugh, this tastes like _______" You get the point. I guess we think using that "simile" is both vulgar and hilarious. At least I do.

So, today at lunch...

Benja was sharing some of his Shrek go-gurts with a friend. He handed him a "Fiona" tube and said, "This is Fiona, but it tastes just like donkey."

I couldn't agree more when referring to flourescent green "yogurt" in a tube.

And of course I laughed heartily to hear my 3 year old talking like my former coworker Britney wannabe.

Faith

2007-02-20T17:52:00.000-06:00

Today's post is about faith. If you feel like you have a very shaky grasp on faith, or don't believe in faith, or anything like that, stick around. You are going to see faith in action.

You see, I have NOTHING TO BLOG ABOUT. Absolutely nothing. I start a thought and either lose it completely or realize it's not a thought worth having and throw it out myself. But I really, really, really want to blog. I love the therapy it's been for me. I love the documentation I have had for nearly the last year of my life. I'm in love with an idea.

I have nothing to write, but I have faith. A hope for things not seen. I believe I can write. I believe I can touch the keyboard. I think about it every night and day, spread my hands and just type away...

I really don't like going to the park. Well, I guess I like the park just fine, 'specially on a nice day like today after such a long cold spell. But park activities mostly annoy me. I don't like pushing kids on swings. I don't like "watching me" every blessed second. I don't like having to get off my rump to retrieve a child from a place she has no business being at her size. Yes, only her. He has more caution than she. I don't like the limited availability of comfortable seating. A butt-splintering picnic table or butt-numbing metal one. With no back support or ottoman. And it gets old looking at the same kids running up and down and around the play structures. If there was a remote, I could find a bit more enjoyment, I'm sure.

When I was in my late teens and early twenties I would take my nieces to the park at times because that is what nice aunts do. And I was most surely a nice aunt. I remember one particular time in Sacramento watching my nieces romp happily around the play area. I was bored out of my mind. I looked around at other moms reading, staring into space, chatting with each other and I thought to myself, "I really hope some kind of maternal thing kicks in with my own kids because this is ridiculously boring and I'm not gonna do this willingly with my own kids." I had genuine concern right then for the future mother Angela. I should have been more worried about how giving birth would eliminate every charitable feeling I had toward children. But who could have known? And notice how the young, naive, childless Angela actually thought going to the park was a choice the mom made? Sweet, sweet girl.

Something maternal did kick in, so that's good. Plus the whole---being trapped in a house with kids for days on ends will do wonders for what becomes desirable to you. But, as I was standing on a pile of wood chips that stealthily crept into my shoes and down my socks, and up my shirt and stabbed me just below my sternum, I remembered just how much I really have always disliked the park. My grouchiness went away for small moments at a time when Avee giggled heartily at the thrill of swinging. But only small moments. Because after falling out of the swing two times and landing on her head and making other moms gasp and secretly call me a bad mother who should burn in hell---I refused to let her get back in the swing. And then the screaming. Oh the screaming. You can understand why I don't let those small grouch-free moments make me delusional.

So, is it just me? Do other moms really enjoy the park because, if they do---I'll have what they're having. I'd like to medicate this bad attitude right out of me.

Uh, chocolate doesn't work. Although, it does provide some insulation on those ever-uncomfortable picnic tables. Ottoman-less picnic tables.

While Making A Salmonella-Free PBJ For Benja

2007-02-19T13:06:00.000-06:00

Ben, do you want an apple with your sandwich?

Yes!

Do you want a yellow or red one?

Yellow. Yellow. Yellow! Hey mom, check it out, I can say yellow!

Good for you (I say, but think---alert the press boy---you sure can find joy in the simple things)

Yeah, it IS good for me. I used to say "lellow" all the time when I was a baby. Well, yesterday.

Ohhhhhhhhh. That's right! I didn't even realize.

{Scene ends with audible sound of the mama's heart breaking.}

What We Did On February 15th

2007-02-17T08:23:00.000-06:00

J came home on the 16th and saw our masterpiece.

J:Wow! Look at this! This is cool. And this is homemade gingerbread?
M: Um yeah, cuz that's who your wife is, a homemade gingerbread making kind of woman.
SIL: And it was made on February 15th. That's also who your wife is.

My SIL and two boys who have been staying with us are moving out this weekend. We hired a small crew to help with all the moving. A couple of candids of the movers hard at work.

I may or may not be related to the one who shows up to work wearing a t-shirt with a cucumber superhero who has plungers for ears and, spidohman pajama bottoms at 4 in the afternoon. And no shoes.

Logging Hours

2007-02-15T07:43:00.000-06:00

15: Hours Avee slept last night

4: Days we have been sick

5.3: Hours I've spent in the bathroom those last 4 days

12: Number of times I've taken each of my children's temperatures

0: Things I've done around my house

5: People who hand delivered Valentine treats to our door yesterday. (Holy moly I say!)

12: Number of days it feels like this week has had already.

4: Times that I have said, "If you don't stop ___________ I am going to throw up all over you.

3: Times that I've actually meant it.

7: Phone calls I've made to J for absolutely NO REASON but to let him hear my poor miserable sick self

1: Times that Benja has said, "Do you like my new shirt? UPS gave it to me."

23: Hours before J gets home

722: Number of times I have looked at my son this week and thought, "Could you possibly get any cuter!?"

5: Days (at least) before I will blog anything of substance

Yours Truly

In Case You Thought I Didn't Own A Soapbox

2007-02-08T16:33:00.000-06:00

There's an aspect of adulthood, maybe more specifically motherhood, but definitely something not present in my youth, that has come into my awareness slowly, unpleasantly, and what seems to be, unavoidably.

My childhood experiences were somewhat colored, by my obvious physical imperfection of having a fat lip. I was used to being looked at, stared at, sometimes made fun of, but always at the very least, noticed. It's hard for me now, looking back, to determine if my childhood was "hard" or harder than average with or without this. I'm referring to when people talk about how cruel kids can be and how hard 4th grade was, or 7th grade, etc. I can't really tell because I was aware from an early age that there were stupid people in the world who would judge me for my appearance and try to make me feel like less of a person.

And another really amazingly mature part of me was able to separate that from my reality and realize it was their problem, not mine. I'm not trying to toot my own horn, believe me, I'll let you know when I do. I just know that I was conscious of this at a young age and I realize now that those kinds of thoughts couldn't be further from my own child's mine. "He says I'm a turtle head TELL HIM I'M NOOOOOOOOOOT!". My whole point is: I don't think I can look back at my past, my childhood and determine if it was as fraught with as much judgmentalism as I feel like I face now, as a 31 year old adult. And a mother.

As mothers we have this job that is nearly impossible to define. We've all said it at least once, "why isn't there a manual for this?!" or something of that nature. We all sort of know what we are doing, or at least have an idea of what we want the end result to be, and come up with ideas, follow suggestions, and do our darndest to meet that end. There are no yearly interviews or job-performance feedback forms. There are no raises or promotions if we get it right. A good day is not having to wipe yogurt off the walls or 6 uninterrupted hours of sleep. Or not getting bitten by a 3-toothed bandit. Or shot in the eye with a foam bullet that flies at unnatural speeds from a plastic gun your three year old fires. And makes you cry.

What it all comes down to is, each of us really trying to do the best that we can. When we know better, we do better----right? At least that's the hope for all human beings making their way through life. Parent or not.

What I don't get is how nearly every conversation I engage in, since becoming a mother has almost ALWAYS entailed some aspect of apology or "confession" for how things are done. I remember feeling pretty big shame that my almost 2-year-old still took a bottle. I had no intention of taking it away until I was ready and he was ready. That bottle brought him true joy. He swaddled it, cuddled it, sang it lullabies. But when people found out he still had it at 22 months, I was embarrassed. Why? Did that negate how deeply I loved this child, how desperately I wanted the best for him, how hard I worked to be the best mom I knew how?

A couple of weeks ago, at the grocery store I passed a woman who had a small child in her cart. He was about 20 months and absolutely darling. Big mess of dark hair, vibrant brown eyes, chubby cheeks and an infectious smile. I couldn't help myself and as I passed her (I was childless as my own preshies were at home oozing from the eyes) I said, "He is darling!" He nodded in a agreement and she quickly turned and fumbled about his face, offering some apology for the condition of his face. Apparently it was covered in crusties from having a bit of a cold. She quickly started dabbing at his face, never once acknowledging the compliment for what it was. She had a cute son. That was it. I didn't even notice the dried snot, mostly because I am certain it was a drastic improvement from the oozing that was going on at home with my own children. I sort of felt stupid as I walked away that what I felt and stated was completely abated by her embarrassment or almost involuntary reaction to another mother or woman commenting on her child.

A few weeks ago at the park a young mother "confessed" to me that her children (2 years and 3 months) sleep with her. She apologized that that's just the way they do it in their home. It was weird to me only because why on earth should I care where her child sleeps? As long as he's not kicking MY ribs, I don't give a dang dittly. I have friends who won't let their kids in or near their beds with a ten foot pole. That's their prerogative. I often pull Benja into my bed for snuggling or comfort that he needs. Or I need. I won't let Avee near my bed with a ten foot pole because I know her well enough to know I'll never get her out. And she has a wicked nocturnal left jab.

The other night I took my kids to a restaurant and a mother across from us had two large bags filled with toys to entertain her son. He was probably a little less than 2 years. She looked at me, alone with my two angelic children, who were actually so hungry from neglect that they couldn't stop eating long enough to even think of misbehaving, and shrugged apologetically saying, "It's the only thing I can do to make him be good." Why have we created a culture where this woman felt like she had to justify her method of parenting to a complete stranger?

Most of the people I know or talk to don't really judge other mothers for their parenting methods. I guess sometimes we have "better solutions" in our heads but in my mind, that is different from judging. I have a friend who has a daughter 7 months younger than Benja. She is a little spitfire, so full of life, and energy, and entered this world with opinions. Juxtaposed to Benja, she made him look like a pliable little blob of babiness (oh-oh, I just called my child a blob, alert the press).

One time I was over at my friends house at lunchtime. Benja was probably just under two and so little S would have been almost 18 months. My friend put her in her highchair where she stood for her entire meal. My friend worked around it and got her child fed. She explained she had tried everything and couldn't get her to stay seated and would rather just have mealtime be pleasant and nourishing. I remember thinking, "yeah, I don't think I could be as flexible---my kid would sit because I would MAKE him sit." Fast forward a year, I have my own opinionated spitfire that makes up the rules everyday and I silently obey them. Do I strap her into her highchair? Yes. Is she skinny enough to get out of even the tightest restraints? Yes. Am I just happy to have her just eat and not stand on her tray with one foot in the apple sauce? Yes. I realize now that when we do make judgments, it is mostly out of ignorance. I had no idea what life with a girl was like when I formed my opinion about how children should eat. This friend reads this blog. She knows I think she's a phenomenal mother, and that I have repented of ALL my sins since having Avee.

What has me thinking about this is the recent Today show piece on mothers who drink at play dates. Another fairly famous blogger (I don't know her, but my world is very, very small you see) was on there, as one of the moms who participates in such play dates. I think she was blindsided---where she thought it was going to be more of a "this is how we do it and it's great" it turned into this thing where she's barely more competent than a hired babysitter and a lush to boot.

I don't drink. I don't really hang out with people who drink. Not so much because I avoid that, as much as, again, my world is very, very small. :) I'm also pretty sure I would not be entirely comfortable at a playgroup where drinking was going on because alcohol and its effects are a complete enigma to me. My earliest and longest running exposure to a drinker was very unpleasant and gave me nightmares until the subject finally died from kidney failure when I was 12. Clearly, I don't have a skewed perspective of alcohol...

What I also don't do, is begrudge a mother her right to do something she clearly feels is okay and is not impairing her ability to parent. One little bit of the piece on the Today show had this author talking about her drinking with her friends at play dates. She made a good point about this just being another thing women use to judge each other. That crap really should stop. However, in her defending of this choice she sort of made a judgment on people like me. She said, something to the effect of "I'd like to see a mother who stays sober 15-16 hours a day watching her kids, and I'd like to see if she's a great mom." That sort of surprised me. Here I was being open minded about something I wouldn't choose to do, and suddenly, my choice to "remain sober" brings into question whether I can be a good mother. That's absurd. Besides I have significantly bigger impairments to being a good mother than remaining sober. CSI:Miami reruns, David Caruso, you'll never know the amusement you bring to me...

To the mother in the grocery store who's 4 year old is lying on the floor screaming for a package of pop-tarts. I'm not judging you. I'm looking to make sure it isn't my son and I've forgotten he's with me. I want to say, "been there" or "will be there" or "hey, I know he's not always like this" but there's no way to really say that.

To the man at the rec center who kindly turned off the fire alarm my child set off while teasing about there being a spare closet I could leave them in if I needed a break. And for kindly kneeling down and talking to my children like human beings and shaking their hands, thank you. It's Thursday, I'm beat by Thursday---you'll never know how much your kindness and not judging me for not keeping a better handle on my children was appreciated.

To the mom who thinks any "imperfect" development her child has is her fault or something she's not doing right, it's not. Unless you beat them or have pit bulls that chew off their toes. Then it is your fault and you should be judged. And have your toes, and ovaries chewed off.

To the mom who worries she's not doing enough. You are.

To the mom who worries she's messing up. You are. But it's okay. We aren't required to be perfect in anything else, why should you expect it in one of the hardest "jobs" you'll ever have? I don't remember the mistakes my mom made but I do remember her loving me. Always. Everyday. Even after I was a teenager. And even after I said that really bad word when I was 4. I remember her making me practice the piano and the cello and how I hated that and how I love it now. I remember her teaching me not to stare, not to be unkind, to change my underwear, to have self-respect, to stop beating up my brother. Maybe sometimes in teaching these things she made mistakes, but I don't remember them. I also don't beat up my brother anymore, so I'd say there was some definite success.

To the mom who doesn't know how much her children weighed at birth. This makes me laugh every time I think about it. Most women, myself included--fo sho---throw around our children's birth weights like badges of honor, as though ANY size coming out of ANY part of your body is easy or comfortable. "I was a 6 cow wife" "And I was a 9 lb birthing machine..."

Except my sister. That baby was huge.

To the mom who has a martini at her play date---you're the boss. I won't judge you if you don't judge me for getting drunk on Hershey syrup straight from the bottle before noon. I'm still a good parent.

To the dad who is oblivious to this whole culture of judgment and never has conversations with other dads while golfing about how your 3 and a half year old still isn't potty trained and the anxiety it causes you that you're doing something wrong or that other people are judging you for toting around a diapered 3 year old, you're a lucky sonofa gun and we'd be wise to learn a thing or two from you.

Ant Bites In Texas

2007-02-07T12:47:00.000-06:00

AHHHHHHH OW OW OW OW OW OW! AHHHHHHHHHH! HELP ME!!!

Wha? What happened? What's the matter?

(wimper, fake sniff, wimper again) A fire ant bited me.

Oh no, those really hurt! Here, sit up here and let me see.

It's, it's, it's right there, see, right there!

No, actually I don't see it.

Help me! It's bleeding, I need a bandaid, hurry, hurry!

Benja, it's not bleeding, I don't even see where you were bit.

Right HERE!

Here?

Yes. No. I mean, there, I think. It REALLY HURTS.

You don't need a bandaid for an ant bite. You just have to wait for it to to feel better, and it will soon.

But, but, it's bleeding all over!

No it's not.

Well, some nice people can still give bandaids to other people who aren't bleeding. Yet.

So's I know I'm alive

2007-02-06T11:23:00.000-06:00

At 12:23 AM I was awoken by loud thumping above me. I awoke so abruptly that it was hard to turn over and fall back asleep. Fortunately for me, if I had, I would have missed these pearls of wisdom yelled in an obvious fight in the apartment upstairs. My first introduction to our new neighbors...
"But money cain't buy you luuuuuuuuuve, it cain't. buy. you. luuuuuuuuuuve!" I had so many thoughts on that subject in the wee hours of the morning that it was impossible to go back to sleep. Money can buy me love at this point in life. I loooooove minivans. I love personal trainers. I love dropping $300 at Target without batting an eye. I love a non-traveling husband. I love chefs. But since we can't afford any of these things, I have to disagree that money can't buy you love.

It really is all beside the point because well, it wasn't my fight, I was in fact eavesdropping. And if any man used that line on me in an argument about money, I think I would have MUCH bigger problems in my life than no personal trainer.

At 3:52 AM when I was still staring mindlessly at the neon numbers on my clock, I tried to chant myself to sleep, "money cain't buy you sleep either, money cain't buy you sleep either..." but that also was unconvincing in my gravitus insomniacal state.

At 6:40 AM Avee woke me up yelling for the "doe" to be opened. This is the same girl who figured out how to not only reach doorknobs she shouldn't be reaching, but how to turn them, over a month ago. The first time, she declared to all who would hear, "I got out!" And so she has, time and time again. Buuuuuut, she got some catch-up immunizations yesterday, 2 shots in each leg, to be exact. She was quite the trooper about it and fortunately got in some good running around before she took a nap and the stiffness set in. And today she has declared herself an invalid and insists on being transported in my ever-lovin' arms from place to place. When I do insist on her walking, while assisting her of course, she walks like a bowl-legged toddler who just experienced the world's largest movement. And I'm not talking Beethoven's kind.

While driving to pick up Benja from his once a week "Little Learners" class, I spotted an unruly white hair, growing from MY head. I plucked it out and swore. Avee imitated me 5 times before I got to Benja's classroom. I thought I had learned my lesson with "dammit" at the bishop's house with Benja when he was 2.

I went shopping at Target today and I was clearly the token "I Just transferred from Wal-Mart" shopper. There were 67 other moms there with exactly one child just like mine, within at least 6 months in age. And 32 of them were about as pregnant as me. However, I was the only one who's daughter was singing loudly about "daddy's" and "cute shirts" and I was the only one wearing faded maternity sweatpants with an unmatching yellow sweater that I got at a second hand store 3 years ago. And I can't remember if I brushed my hair or not, but I definitely had the scroungiest hair either way. In my defense however, I was NOT the mom who was saying to my 2 year old, "Are you sure you want this yellow bus? It's just like the one you have at home, but it is your birthday money." This surprised me for several reasons. I thought "birthday money" for children under say, 8 years old was actually code for "hey mom, go get yourself a little something." Am I wrong?

I just read this first paragraph over the phone to J because it made me laugh out loud. He says, "And instead of jail time, we will instead let everyone know what you've done."
How Embarrassing.

That's all. I have a 22 month old whimpering for me and a 44 month old throwing dirt at people. And I'm hungry.

Old Unpublished Post And Then Some

2007-02-01T20:13:00.000-06:00

So, I've started 4 posts in the last two days, in a valiant effort to be a blog posting kind of girl. I get halfway through and reread what I've written and realize that I, who think I am fascinating, scintillating, brilliant, and very pretty, was bored to tears. So---I realize I can't do that to the blogosphere. At least not knowingly.

I think my problem is, I reread some past posts and see how much more interesting life,and my spin on it was in my former, non-pregnant life and I just can't meet that standard these days. This pregnancy has been going quite smoothly and easily, and aside from leaning over and accidentally squishing the little butternut before I remember, I really don't feel physically pregnant most of the time. Oh, that and the gut when I walk by the mirror. I can't be bothered with maternity pants most days because I've learned that one needs more of a rearend to keep those on, and I just cain't do it. So I walk around with regular pants riding below my belly and an oversized sweatshirt---in true redneck, beer belly fashion.

So, I'm going to do an NCS kind of post with just the random thoughts floating around in my head. And, if you are reading this, and there's a question mark at the end of what I write---I would LOVE for you to answer as much as you can. Because these aren't filler questions, these are burning questions in my life.

With that, I'll start off with a question:

Does anybody's children like "Big Big World" on PBS. Benja gets offended when it comes on and Avee turns the tv off.

Benja: Why did dad go to Nohf Carowina---he's supposed to go to Boston.
Mom: No, he is done in Boston, now he's going to North Carolina.
Benja: No, his boss said to him,"Jay everyday I want you to go to Boston foh wohk!" so he shouldn't be in Nohf Carowina.
Mom: Okay, I'll let him know.

Does anyone have a crib that they absolutely love and think everyone should own? We need to buy one and the last one we had was a hand me down that was hashed and the creaking and swaying was enough to almost have me institutionalized.

Benja quotes:
While looking at our token ultrasound photo where nothing is distinguishable to me:
"Yeah, that's a boy foh sho, because boys come from cans, not girls, and this is a boy in a can.

"When I take karate I will be with other kids my age. Then I will beat them all with my karate kick and be alone in the class."

"Where's that one Grandma that smiled at me?"

On Sunday I put Avee in the most adorable little turquoise mock sweater and plaid pleated skirt. She had her darling black boots and I even managed to keep little pigtails in her hair for about 30 minutes at a time. Now, juxtaposed to this was Benja wearing one dark brown shoe, one black shoe, both of them left shoes. He of course didn't notice or care. But his father who dressed him should have. I discovered this at church. Hopefully no one will notice, I tell myself---at least the kid I dressed looks adorable. As I was heading out to our various classrooms a nice man stopped me and asked, "He's so cute---how old is he?" I turned to motion toward Ben, who is three and a half and realized he was asking about Avee. In a skirt. And pigtails. And black boots for crying out loud. That's what I get for being vain.

Avee has taken to calling all males daddy and all females mommy. It's a sweet perspective of the world, and of course I'm just proud of her brilliance in noting the differences already. So far she hasn't made an misidentifications of gender---but a few times her exuberance in declaring what she sees is a little embarrassing. Today as we entered the rec center a very large, bald, much older, sweaty black man was exiting at the same time. Avee pointed and yelled "Daddy!" I sort of blushed and looked away, as it looks like my poor, 2 shades shy of albino, red-haired daughter is desperately seeking any sort of substitute for a father. But the real color didn't come to my face until Ben laughs sort of loudly and says just as loud, "That's funny Avee, he's waaaaay too sweaty to be our daddy."

And then it was Wednesday

2007-01-31T10:48:00.000-06:00

We just got back from our long weekend, short visit to see family in Kansas City. We flew on one of those tiny little planes that only seats 50 people or so. Those things terrify me. I am not afraid to fly, hardly even think twice about it, but those things have me twitchin' and sweatin' the second I spot them on the jetway. Puddlejumperway. I had a bloody mary, two vodka tonics, and 3 beers to calm my nerves and it was entirely effective. One upside of this airplane was, the seats are divided with 2 seats on one side and 1 seat on the other. I got the one seat by myself and the flight attendant told us in no uncertain terms that our lap child was not allowed on my lap. It was rough.

I interrupted my mom reading a book to let her know we had arrived. She told me we came out of the wrong gate---so it might not have been a fun family get together after all, with all my monkey business of wrong gate exiting. I climbed in the backseat of her car and sat between Benja and Avee for the 40 minute ride. Avee immediately claimed my left arm, 1/3rd of my shirt and my right ear as hers for the ride home and screeched loudly if I dared move any of them without her permission. Benja was thrilled to have me sitting next to him, a rare treat in the car. Not since he was a screaming 2 month old and I tried the whole buckled in breastfeeding contortionist routine in the back seat. But he didn't appreciate me then. He slipped his hand through my arm and contentedly sighed, "I want to stay here forevoh."

I had a great time just soaking in the comforts of family and friends. We all showed up sick and everyone was still nice. Well, except for us. My sister's baby is even cuter in person. Of course. And she's perfect. And she is one doted on little girl. I think I saw her out of someone's arms a total of 15 minutes the entire 4 days we were there.

My ideal vacation is lounging. This vacation was ideal. Fortunately my sister has a 5 week old baby that has her subdued and our paces finally matched. Benjah loved the endless supply of papers to draw pictures and write words. Avee enjoyed the mostly-nice animals that let her follow them around and yell and squeal and periodically kiss.

At one point I said to my sister, "Did you read [our 13-year old niece]'s most recent blog post? It's hilarious." My 13-year-old nephew said, "Have you read your blog? It's hilarious!" Yeah, that's me, appealing to the masses of all ages.

And now I'm home and Avee is sitting on my left forearm as I type, tattling on Benja. Apparently he pinched her cheek when she tried to sit on his Curious George coloring page. That's what she just told/mimed/signed/reinacted for me.

I learn more and more about myself through my children, everyday. I discovered in my early twenties that children unwittingly imitate their parents in the biggest ways. I babysat a 4 year old for 2 days who kept me abreast of all the neighborhood gossip and at the end of those two days I knew more about those poor neighbors (poor except that old lady next day who drank two bottles of wine a day and never changed out of a housecoat all day and had a secret bank account with hundreds of thousands in it) than I did about myself. I resolved then and there to have my ducks in a row enough when I had children that my "sins" wouldn't be displayed so blatantly for the world. Avee just got on the phone and said something like, "ohhhhh yeah, you should see her shoes. What.Ever. Ohh, okay, bye!" I swear I'm not catty, but I can say that all I want, the proof is in the little puddin'.

And now I'm going to teach my children with my actions, just what "exercise" is. They need to go into the world knowing full well that exercising means eating an entire box of Almond Joy cookies (aka, the devil dipped in chocolate) and maybe putting on a pair of pants when company comes.

Dude

2007-01-31T10:18:00.000-06:00

Dude. All I can say, is Dude.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=10VmJ-8XGA4&mode=related&search=

I am the friend outside the bathroom who gets panned periodically.

I love how champagne is the cure-all attempt.

Uh, did somebody warn Kevin?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MILLIE!!

2007-01-25T11:43:00.000-06:00

Today is Millie's birthday, over at What On Earth Is That Smell? Her REAL best friend already gave a cool assignment for you to fill Millie's comments with, so I'm gonna use MY comments as the second best thing. Give her some age old advice. A good knock-knock joke, or even a riddle will do.

Since I'm supposed to be on an airplane in less than 5 hours and that entails completing 3 more loads of laundry, packing, lunch, napping two children and showering---I'm gonna have to keep it short and my contribution will be a riddle. For you Millie. And it's homemade, from Benja.

What has 3 legs, an orange face, kicks really hard and screams a lot?

A monstoh!!!
Ahahahhahahahahaha!
They just don't make 'em this good anymore.

I hope your day is wonderful and all your birthday wishes come true!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

The Purple Club

2007-01-22T19:01:00.000-06:00

Do you remember those girls when you were growing up that the other kids (particularly boys) always seemed to like and they were just cute unassuming girls that couldn't be bothered by any of the attention? Maybe you were one of those girls. I always seemed to be friends with them. I also spent a LOT of time in my youth observing such girls and trying to figure out just what made them so special. To others, that is. I didn't necessarily pine for the attention, but I was intrigued that their very existence got that kind of attention.

I remember when I was in 3rd, 4th, and 5th grade there was a girl in a grade higher than me that just seemed to have it. I stared at her endlessly. I just couldn't figure it out, but I stared nonetheless. Yeah, I was one of those kids. At least I outgrew it...

Anyway, I guess I decided it was the way she walked that made her cool. What I was unaware of at the time was that she had back problems and walked with a very straight stiff back. At the same time she was naturally endowed with a, how shall I say it, notable booty. So, my solution, walk with my back stiff and stick my butt out as much as I could. I was certain that was the key to her success and popularity. Internets, I will have you know I have NEVER confessed this to ANYONE. Not even those who know my deepest darkest secrets know this about my clearly, very bright elementary years.

Later, when I was in sixth grade and we ruled the roost, or so we thought---my closest friends started a "Purple Club". I think it was outlined in Sweet Valley High books, but my brilliant friend Amy applied it to us. I was sure that the inclusion in the purple club (even though I never cared for the color) was the ticket to being noticed. I was wrong.

In high school and later in college, I didn't ever necessarily stand out. I always had a lot of friends and with guys, I could interest one or two with witty banter, but I never had the straight back, big butt look that I was certain caught the men's attention. As much as I wanted to unwittingly be the object of many's affection---I wasn't.

Fast forward 20 years later and I have an offspring that is the very thing I desired to be. People are constantly fawning and she couldn't care less. I guess this is where I get fulfilled because I definitely don't mind being the vicarious recipient of fawning. Call me desperate, I am who I am.

Well, Sketchy did a post with a little bit on Burger King, which made me laugh, and reminded me also of a recent incident at my local Playland of choice.

Since Aves was about 15 months old she has been navigating the tunnels and slides and walls of the Mickey D's play structures, with ease. At first, in the summer, I had my cute little skinny niece to retrieve her if I got nervous that she was stuck---but soon even Erica determined her job was useless with Avee's climbing and navigating prowess. So now, I sit back with my super-size fries and let my kids run wild. It has never been a problem, Avee has always returned back to me whole and happy.

So, you can imagine my alarm when a couple of weeks ago, shortly after she darted from my safe arms, I heard her wailing from the top of the structure. I admit, I panicked. I went to a tunnel and pretended for a second that even my head would fit through and yelled, "Avee, come to mama!" She was really wailing and clearly distraught. I felt sick. Why do I always have to push it, she's just a baby!

Then I hear an older girl kind of talking baby and saying, "Come on, it's okay, I'll take you to mommy, let's go." I was relieved as I knew she was talking to Avee and was at least in capable enough hands to get her down to me, where I could assess the damage.

The girl holding her came down with Avee writhing on her lap, and about 4 or 5 other 10-11 year old girls right behind them. Avee lunged for me and whimpered pitifully. "What happened Aves, did you get stuck, did you get hurt?" Notice I didn't say scared? Because I know my child. The older girl offered to me, "She just got scared being so high up, so we were trying to help her get down."

Ding ding ding ding! The reason for the screams. She wasn't hurt or stuck, and for pete's sake, not scared. She was TICKED. I thanked the "helpful" girls for bringing her down and a couple of them thought they'd reward themselves with a little more one-on-one with Avee and tried to take her from my arms to coo over her and baby her. She scowled and swatted at each of the offending hands. I feebly offered, "She may just need some time to recover" and went back to the uncomfortable, slippery, pleather couch where I had previously been pretending to watch my children, over the Pac-man game on my phone.

Avee made herself busy on the coffee table, swinging from video game controllers (by the way, what idiot thought it was a good idea to put video games at a fast food restaurant playland---isn't it bad enough that we've conceded to feed our kids crap in the first place?)

Whether she meant to or not, Avee waited long enough to "lose" the older chics, before she returned to the play structure. It was a good 15 minutes. Even I thought the older girls were gone. She trotted off to the structure and I watched for her in between rounds of Collapse on my phone.

3 minutes later, I hear the same desperate, heart-wrenching screams and I leapt from the couch. I quickly go to the place where my head sort of fits and yell again for Avee to go toward the light---that I was blocking, with my slight frame. Sure enough, she came down on the lap of older helpful girl and was glaring and wishing desperately she knew karate. I had to laugh. My little princess had a following, people just waiting to dote and follow her every whim and all she wanted was to climb through the rope tunnel without someone helping her and down the slide BY HER SELF!!!!!! Again the older girl offered that Avee was scared. Again, I let that explanation sit, and let Avee do her thing to try and shake them.

The third time it happened I realized I was one of those people who wasn't dealing with my screaming child, and annoying the heck out of the other moms so I finally told the girls, "She really just wants to be left alone." Being one of those people who used to love fawning over little kids (becoming a mother cured me of that tendency but GOOD) I felt really bad breaking the news to these girls. But I also felt that it was important that they know not all things in small packages are cute and nice. Sometimes they spit and glare if you get in their way.

I suspect in 10 years or so, some pathetic little red-haired girl will be painting a red strawberry birth mark on her back, certain that that is the reason Avee is the "it girl" of her school. Or heaven forbid, spraying her hair up in a cowlick, if Ave's isn't so lucky to escape her dad's contribution to the gene pool.

For certain, I'll be teaching her to notice the little staring people. And to be nice. They just might grow up to be bloggers and phenomenal phone Pac-man players. I'm just saying.

When Will I Learn?

2007-01-19T12:14:00.000-06:00

I just need to purge, confess, do whatever people do when they've done something wrong. Repeatedly.

I know I'm not a bad mom, but I'm really sick of my tendency to learn the hard way at my child's expense.

Avery has bilateral ear infections, sinus infection and swollen tonsils.

What made me take her to the doctor? Well, the nurse who said get her in here now, and her unsightly crusties that made me love her less. Oh just kidding, like that's even possible. But, her eyes just weren't getting better. She had moments of lethargy and hours of fit throwing over dumb things like the underwire in my bra jabbing her, but really now---is that sooooo different that I would be inclined to rush her to the doctor?

The problem is, she IS sick and she DOESN'T complain. So my insecurity at being a hypochondriac has spilled over to fear of being a hypochondriac by proxy and I fight the urge to take her to the doctor because "after all, she's not complaining".

Avee doesn't complain when she has a right to. She does complain when the seam in the shoulder of my shirt impedes her comfort of lying on my shoulder. She does complain when I switch the blue pillow for the identical blue pillow that she's leaning against. She does complain when I put her cup in the wrong cup holder. She does complain about every other unreasonable thing she encounters, but NOT about throbbing ear pain, difficulty swallowing, and sinus pressure that makes gunk ooze out of her eyes. How on earth am I supposed to get it straight then?

So, I'm putting this out there as a reference for myself for the future, for making you all responsible to remind me, and well, for sheer posting consistency TAKE THE CHILD TO THE DOCTOR FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.

And now I am going go be a human car track for the little shiney car that Ben is playing with. It will go over my mouth so I "can't talk" and over my eyes so I "can't see" and over my nose so I can't breath, and then follow a trail down my chin, down my neck, hit my clavical bone and lose control and fall into the valley of dark depths and irretrivability. It's a VERY fun game. For one of us. We've been playing it for half this post. I'm that good.

Find It In Your Heart

2007-01-17T15:31:00.000-06:00

For less than $1.43 a day you can make a difference in this little girl's life.

Your pledge alone can make the nights a little more quiet, the days a little sweeter, and the mama a little more sane. Don't wait another minute for someone else to solve her problems. Send your pledge for the next 16 years of just $1.42 a day to Iswearitsnotfornewshoes@gmail.com.

Avee, Almost 2

2007-01-15T21:43:00.002-06:00

Dear Avee,

Tonight when we laid you down for bed you had a red oozing eye from whatever cold of the month you have contracted. Considering how much your nose is running, how much your eye has "run" and how many times you've sneezed today, I'm guessing you don't feel so hot. But you don't complain. You just upped your daily dosage of hugs and snuggled a little longer with whatever blanket you have managed to acquire. You offered a cheerful "Cake-coo!" to your dad when he gave you a medicine tablet.

You are terribly cute Avee. I know most children are, it's a fact---but there is something so charming about you, it's hard for me sometimes to take my eyes off of you. And you know it. And that just fascinates me all the more. You are this strange combination of being completely aware of what the grown-up world thinks is cute, and performing as you feel necessary, and being completely independent and marching entirely to the beat of your own drum.

You love to do sign language and know a considerable amount of signs. But rarely on demand. You hug and kiss me more than I have ever known a child to do in a day, but never on demand. You love your bed and take naps and go down most days and nights without a sound. But you always shake your head emphatically when I ask you if you are ready for bed.

You say "mmm-hmmmm" with the same inflection I do when I'm pretending to be listening to your brother or your dad, but I'm not. I strongly suspect you to are just pretending to listen and have already figured out the difference.

There is nothing you can't do. There is no surface you cannot get to. There is no can of Pringles too high, no cookie too far back. You are so much like a monkey with your climbing that you have taken to saying, "muh-key, muh-key" over and over as you scale our kitchen cupboards to get to that coveted yummy food I've tried to keep out of your reach.

Last week at the park you got yourself up a swinging rope so swiftly that I couldn't even get to you fast enough. Even I panicked a little, I who watch you climb, fall, scale, recover, conquer on an hourly basis. The woman I was talking to rushed alongside me to get to you. You were halfway to your next feat before we could bound the 5 and a half feet to "rescue" you. You are quite agile.

************************************

This was an unfinished, unpublished post, but I loved the recount of who Avery was at the time.

The World's Most Perfect Sentence

2007-01-15T19:01:00.000-06:00

Tonight after dinner J put the kids in the bathtub. 20 minutes later I got around to going in to see if I could help. Both kids were playing happily and when I asked if either needed to be lathered up and scrubbed down, J answered that they were both clean. Including the bottoms of their feet.

I said aloud, "Wow dad's on the ball isn't he!?" Avee nodded and emphatically added, "Dad-ball!" Her two favorite things in the world. She never knew there was such a perfect sentence to be uttered. Then she promptly picked up a squirting fish and nailed me in the right eye with a perfectly aimed stream of water.

Just FYI: Avee's face is red in this picture because she is a) sick and has a runny red left eye to prove it and b) just escaped a headlock Benja had her in, in an effort to "pose" for the camera.

I Have A Few Thoughts On This Matter

2007-01-12T11:43:00.000-06:00

I haven't seen any pictures of Her Royal Round Rebekah since she was born. I got an email from my sister this morning with three words and a picture:
"Blog this baby"

I have a few things to say in response. And since this is my blog, I will show no shame in making this ALL ABOUT ME.

S, we can't be friends anymore. For so many reasons. But I'll give you just a few of the most trivial and pressing.

I have to wait at LEAST 3 months, and even that's subject to opinion, before my children actually start looking human and less like a George Lucas creation.

I give you, exhibits A and B:

This 3 week old cuteness you are sending my way is not fair.

Secondly, I am the redhead. I am the one who had to suffer through a childhood of red hair and incessant comments and promises that someday I'd like it, and carrot top, all the while you got to flounce through life with beautiful brunette hair with just the right amount of reddish highlights, but no amount of teasing or gawking. ME I tell you, ME. So WHY in tarnation do YOU get the little auburn haired beauty!?!?! Is there no justice? I have lived my entire life as a humble, sweet, long-suffering redhead, and not only am I supposedly not even a redhead anymore (see #5 and paragraph 2), your little preshy makes my little preshies look like washed up Loreal #39, impersonators.

Thirdly, you aren't the boss of me.

But I blogged it anyway because there are only so many things I can do to alleviate the ache in my heart to have my arms around that little pumpkin, of pie edibility.

That is all.

Of Diets and Eating Things

2007-01-11T11:40:00.000-06:00

I enjoy reading about different diet strategies and "eating plans" to compare and contrast them and someday incorporate the good ideas into my new, improved, health-machine way of life. Most recently I am reading about the South Beach Diet. It seemed to have creeped up out of nowhere and I really don't know that much about it. It's similar to other things I've read. They all say to stop eating white stuff.

This morning, I ate brown and white. And I'm really interested in finding a "lifestyle change" for eating that incorporates 10 Oreo cookies for breakfast. I would rock on that plan. **

Speaking of eating, sometimes I just want to gobble these adorable children up.

Benja calls his Spiderman Vs. Doc-Oc video "Spidohman dee-vosus Doc-Oc". Is it so wrong to hope he never outgrows that?

And then last night, little Aves hurt her two fingers. The girl has taken blows to the head (from the floor and other inanimate objects, mind you) without blinking---so it was really surprising when last night she cried quite a bit and whined most of the evening over two little scrapes on her finger. I doctored them up for her. She was highly offended by the suggestion of bandaging her fingers until she saw Ernie and the Cookie Monster on the band-aids. After I neosporined and wrapped them up, she laid on the couch like an invalid, propping up her fingers. I wanted to eat her whole becaues it's SO DANG VALIDATING. I have been this way my whole life and as much as I wish I wasn't a hypochondriac and lover of attention, it's just who I am. And I see that it's in my hard-wiring, as it is in Avee's. Not only is she a cute little malingerer, she validates my neurosis at the same time. What more could a mother want in a child? I ask you!

** I would be perfectly willing to substitute Cheese Pringles. Or alternate day to day. I'm flexible.

Them's the facts

2007-01-09T23:04:00.000-06:00

Tonight I cried watching Dog the Bounty Hunter.

Benja calls jawbreaker candy "workjobs" even after I correct him repeatedly.

I hate unloading the dishwasher.

I really really wish Benson and Stabler would kiss.

I haven't enjoyed any of the last 15-20 movies I have seen.

My 21 month old already knows how to manipulate situations based on nonverbal cues and basic human behavior. This scares me immensely.

I dreamt last night about my mother-in-law breaking up a high school fight in a girls bathroom and later getting a scathing, illiterate letter from the father of the instigator.

Some days caller ID is my best friend. If I've not answered when you have called, I swear I wasn't home.

I attended 3 days of law school when I had just turned 26.

Benja told me "well, I still love you" after I made him stop trying to play a game with me at naptime.

He says "well" at the beginning of sentences the same way his grandma does.

J washes the bottom of his feet when he showers, I didn't know people did this.

Avee insists on the bottom of her feet being washed before I remove her from the bathtub. She couldn't care less about the rice in her hair, syrup on her elbows, dirt on her shins, and snot on her face.

I often forget I'm pregnant until I try to pick up the 378 pound 2-year-old I babysit. Or clean the toilet. Or listen to conversations about cremation at lunch.

I love Japanese food.

We are not going to find out the sex of our third child before birth. Despite the immense peer pressure I have received.

I did NOT like the movie Happy Feet. If you did, I'd like to know why.

I want to blog about Donald Trump to get my ratings up. He does that for people you know.

I think Donald Trump should get a hobby.

Neither J nor I have ever watched an episode of Extreme Makeover Home Edition without getting choked up.

I feel utterly unprepared to be the mother of 3 children.

When I went to get Avee out of her bed this morning she yelled, "Yay Mommy!" as soon as she saw me.

Tonight I played dogpile with 5 little boys and Avee and halfway through remembered I'm nearly 5 months pregnant and probably shouldn't.

This post is a pathetic attempt at being consistent. You're welcome.

My Little Sunbeam

2007-01-07T13:59:00.000-06:00

I've tried hard not to let it happen. But when my 3 year old graduated from the "baby" nursery to the children's Primary at church, I got choked up. It was his first big transition since he outgrew his adorable Children's Place outfit when he was 10 months old. Oh wait, I mean, since he stopped being our only child at 22 months when Avee was born. Yeah, that's right. I cried then too.

Well, today I had to sneak in, and be one of those obnoxious moms who thinks the world revolves around her baby, and watch him for the first time in his new environment. He was calmly taking everything in, but he was a little awestruck as well. He sat quietly in his chair and I felt like he participated quite appropriately with brilliant answers. The lady leading the group didn't necessarily concur. But I do understand, he's MY preshy---not her's.

So, probably the highlight of what I did get to hear Benja participate in was him testifying of his faith in Spiderman. As the lady taught that faith is believing in something you haven't seen, but know exists, he hollered out, "Like Spidoman! But...I've seen Spiderman." So, perhaps it was a faith testimony retracted.

Later she spoke of the Holy Ghost and what it does for us. Benja and I have had lengthy, and somewhat frustrating (for me) conversations about the Holy Ghost. He'd like nothing more than for the Holy Ghost to be a superhero and while there may be some similarities, I don't feel I can in good conscience send him into his Primary class espousing such "truths". But some things I just. can't. control. As the lady asked what the Holy Ghost does for us, my brilliant theologian offered, "he can help us when we're hurt!" I beamed with pride but nobody really heard him. In a much louder voice he yelled, "And the Holy Ghost can FLY!" Of course, everyone heard that.

My kid's not the one running circles around his teacher or tipping in his chair or picking his nose, yet. It's so hard for me to know exactly how he'll be when he's really only ever been with me.

He is however, the one testifying of Superheros and introducing "strange" doctrine to his fellow three year old classmates. He's also the one who recited the first article of faith word for word his first day in primary. I'm really not bragging, I'm just saying....

GIFTED

2007-01-05T20:58:00.000-06:00

I got a camera today. And not a moment too soon.

Tonight there was a warm chocolate chip cookie waiting on the table for Benja when he had changed out of his clothes and put on his pajamas. He generally dresses himself, so it's not that big of a deal, but pajamas can be tricky, with all that flame retardant, close fitting material and whatnot. I LOVE to say flame retardant, I think the phrase should be used much more in our culture.

Benja was in his pajamas in no time and I walked past him just minutes later sitting at the table enjoying his cookie. I noticed in passing that he put the pajama top on backward. I didn't think twice about it because I really don't think that stuff matters when you are three. And going to bed. The irony of it was almost missed on me. I said, "Oh Benja, you put your pajamas on by yourself, you are so smart!" and I hear my SIL say, "he surely is gifted" so I did a double-take which made me laugh very hard.

See? Nothing wrong.

Wearing things a little backwards when you are three really isn't that big of a deal.

Unless there are three adults in your house who are ready to pounce on any opportunity to laugh heartily at your expense.

J sweetly tried to explain to Benja why we were laughing. He only got out, "See, it's funny because your shirt says 'gifted' and..." I cut him off from telling our 3 year old we were laughing at him not with him.

But Benja let out a hearty laugh of his own and gleefully hollered, "Yeah, it's so funny because I'm NOT SMART!!"

Then I got mad.

Don't nobody say that about my baby genius.

The Romance Waffle House

2007-01-05T12:38:00.000-06:00

When I was dating Jay, we lived 250 miles apart. Most of our time together was crammed into two weekend days, and a periodic Monday holiday. He worked for his dad during the day, and then worked a graveyard shift at a pasta factory. In addition to becoming a pasta expert, he became a zombie. He didn't sleep enough, didn't eat enough, and didn't get nearly enough face time with his beautiful girlfriend.

Looking back, it's hard to believe I fell in love with him and knew he was who I wanted to spend my life with--the way that he was. He was nothing like he is now. You could say I saw the diamond in the rough. He really was just as wonderful in my eyes then---but after we were married and he got sleep and food on a regular basis, people started commenting on how wonderful and delightful he turned out to be. I like to think it was all me. Because I like to think everything is all me.

But it wasn't. It was more like how I'm an ogre when I'm pregnant and really, I'm a delightful person aside from those 9 months. And the 1 month before and two months after....
J realizes that a regular dosage of chocolate, and a good year will get me back to my normal wonderful self.

Back when I was young and spry and in love, I thought it was the greatest thing to take J to work at 11 pm and be there in the parking lot at 7 am to pick him up. WITH makeup on. He couldn't pay me enough for that kind of service now.

One of those times he jumped in the car smelling like vermicelli and rigatoni, we were recently engaged and he leaned in close to me and said, "what color are your eyes?" I put the car in reverse and replied, "Blue, same as they've been every single time you've ever leaned in to gaze lovingly at them, or kiss me. Why?" He leans back in his chair and says, "Oh, because one of the guys I worked with asked me what color your eyes were when I told him I got engaged, because he says that's how he knows when a man really loves a woman, he knows what color her eyes are. I guessed blue and I was right!"

My heart skipped a beat. So romantic.

Another one of those early morning pasta pick-ups, J wanted to take me to a nearby Waffle House before going home. To this day, I'm not entirely clear on why he liked it, but I know it was something he really wanted to do. I don't feel bad for not knowing because I'm certain if today, someone asked him what color my eyes are, he'd still have to guess his answer.

We went there. I don't remember the food. I think I enjoyed the hashbrowns. I vaguely remember the setting. I remember sitting across from the emaciated, sleep-deprived love of my life and not caring that he ate bacon like a caveman. Boy have things changed.

Fast forward nearly 5 years. I am driving our 3 year old to an "ABC Art" class (which Benja subsequently called his "1234 Learn" class and "ABCD Painting" class) and pass a Waffle House. In my rush to get two kids fed, dressed, clean, and out the door before 9 am, I hadn't eaten. So I was hungry. After dropping off Benja and wrestling Avee back into her carseat because we do NOT leave Benja in a roomful of toys and other kids and expect her to leave willingly, I headed back toward Waffle House.

My heart still fluttered a bit from the memory of sitting across a booth from my true love, watching him lick ketchup from the corners of this mouth and dip toast in runny eggs, and thinking it was all charming. I scooped up my still yelling Avee and headed inside.

There were about 10 other guests there and at least that many employees behind the counter. A girl quickly came and was ready to take my order. She tried to talk to Avee who wasn't interested in conversation as much as she was in trying to stab my ribs with a fork. The waitress asked me how old Avee was. I said 21 months. "Oh man, she's leetle. She's soo leetle, is she okaaay? Why is she so leetle?" You mean, why do I, a 5'11", non-petite woman have such a small child, or do you really think she's so little that something must be wrong? I. don. know. Finally she took my order. I then watched her walk 3 feet away to the grill and prepare our food. While she was doing it, another girl walked by and untied her apron. Our waitress swore at her. Three feet away. About 10 feet away another lady opened up a swinging door and proceeded to yell out the name of every employee that was behind the counter that she could see. Loudly. Repeatedly. NOBODY responded to her. She just went away. Another waitress yelled across the restuarant "AMBER, TABLE 4 NEEDS A COFFEE REFILL!!!" Amber was cooking my hashbrowns, elbow deep in potatos. The yeller was next to the coffee pot, NEXT to table 4, counting her tips.

That same lady later went over the the fridge and retrieved 3 big strips of bacon, slapped them on the grill, started to walk past us and stopped to coo at Avee. She took Avee's face in her hands and then rubbed her hands all over Avee's "adorable red hair". I almost threw up. It's not like Avee hasn't had nastier things in her hair, or even more elaborate food concoctions---but SHE put them there. Not some grown, bacon-fat hands, stranger woman.

Avee dropped her coat on the floor and I almost threw up again. In their defense, I am like 19 or 20 weeks pregnant (yes, I really don't know) so I'm sure "almost throwing up" comes a little more easily but not THAT easily. The floor was disgusting. Almost too disgusting for my $12.99, 3 year old Payless shoes even.

Avee dumped water all over the table and at the same moment our waitress walked by and said in passing, "everything okay?" and kept walking. I actually laughed at that. Why even ask?

Avee's waffle wasn't cooked in the center, fortunately she's a pretty consistent edge-eater so it didn't matter.

It's hard to mess up hashbrowns, so my food was fine.

As I left, I couldn't believe I had eaten there before and RETURNED. I'm totally curious now what J's attraction to the place was. Maybe it had something to do with mine and Avee's meal, with tip, costing $10. It must be. Even though he didn't/doesn't know what color my eyes are, I DO know that boy loves to pinch a penny 'til it squeals.

Last Year and Whatnot

2007-01-04T13:03:00.000-06:00

Some people are sooooooooo whiney....

My friend Millie did a post the other day back, which she got from someone else. It's the first line from your first post of each month in the last year, to summarize your year. After reading her lines, I thought it was just a great idea I'd like to imitate. Then I read my first lines and thought it was a stupid idea because my first lines don't make me sound as interesting as hers.

I'm doing it anyway. And I'm taking some liberties, as did she. I'll use a couple lines or more. Because apparently I have trouble getting to the point.

I didn't start blogging until the end of March. I don't think I knew anything about blogs before February. I had a completely different blog for several months, and having to switch blogs was a really sad experience for me. If that doesn't tell you something about the richness of my life...
So, from both blogs: An*els In My Re*rview and the new, more secrety Dancing Without Rhythm. I would like to take credit for single-handedly improving all friend's, acquaintances and a handful of blog reader's spelling of the word "rhythm". You're welcome.

March---One of Jay's favorite movie lines to quote is from the little neighbor boy in "The Incredibles" when Bob sort of snarls at him gawking in the driveway "Well, what are you waiting for!?" and the boy replies, "I dunno, something amazing I guess!"
My first post about waiting for something amazing to write about. Clearly, I have gotten over THAT insecurity.

April--- So, I got this in an email from my mom: "I tried to 'educate' myself and looked up 'blog' in the dictionary.....not there" and " I didn't know what a 'blog' was......I've read one now, but, could you also clarify where they go, and what it means, etc". You're never too old to get good advice from your mom, right?

May-- Benja sincerely loves the maintenance men.

June--I've been thinking a lot about the aging process. I'm 30. My age has almost become meaningless to me.
An insightful and introspective view on age, I am happy to look back and learn I DID have thoughts beyond "how long does chicken stay good in the refrigerator", etc. However, my favorite line from that post was:
“And although it hasn't been openly discussed, I'm sure that soon both Jay and I will be coup d'état-ed because Avery's just about one inch and a couple of gutteral consonant sounds away from putting us out on our weak, sorry, permissive, non-authoritarian-enough batooties. I can see it in her eyes”
The wisdom in that prediction astounds me.

July-- I think I might have forgotten a little of why I started blogging in the first place.

August--There really should be a law against web-illiterate people trying to pretend they know html. Because what I've been doing for the last 2 hours should be illegal.

September--Leave it to a smelly topic like poop to break my silence.
Now, I hyperlinked this sentence because I had forgotten about the entire post and was FASCINATED by the first few paragraphs. I mean REALLY. Read it. Do the math. I was 7 days past the point of no return.

October--Are there certain phrases or words you use or know, and can remember exactly where you first learned them?

November--It's as though we didn't even celebrate Halloween. Well, we didn't. It takes a lot to get us to celebrate around here, but we DID go trunk-or-treating and trick-or-treating. I had the delightful pleasure of "following" behind a lady who "crashed" the church trunk-or-treat she-bang, let's see if I can get anymore hyphenated words in-here. There. Anyway, she kept saying "Trink-or-treat!" and I laughed every single time. Mature? No, I'm not.

December--So, a couple of months ago it was my friend’s birthday. You all know her as Code Yellow Mom. I met her in a time and a place when the word “mom” belonged to someone else, and blogging was something you did in the bathroom and didn't talk about.

It's a new year! I'm looking forward to what this year brings. I think I'll learn yet again, I don't know everything. Really, I have a lot of evidence to the contrary, but I do seem to be learning that lesson over and over. Baby #1 and Baby #3 are my most vivid examples of that lesson. Both of them came a year early.

Right now, I'm coping with a 21 month old who looks today like she came out the losing end of a bar fight. I'd post a picture so you could see I'm not exaggerating, but I have no camera. She as a 6 day old bruise from a fight with an ottoman and then a cut/bruise on her eye just below it from a race with a closing door, in which she lost. For the first time. I think the 4X's too big dinasour boots she was wearing were a hinderance. She'll do better next time. Those battle injuries combined with staining blue frosting around her mouth, make her a lovely sight.

And the 3 and a half year old is going through some sort of toddler-preschooler puberty that is WAY more than I am equipped to deal with. Psychology and Human Development degree notwithstanding. Simple requests like, "please watch what you're doing when you go to the bathroom, we don't need a trail all over the bathroom" is met with wails of epic proportions and don't EVEN get him started on putting shoes away or wearing a coat before he can go outside.

Anyone who knows some tricks for dealing with the latter, send 'em my way. I'm desperate.

Come As You Are

2006-12-28T18:36:00.000-06:00

Dear Dawn,

I got your message this afternoon. I missed the 30 minute window you gave me to call you back. I am sorry I'm not posting fast enough for your liking. I could give you a handful of excuses like, Christmas Holiday, still sick, boring life, not wanting to document my painfully close dances with insanity each day, and a broken hand. Only one of those is a lie.

On the other hand, each day, little things happen around here that I think are so blog-worthy but then I just don't have the energy to translate them through the keyboard into a way that you would care to know exactly in what manner my 3-year-old goes to the bathroom.

Today I went into three public places with my daughter's hair sticking straight up---all over her entire head. I would show you with a picture but I lost my camera a month ago. I am bereft, as you can imagine. Avee's hair was courtesy of first, a bowl of Cocoa Puffs she tried to wear, and then later, the bowl of Tuna Helper she DID wear. I didn't care.

I also hauled a 4 year old, 3 year old, 2 year old, and Avee to the auto shop to get an oil change. I kept waiting for things to get easier so I could squeeze in a simple oil change. 8 months later I realized that wasn't going to happen and that my car is probably going to blow up or something, so I just hauled the whole brood with me to get it done. Oh, and 5 different people asked me if they were all mine. I alternated telling each different person yes or no. What are they gonna do, follow me home to see if I'm lying? Besides, if they were all mine, it would justify my own appearance of looking like I used Tuna Helper to style my hair.

Ben got the movie Annie for Christmas.
Now when he gets a time out, in which he has to leave the room where everyone is because even being able to LOOK at people is enjoyable for him, he no longer wails nonsensical sounds and sobs loudly. He lays back on his bed and sings at the top of his lungs, "It's a hardware life FOR US!" over and over. I'm grateful for that change, but I fear Annie won't hold a candle to his own rendition.

Christmas was nice and relaxing. I won't tell you that I packed away the tree 15 minutes after the last present was open. I know that would offend every ounce of Christmas spirit that courses through your veins from about July to February. I will tell you that I made homemade cinnamon rolls and only burned half.

My husband got back on an airplane first thing Tuesday morning. I have no problem telling you, because you ASKED for this post, and so I feel no obligation to sugar-coat, as I live by the rule, beggars can't be choosers----I am sick to the very core of his early morning departures, week-long absences, and only short weekend "visits."

I have a cold sore square in the middle of my upper lip. I look like I got in a bad fight with a deep plum lipstick and lost. Badly. I don't care. Because things I CAN control about my appearance, I don't---so why get worked up about the things I can't control? I'd say I have a good attitude, wouldn't you?

Well, this is probably enough, without moving into the things that shouldn't be publicly admitted or documented in any way that can be traced back to me.

Avee has been playing in the sink with the water on the entire time I have been typing this.
Benja just thanked me "for letting him budge". Apparently budge means "you give people stuff" so that really clarifies things for me.

Oh yeah, and S's baby is apparently perfect. But I heard her cry once. She sounds like a 2 year old crying---there ain't much newborn about that little pumpkin. I'm aching to hold her. You know how that goes. She slept for 9 hours straight the night she turned 1 week old. I guess that's what happens when you get fed for 9 hours straight. Mmmmmm, I'd love that life.

Your friend,
Angela

She Did It! She Really, Really Did It!

2006-12-22T07:35:00.000-06:00

S had her baby on December 20th. And what a baby she had!!
Rebekah Elaine, just a mere 9 lbs, 14 oz. Sara says, "It was 14 point something she wasn't even just 14 ounces. Well uh, I think that's what happens when you gestate for an entire year.

A couple of points of interest: All I have ever wanted is a child with cheeks and hair. I don't get the cheeks and have to wait 2 years for the hair. Clearly, my sister hogged all of THOSE genes. Secondly, when I opened the email this morning, I noticed that just before the attached pictures that the new daddy sent it read: Attachments 101 It caught my eye and I just figured that was a program Gmail or he had used to send the pictures. No. In fact, there were, 101 pictures sent. That's just how a new dad should be. Don't you think?

One of the first things Sara said to me when the baby was born was "My baby has cleavage!" Then I saw the pictures.

Here are a few for you:

The proof

Brother and sister, getting acquainted. Big J turned 13 two days before.

What a cute lil' delivery. Must have been some really cool people who sent this!

As you can probably imagine, when I saw this picture, it was very hard for me not to grab the entire monitor and try to eat it whole. This little picture of princess chub chubbiness in all her chub glory---the headband, the chins, the gown, those cheeks of nearly impossible perfection...
I don't know about y'all, but my newborns didn't look at the camera and practically pose when they were 1 day old.

Baby and Book Meme

2006-12-18T20:18:00.000-06:00

S is in the hospital being induced today. YAY! She just got put on pitocin like 2 hours ago.
December 20th, that's what I'm going with. Nothing like a well-ripened, 2nd Christmas baby.

I got tagged a while back by Suzanne who loves roses, to do this cool little meme on reading and books. I don't know if my memory is as good as her memory is, but I'm going to give it a whirl.

1. How old were you when you learned to read and who taught you?
I was 4 years old when I started reading and my mom taught me. She says that one day she was reading to me and I just quietly said, "You don't have to read the words for me anymore, I can do it." Genius, I tell you. I grew up knowing that I had learned to read at 4 and I don't think I had any idea how early that really is, until I had my own kids. I won't even let my kids wipe their own bums until their 4, I can hardly imagine them reading. I do remember getting a cocoa puff (sugary food was nonexistent in my home) for pronouncing "our" correctly and not saying "are" instead. I still do that rull good.

2. What books do you remember owning as a child? I don't remember specific ownership of specific books. I remember reading Curious George. He always made me so anxious, all that trouble he got in to. It makes me laugh to this day because I am the least anxious-type person in the world. But I still remember thinking, "ohhhhhh George, don't do it, it's only gonna spill, don't do it, don't do it!" And he always did it anyway. I still love George. We had a lot of Richard Scarry too. I still don't know how to say that dude's last name. I think we had a lot of those books that had several different stories/fairy tales in them. Oh, I had these "bible story" books that were not actually bible stories but there was something religious about them and they always had a lesson. One of the stories that haunted me until I was at least 23 was one of a little girl named Caroline who was really sweet at school to her teacher, but when she came home she was awful and rotten and screamed at her mom and was disobedient and nothing like she was at school. She of course never wanted anyone to know how different she was, so she always acted like a good girl when she needed to. Well, one day her teacher hid behind a plant or something and when Caroline came home she witnessed firsthand how awful she actually was and was really disappointed. Caroline was horrifed and never threw another fit again. I'm sure my mom either planted that story or bribed an editor somewhere. It really scared me straight. That's why I'm the upstanding, completely straightforward, non-fit-throwing citizen that I am today.

I also read the The Boxcar Children later in elementary school and COULD NOT get enough of those books. I remember prowling around the section of my library, willing a book to appear that I hadn't read yet. I loved those books. Those sweet little Boxcar kids.

3. What is the first book you remember buying with your own money? Basics of Biology, my first year of college. I can't remember ever buying a book. Replacement library cards and overdue fines is where my money went. And strawberry milkshakes from Texas Toms that was right next to the library. Hmmmm, sort of telling, don't you think---TEXAS, I still love STRAWBERRY MILKSHAKES....
Oh yeah, I DO remember buying a book in high school. It was the autobiography of a one Ms. Reb@ McEntire. I tell you what, not only did I want my money back when I was done. I wanted my life back, the two hours I wasted reading it. And, if it ever came up in conversation with her, I'd like the money back for the gas I spent driving to the store to get it. At 17 my life would have been more interesting to write about. Even if I did end sentences in prepositions. At least I end sentences.

4. Were you a re-reader as a child? If so, what did you read the most often? Absolutely not. I tried so hard to be. And still do at times. I can't do it. I have reread a couple of Harry Potter books though. Yeah, that's a source of pride with me. J can read a book 3 times in a row and enjoy it every single time. He'll read a book, give it to me to read, I will put it down to you know, change the world, change a diaper, and when I come back he will be totally engrossed in it again and I'm left bookless. Book thief, he is.
Oh, I think I may have reread Anne of Green Gables.

5. What is the first adult book that captured your interest and how old were you when you read it? Debbie Does Dallas, 18. Oh wait, you don't mean THAT kind of adult book. Hmm, now that's not as easy to remember....
This is actually one I don't think I can remember. I read so much through my youth. I know I was reading more grown-up stuff by jr high, but jr high has literally been blocked from my memory, culottes and bad hair, and books. I used to read these one books in 5th or 6th grade that were these fictional stories about women in different time periods. Like "Elizabeth" from Great Britain in 1735 or "Jessie" out on the wild frontier with the wild cowboy and the gentleman business man vying for her affections. I was always just hoping for one called "Angela" but never found one.

6. Are there any children's books you passed by as a child and learned to love as an adult? Hmm, I'd say a good handful of Dr. Suess. I don't know if I loved them as much then as I do now. And I suspect my mom didn't care for them because I really don't remember seeing them much as a child. That or white sugar. I need to read Little House on the Prairie because I never have and they are so many people's favorite. I also never read Hardy Boys. I just couldn't be bothered. It was titled about boys. How could that be interesting?

TMI, Perhaps

2006-12-18T13:02:00.000-06:00

Some of my best conversations with Benja are when I'm laying with him at naptime, in those moments before he falls asleep. In my first trimester I was always so exhausted that I didn't have the patience for small talk. Now that I have more energy, some of his conversation topics have become highlights of my day.

Just now (and because I was afraid I'd lose it before he fell asleep, I bribed him with 2 m&m's to let me come blog about it right now---bribery, a mother's REAL best friend) he asked again how the baby got in my tummy. I am utterly unprepared on how to answer this question and I've brushed it off 3 or 4 times already, resolving to do some research on how to broach this topic with a 3 year old, but I always forget. And so...

Moi: Heavenly Father put the baby there.
B: Yeah, I know, you told me that already. HOW did he do it?
M: Uhhhhhhhhhh. Uhhhhhhhhhh. (scrambling madly for some answer that's not a lie but OBVIOUSLY not the truth---and pathetically coming up with--) Well, Daddy helped him.
B: Oh. So Daddy and....what's that guy's name again.....oh yeah, Heavenly Father THEY put the baby there?
M: Yeah (silently in head: please let that be enough, please let that be enough....)
B: So, how did they do it?
M: Let's ask Daddy when he gets home.
B: Well when the baby gotted in your tummy, did I get to watch?

Should some conversations with my 3 year old not be blogged about?

Another "conversation" yesterday at church. Ben overheard someone at the pulpit say the word baptize and he asked what it meant. I whispered a brief explanation and how when he turned 8, Daddy would probably baptize him. He responded, "Oh, so you get baptized when you are 8 because 8 year olds don't get water up their nose, but 3 year olds do."
I think that might be exactly right.

Later, I overheard him "reading" the bible. "And then they walked and walked until they found the reverent cave and the Lord of the Rings were baptized and gotted berry happy because no dragons could evoh hurt them. Evoh."

It all makes me so proud, as you can probably imagine.

I'm a Pit Bullist, Among Other Things

2006-12-15T19:51:00.000-06:00

Call me prejudice, call me judgmental, call me a doggist, call me a moronist, but this statement pretty much sums up my perception of the intellect of people who sell pitt bulls to families with small children, and people with small children who have pitt bulls.

"He didn't chew on anything while he was with me. Out of all of them (in the litter), he was the least chewy."

In this case, it was the dog seller, but it could have just as easily been said by the owners.

I seriously want to find like 53 different scenarios in my own life to use that statement. I mean, we all have something in our own lives that are the least chewy of all, right?

Twisted Something

2006-12-14T17:40:00.000-06:00

I know I have only lived on this earth three short decades. And I know that such phrases shouldn't be used until you are at least over 60---but I really do feel confident in saying this with complete certainty.

I have seen it all.

Last night on Leno, which I never watch, the musical performers were Twisted Sister. I don't know if I've ever actually seen them before. I certainly haven't heard the name in a long time. Yeah so, I saw Twisted Sister. Big deal you say?

I'm not done.

They were singing O Come All Ye Faithful. I was writhing in fits of hysterical laughter that I had to keep down because it was past 11 pm and hearty guffaws aren't acceptable that late at night.

Screaming into the microphone while intermittently wagging his tongue at it and dancing with the mic stand like he and it were the last two objects on this earth, he was saying things like, "All Hail! Lord, we greet Thee..." and "Thy name adored..."

I kept staring at the lead singer, he seemed so familiar. Where did I know him from? Why did he seem so familiar? I was sure I had never seen him perform before.

Halfway through the last refrain of his screaming pleas to come let us adore Him, I realized why he seemd so familiar. Mr. Dee Snider and his bizarre ensemble of "clothing" and ~~face~~ eyelids plastered with blue eye shadow was the potential me, and all of my friends, had we not been redeemed by the more somber, overalls, levis, and nuetral colored eye shadow wearing 90's.

And to think that look is coming back.

A Public Apology To Her Father

2006-12-13T21:03:00.000-06:00

There is a proverb of sorts that says, "When the cat's away, the mice shall play." I was always offended by such a suggestion because the phrase was usually directed toward me as the playing mouse. I never!

But I have to confess. I live by that saying almost religiously. My poor husband doesn't know what a cat he is and what a mouse he has on his hands. I really try hard, but what with Wal-Mart so close, and those long lonely nights with him in Boston, me in Texas...

So, my apology is two-fold:

For the $15 I spent that absolutely, postively DID NOT need to be spent.

And for the revelation made tonight in just what we have on our hands with our little Avee. I have never seen a 20 month old child's eyes light up and body tremble with glee at the sight of apparel. I have never seen a teency toddler strut through the shoe aisle, or anywhere, for that matter. I have never seen a child so young, so innocent, stop and pose for passers-by. She actually didn't "stop and pose" she stood in the way of carts and insisted her boots be admired.

I have seen those people on television shows or in movies who are obsessed with shoes and have a zillion pairs and live to shop for shoes. I didn't know those people ACTUALLY existed. And that it could be determined at such an early age. And that I would actually give birth to one of them.

As you can see in the last photo, she discovers the boots are not real leather, and it gets ugly.

Grinners

2006-12-12T12:44:00.000-06:00

Every once in a while I succumb to the pressure that is out there, sometimes stated, sometimes not, that all some of us do is talk about our kids on our blogs. And then I don't want to post for a while. And then I realize that if the day came that might sister or my mother, or those I started blogging for in the first place, said, "Enough kid stories already!" then, well, THEN I'd have reason to stop. Until then...

Last night Benja, getting ready for bed, saw a commercial for The Grinch on TV. He was thrilled to hear that it would be playing tomorrow at 8/7 Central. He asked if he could watch it and I offhandedly replied, "If you are a good boy." He then launched into a 7 minute monologue on all the things that would make him a good boy and how he was going to do all of those things, single-handedly. He then concluded, "And if you say anything I do isn't being a good boy, I just smile like this---and then you'll see I'm being a good boy." This was very telling for me. The smile of which he speaks is a horrible, face distorting, teeth baring, eye squinting, chin jutting thing he does, in the middle of getting scolded. It is unsightly, even for the mother who loves. And entirely ineffective. Now that I know its purpose.

In college one of my roommates dubbed the cheesey, superficial, friendly-to-your-face people "Grinners". We didn't like Grinners. I still don't, to be quite honest. And here, my 3 and a half year old son has become a sort of one. So rather than do effective parenting and praise all of his great ideas for what makes a good boy and encourage more good behavior and guide away from the atrocious grin, gently, lovingly---I launched into a 10 minute lecture on how Grinners are fake and no self-respecting, intelligent girls (particularly the redheads) would be his friend if he did stuff like that. While I'm not sure this life lesson was understood by my not-so-interested audience, I AM certain I have a very effective method for getting the boy to sleep in a very timely manner. Come on home J, I can get the boy to sleep in under one 10 minute lecture.

In my defense, I haven't seen that grin once today. Perhaps Benja fell asleep to the images of smart redheads fawning over him, dancing in his head. Or the Grinch. Yeah, it was the Grinch. The first thing he said this morning when he woke up at 7:40 am was, "Is it 8/7 Central yet mom?"

Like Two Ships Passing In The Night

2006-12-07T19:20:00.000-06:00

Naptime:
Mom: Stop squirming, you are driving me mad!
(squirm, squirm, squirm)
Mom: Stop it!
Benja: You stop it!
Mom: Stop what?
Benja: Breathing.
Mom: If I stop breathing I will die.
Benja: You mean like this? (commences breathing through nose with mouth closed)
Mom: Something like that.
Benja: Well, stop breathing on my face.
Mom: If you don't want me breathing on you, move away, this is a big bed, I'm on the edge and you have all that room.
Benja: I don't want to move away, I want our noses to touch. I just want you to stop breathing on my face.

Later after ignoring me for the 573rd time that hour.

Mom: What did I just say!?
Benja: I don't know.
Mom: Come here, right now! I need you to start listening to me, I am really tired of repeating myself all day long. You have two good ears and a very good brain, you need to use them and listen to what I tell you with your ears, remember what I say with your brain, and then do it. Good ears, good brain, okay!?
Benja: And YOU have a great nose!

Just see how good of a title you can come up with for this

2006-12-07T13:39:00.000-06:00

When thoughts like, "what kind of genuis do you have to be to know how to make a right turn on red?" and "Man, how did THIS chic get a record deal, she sounds like a mating whale" and "if I have to look at one more kid I'm gonna puke" are all that are swimming through my head, I feel it is best to refrain from posting on my blog. It might turn into some sort of hit list for all the annoying people, songs, and other inanimate objects in my life. I don't need to be immortalized like that, right?

I'll be back when my cheery disposition returns. And to the fetcher who stole it, I'm coming for you...

Just so's you don't think I've lost my mind, here are a few things in which I do find happiness:

---Not going into my 10 month of pregnancy like my sister. See, that's not even really nice.
---Chocolate. That is a complete sentence.
---Being in my second trimester and having no more nausea. I love you month 4.
---The way my Mexi-American friend says the word "chubby".
---Hearing Benja call contact lenses "Eye-tacks".
---Avee's dancing. It involves an inordinant amount of the shoulder shrugging motion.
---My husband who makes me feel smart and worthwhile even if my daily vocabulary sometimes doesn't exceed about 50 different words, half of them involving "get your hand out of..." and the citing of various orifices. Or stupid questions I know the answer to like, "why do you have to try and sit on my head every time I sit on this couch?" and I definitely suffer from a brain cell hostage situation. My brain appears to have a "we do not negotiate" approach.
---Friends who pinch hit for me even when I ask them grouchily.
---Memories of good hair days.
---Coupons for free oil changes.
---Return Flights.

I'll be back when the sun comes out ta-maw-oh. Betcho bottom's dolloh.

A Trip Back AND to the Future, All Without a Flux Capacitor

2006-12-03T09:49:00.000-06:00

So, a couple of months ago it was my friend’s birthday. You all know her as Code Yellow Mom. I met her in a time and a place when the word “mom” belonged to someone else, and blogging was something you did in the bathroom and didn't talk about.

Since Code Yellow is one of my dearest friends and since we are both bloggers I posted all about her on that day. In that post I referred to a strange phenomenon in our relationship that we discovered years ago. We do all the same things, within 6-12 months of each other. She’s 10 and a half months older than me, so I guess that would be the FIRST thing she did before me. As Benja would say, “got borned”. But there were many things to follow, after we met my freshman year of college. Here is a brief outline of some of these life events.

August 1992 Code Yellow started her freshman year at Ricks College.

August 1993 (12 months later) I started my freshman year at Ricks College and I met Code Yellow for the first time at the house we shared with six other girls. A friendship was born.
The house was owned by two families, Christman and Hopkins so it was called “C & H”. For a while we coveted the classier or more exciting names like “The Riviera” or “Heritage House”, but then we started calling ourselves the C & H Sugar Babes, and that really just made everything better. See how simple life is when you’re a teenager?

April 1994 (8 months later) Code Yellow and I went our separate ways after one year together at school, crying buckets of tears and sure our paths would never cross again---knowing our lives would never be the same.

October 1994 (6 months later) Code Yellow came to Missouri to visit me. After 6 months of late night phone calls and extensive letter writing (HANDWRITTEN, mind you!) it was a glorious reunion. It was then that I learned a thing or two more about the feistiness of Miss Code Yellow. I watched her firsthand demand retribution for a box of stolen Nilla Wafers from a foraging brother. I am the 8th of 9. I didn't do stuff like that. Traci is the 1st of 7, she did. However, to this day, no one messes with my wafers.

April 1995 (6 months later) I went to DC to visit Code Yellow. By then we were confident we’d be friends forever and parting ways was less dramatic. And she let me call her just Code.

November 1995 Code Yellow left on a mission. She went to the Ukraine and had to learn Russian. I was glad to be in Sunny California when she was suffering through miserable winters in dress suits and blue tights. Ukraine or not, there was no way I’d go on a mission. Ever.

August 1996 (9 months later) I left on a mission.

October 1997 Code Yellow started attending Utah State University.

March 1998 (5 months later) I moved up to Logan and crashed on Code Yellow’s spare bed and coveted her head-start and already firm grasp on mainstreaming into the real world. She had a boyfriend and I still jumped when boys addressed me.

However, my first embrace of the “real” world was on a double date with her and David to see Wedding Singer. The guy she set me up with was madly in love with her, and for some reason, she thought she could pass off a tall redheaded goofball as a nice substitute for her small, dark-haired, classy, well-read, composed self. Yeah, she’s smart and all, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out THAT didn’t go anywhere. I could blame it on Code Yellow, but in fact, I didn’t know we were going to see one of the most hilarious movies ever made in the history of movie-dom and I completely lost control at one scene and was convulsing on the floor amidst the dropped theater candy and spilled soda, because my laughter was more than my body could handle. I’m sure that’s not something most guys want to witness more than once. Except maybe Adam Sandler.

Spring 1999 Code Yellow graduated from USU.

Spring 2000 (12 months later) I graduated from USU. GO AGGIES!!

January 2000 While I was finishing up my senior year at USU, Code Yellow rented her first solo apartment. It was a darling little studio right in downtown Salt Lake City, complete with the bed that folds up into the wall. I came to visit her a few times, always having left my very small , 3 bedroom, 1 bathroom apartment that I shared with 5 other girls, and where we had no less than 5 visitors in our home at any given time. The quiet solitude of Code Yellow’s studio was so foreign to me it made me twitch. I remember saying aloud, “You’re so brave, I can’t believe you want to live alone and that you confident enough to do it.” I wondered about her being lonely. She said she wasn’t and that she really enjoyed having her own space for the first time ever. I couldn’t fathom it. Truly, I couldn’t.

January 2002 (12 months later) After 5 months in a North St. Louis 1 bedroom apartment where I slept on the floor because I was afraid of stray bullets coming in through my window, where on Halloween night I hunkered in the furthest corner closet of my apartment for fear of what might come to my door or through my window, where I was harassed daily by my coworkers to GET OUT NOW, I found a darling little studio apartment in downtown St. Louis.

Despite all the previously mentioned conditions, it was actually an inherited and totally crazy roommate that drove me out of my apartment, long before my lease was up. I LOVED living alone, being the only one filling the sink with dirty dishes, eating fried chicken on my futon like it was my first meal in 24 days with no one watching. I loved not having to deal with other people’s crappy artwork on my bathroom wall or knowing when the phone rang, it was for me. I loved not having to share the computer, the remote, or even the toilet paper. I loved everything about living alone, particularly being alone. A year later, I was just like Code Yellow. (minus the fried chicken part, I'm sure)

May 2001 Code Yellow finally realized David had her at hello and they got married.

February 2002 (9 months later) J finally realized I wasn’t just the hottest ticket in town, I was the bomb diggity. Still am. We got engaged and enlisted Code Yellow’s services to have one of the most amazing, stress-free, beautiful receptions ever experienced.

December 2002 Code Yellow had a baby boy. Pitocin, sans pain meds. Yowza!!! She called me shortly after he was born and I always remember her saying with so much pride, relief, joy “I’ve got a chubby little baby boy!”

May 2003 (5 months later) I had a baby boy. I got an epidural in the parking lot.

July 2004 Code Yellow had another baby boy. She could have sworn she was having a girl, but it was really a boy. And what a boy!

March 2005 (9 months later) I had a baby boy. Well, actually, I THOUGHT I was having a boy, but it was really a girl. When I had my mid-pregnancy ultrasound and they told me it was a girl, I was so convinced they were wrong, "Bu-bu-but! Code Yellow has TWO boys, you must be wrong..." I insisted on a second opinion. A week later, she was still a girl. And BOY what a girl!!

So, between developmental milestones of our babies and career milestones of our husbands and emotional milestones of being friends, Code Yellow and I have enjoyed more than a decade of tag teaming, advice giving and consoling because one or the other of us has pretty recently "been there."

But you should know that all of that may be about to change dramatically. And not just for CYM and myself, either…

We have just concurred on a startling new development that may indicate an impending collision of the space-time continuum and it could have earth-shattering, life-altering consequences for everyone who knows us, even just our cyber buddies. And most likely anyone we have met in real life.

Something BIG, and we mean REALLY big is most certainly about to happen, because CYM and I are breaking the 6-12 months rule that has thus far governed our friendship’s existence. Not since the school year of 1993-94 have we done something like this at the EXACT same time!!!

All we’re saying is maybe you all should get your food storage in order, line out your wills, build your bomb shelters and map out your escape-from-earth routes, because not only are we posting eerily similar posts on the same day, but CYM and I are both having our third babies in six months!

If that doesn’t have you concerned about the state of life as we know it, consider that these two third babies from different moms, born within mere DAYS of each other instead of the requisite six to twelve months apart, will also have birthdays almost exactly THIRTEEN months after TomKat’s baby Suri.

This has been quite a surprise for us, but given the glaring warnings, documented in my very own blog, it's hard for me to remain really surprised.

For Code Yellow, a real big clue is her sudden affinity for garbanzo beans. Now, I like garbanzo beans as much as the next person, but to eat them like candy? Like a sugar-deprived 3-year-old eats candy? I don't know about that.

My drug of choice is a Vlasic Kosher Zesty Dill Pickle, mmmmm, delish!! The other night at dinner I confiscated the Zesty Dills from the clutches of my nephew because, well because there were perfectly good Generic Garlic Dills for him to nosh on. No reason for him to make my life more difficult with another trip to the grocery store for pickles.

I would like to submit into evidence, Exhibit A.

Just don't ever say that we didn't warn you. And beware of anyone who is expecting next spring or summer. They may unwittingly be in on the conspiracy, too.

Fashion sense skips a generation, I'm sure

2006-11-30T23:21:00.000-06:00

In high school I had a friend who wouldn't drive down the main drag in town, without applying lipstick. It was the street that got cruised on the weekends, but she insisted on lipstick any day of the week, any hour of the day. She was funny like that.

My mother, won't leave the house without makeup applied. I remember once as a child she realized she had just answered the door and talked to a friend for 10 minutes at the door, without having put on her makeup first. She was horrified. I doubt her friend even noticed.

When I was 14, I had a church leader who was very involved in helping me set and complete goals to improve myself regularly. I adored this woman and would do anything she asked. She asked me to learn a song on the piano that was a good 2 years more advanced than my skills. I worked hard on it. Everyday I practiced it exclusively, for much longer than my mom could ever get me to practice my regular music. After I had mastered the song---my leader arranged for me to accompany the other youth to sing it for the congregation at church.

If you play a musical instrument, you probably know, accompanying a person, or a group is even harder than just performing alone. For me, being aware of their timing and other cues is very difficult. Most people didn't even know I played the piano, so when I got up that Sunday and did a flawless performance, naturally, I was elated. I was thinking of all the praise and accalades I would get, particularly from my mother whom I was returning to sit next to after performing. With a big head, eagerly anticipating even more puffing up, I sat next to my mom. I shifted a little to be able to catch every word of praise I knew she would whisper in my ear. She leaned over and quietly whispered, "I couldn't see your eyebrows at all when you were up front, I think it's time you start using an eyebrow pencil."

You might think I got a real brow beating---but the truth is, my mom is just consistent. She keeps me humble, and makeup is very important to her.

For some reason, that loyalty to makeup did not rub off on me. I wear makeup. Sometimes. I brush my hair even less. I would tell you a change of clothes is even more infrequent, but that would be TMI and, well, I do have some pride. But if we were being totally honest here...

Perhaps then, you can imagine my surprise to have discovered that I have a little 20 month old with an uncanny awareness of such accessorizing and other types of social cues, if you will. I started noticing a few months back that she always seemed to study my face longer and reach up and touch my face or hair if either of them had been done up. I joked that she didn't recognize me "made up". But as she has gotten a little more verbal, the truth has been revealed. She reaches up to my washed, dried, and styled hair and strokes it and says, "niiiiiiiiice mom-ay". The other day when I had lipstick on she stared inquisitively for quite some time and then offered an accepting, "oh cool!"

She has been obsessed with shoes since I bought her first pair about a year ago. She recently has become very aware of them being in pairs, and while I will frequently just throw two mismatched shoes on her feet to toddle around the house in, she now will have nothing to do with such an assault on her fashion sense.

So naturally, when she wants to go outside, accessories are first and foremost to make her entrance into the public eye acceptable.

Nevermind the mid-drift t-shirt and the size 3-6 month pajama shorts in the 40 degree weather. She has her sunglasses on, and that is enough.

The way I see it though, as long as you still find yogurt a suitable hair product and diapers are a part of every ensemble, fashion or no, my sense is still superior.

And then there was McDonalds

2006-11-29T18:08:00.000-06:00

You know, I'm pretty certain it's common for every mom to think her kid is so funny and cute. I recognize that things I might find totally endearing or hilarious in my child, might not be another mom's cup of tea. And that's okay. But yesterday, at McDonald's play land, it was very hard for me not to think I had the funniest kid there. Benja climbed to the top of the play structure where he was in a big yellow bubble with mesh keeping him from plummeting 15 feet. I was reading a book and not even aware of him, because my children's safety is my #1 priority. Suddenly I hear, as loud as can be, "Daaaaaaaay-oh! Daaaaaaaaaay-oh! Isuh day, isuh day, isuh daaaaaaaaay-oh! Daylight come and nobody knows...." And he was off to chase the cute blonde who called him McDade.

He's just like his mama, I sing random songs all the time without even realizing it. I have to say, I do find it endearing that this trait rubbed off on Benja. Avee will sometimes indulge in some extemporaneous singing. Her songs are more woeful ballads, I think. I'm anxious to hear what they are about as she gets older and more intelligible. As it stands, it sounds a lot like a poor toddler with saggy diapers and unclipped nails, trying to make it in a world of peers with full heads of hair and non-hand-me-down clothes. We'll see.

To be fair, about calling my kid the cutest or funniest, Benja's competition was lacking. A 5 year old boy there happened upon the big orange slide at the same moment Avee came flying down it with shrieks of glee. As she kerplunked onto her bottom, she let out a shrill scream of delight. The FIVE YEAR OLD boy turned and ran wailing to his mother because of Avee's frightening and very intimidating scream. I was sitting near the mom and kept waiting for her to say, "Yo dude, get a grip, that was a baby and she was simply laughing!" but instead she coddled and cooed and worked him through his trauma. I finally had to turn, because wouldn't it be really rude of me if like, you know, something was wrong with him and I was judging him for being a ninny? Nope, being a ninny was all that was wrong. The mother started talking loudly about how some kids just aren't polite and even though they should apologize they won't unless their mommy's tell them to. To be honest, I was floored at first. I mean, did she not see that Avee only has 6 teeth in her mouth and only says important words like "no" and "cool"? She started giving me long glances as though to encourage me to contribute in her helatious crime against our future society.

When I realized she wasn't going to let it go and I'd either have to move my butt AND my quarter pounder or say something, I said, "Did her screaming scare you?" He said no. "Did it hurt your feelings?" He said yes, it hurt his feelings because she was being mean. I said, "How old are you?" He said five. I think his mom may have realized she probably didn't want me talking to him after all, but it was too late, she gave me one sidelong glance too many. "Well, I think then that since you are a big boy, five years old is pretty big, that you can understand that she is a baby, she's only 1, and that she certainly wasn't trying to make you feel bad. This is a playground and you're going to see lots of kids doing lots of different things here. A one year old screaming isn't really a big deal, and if you let it bother you, you're probably not going to have any time to just play. Believe me, she screams a lot." I didn't say, "And in the real world, you haven't experienced fear until you've been on the receiving end of Avee trying to make you feel bad." I felt a little bit rude, and really, I'm not a rude person---but I almost felt a civic duty to give back that boy at least a month of the 3 and a half years that had clearly been squelched from his life. His mother pulled him to her, clearly to warm fuzzy away all the horrible things I said, but he pushed back, stood up and ran back to the play structure.

She moved away from me. I didn't have to transport my big mac after all. Later another mom came over and quietly said, "I think that was brave and absolutely necessary" so I didn't feel so bad or that I was the only one thinking there was a problem.

Nobody has ever called me brave before.

I don't think it's ever wise to "parent" another child, especially when the parent is right there. But, make my precious cub into a villain, a mama bear will do what she has to.

They used to call me Fatlip

2006-11-28T12:51:00.000-06:00

Today at story time there was a young girl, probably four, who only had one arm. We happened to be sitting right next to her and her mother. She only had about 5 inches from the shoulder on the "missing" arm. I'm 31; I've seen plenty of this in my day. But today, I saw it through my children's eyes and I braced myself for one of Benja's loud and inappropriate questions or one of Avee's loud and obviously sympathetic "ooohhhhhhhhh babies" that comes when she sees something she thinks is an owie. I wished so badly that I knew the "right" thing to say. I distracted Avee as she repeatedly tried to reach for the girl's sleeve and look up it to find the missing arm. Benja never noticed, and I was relieved.

As is pretty much the case with most things in parenting, I'm at a loss for the best approach. I'd like to teach my kids about other children they will encounter who will be different. I'd like to teach them appropriate responses and behaviors. Adults just look the other way or ignore---and kids won't do that.

When I was a newborn, I developed a "fat lip". Quotations because that's what we called it, not because it wasn't really fat. It was huge. It was purplish and for quite some time, the only thing people saw when they looked at me. (Oh, that and the RED HAIR) I grew up being gawked at, made fun of, and questioned all the time. I learned to cope with it. Sometimes it was really hard and other times, it was sort of fun to stand up for myself or be an expert on face deformities. When I was very young my older siblings taught me to say, "I'd rather have a fat lip than a fat head!" when rude people called me Fatlip. I can remember being appalled (if 5 year old children can feel appalled) by adults who would gawk, point, whisper, and sometimes even say, "Did you know you have a fat lip?" SERIOUSLY PEOPLE!!!! To this day, those kinds of reactions from adults, shock me. It may have been more reflective of where I grew up than anything else though.

I grew up. My lip grew down. My parents used this lip as a tool for the forming of my character. I prayed every night, "please bless my lip". I learned to pray for what was best, not for what I wanted. I wanted it zapped, but I rarely prayed for that. I can still remember the night when I went to pray for my lip and realized, my prayer had been answered. I was about 18. It had been unnoticeable for at least 4 years at that point. I still have a bump. I see it when I look in the mirror. No one else does.

There were some people who approached me about it, that I had no problem talking to. They were kind, naturally curious, and non-judgmental. Even kids can perceive that stuff. There were others who just wanted to ask first so they could tell other people. I always knew the difference.

I was thinking about this today, after we saw the girl with only one arm. She knows she's different. She's felt the stares. Maybe she's cried that she can't do some things others can. She probably has already learned to zone out the nosey people around her. But she's also a child who probably likes to talk, and maybe her parents have been able to help her be proud of her differences. If I were her mother, what would I want her experiences around other children to be? Would I want it ignored? Would I want it acknowledged and for her to have a chance to express herself? I don't know. I can't remember what I wanted as a child with a "deformity." I just remember learning to deal with whatever came my way. I always knew when people said nothing, that they really wanted to. And then others who immediately asked about it were rude. But what is the happy medium?

I'd like to know if anyone has any firsthand experience or even passed on wisdom for dealing with situations like today. I know that probably, some awkward conversations will have to happen---but just as a mom who's winging it most of the time, I'd also like be somewhat prepared.

And tomorrow I'm going to tell you about a little boy we encountered whose mother was debilitating him far more than being born with one arm could. You don't want to miss part 2, At McDonald's Playland.

The one where you prove yourself by reading

2006-11-27T10:55:00.000-06:00

Well, I'm back in my routine where I have lots of fodder for blogging (or so I think) and no time to really do it. I mean, I have time, but that would require giving up some slothing around on the couch and fewer snacks and interrupting very important yelling-at-my-kids time. I do have priorities.

Just now I was happily redeeming an Amaz0n gift certificate and Benja caught me perusing the toy section. He immediately jumped on my lap and asked to join me in this most pleasurable of activities---coveting and drooling. He does it quite well. Where I say, "holy moly, who'd pay $64.99 for that piece of hud toy" he presses his yogurt-cereal-lego-germed finger to the screen and adds an emphatic "I NEEEED that!" to his list of must haves. I realized he didn't have any credibility when he pointed to a laptop adapter as a must have for his train set. But only then.

However, in the middle of this, he turned his face up to mine and said, "Yo so nice mom!" See now, learning that kind of stuff at 3 is deadly for the mom. I would have swooned if I hadn't been sitting. Little does he know, I left the site with only 2 things in my cart. Short term memory, don't fail me now.

I just have random tidbits of stories, conversations that I'd like to write about.

My brother and his wife had a little container with Mexican Jumping Beans in them. I've never seen them before---didn't even really know they were real. I was sitting on the couch reading and kept hearing a strange pop-pop sound. When I asked what I was hearing, my brother informed me of what they were. He and J were in the kitchen making rootbeer. Yeah, he's that cool, he makes rootbeer at home. Anyway, I picked up the little container and was intrigued. "What makes them jump?" I ask. He tells me there are little worms inside. Little Mexican worms, I assume, because I've seen American ones, and they barely move, let alone jump. So, as I'm looking at these beans I start to think, "Yikes, that's my own personal hell, being trapped inside something and not able to get out---do people put them in there for kicks or are they naturally in there and this is their lot in life?" Those thoughts aren't so bad for an intelligent woman, are they? But what I SAID was, "Are they happy in there?" As the words escaped my mouth I slunk down further on the couch and immediately regretted uttering those words. J said nothing. There really isn't much you can say when for 4 and a half years you've been married to a woman you were SURE would never utter such inanity. But then again, that's me, keeping the surprise alive in our marriage. However, my brother, not so quiet, not so surprised, says, "That's a woman question if I've ever heard one." Sadly, I made that stereotype indisputable.

At the airport on the way home, at 12:30 am, a man accidentally went the wrong way down the expansive and so clearly marked "secure" area of Dallas Love. Sirens, alarms, and a loud blaring voice immediately let the entire Northern Texas area know of this mistake. J loudly observed, "Making air travel safe for the world" or something similarly sarcastic (we had just witnessed a 10 year old girl getting "stripped" of her lip gloss an hour before---I can't tell you how much security that brought to me as I boarded the plane ahead of her). Several people behind us chuckled and Benja noticed. "Why did you say that daddy!?" He asked several times, but Daddy was too focused on getting from point A to point B so I answered, "He was just being funny Benja." After a few seconds to take that in, Benja said loudly, "Why does dad always be funny at that man, but he never bees funny to us at home?" Then I laughed loudly. In some ways, the airing of our dirty laundry from the mouth of a three year old, terrifies me. But when J gets to be the brunt of it, I thoroughly enjoy it. For the record, J is quite funny. Just not generally to a 3-year-old audience. I, on the other hand, appeal to the masses.

We had a 3 hour layover in Kansas City and both my parents and J's parents (and brother) and my very pregnant sister and her husband came up to spend it with us. J's and my mom had a full on buffet of leftover Thanksgiving fixings. It was really quite darling and a nice reprieve from dry roasted peanuts. The kids had a great time being fawned over and followed around the airport by someone who thought it was cute when they ran around and touched every blessed thing in the aiport. Benja plunked himself on my dad's lap and said, "Aw you my grampa Fmiff?" My dad didn't hear him, but that's why their relationship works. Benja just went on, "I know you aw, because you have a biwd." Grampa Smith harumphed because I think he was aware the boy was making noice, but he doesn't understand that mumbling. I've been a mumbler since I was 14. Or around the time his hearing started to go.

Anyway, the next morning, Benja was trying out his newly acquired family tree labeling skills.
"J, yo dad is my grandpa. Yo mom is my grandma. Mom, yo grandma is my grandma."
"But what about my dad, isn't he your grandpa?" I ask.
"No, yo dad is dead," He says matter of factly.
"What?! Are you kidding, you sat on his lap yesterday! He has a beard!"
"Yes, I know," he says with an exaggerated sadness, "But now he's dead."

Speaking of dead parents, this is a little bit---uh----I really don't know the word...you can decide after I tell you the story.

Last night, the cousins returned from their trip to visit family. This morning, the six year old noted, "Mom, there are a lot more Browns than there are Smiths" (some names are changed to protect the innocent). It's true, there are five kids in her family and nine in the Smith family. She agreed, but he wanted to expound on his findings. He continued, "Well, if you count your dead mother..." I really don't know what he said after that, I burst out laughing. I really have been laughing all morning. He of course doesn't know people don't say things like that. And, he was sweetly trying to up the numbers for the Brown family.

Speaking of names, No Cool Story googled my name before we met and found my wedding announcement that was posted in our parent's local paper. I just want to say, that I have googled my name 27 different ways and have found NOTHING. I think No Cool should be a detective. Only, don't do anymore research on me---that announcement will be the nicest thing you'll find.

Okay, that's enough random free association typing for one post.

There should be extra credit for posting on vacation

2006-11-22T16:07:00.000-06:00

Now is the time for all good women to get off their hind ends, take a shower, and blog about the absolutely blissful vacation she has been on. Well, at least time for me. I have been having an absolutely heavenly time here in rainy Washington. We're hanging out with my brother and his wife and their son.

I discovered a vital bit of truth to vacationing properly, while here. I went two days without showering and read an entire book in that time. I've taken 3 naps, combed my hair once, and eaten insane amounts of delicious food which I have not prepared. The trick is---visit your BROTHER for this kind of vacation. First of all, a sister would never let two days of you not showering go by without saying something. Or lots of somethings. But see, my brother doesn't notice, and my SIL isn't rude enough. That's the trick. The one who would call you on your disgusting vacation habits, is oblivious. And the one who could isn't quite comfortable enough to tell you that you smell and that the unkempt hair and one outfit per three days look isn't becoming. Even on you.

What I need to report on is my time down south. We flew into Portland and stayed at a hotel for two nights. Benja had a blast staying at a hotel. He has a real hard time with the concept of leaving, and someone else renting our room when we leave. He mourned our hotel room in Branson for a good two weeks, when my friend made the mistake of telling him we had to leave so someone else could stay there. You never know what angle is best with a 3 year old, but I guess it's safe to say, sharing of anything, even hotel rooms, isn't the right one.

I got to meet Millie and No Cool Story on Friday night. It was the best night EVER. Okay, my wedding night was a little more fun, but there was a lot more laughing with them (thankfully) and significantly more food spillage. Particularly on my part, I'm not ashamed to say.

They surprised me at the hotel. I live for surprises but I'm always suspicious and constantly scheming of potential surprises (won't it be so cool if J doen't really have to go to New Hampshire and he's actually at the car dealership buying me a Lexus SUV and having it custom painted the color of my eyes and he's going to show up here right after Oprah with some Pho and a bouquet of flowers and a big red bow wrapped around the Lexus....) so I'm rarely fully surprised. (Sorry all you past surprisers---I'm a good actress). I was genuinely surprised.

Here's why. I walked into the hotel, and off to the side, just before the check-in counter is a little library (aka--blogger's fix-room). I SAW little Miss No Cool sitting demurely in a chair reading a magazine or newspaper. Honest to goodness, we made eye contact and neither of us thought we were who we were. I thought she was an exoctic looking French woman (I don't know why French, but I swear, I thought it) and that she seemed to just glance briefly at my hair and delve back into the scintillating issue of "Hotels R Us" that she was reading. I was alone as J unloaded the kids and luggage, so there were no tell-tale signs of who I was. Then, J walked in, Millie (who was out of sight, blogging) heard me say something whiney like, "Jaaaaaaaaaaay, don't put my suitcase on the bottom, you're smashing my makeup, Jaaaaaaaaay..." and Millie came flying around the corner with these great bright eyes and big smile. It took me a millie-second, but I recognized her. She is a bundle of energy, fo' sho. It was so cool to be surprised by them. And they berated me for claiming to be a redhead when I'm not. My entire life I had to deal with all that "what lovely red hair" crap and dumb questions like, "Now where did you get that pretty red hair..." and wonder why they heck people didn't know my hair came from the same place their hair came from. Or didn't come from. So, I endure such misery as a child, become an adult and FINALLY appreciate having something that's just a little different and something people pay good money to imitate and I don't have it anymore. Thppppppp. Dark haired girls are soooooo picky.

Here's what I have to say about those girls. And yes, they ARE both girls. This can never be a given in the anonymous blogging world.

Millie is bright and engaging and talks just like she does on her blog. She's the real deal. She's also one of those people who does a complete disservice to the new-mom world. She makes the mothering of 5 children seem effortless and enjoyable. I'm not saying being a mom isn't enjoyable, but to really make it LOOK enjoyable? That's amazing. I'm sure it helps that she has this hotty husband who is very hands-on (with the kids) and I personally observed him manage 3 kids that were in 5 different areas playing at any given time. There really aren't many men like that in the world. Millie has a nice voice. I'm just trying to paint a picture you won't get from her blog. I usually don't talk about people's voices. When you hear her talk, you want to be her friend. She also can go from one topic to 5 others in a matter of seconds, seamlessly, and keep you fascinated all the while. I'm working on sleep deprivation, time change, and depleted brain cells, so that's a lot of why there was food coming out of my mouth at dinner. She's fascinating and funny. I hope that when I have five kids and have been married as long as her, I will have as pleasant a disposition and as good of a relationship with my spouse as she does. I'm pleasant and adore my spouse, but we're less than half way there...

No Cool Story is a big fat liar. Everything about her is cool. She is kind and I felt immediately comfortable and liked by her. She laughed at my jokes, but not all of them. That means she is discerning. And, sometimes she laughed when I wasn't trying to be funny, and that made her feel like an old friend. She is quiet. But the kind of quiet where, if you label her as such, and only such, you are SO missing out. She says HILARIOUS things. Quietly. I love that kind of humor. And for some really weird reason, I kept hitting her. I don't. know. why. But you know what, she was still nice to me. She'd just say quietly, but emphatically, "Why are you hitting me?" And I'd stare dumbly at her and say, "I don't know." No Cool's comments on my posts about my children always make me feel good. Like, I'm not the only person in the world who thinks what they say is just the cutest thing ever. And she's the same way in real life. She'd hear Benja say things I didn't hear. And really, what's cuter than a lil' Mexi-American quoting a 3 year old who can't say his R's? Not much. I was going to offer to sell No Cool's first name for $538,000, but she upped the ante by giving me her last name and telling me to try and get some more.
Any takers? I have loved No Cool's blog since the first time I read it. She frequently puts movie or tv quotes at the top of a post, which I think is hilarious, and takes a lot of talent. You can't imagine my delight to have MY NAME--MY.OWN.NAME incorporated into one of those quotes. Yeah, I have arrived folks. I have shamelessly linked to Millie and No Cool's posts about meeting me.

Meeting them was such a highlight. I feel like I've known them forever, and I'm glad to finally put faces, names, and real life memories with everything else.

Oh yeah, one more thing I really liked about these two---they are good friends to each other. They get each other. They are quite different from each other, but they work off of each other like they're identical twins. It's really fascinating to watch. No Cool follows the rapid succession of topics that Millie can fire off (the very ones that make me spittle) and Millie hears every little quiet, subtle, and hilarious thing that No Cool says. They're a great pair.

Okay, I've neglected my vacationing duties for far too long. In my defense, I have been multi-tasking. Whilst typing, I have been safeguarding Benja's tennis shoe, full of mah-bows. Or marbles, for you beginners. The duties of motherhood never cease to amuse me.

No Cool and Millie, I'll be back. I promise not to hit or spit.
Much.

Happy Thanksgiving Y'all!

Funny

2006-11-15T18:32:00.000-06:00

As a child, in my home, being funny was the prize to be won. Being the funniest was the ultimate goal. There are some VERY funny people in my family. It wasn't until I was in my early 20's that I realized we got every ounce of our "Smith Humor" from my mother. My dad can't even tell a scripted joke to save his soul. And sometimes he'll try a pun and laugh and laugh before he can say it and when he does, you wish desperately that you could have gone the rest of your life never hearing it, it's so bad. One of the funniest things my brothers have done, is imitate my father telling a joke. Now, THAT'S funny. My mom was my mom. She wasn't funny. She was the one who told us to get to bed, do our homework, take out the trash, not go out of the house in dirty underwear, no one likes an know-it-all, etc. It wasn't in her job description to be funny. So, I never noticed.

Well, a couple of days ago my friend Epsi sent me an email that made me laugh heartily. Of course, I immediately forwarded it to a dozen more people, as though I were the creative genius behind it.

The email read: ATTENTION: ALIENS ARE COMING TO ABDUCT ALL THE GOOD LOOKING AND SEXY PEOPLE. YOU WILL BE SAFE; I'M JUST EMAILING TO SAY GOODBYE.

The responses I have gotten have all made me laugh. My sister simply wrote, "I beg to differ" and added three pictures of herself, which had obviously JUST been taken outside her house with the digital camera. She's posing sexily in front of a tree, accessorizing with a scarf. They were funny, but they were TWICE as funny because she is VERY pregnant and clearly having trouble with the more seductive leg bend and back tilts. But that certainly didn't stop her from trying.

Other responses I got:

Thank you for the warning. I will greatly miss your good looking and sexy self.

Not only are you dang good looking....but humble!

AAAAHHHHH!...oh wait, only the sexy people? yep, I'm safe.

Is this before or after your Oregon trip? Thank you for thinking of me, you will be missed. Good luck, I hear the anal probes are a beast.

And then my mother. She's 71. Shouldn't she have a diminished capacity by now? Of any kind? I mean, she can still peel and chop a carrot faster than I can do the same with a cuisanart. She can whip through 17 loads of laundry in one day and make it look like she barely handwashed some delicates and hung them to dry. She can find anything you need at any time for any purpose. Usually in her purse or tied to a string in her kitchen. She can make a pair of SAS shoes, hot pink pants, hot pink turtle neck with purple cardigan, and 3 chained eyeglasses around her neck look way cuter than I could ever try to be in my finest clothes and accessories. *Sigh* Above all, she's still the cleverest of them all.

Her response to my email:
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: THIS E-MAIL WAS UNDELIVERABLE. THE RECEIPIENT IS EVIDENTLY NO LONGER ON THIS PLANET. SORRY (YOU'RE LATE----ABDUCTIONS ARE OVER)

I made the mistake of telling my mom on the phone, "Your response took the cake mom." She gloated aloud and then bragged to my sister who was sitting nearby. I heard my sister swear and I knew my mom was in gloaters gloating heaven because she didn't even tsk at her.
But I will. S, watch your mouth. At least you have potential for when you're 71.

One of THOSE days

2006-11-14T17:40:00.000-06:00

It really has been a quiet, peaceful kind of day for me. Only, I woke up 30 minutes before I had to be at a dentist appointment for Benja, that is 15 minutes away. No stress, I'm a mom, I can work miracles. Only, Avee had a vicious bought of diarrhea during breakfast, and whilst spooning in Honey Nut Spooners, thought she'd check out with her free hand, what she'd just done in her diaper. I won't gross you with the details but I DID say this, "Where did you get that peanut butter sweetie, num, num, trying a new topping for your cereal?" Fortunately she is an opinionated girl, wasn't interested and yelled until I got a clue.

I even went CLOTHES shopping with two little kids. That was actually a highlight of the day. Only, I just tried some things on Avee, and I'd like to send out this message:

To The Inconsiderate Woman Who Thinks She Has The Only Daughter With a Long Torso And Short Legs: Thank you so much for switching out the 12 month pants with the 18 month pants in the darling sage outfit at Kohl's. There's nothing wrong with you for THINKING of doing something like that, we all want to at some point in our shopping careers. But you are rude and egocentric for actually DOING it. This is a terrible violation of etiquette and common sense. I hope your daughter and you both spend many unhappy days in overly-large, sagging pants and high-riding crotch pinching onsie tops. Okay, I don't wish that on your daughter, but I hope she grows up with better manners than you. Now I have to go back to Kohl's and I HATE MAKING TWO TRIPS.
That is all.

While I was seething about this 2nd trip back that I have to take, I managed to lose a breast. Albeit, a chicken one, I still lost it. I do hope I find it before it grows too late and we discover a strange new breed of breast spawn under our couch.

While I was taking my mind off the lost chicken and making rice, I managed to tear a 20 pound bag of Kohula Rose rice and spill at least 8 and a half pounds of it on me as I was putting it back on the top shelf of my pantry. I am sure I will be finding rice grains in unsightly places for at least a week.

I'm moving to Australia.

Conversations around here

2006-11-13T13:39:00.000-06:00

Benja: I like the po-poh one!
Friend: I like it too. Say purple.
Benja: Po-poh!
Friend: Perrr-puuuuuul
Benja: Pooooooo-Poh!
Friend: Say, perp.
Benja: Pope
Friend: Hmm. Say, "LLLL!"
Benja: Ohhhhhh!
Friend: Oh never mind, let's just use lellow.

"Fweet! I'm ready for bed, so let's watch Nacho Libre and have some ice cream!"

My first indication that I've been allowing a much too loose interpretation of what bedtime means around here.

4 a.m.
Loud "whisper" from Benja: Mom give me yo awm!
Mom: ughnfntbrmb!
Benja: Mom!
Mom: Wha...?
Benja: Lemme see your watch, I need to know if it's time that I could get up.
Mom: ughnfntbrmb...
Benja: What!?
Mom: There's a clock on the nightstand, look at that one.
Benja: But I don't know how to tell time.

Friend: Oh, I've seen this movie, I loved it. I saw it at the movie bather.
Benja: The movie what!?
Friend: The movie bather.
Benja: Movie Feeeeeeeee-ay-toooooh

The Time When She Toured With P Diddy

2006-11-10T08:21:00.000-06:00

This is Avee imitating me, trying to imitate a rapper's pose.

Yo I'm Avee B and here's my rhyme
one of the things I like to do
Is ride my big wheel all the time

Come to my crib, we'll party all day
With Elmo and Barney and even playdough
But don't be a fool yo--you'll do what I say

Let's kick it---Everywhere I go, I like to run
Even in pajamas through the neighbors yard
Wearing my brother's shoes is so much fun

Break it down--today by myself I got out of my bed
Mom took too long so I climbed out myself
And staggered to the kitchen like a hungover coed.

If you think this rhyme bites-yo
Talk to my manager cuz she's the one who thinks she's clever
I was just eating my cheerios.

For "S"

2006-11-09T11:30:00.000-06:00

Okay, so my sister "S" is having a baby in like, less than 3 weeks. She uses this current gravid condition as a sort of weapon. The other night I got a message on my machine, "All right, if you don't call me back I'm coming down there and having my baby on your bathroom floor....the back bathroom, it's a lot more spacious."

Just a few weeks ago, my brother who drives a BRIGHT PURPLE VAN happened to be at a restuarant she and some classmates had gone to for their lunch break. S is the kind of girl who notices when an 18 inch shrub is missing from a lawn on a street she's driven down once in her life. So, when she walked right past my brother's purple van, without even acknowledging it, he was understandably perplexed. She bee-lined for her plate of salad and at the cashier, was told that her meal had been paid for. She had to take her direct gaze off the glistening garbanzos and pickled beets long enough to give the cashier an incredulous look and ask, "What!?" while she was actually thinking, "Who in the heck is picking up on an 8 month pregnant, ravenous, girl who can't take her eyes off the food and is wearing nurse's scrubs?" I have to say, when she told me the story over the phone, I was thinking the same. My thought was, "man there are some weird freaks out there..." nice that I thought that about someone doing something kind for my sister. Well, it turns out it was my brother, he's just that kind of person, and well, he was having a whale of a time watching S be oblivious to the world, enamored with her plate of salad.

The thing is, I get it, when I was pregnant with Benja, I had the same condition. I'm not the kind of girl who has much experience with the feeling of hunger. I tend to dance on the OTHER side of that spectrum. But, I also can go without eating without losing my mind. Except when I'm pregnant. This aspect of pregnancy caught me completely off guard and it was made known to all when I bit into the wrist of a much too slow waiter. J got to the point where he'd say, as we were walking to our table, "Please bring us some crackers immediately." So, S's tunnel vision after a full morning of clinicals, is completely understandable to me. But I'm sure from my brother's vantage point, it was very amusing.

But that's not really what I want to write about. However, I do suddenly feel like I could get some retaliation in from my youth...
One time I slipped and fell off of our deck when I was about 15 or 16 years old. It was the same day as the Christmas party at church. I really hurt my back and was in a lot of pain. I had to hold it very stiffly and walked in something quite unbecoming for a teenager in her prime. My sister slipped into the church before any of the rest of us and quickly told all my friends that I was really constipated and having a hard time with it and pretty embarrassed, so to try not to bring it up. A few minutes later, I come in, slowly, shuffling one foot trepidaciously in front of the other and the entire table of youth erupted in laughter. Clearly they were concerned with my feelings.

But I'm not going to bring that up. What I do want to talk about is motherhood. S has one child. He will be 13 in a few weeks. He brushes his own teeth, doesn't wear diapers, dresses himself, can even make himself a meal. She has clearly been out of the infant-toddler-why-why-why trenches MUCH too long to go into it without some help.

S is a natural with babies and children. When Benja was a newborn and did that thing, where they cry for no reason, and you don't know what to do, and you think you are going to lose your mind---she would take him from me, all hours of the day or night, and soothe him to being a calm pleasant little yoda-man again. So, I'm not worried about those kinds of things. But, I just feel compelled, as her sister and friend, to give some unsolicitated advice. Because that's what I live for. I'm going to give her a few suggestions, and then I'd like any contributions you can come up with as well.

1. One night you will be snuggling with your precious gem resting peacefully under your chin, fitting the entire length of her body on just a portion of your torso. Then, like two days later she will be rolling all over you trying to find the perfect spot to settle down her 22 month old body for a nap, and naturally, across your face is most comfortable. She'll say a few words and have one word to a favorite song she'll say over and over to try and get you to sing it to her for the 532nd time. Then, in maybe a week or two later, she'll be 3 and a half and whispering loudly, "what shall we talk about today mom? I tell you what, if you tell me the three little pigs story, I'll tell you the three little bears story---would you like that?" And you'll look over and still see the little yoda-baby who snuggled and didn't roll and didn't try to bargain when he should be sleeping. And the words coming out of the mouth will shock you. Over and over. Just brace yourself.

2. Your baby will poop more than you ever remember a baby pooping. And blow-out won't refer to tires or pre-teen angst anymore. And the word will make you stop cold and brace yourself and hope that whoever used the word, has forgotten what that means in the newborn world.

3. Everyone has an opinion and a story and they're inevitably better than yours. Mine for starters.

4. There are few things more tender than seeing your husband with your child. A bright man, accomplished in many ways, completely turning soft over newborn fists waving uncontrollably in the air, or thinking there must be some angle of the baby that hasn't been photographed yet.

5. Saying, "I grew up so I can be the boss of you" never loses appeal.

6. Dora, educational, annoying, addictive. Calliou, entertaining, great pointers for good parenting if you ever get desperate. A little nonsensical because he's 4 and bald and Rosie's a baby with a full head of hair. At least in my family, there's a consistent pattern of baldness until age 2. Sesame Street, never gets old. Teletubbies, a non-anesthesized lobotomy would be more pleasant. And you'd still come out knowing more than those d@*# tubs. Between the Lions--clever. Blue's Clues. Blue is sort of lame. Steve is awesome, but totally being phased out. Joe's okay, it's just hard to fill Steve's shoes. And well, some of us just can't get past him looking like a turtle-necked Fred Savage.

7. You work for HER. The sooner you come to terms with that, the better off you'll be.

8. Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child should rest next to your bible. You will get a testimony of it if you use it.

9. You really do know best, even when you don't feel like you do.

10. Grandma's are priceless. Well, at least this baby's---I sure couldn't afford her!

11. You will hate buying diapers every time you have to.

12. I will tell you if you suffer from UBS*.

13. Shopping when you have a girl is a disease. You will need help to curb it, so save yourself some finance charges and get it.

14. Everything bratty and naughty you did when you were a girl WILL come back to haunt you just like mom said it would. If it didn't with your son, it will tenfold with your daughter. I'm only 19 months into mothering a daughter and I've seen a good 6 years worth of my sins pass before me...

15. David is way better with babies than he will let you think he is.

16. Texas soothes cholic like a charm. I've heard...

17. I can't believe I almost forgot. Prepare to never pee alone again. Well, at least for several years. Prepare for your bodily functions to be perfectly suitable conversation for any time, anywhere. Prepare for thought provoking questions like, "how does poop come out of you" and other things you just didn't think you had to know or be able to articulate as a mother. Prepare to be depantsed, de-shirted, and mauled, regularly.

Okay, maybe I better stop and get my own recovered cholic to bed before I see 6 more years worth of sins in one afternoon.

*UBS--Ugly Baby Syndrome. Don't call me rude, we all know ugly babies exist. None of ours of course...but there was even a Seinfeld episode about it, and we all know that lends all sorts of credibility to a subject. The syndrome comes from, well, the mom and dad not knowing they have an ugly baby. It's okay, most kids grow out of it. Most.

Wednesday Morning Is All

2006-11-08T09:50:00.000-06:00

Well, I'm exhausted this morning. I was up all night, I just couldn't get the demise of the Spears-Federline marriage out of my head. In all honesty, I don't know how to process this, it's just devestated our home.
Okay, if I'm going to be rude like that, then I'll make a tiny little confession. I like Britney. I don't like her music, or even the image she has put out there for all the little pre-teen girls to emulate--or in some cases, the 5 year old neighbor girl to dress like on Halloween. Here's what a like. She's clearly a fighter. And, well, all the slack she's gotten as a parent---I can't help but notice, she's always HOLDING HER OWN CHILD. She almost drops him, because she's holding him. I fell once. No body guard to catch me, no paparazzi to cause it, holding my 21 month old, 9 months pregnant. Did you all see it on the cover of the tabloids? My children have fallen off of things no reasonable parent would let them be on. Her son falls out of a high chair and CPS is called and it's national news. Anyone who can deal with that crap and keep her head up, impresses me. Mostly I'm just impressed that she is her children's mom. I mean, the girl could afford someone to carry HER around for crying out loud.

Other news in photos:

Avee getting out of bed....

Actually, this is more like what her mom or
dad look like. She wakes up cheerful EVERY
morning and greets whoever retrieves her
with a very exuberant, "Hiiiiiiii!" and the best
morning hug ever. Of course, that is only after
a long monologue of how her night in the crib
went and what exactly is on the blankets in
her crib and how she feels about each.

And this morning I tried something new.
This is what Avee had for breakfast...

Not so unusual for her.

This is the cuteness I could just gobble up all day.

The girl barely has enough hair to
warrant a comb, let alone pigtails.
But I have waited about 29 years for
this day, and I'll be darned if I have
to wait another second.

And that's exactly what I told her
when she was yelling at me to stop
pulling on the few precious strands
of hair she has on her head.

And finally:
Dad gets mad and the kids get scolded when he sees this.

But the mom and the aunt just take pictures.

Here's hoping dad doesn't see this post...

Pop Culture Meme

2006-11-06T13:48:00.000-06:00

I've been working on this meme for a while. I got it from Millie I've concluded that I'm pop culturally illiterate and my embarrassing confessions are here for the world to see.

FAVORITE SONG INTRO: Probably anything Meatloaf. They are either catchy sounding and get me hyped, or they are completely, inexcusably ridiculous and I get a good laugh. Hot Summer's Night is one of the latter. Oh yeah, and most ABBA songs too.

FAVORITE MOVIE QUOTE: I could never choose one. Ones that come readily to mind, "Gopher, Everett?" "Damn, we're in a tight spot!" "Well, ain't this place a geographical oddity, 2 weeks from everywhere!" "It is a fool who looks for logic in the chambers of the human heart" All of those are from O Brother, Where Art Thou. A perfectly quotable movie. Wedding Singer, Steele Magnolias, and Napoleon Dynamite are the other most quotables in my book. "They were co-o-o-o-nes!" "My parents died when I was 12, would you like to bring that up too? No, why would I do that? I don't know." "Oh, he's such a gentleman, I bet he empties the sink before he pees in it!" "Oh Weeza, you know I love you more than my luggage." And finally, "Napoleon, like anyone can even know that." "...because you've been ruining everybody's lives and eating all our steak." "I said come down here and see what happens if you try and hit me" "Yeah, it looks pretty sweet. It looks awesome. That suit, it's... it's incredible" "Tina, you fat lard, come get some DINNER!... Tina, eat. Food. Eat the FOOD! " "Easy, I've already looked into it for myself."

Um, is that excessive? I think so.

FAVORITE MUSICAL CHARACTER: I saw Reba on Broadway doing Annie Get Your Gun. Until that point, although a HUGE Reba fan in my youth, I had yet to be impressed by her acting. I was impressed with this. I fell in love with the character. My 3 and a half year old sings, "Anything I can do you can do better..."
I do love Maria---how can you help but to love her!
I also can't watch My Fair Lady enough, I love Eliza.

FAVORITE 80'S SONG: So, this may have been the 90's, I can't remember. Every year my hometown has a Labor Day weekend Festival/Carnival thingy. I was probably in 6th or 7th grade and "Pour Some Sugar On Me" came over a loud speaker. There was a STAMPEDE, I kid you not, of teenage girls, 12-16 years old. I have no idea where they were running to---the speakers? It was the most insane thing I had seen up to that point in my life, and still ranks high, two decades later. That song was so catchy, but so naughty. In the 80's I was even more pop culturally illiterate. I liked Tiffany, New Kids on The Block, and Whitney Houston. Whitney was so awesome before Bobby and "Crack is wack!"

FAVORITE HAIR BAND: I loved Poison. And Bon Jovi. I still love Bon Jovi. I don't know why.

FAVORITE REALITY SERIES: I used to really get into the Bachelor, but I just can't do it anymore. There was this show called "Joe Schmo" I think they only did it once. It is one of the very few shows in mine and J's marriage where we cleared our schedule to watch it. I got in on "My Big Fat Obnoxious Fiance" by accident once, I thought the premise was lame, and one lonely night, ended up watching it. I have NEVER laughed so hard at tv, as I did at that. The actor fiance was HILARIOUS. Now I like the Home Makeover shows and that wife swap stuff because there's always a crazy person on, and I love watching crazy people.

WORST CELEBRITY NICKNAME EVER: So, the first time I ever heard J.Lo, I thought it was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard. But now, it's so mainstream, it doesn't even register in my mind as odd. But I still get a huge kick out of people who imitate it with their own names. For some reason, that never gets old for me.

T, I'm tagging you because well, I'm interested. :)

Highlights from the weekend

2006-11-06T07:59:00.000-06:00

I went on a hot date with J for some yummy Pho and then watched Invincible. Both J and I knew months ago when we saw the preview for it, it would be an enjoyable movie. I'm a sucker for those based on a true story, rise from the ashes stories. Okay, probably not rise from the ashes, but man I love that phrase ever since Martina McBride sang about it.

It was every bit as enjoyable as we hoped, and more. Around the same moment that I was wishing I wasn't so full from Pho and could enjoy the Halloween candy I had smuggled in, and was thinking, "man this is a good script", J leaned over and said, "this isn't just a good story, it's good directing." So, we were pleased with the $3 total we spent to see that movie, Dots and Hot Tamale covered floor included in that price.

We enjoyed some of Benja's newly acquired reasoning skills combined with some 3 year old logic. In a conversation about Halloween candy, how mom wanted to throw all of it away, and how dad innately felt that was a violation of every childhood code known to man and Benja didn't care what either of us thought if he could just have that bag of sour Skittles please. We explained to him that too much candy could very well make him sick and that was why we were limiting it. I really don't think it's any of his business right now that his sugar highs make me want to jump off a short building into bushes that trap me and make me take a 4 hour nap without any interruptions. So Ben reasoned, "Well, it's okay if I have too much candy and get a little sick, I can just eat some ice cream and that will feel me bettoh." Yes, yes, I see that he has taken a chapter from my book of how to effectively tear apart your ailing body, but be true to your impulsive cravings.

One of the sickest I have ever been in my adult life, was nearly 6 years ago, two days before I fell in love with J. I was so sick I went to a doctor, something I had never done before. I had been to doctors, just not for being sick---mostly for being a hypochondriac. He loaded me up with drugs and while I was getting the prescriptions filled, I raided the candy aisle at Walgreens. For two days I slept nearly nonstop and rolled over only long enough to self-medicate with some Twizzlers, Laffy Taffy's, or Smarties---oh, and to take my real medicine. I have no idea why I did that. I knew better. And even today, if my mom reads this post, I will probably get a tsk-tsk phone call. I mean, really---it's just ridiculous that I did that, but in retrospect, it's just made me a better mom. I get it when Ben suggest self-medicating with ice cream.

Just now Benja called from the other room, "Mom can I have this?" I answered, "If it's candy, the answer is no." He responded, "But if it's ice cream, the answer is yes!"

J found a new carpet cleaning product that has changed his entire outlook on life. You might think I'm exaggerating, but all I have to say is "Crystal Dry" and he does a little jig like Rumpelstiltskin the night before all his dreams are shattered. You can read about it here. I make no claims that he doesn't love Star Trek...

Avee broke a record this weekend of yelling "Go-way!" and "No-way!" more than any other human being has in a 24 hour period. Most of the time it wasn't even the appropriate response, and she uses them interchangeably, but I understand her need to assert herself as a woman....who is having her diaper changed. At one point this weekend she hollered it at a cousin who came within a 4 foot perimeter of her precious chocolate. Rather than deal with any misunderstanding as to who's candy it was and who's table it was on, and who's air he was breathing, she just yelled "GO-WAY!" He stared incredulously, and if a nearly-five-year-old could articulate such thoughts, he might have said, "I thought we were friends Avee." This is the cousin who plays goofy games with her tirelessly just to hear her giggle. And this is what he gets in return? I did hear him say twice, in disbelief, "Are you saying go away to ME!?" Avery didn't answer because she's been taught not to talk with chocolate in her mouth.

In exactly 10 days and 5 and a half hours we are going on vacation to spend Thanksgiving with my brother's family and I'm going to see THEM and meet HER and HER. Try not to be jealous. Unless you are one of these people, then you can be jealous---but that's just weird. I'm really looking forward to this. It is a week full of very cool people and NO WORK. I really just hope no one disappoints me.

Oh, it's the Halloween Post and then some

2006-11-02T11:45:00.000-06:00

It's as though we didn't even celebrate Halloween. Well, we didn't. It takes a lot to get us to celebrate around here, but we DID go trunk-or-treating and trick-or-treating. I had the delightful pleasure of "following" behind a lady who "crashed" the church trunk-or-treat she-bang, let's see if I can get anymore hyphenated words in-here. There. Anyway, she kept saying "Trink-or-treat!" and I laughed every single time. Mature? No, I'm not.

Any post within a week of Halloween would not be complete without pictures of Fpido-man and the Petite Lion. The temperature dropped dramatically here in Texas on All Hallow's Eve and well, the 3 year old resident Petoh Pawkoh ended up looking like he was recovering from a bad lap-band surgery. But boy did he have fun. I don't think the wonder EVER ceased for him--to open his bag and get candy dropped in every time. I wish there was some kind of magical holiday like that for grownups. He gets limited on his sugar intake, and sure as heck doesn't get to go knock on people's doors and ask for it, or get recognized as Spiderman every time and then be gladly given a handful of candy. Perhaps the adult version would be something like, "What, your water pump is defective? Well here, how about a new car altogether. One that was made in the same decade in which you are driving it. By the way, that v-neck you are wearing is adorable---could you be any cuter, here, have some Rolos while you wait..." Yeah, I could go for that.

So, Avee spent that night getting cheetos caught in her lion's mane, screeching at anyone who didn't open her tootsie pop fast enough, and plopping down on the nearest slab of concrete to unwrap her most recent acquisition. (This was on our way home when the mane of Avee's costume climbed off her head and tried to eat her face---I have no fear that anyone will ever be able to take advantage of this girl in any way for any reason at any time. Her objectionary screams rivaled the weekly tornado drill sirens)

In other news, I feel that a great big family thank you is overdue to our friend No Cool Story.
A while ago she posted about Abuelita and she's mentioned it a couple of times in her very cool blog. It's Mexican hot chocolate. I like Mexican. I like chocolate. We bought some. It was so good.

I had it for the first time when J was out of town. So when he was home, I said, "Yo J, want me to make you some hot chocolate?" He dismissed me with a wave of his hand. I tried again, "It's Mexican hot chocolate..." His eyebrows raised. "It has cinnamon in it too..."
"Okay," he says, "I'll try anything once." So I made him some. That was two and a half weeks ago. We have two packages of Abuelita in our cupboard (for the lean times) and we've gone through two packages already. Jay's exact quote was, "I can't believe I've lived 29 years without this in my life." I think he said something similar to that when he met me. Just change the age and the word "this".

So, we love it. It is muy bien. I have proof of Avee's love of it, and Benja has nursed two pints of it in a sports bottle, all morning. It goes well with his funsize candy bars and fruity blowpops. We have a really cool hot chocolate maker, which is especially cool for Benja because he can dispense the liquid heaven himself. And he has. So, gracias NCS, and the Mexican culture as a whole.

Oh yeah, and since my life is consumed by talk of Spiderman and Peter Parker, I can't help but include such obsession on the blog.

It took Benja some time to figure out that Spiderman was a superhero and that Peter Parker was his alter ego. I mean "alter ego" in and of itself is a difficult term for a 3 year old. Okay, we didn't teach him that phrase, but we had countless conversations about who Spidey was and who PP was, etc, etc. Well, now he's got it. He knows what things Spidey says, and what things Peter says, and that Spidey can't kiss with his mask on and that Peter can't fly off of the tops of buildings without his suit---or his mojo, for that matter. He knows that Peter is "a man and if you punch him, he'll bleed."

Recently we've been discussing a lot about when I was a little girl. J and I often will say things we loved or did when we were little and Benja has really become interested in that. Conversations often go "Did you like that when you were a little boy like me?" and I'll explain that I was never a boy and won't ever be a boy. Other times he'll ask if when he's grown up and is a girl, etc, etc. And the same discussion ensues. I think he gets it now. However, I've been telling him how Grandma was my mom when I was little. He has just started distinguishing between the grandmas by calling them "The one with golden hair" and "Uncle Sam's mom". He can't be bothered by surnames.

It's amazing how complex things can get the older and older you get. Just a year ago he had no idea that Grandma wasn't everyone's Grandma, particularly not mine. And that the name didn't apply to all nice older women who like to hug and kiss you and read you books. And of course life was always as it was right in the moment. Benja was never a baby and certainly didn't have aspirations of growing up to be a daddy. And the crazy talk of mom never being a boy? Unheard of in aught-five!

So, given all this new information and the things he's processing and assimilating, do you think it's bad that I want to tell him that Peter Parker is actually Tobey McQuire who was also Red from Seabiscuit? I mean, it's my job to keep the boy informed, right?

For The Grandma

2006-10-31T12:27:00.000-06:00

We went to a pumpkin patch on Saturday that was like a little baby festival for kids. Everything was free, except the pumpkins. J was a good sport, posing with the little guys. As you can see, you'd be hard pressed to find 3 cuter guys in one photo.
Benja and his cousin played with a pile of hay and two big dump trucks the majority of the time. It was so necessary that we drive 35 minutes for that...

Avee wanted to wear her swimsuit. It's October, but her aunt obliged her. Even though the bottoms on her head were so tight it was distorting her face, she was perfectly content with this arrangement and celebrated by sitting in her stroller for 15 minutes.

The reason for this post.

These things should be chronicled

2006-10-24T21:09:00.000-06:00

Things that are important to my 3 and a half year old boy:
Being Spiderman
Wearing boots
Cold water
Stating when he's Spiderman and when he's Peter Parker
Winning "I wonned, I wonned!"
Telling the same nonsensical knock-knock joke repeatedly
Telling me my sensical ones aren't funny
Me staying with him "fo-evoh" at night
Being able to wake me up in the morning
Naps
"swearing" with the words "stupid, shut-up, whatever, you kidding me" in that order, in quick succession
Sugar

Things that are important to my 19 month old girl:
Being right
Doing what she wants
Wearing boots
Riding a bike (in the street, half a block from home, in her pajamas)
Baby Einstein "wawt to waaaaaaaatch"
Bullying kids twice her size but with half her boldness and agility
Being held
Charming people
Taking off her pants
Wishing shirts were as easy to remove
Babies
Shoes
Sugar
Her dad

Today I ran a quick errand to the store with Benja in a Spiderman costume (complete with mask with limited peripheral vision) and the conversation the entire errand covered these ground rules, repeated 5 times.
"All I need is my spidey suit, and my mask. When I have that on, I'm Spiderman. When I have boots on, I'm Spiderman. They should be red and shiney, but Wal-mart doesn't have any. When I have my mask on, I'm Petoh Pawkoh. That's all you need to know about me."

Also, Spiderman's mask doesn't have a mouth, so I can't kiss him when he's Spiderman. I tried to explain that MaryJane kissed Spiderman, but he insisted that a)Spiderman was upside down and b)He was Peter Parker because he didn't have the mask all the way on.

This morning I had a 20 minute fight with Avee over who should throw away her mangled pizza crust. All without her being able to form complete sentences or me being able to use brute strength. She used her tactic of reaching for whatever you are trying to give her, as though she is finally giving in, and then chucking it back in your face like the stupid sucker you are. We don't say stupid in this house. Sucker isn't any better, but shutupwhateveryoukiddingme?
I am only telling you about this fight because it is the first one I have won. She of course woke up the rest of the entire house with her toddlerese swearing "NO-WAAAAAAAAAAY!" and one of those sleepers was a little boy I watch, 2 months older than her (and twice her size). He, being like most men, didn't get the point of all the screeching from both of us, picked up the pizza crust and headed for the trash. Then he had two redheads in his face instantly. I insisted he put it down and Avee insisted she have the privilege of putting it in the trash. You see, it was a cheap victory---but my first, and I won't let it go unnoticed.

Jesus and Mama Will Always Love Him

2006-10-21T21:13:00.000-06:00

Tonight J and I took Benja on a "date". About 5 months ago I took Benja on a date to a restaurant where he played with his truck the entire time and totally ignored me and then we went to see The Shaggy Dog, which he thoroughly enjoyed. Everytime he hears the word "date" now, he equates it with The Shaggy Dog. Hmmm, much like some of my past dating experiences...

Anyway, when I suggested that he go with me and dad on a date he was thrilled and started yelling about going to see Shaggy Dog again. I conceded to rent it because really, it was just cute how excited he got.

We went to a seafood restaurant that just opened near our home. Ben raved about the food he wouldn't eat and then finished off with a plate of "tuhzzerts". During the meal, a lady nearby was standing up waiting to leave and overheard Benja referring to north and south. J said, "Benja, do you even know what north and south are?" He of course, didn't and so he asked, "Well then, what are they?" Both J and I opened our mouths to speak and then closed them when no words came out. We looked at each other, at Ben and then started to hang our heads in shame. "Well! What ARE they?!" The woman standing nearby saw us floundering and said, "North is very cold and South is very warm." I had been thinking more directional than locational, but that'll work, right?

She walked away after a brief conversation and then came back, "AND Santa lives in the north, at the North Pole---you know Santa right?" Ben responds quickly, "And Jesus, I know Jesus."

We were both surprised at this response. The truth is, he isn't really up on Santa Claus. He was two and a half last Christmas and we moved on Christmas day. He knows that Dad got a bin of popcorn that made him happy and we had lots of presents to open, but there really wasn't any talk of Santa. Obviously he knows about Jesus, but I don't think I've ever really talked to him about the connection between Christmas and Jesus.

We kind of chuckled and the lady, not sure of how to respond, brought up Santa again.

You know where Santa lives?
Jesus lives way up there, in Heaven. And he's watching us so that we are fine.
Yeah, do you know about Santa?
Yes, but Jesus wants us to be....but Jesus wants us to be....but Jesus wants us to be....
(He seriously got stuck on that thought and we weren't sure it would get completed in our lifetimes)
Does Santa bring you presents?
But Jesus wants us to be GOOD!

All I have to say is, all y'all religious nuts STEP BACK, I gots me a mini-proselyter without even trying.

No Knock-knock Jokes Here

2006-10-20T21:16:00.000-06:00

I think I get nostalgia a lot. Hmm, that makes it sound like a bad rash. It's a strange sort of emotion for me. I have this weird feeling of longing for how things were, with certain memories that come up---mingled with this sense of wholeness and complete satisfaction with where I am, and it makes for some bizarre moments as I get nostalgic.

Some of my memories, I wouldn't go back to that time for anything (ie, 7th grade, growth spurt, bad skin, one bad day wearing culottes, annoying orchestra teacher) and other times, I long for the comfort, security, simplicity, innocence of the time.

Last night I was standing at the stove frying up some meat for dinner. The smell wafting through the house, the windows open to a cool breeze and the sound of children playing outside, take me back to the days when I was the child outside playing. I hated coming in for dinner. I hated coming in to practice the piano. Memories of family dinners and the ability to play the piano are two cherished things I have today.

I can still see my mom standing at the stove, dumping who knows what into the pot to thicken and make it go further. Sometimes the phone cord would be stretched across the length of the kitchen and wrapped around her body a couple of times as she talked on it. On the cupboards above her were taped comics my brother's had drawn, or she had cut out, permission slips, lunch money, chore lists, and "reminder" notes that said things like, "If Angela asks to go to her friend's house on a school night the answer is 'NO NO NO'. She does not keep her end of the bargain she makes to be able to go." That's just a mild example of the kind of things my mom liked to be reminded of in taped up notes. These notes served the dual purpose of a sort of 1980's ghetto planner, and a scarlet letter for the kids. How could I convince anybody that my word meant something when there was proof right there on a duct taped piece of scratch paper.
On the other side, I'm certain was 25 sentences of "I will not call my brother a pissant" or other such loveliness from me.

While my mom stood at the stove, my brother and I would dash through the house as fast as we could to try and get out the front door before she said our names. We learned early that close proximity to the task-giver was not wise. If I could get out of earshot quickly she couldn't ask me if I had practiced yet, or if I had homework, or to go downstairs and get bag of carrots. And I could get back to the absolutely vital game of touch football in the street.

When I came in the house, my biggest concerns were avoiding vegetables, doing dishes, taking a bath, and bedtime. Sometimes I do long for those simple concerns. My heart starts to feel that longing and I can feel some discontentment creep in to accompany it. The sounds I hear outside are the same sounds of when I was playing in the streets, and I begin to drift to a simpler time...

Then I feel a tug on my pantleg and look down to see a tiny little girl with big blue eyes looking straight up at me. The thing that will make her happiest is to be in my arms. She just wants to be near me. I see my smile on her face, and her daddy's nose. She pleads, "momomomomom--UP!" and I lift her to see the fascinating browning meat. "ohhhh cool" she says when she sees it. I laugh and suddenly feel like my life wasn't complete before she learned to say those words. I breathe out the longing that tried to creep in and pull my baby closer. I feel love like I've never felt it before.

I've married a man who is more than I ever dreamed I'd get to spend my life with. I have children who bring me joy like I didn't know was possible. I look at them and see a perfection I didn't know existed before they were born.

I have made friends over the last 15 years that have helped shape who I am, and continue to inspire who I want to become.

I like the adult I have come to be.

There are things I'd like to change---and I can.

There are things that I miss---but I'm glad I got to experience them in the first place.

There are dreams that have been put on hold. Or altered.

There are realizations I have made as I have gotten older, that make me cringe for how I have behaved in the past.

But I believe when you know better you do better.

Nostalgia will probably still get me now and then, the kind that can make me discontented.

But I'm certain that my 3 year old can come tearing across the house when he hears me come through the door and yell, "YES!" When he leaps into my arms and says, "that wasn't long at all mom!" and promptly pulls up my top lip to examine my gums, I know that discontentedness can take a hike. Some things just couldn't be more perfect.