Lollyblogger

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

2012-01-26T08:40:00.005-06:00

I finally took the kids in for their annual wellness check. Three months late, but who's counting?

We adore our pediatrician. We see her around town frequently, and the kids constantly plague her with endless rounds of "We don't need shots until we're eleven?"

So when the new nurse asked me if I wanted the kids to get their flu shot, I shrugged my shoulders and said, "You have the mist, right?"

She said no, sorry- they were all out. The kids would need to get an old-school flu shot.

Immediately, I felt 2 sets of eyes bore into my skull, as each ankle biter quietly implored me to answer the right answer.

"Sure, I guess so." I replied

Immediately, all hell breaks loose.

The younger kid dissolves into huge, racking sobs in the corner.

The older ankle biter? She isn't going down without a fight.

She starts with yelling.

"Nooooooo Mommy!" No shots!"

I start to do that embarrassing giggle that moms get when their kids dive off the deep end of normalcy. The nurse realizes she should have not asked this in front of the kids, and whispers an "I'm so sorry."

After the yelling, Annie moves on to phase 2.

"FORGET IT!" she says. "I'M NOT STAYING HERE. I'M LEAVING."

The nurse looks at her with wide eyes. I raise my eyebrows.

Annie flings open the exam door, and stalks out into the hallway. She bumps into our pediatrician, who has heard the hullabaloo and is trying hard not to laugh.

"Hey there, Annie. Where are you going?" The doctor asks.

"I am NOT getting a shot today. I AM GOING TO WAIT IN THE CAR." Annie replies.

Annie's sister follows her out, empowered by her sister's brazenness and is adding to the cacophony with sobs of despair.

The exam room door next to ours suddenly opens, and an elderly grandmother walks out, holding her 3 year old granddaughter's hand. The little girl looks at Annie, then at Lucy's tear stained face- and her eyes get really, really big.

Annie moves to stand in front of the exit.

"I'M NOT KIDDING. I'M NOT GETTING A SHOT TODAY." Annie states.

"Excuse me, little girl. We need to get through there." says the kindly grandmother,

"I'M NOT MOVING UNTIL THEY PROMISE I'M NOT GETTING A SHOT." Annie starts to barter.

"You need to move." Elderly grandmother starts to not sound so kindly.

The pediatrician and I are trying hard not to laugh, and I take Annie by the shoulder and not-so-gently guide her into the exam room. The nurse asks her to count to five as I hold her body down, and before she can get to number 2, the needle goes in her arm.

Annie's eyes get big, and she stops screaming.

"Is that it?" she asks.

So yes, both kids got their shots. And realized that shots don't hurt more than the fear of them does. But that 3 year old that witnessed this go down? Good luck getting her to come back.

New Year

2012-01-17T14:00:00.010-06:00

2012.

I love January. After a six week splurge of Christmas music, fudge and non-stop tinsel, the quiet simplicity of January is a welcome relief.

Closets are being organized. Drawers cleaned out. Maybe, I'll finally work up the nerve to (finally) unpack the garage. It's a good time to take stock- to make lists, clean house- both figuratively and literally. Simplifying in January means you surround yourself with the meaningful. Let go of the excess that weighs you down. It's freeing.

Yesterday, I ordered 20 saplings of blue cypress trees.

A few bare root roses.

My backyard is a teensy-weensy blank postage stamp. It will feel good to get my hands dirty.

Annie Get Your (Ear Piercing) Gun

2011-08-08T00:37:00.006-05:00

At long last, Annie got her ears pierced.

She's wanted earrings for quite some time. I had to wait until I was 10, and since what was good for the goose is supposed to be for the gander, I'm actually proud I was able to make it to almost eight. Sigh. Must work on parenting toughness.

The week before the grand event, I caught her talking to her ears in the mirror. "Don't worry ears!" she crowed. "Soon you will have earrings!"What is this, a 2nd grade version of "The Secret?"

When the actual day arrived, she got pretty nervous. Here she is with a good buddy, who graciously volunteered to hold her hand. Her little sister ran away- she couldn't bear to watch!

First glimpse in the mirror after the earrings are in...

Success!

We celebrated with frozen yogurt from Tasti-D...

Today it's earrings, tomorrow she raids my closet. Crikey, this goes by fast.

Summer-in-a-nutshell

2011-07-31T10:37:00.004-05:00

Jumping off the diving board

Icees

Baby ducklings

Circus

Night fishing

Fireworks on the beach

Boat ride

floating in an innertube

ceiling fans

Walking on a sand bar

corn-on-the-cob

Engagement Party

S'mores

Water slides

swim meets

library books

High tides

Plane rides

outdoor shower

Cracked crabs

lemonade

Cab rides

Liberty Island

sunscreen

Subway rides

Lazy river

matinee movies

sparklers

Train rides

view from the Empire State building

air conditioning

Sonic happy hour

watermelon

barbecued chicken

Summertime, Summertime, Sum-Sum-Summertime

2011-07-02T09:10:00.003-05:00

Summer.

It's been a good one so far. A really, really good one. I put the kids in a variety of camps for the month of June, and it went by in a blur. Lucy's new school did a "Here Comes Kindergarten" camp, and it was just the thing to acclimate her & get her excited for the new school year. It helped that she had a "cooking class" in the afternoon. They didn't cook as much as smear frosting on anything that moved.

Annie's new goal in life is to be on "American Idol." This surprised our household- because during her spring school play, Annie looked like she was going to blow chow from stage fright. And yet, she insisted on attending a local theater camp. Last Friday was her performance, and I'm happy to say the stage fright has been reduced from nausea to paralysis. Progress!

As for me, I've got a dear friend with a booming business who asked for me to help her, but really, we just enjoy spending time together. She's an interior designer- and our first venture together is with a lovely local family that just moved in to a new home. (The irony that I was hanging pictures in their foyer while I still had boxes in my dining room did not escape me).

The family are true Texans- and their home reflects this. They have mounted, stuffed (really stuffed) animals on the walls- deer, duck, the occasional wild boar & even a bear. During my first visit, the gracious home-owner told me how she decorated her son's nursery with the stuffed ducks. She said this was a creative way to teach him about animal sounds.

"What does a duck say?" she laughed.

I thought for a moment and said, "Ow?"

Next up: packing up the anklebiters & heading to the East Coast. I cannot wait to see the Statue of Liberty, have a beer with my 92 year old grandmother & hit the beach. If there's a Snookie sighting- you guys will be the first to hear.

Camper In A Coma

2011-06-05T13:33:00.002-05:00

The oldest anklebiter starts theater camp tomorrow. We spent a bit of today reading the camp handbook.

"Mom?" she says, glancing over the pages of stage directions. " I think theater camp is going to be a lot like Hogwarts." I smiled, and thought the following:

By Hogwarts if you mean lots of pale children wearing black and listening to the Smiths, then yes, my child, you may be right.

For Your Reading Pleasure

2011-04-19T09:16:00.003-05:00

Last night, I go to tuck my 5 year old in, and she's crying.

"What's the matter, pumpkin?" I ask.

"I sometimes think that Daddy will die, and you will die, and my big sister will die, and I'll be all alone." she says, rubbing her eyes while crawling into my lap.

I quickly give her a kiss and tell her we'll read a story to take her mind off such depressing thoughts.

I picked up Cinderella. Got about 2 pages in, when I realize the Mom kicks it.

Bambi? No go.

Her sister is reading Harry Potter, and pipes up that this will not be a good choice either.

Annie? Nope. Anne of Green Gables? Ballet Shoes? Pippi Longstocking? Orphans, every last one of them.

We settled on Seuss' Yertle The Turtle. A nice allegory of social injustice, to take her mind off the heavier things.

Moving Right Along

2011-04-06T14:23:00.004-05:00

I just bought 100 feet of bubble wrap and 25lbs of newprint paper. It felt better than a fancy pair of shoes, because it means I'm finally saying goodbye to our rental house.

The rental house with drawers filled with someone else's fingernails. Remember that housewarming gift? I still shudder.

We have lived here live for 7 months. And during that time-

the air conditioner broke twice (something you CANNOT live without in Houston).
the roof leaked once.
our power has gone out more times than I can remember.
the ceiling fan in my kids' room almost came out of the ceiling.
the kitchen sink leaked.
the kitchen faucet refused to work.
The single, solitary outlet in the master bath stopped working.
A family of (hopefully?) squirrels took up residence in our attic.
Someone stole beer out of the trunk of my car when I was bringing in groceries.
Someone stole a book of checks from my mailbox.
Someone stole my drivers license (with the hideous picture).
Someone is now posing as me & is working as a dishwasher in a Texas restaurant. Hey! At least they're paying their Social Security.

Technically, our lease isn't up until July. But the property management company that manages the house is so terrific- they understand the litany of house repairs we've had are somewhat ridiculous, and are being really reasonable. (Blessings everywhere you look!) So yes, this time around- I'm ecstatic to see the packing paper and bubble wrap. I'm wrapping anything I can get my hands on, so the dog better be careful where he naps.

And I Thought I Was Annoying...

2011-03-30T19:48:00.002-05:00

I have no idea if this story will even translate- but today at swim lessons, I met the world's most annoying mom. Picture if you will- a bustling, chlorinated hub-bub of afternoon hulabaloo at the local swim club. The kids that are not swimming in the (urine) pool can play on a plastic play set conveniently situated on some wet (hopefully not also urine) artificial grass. Against the wall, parents sit on teeny-tiny benches that immediately humble and degrade- and we try to look cool as our knees graze our chins.

It was a normal afternoon. Filled with the normal sound of kids playing, parents talking, blah blah blah blah blah. And then...SHE comes around the corner. Trailing 3 children, she immediately starts shrieking, "NO LOLLIPOPS ON THE PLAYGROUND! GET DOWN FROM THERE! RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"

I quickly glance up from my Angry Birds (do not judge) and figure her volume and intensity must be a short lived transgression. I thought wrong. This lady has had so many kids, for so long- she simply has forgotten how to talk in a normal voice.

"WHAT'S THAT? YOU HAVE TO GO POTTY? DO YOU REMEMBER WHERE THE BATHROOM IS? GOOD! THEN GO! I WILL WAIT HERE FOR YOU."

At this point, we all kind of glance around and wonder if someone is playing a joke. She continues.

"YOUR SISTER IS IN THE BATHROOM. I HOPE SHE POOPS. YOU KNOW HOW SHE'S HAD TROUBLE POOPING LATELY. SHE REALLY SHOULD BE EATING MORE FRUIT! OH GOOD, THERE SHE IS! LET'S GO- TIME TO GO HOME!"

The lady sitting next to her almost choked on her silent tears. Mrs. Annoying packed up her brood, and yelled the entire way out of the club. After I gathered up my kids and told them the story, we came up with our own imitation of Mrs. Annoying.

(all of these comments have to be said at the top of your voice. As loud as possible).

"HERE ARE MY LIBRARY BOOKS. SORRY THEY ARE LATE."

"MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE."

"I LIKE KITTIES. KITTIES AND PUPPIES."

We laughed (loudly) all the way home.

Things That Bug Me

2011-03-22T20:30:00.004-05:00

Crikey. I'm getting forgetful in my old age. Hello! Remember me?

So, we're slated to close on our house in California in 6 days. I am almost afraid to write those words, fearful that something unexpected may come up. Because it has. In the past. Two other times. Fingers, toes and all extraneous items are crossed. You will hear the cheering from here if it happens. (and the screams if it doesn't).

In other news, we've submitted 3 offers on 3 different Texas houses in the last ten days. Didn't get one. Maybe it's because we've left one of the most horrific housing markets in the country to inexplicably now live in THE hottest real estate market in the WORLD. Like, houses going for $50K ABOVE asking price hot. Ridiculous.

I'm holding out hope that the house fairy will come visit and put a somewhat affordable, decent listing under my pillow.

In other news, my good friend and her kids recently had a bout of head lice. Despite furtively checking my kids every few hours- and finding nothing, I'm convinced my itchy scalp is bug-who-shall-not-be-named. My husband is tired of holding 2 pencils and a flashlight, and last night gave me the professional opinion that I have an itchy scalp. I may listen to this after I dip my head in some malathion.

A Real Gas

2011-03-01T21:51:00.003-06:00

Colin Firth won an Oscar. Huzzah for Mr. Darcy!

In other news, the licking of blisters has stopped, and I've started the infamous Couch to 5k program.

I got the app for my iphone, and that, combined with the company of my beloved black labrador, try and make up for the fact that I absolutely detest running.

I really and truly hate it.

But maybe, with each passing day, I'm starting to hate it less and less.

Although this morning's run didn't go so well. I'm not only referring to the cramp that wouldn't leave my left side, or that my dog needed to stop and sniff every other hedge- but I stupidly threw on an older pair of yoga pants this morning. I didn't realize this particular pair of pants were so shoddy that I would need to hold them up as I ran around our local university. Yours truly looked like a 1930's vaudeville act.

With all of the running I've been doing- the scale isn't moving much. You see, along with this new regime, I've somehow also acquired the appetite of a 14 year old boy. I'm STARVING. I woke up the other night, and there were bite marks on my arm. I'M EATING MY OWN ARMS IN MY SLEEP. Ok, not really eating my arms- but maybe I am eating a Girl Scout cookie or two.

Damn you, Girl Scouts. They need to revise their pledge to something like this- (you can sing it to the tune of Yankee Doodle Dandy)...

"On my honor, I will try

To sell my cookies to my country.

To help people get real fat

and to live on blood pressure medication."

Sorry. That's the best I could come up with, and I am now stupidly realizing that most of you probably don't know the real Girl Scout pledge to begin with.

In between last week's runs, I squeezed in a yoga class. (Yes, this is the most exercise my body has seen in a decade, and it's like "Hey lady! Shouldn't we be on the couch with a pack of Samoas? What's the matter with you?"). I'm certainly no yoga expert- but it does seem that in the handful of classes I've attended over the years, that somehow, someway- the person on the mat next to me farts. This happened last week. We were supposed to be doing a dog-like, camel something or other- when the lady next to me completely broke wind.

It didn't even faze her. She kept on doward camel-ing, or whatever it was- while I fell over in a collapsed heap of distress. It's bad enough that everyone's in bare feet (I think naked feet are hideous)- but FARTING? Crikey. That couch and cookies are looking mighty fine.

A Dirty Story

2011-02-28T14:28:00.002-06:00

The oldest anklebiter is trying to master the monkey bars at school. On Friday, she came home with a huge blister- her first battle scar.

All weekend, I encouraged her to keep it clean. This morning, she waved her now-almost-healed blister and said "Look at how good it looks, Mommy!"

I told her it looked great, but reinforced that she needed to keep it clean.

"Yup. I know. I lick it. That keeps it real clean." she replied.

Yuck.

Next Best Thing

2011-02-24T11:04:00.002-06:00

So, you know how cool it is when people tell you that you remind them of a famous person? I've gotten Helen Hunt before- and more than a few tell me that my voice sounds exactly like Jodie Foster. But recently, I've gotten more than a few comparisons to this person...

This is Cameron, from the show "Modern Family."

I don't have a mural of myself as an angel above my kid's bed, but did anyone see the episode where Cameron's partner loses his prestigious job as a lawyer? Cameron puts on a brave, supportive front- but then turns his back to the camera and wails "What am I going to do? I like nice things!" My older brother immediately called me to tell me that I was starring on an ABC sitcom.

Last night's episode, included a scene where Mitch is brushing his teeth, and mumbles an unintelligible shopping list while Cameron is in the shower. Cameron later hands Mitch the random assortment of items and Mitch looks puzzled and says "I don't even remember asking you for this." Yes! That IS me!

I'm available for bar mitzvahs, bookclubs and ladies luncheons. Especially if there's someone playing a harp.

Going Viral

2011-02-10T15:02:00.002-06:00

Last week, I thought I got a cold.

My nose was stuffy. I had a cough. My body ached. We had a rare snow day on the day I was feeling the worst- and it couldn't have come at a better time. Movies with the kids, some easy going art projects- just what the doctor ordered.

Then it morphed into the flu. Now, my child is slowly working her way through the same virus. She's missed 3 days of school. So has her little sister- because if your favorite person in the entire world was staying home to "maybe" play Wii- wouldn't your stomach suddenly start mysteriously hurting too?

We're drinking lots of tea. Eating soup. Living like the 80 year old party animals we are. Last night I surprised the sick kid with new flannel sheets for her bed. Nothing's better than soft flannel sheets- fresh out of the dryer. Except maybe a day when all returns to normal.

Put Another Dime In Your JukeBox, Baby

2011-01-27T23:08:00.003-06:00

We recently got an Apple TV. I love it. My husband and I scurry to see who can get to it first. I'm a gracious loser, because I know he will just try and watch the first episode of the second season of the Wire and start snoring before the theme song ends. I've seen the first five minutes of that episode 15 times now. It's riveting.

Apple TV made me realize that my kids will never watch tv the same way I did. (Did you come here to discuss worldy issues? I think not). They will never know what it was like to have "The Wizard of Oz" air once a year- the day before Thanksgiving. They will not be six years old, and borrow a black and white little (like 8 inch mini cube) television from your parents, that you set up in your pink checkered bedroom to watch your first glimpse of "Gone With The Wind."

I started my affair with puffy dresses at a very early age.

In other news- I succumbed to the world of Groupon and bought a swanky haircut/highlight/deep conditioning at a swanky salon. The salon is gorgeous. My stylist appeared to be a short, intense hairdresser with freakishly strong hands. Despite my pleas of "for the love of all that is not frizzy- I have the world's most tender head" at one point, he flexed his strong knuckles and SQUEEZED my hairs so tightly I now look like I've had Botox. Win? I still can't decide.

As for the haircut- it looked great until I got home. And now I look like Joan Jett had a baby with Snookie- pouf, and shaggy layers. Crikey. Luckily, once my normal frizz sets in it will detract folks from asking me to sing a New Jersey rendition of "I love Rock n' Roll".

Grandma Magic

2011-01-22T12:52:00.004-06:00

I read an article recently, about a General Store in Brooklyn. The writer of the article loved the "Grandma magic" the store conveyed- and that got me to thinking. I love Grandma magic. While I don't subscribe to the lace doily fan club, I do have a passion for all things vintage- and believe everyone should incorporate some "Grandma" magic into your house. It makes it cozy. It makes it warm. It makes it feel like home.

What is Grandma magic? Today I took the kids to the park, and while I watched them tunnel down the slide, I wrote a few suggestions down.

Cloth napkins
Candles in the bathroom
Sunday dinner
Clean sheets
Showtunes
Silver polish
Billie holiday
Botanical prints
Lemon furniture polish
Herbs in flower pots
Dishwasher running at bed time
Fluffy towels
Well organized tool box
The smell of perfume (Chanel no.5)
Pot roast in the oven
A well timed cocktail
A beautifully set table on a Tuesday
Fresh flowers
A pot of freshly brewed coffee
A pink box from the bakery wrapped in twine
An impromptu trip to the toystore

So that's my goal for the week- to work a little Grandma magic into my home. But if you guys see me crocheting a doily? Slap me back to my senses.

Blurgh.

2011-01-21T10:10:00.004-06:00

After the holidays, I gave myself a virtual pat on the back. Almost mid-January, and we seemed to have escaped any bouts of sickness.

I should know better.

A quick stomach virus quickly blew in. Left trembling in its wake, my older daughter got the Fifths Virus. Then the little one got impetigo.

I haven't been alone in 168 hours. Yes, I'm counting.

The dog? He's a happy camper. The Mom? Not so much.

George

2011-01-14T14:38:00.006-06:00

I haven't talked about this guy in awhile.

This is George.

He is adjusting to Texas. He doesn't like the heat, and is apparently allergic to everything in our backyard. He loves to watch the squirrels race by- but quickly learned that barking at them will set off our burglar alarm and cause quite a bit of hulabaloo.

Today is the kind of day that George loves. It's a sick day. My little one is home with a stomach virus, and yours truly isn't feeling that great either. We both fell asleep for a bit, and when I woke up- some kind and considerate four legged friend left a tennis ball on my stomach.

Subtlety is not one of George's strong points.

2011

2011-01-02T17:25:00.002-06:00

Um, hi there. Is this thing on?

Happy 2011! Along with the usual "Hey, let's not be a fatty" new year's resolutions, I'm going to try something different this year. When I sit back and think about some of my favorite days- excluding the obvious ones- the wedding, the births, the day I met Jerry Seinfeld backstage at the 1992 Emmys, I realized something.

Most of my life's favorite moments are small ones. Unexpected little gifts that did not come with an anticipated check off of my calendar.

I love those small moments. And I like to think that when I'm gumming jello in the nursing home, my cup will be runneth over with millions of tiny memories that will leave me warm & fulfilled. If not, I sure hope the drugs are good.

So this year, I'm all about the small moments. The connecting with those that I love. The impromptu games of Trouble, the silly voices I give Barbie, a quick walk around the block. This year will have more Saturday morning snuggles. More doughnuts. More puzzles. More letter writing. More phone calls. More reaching out to those that I love that I've lost touch with.

I want to know the people I share my life with. I want to know them BETTER. And I want them to know they are loved.

Happy New Year, my friends!

It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like...

2010-11-11T19:56:00.002-06:00

Holiday season kicked off today.

I made my annual trek to the Houston Nutcracker Market. For those not in the know, the Nutcracker Market is the annual fundraiser for the Houston Ballet. Basically, it's like a tradeshow for girls. With booze. And no kids (ahem! strollers) allowed. Picture every interesting boutique this side of the Mississippi, and they have a booth. Same goes for every kind of tasty food. Home decorating. Jewelry. Nonsensical stuff you didn't even know existed. Station after station of wine bars, wine-a-ritas, bloody marys, mimosas. Tons of Christmas decorations.

We lined up, tickets already in hand, at 10am. Today was the first day the show opened. We had to wait for more than 30 minutes to get inside the building. (It's THAT crazy!) After we got in, my girlfriends and I did a happy jig and loudly wished each other a "Merry Christmas." Then we hightailed it over to a bar and got our shop on. Kids are in school for only so many hours!

If anyone is interested in going to the Nutcracker Market with me next year- you are most welcome! Please just help me find a buyer for my house in California. This rental house is now brimming with Xmas decorations that need more room.

For The Record, We Don't Know Any Pams

2010-10-25T18:02:00.005-05:00

My Lucy is turning five. FIVE! She cannot wait, and is eagerly counting down the days (one left-) before the clock turns and she is now one entire hand old. I am furtively trying to figure out how I can get footie pajamas in a size 6- because I cannot fathom not having any anklebiters in footies. No footies equals a freaked out mamma.

My baby grew up a lot this year. She handled the move with grace and aplomb (I love that work- it sounds like a wonky fruit). She quickly slipped back into old friendships, but has also made some new ones. She is now reading. She is now writing. She is now telling jokes and silly stories that regularly keep us all in stitches.

One day, a few months ago- we were in the car. Kids are in the backseat, radio was on low. Lucy starts calling her sister by her family pet nickname- "Anne-Anne."

"Don't call me that, Lucy." Annie says. "I hate that name, and I don't want anyone to know you guys call me that."

Lucy pauses for a moment, and then says, "Ok, Pam."

Happy Birthday, my girl. Your Mommy loves you.

Hold Me

2010-10-15T23:11:00.004-05:00

I like to tell jokes. This is both a blessing, and a curse. My husband likes to think that I have a sixth sense to inappropriately inject humor into un-funny situations. I don't like to admit this, but he's right.

It happened again this week. My daughter's school hosted a "tea" for parents. At 2:00 in the afternoon, on a Thursday. I put on a dress, took out my greasy ponytail, applied some makeup and tried to act well mannered. The tea took place in an empty 4th grade classroom. The head of the lower school sat in the middle of a horseshoe of tiny chairs- and encouraged the parents to join her in a casual conversation of raising children.

Sounds pretty harmless, right? Sitting next to me was an older mom- probably late 40's. Gorgeous. She was wearing a designer dress, beautiful boots. She had a huge men's sized Rolex on one wrist- a chunky gold bracelet on the other. Apparently, she has a third grade daughter that is growing up way too quickly for her comfort level.

During a conversation of study skills, Men's Rolex Lady continually asked why the third graders got so much homework. "There's no time to smell the grass!" she complained. She then went on to say that she decidedly refused to allow her daughter to participate in any after school activities this year because "this is the last year she'll want to spend time with me and I'm going to enjoy it. "

Alrighty. The conversation then shifted to advice the more seasoned parents could give new parents arriving to the school- and instead of suggesting the fall festival, or Santa's Breakfast, Men's Rolex Lady pipes up and encourages us to "just hold your little ones. Hold them for as long as you can."

That's when Genius me piped up and giggled, "Sounds like someone needs to hold YOU."

Oof. It was like all of the air sucked out of the room and I suddenly morphed into Fozzie Bear looking for the big hook to drag me off stage. Men's Rolex Lady's eyes got hard, and she stared at me for a full five seconds while I squirmed and felt that my little seat was growing smaller by the minute.

Someone quickly changed the subject. I kept my mouth shut for the rest of the affair. Afterwards, I approached Mens Rolex Lady, and apologized- explaining that I was just kidding, and that I hoped I had not hurt her feelings. And in the meantime? I need to brush up on my manners- these Southern ladies mean business.

Shop Till You Drop

2010-10-04T13:29:00.003-05:00

Monday. Blurgh. As some of you know, I like to cook big family dinners on Mondays. Today, I was inspired by this recipe mostly because the weather has turned and I can think about baking a biscuit, and also- pickled jalapenos! My love affair continues.

So I'm in the local HEB Market. I go through the arduous task of selecting all my produce- weighing them & printing out the little sticker price tags. I make it about half way through the store, and stop in the cereal aisle. After finding my kids' Raisin Bran Crunch (Mommy's little fiber helper) I look up, and my cart is gone. GONE.

I immediately start to run- 45 minutes has already gone into filling that cart, and I really don't want to start again. I grab my box of cereal and start running the aisles- furtively looking at everyone's cart- and hoping against hope to find one with a pink bag of Baked Lays chips. (October is breast cancer awareness month- did you know?)

In other words, I look like a complete lunatic.

In the frozen foods section, I spot a cart with a pink bag of potato chips. I glance down, and the woman pushing the cart looks at me like I'm going to mug her Batman fruit snacks.

"Ummm.... I think you took my cart by mistake." I say as I notice my chili fixings, pickled jalapenos and HEB Kettle Corn (do not judge).

"OH CRAP!" the woman bellows, and I instinctively take two steps away from her and bump into the case of frozen pizzas.

"Where the hell is MY cart?" she says as she grabs her Batman fruit snacks and glowers at me.

"Cereal aisle?" I gulp and quickly grab the cart and hightail it over to ice cream.

Next Monday I'm ordering pizza.

Awkward

2010-09-19T23:39:00.005-05:00

Curse of the Back To Schoolness.... we all have colds. Correction- I have a cold, the kids have a cold and my husband has a severe case of "someone please find Pampers in a size 36 because I'm the biggest baby that ever lived."

He called me today. I was in the living room, tooling around on my laptop, and the house phone rang. It was him. Calling from my cell phone. From the MASTER BEDROOM. He was calling to make sure I knew how miserable he felt. Because before the call- we had no idea. The incessant whining, dramatic collapses on the couch and three minute sniffle updates did not shed any clues.

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

I bought my husband a suit for his birthday. At a very fine establishment- known for their refined good taste. He needed the pants tailored, and after picking them up and trying them on at home- there's a big problem.

The pants are not pants. They are pantaloons. They bunch up around his hips, and make him look much more at home on a pirate's ship than in an office. It is seriously ridiculous.

We took the pants back today, and after trying on his pantaloons for the assistant manager, she still didn't see a problem.

"I just don't understand the problem here." she said, shaking her head.

"There wouldn't be a problem if he was Napoleon," I replied. "Or if you had an argyle eye patch to match his socks."

They took the pantaloons back.

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

In other news, my 4 year old played her first soccer game yesterday. Aside from my husband morphing into Gypsy Rose Lee's mother for a short time period, the whole event was as expected. They lost. A gazillion to three. The kids on the opposite team were already shaving, and stood a good 3 feet over our 4 year olds. Their star player had a good soccer name- Fernando, and he would celebrate each goal (and there were many) with a jubiliant cartwheel. (Who teaches their kid to do that?)

My heart stopped in my throat (or maybe it was the cold?) when my little one suddenly stepped up to play goalie. 20 minutes before the game, she didn't really understand the concept of soccer, and now she was responsible for warding off Fernando's blows? I suddenly hoped Fernando was up for some serious cartwheeling. She held her own, but we quickly realized we had to put the camera down. If she even caught a glimpse of a lens that "might" be focused on her- her concentration dropped and she would instinctively start posing.

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

I got my hair cut yesterday. I tried this stylist when I first moved here, and I really liked her, so I thought I'd give it another shot. She's Parisian, and left France to try life in the United States and absolutely adores Texas. She's a lot of fun to chat with- but the people she works with are craaaaazy. Uncomfortably so.

Yesterday, I'm sitting in her chair, covered in a black tarp with a head of wet hair when a woman approaches us. She's well into her seventies, with a head of bright orange hair. Her figure is cute, but she's wearing a cropped polo (they should really be outlawed) and a sliver of her belly is visible (which grosses me out on Britney Spears- but on a seventy+ year old carrot top? Heinous). She gives my stylist a kiss, apologizes to me for interrupting, and then says, "Oh child. I hurt my neck last night. After dinner, Ralph and I were just playing around on my bed, and I don't know what happened, but I snapped my neck and couldn't move for a few moments. Ralph thought I died."

I honestly didn't know where to look. I wound up hiding an uncomfortable case of giggles behind my iphone. Awkward. This weekend was chock full of awkward, awkward moments.

Back to the Grind

2010-09-16T12:00:00.002-05:00

In the hustle and bustle of the move, my scale never received its much needed new battery.
In the hustle and bustle of the move, yours truly ate her way out of stress and anxiety.

I got the new battery. And after weighing myself, I almost had a heart attack.
Not that bad, (I do tend to dramatize) but five pounds is a lot when you're already lightyears from a bikini.

So when the kids started school, I started to exercise again. I dragged my lab around the perimeter of Rice University- (3.2 miles). I started taking the whole-damn-fam to Family Yoga at our local YMCA. And this week?

I tried ZUMBA.

Holy schniekies, people. When I first started reading about Zumba- I read that you burn a kajillion calories in one hour. Picturing myself surrounded by Latina hardbodies in sports bras and teeny tiny shorts, I sucked up my pride, put on my capri yoga pants and free Orbit gum t-shirt (pilfered from my little bro) and convinced a girlfriend to hide with me in the back of the class.

The average age of my Zumba class? 65. I was cha-cha dancing with the Golden Girls. I think I burned more calories belly laughing my way through the ridiculousness of watching grey haired grannies in their polyester elastic stretch pants shake their boot-tays in a circle. At one point, I looked back to check on my girlfriend. My girlfriend who runs marathons, and does triathalons, and trains for 3 hours a day- she had an absolute look of disgust and amusement on her face as she was completing her jazz box and shaking her moneymaker. (Side note: the music is also hilarious. Picture Ricky Martin on steroids and each song has Uber Ricky loudly whispering "Zoooooommmmmba.")

So yeah, I'm going back this afternoon. And maybe I'll start watching "Murder She Wrote" reruns with my new friends.

Mercury In Retrograde

2010-08-20T09:11:00.005-05:00

School is back in session.

Although we were all excited for the new year to begin, I must confess that my heart aches on each first day of school. It takes me a few weeks to get used to having them around during summer vacation, and then I get weepy and melancholy when I send them back to school. The irony of motherhood.

My oldest has started first grade. Her new school starts at o'dark thirty, so my late nights of bad tv watching are a thing of the distant past. I'm not used to getting up early. I've never been much of a morning person, which is a nice way of saying that I'm a raving lunatic anytime before 10am. As part of the back-to-school shopping, my oldest daughter got her first "grown up" haircut. The long hair we have lovingly grown out for the last 6 years was so damaged from the pool, we cut it into a chin length bob. The loss of hair instantly aged her- my husband and I were amazed at how much it matured her (she still has trouble putting on her socks, but whatever). It seems that overnight, she lost all vestiges of little kid-ness, and her gangly legs with mosquito-bit ridden knees are knobby and lean. She looks like a year old puppy with big paws.

We've been early to school each day this week (a remarkable feat for me)- mostly because I am so intimidated by the hustle and bustle of the school parking lot that I insist we park around the corner at the dry cleaners and walk. The kids think the "secret path" is great- which I think will change when we get hit with a typical tropical storm.

Houston has changed so much since we left here a few years ago. The population has exploded. Rumor has it that Houston will usurp Chicago and become the nation's 3rd largest city. All I know is that I had to beg my pediatrician to take us back because their ENTIRE practice is no longer accepting new patients. Nor is their dentist. The Costco parking lot is jammed, real estate is ridiculous and we went out for pizza last night and the line was out the door. On a Thursday. At 6:30pm.

The other day, someone on twitter was talking about mercury being in retrograde. Basically, this happens 3 xs a year, and it signals a time of transition, and significant change. This made me laugh, because mercury is definitely in retrograde around here, and has been for the last few months. Here's to hoping it settles down soon.

Jersey Girl

2010-08-17T15:40:00.002-05:00

I was born in New Jersey.

I do not have a pouf.

I do have fond memories of summers spent at the shore.

I do not wear leopard. I did not marry a nice, juicy Guido and I don't fist pump or GTL. (Gym, Tan, Laundry).

I do, however, love watching "The Jersey Shore."

Have you seen it? Despite their newfound fame- the characters are as crass, genuine and idiotic as last season. The editing is brilliant. The dialogue is better than anything Hollywood could come up with. Most importantly, my husband and I roll on the floor everytime we watch it.

I am so going as Snooki for Halloween. (So yes, I will have a pouf).

The Real Moron Game

2010-08-11T22:01:00.004-05:00

The other day, the plug to my laptop stopped working. I made an appointment at the local apple Genius bar, and the very next morning- I picked up my brand new plug. I went merrily about my business.

That afternoon, my 4 year old dropped my iphone in the toilet. I'm not sure how it happened- only that she was excited to reach a new level on the "Moron Game" (don't get me started) and apparently couldn't temper her enthusiasm without some accompaniment on a potty break.

The phone wouldn't turn on. I googled every possible remedy. I chose to not bake the phone at a low temperature (it freaked me out), but I did blowdry the heck out of it, and placed it in a ziploc bag of rice. I spent two days blowdrying- bagging with rice. Finally, I turned it on.

It worked. Sort of. Everything seemed to be ok, except for the home button. I limped along, until 1 day later, the whole thing quit. Kapoot.

I went BACK to the Genius Bar. (By now, I"m starting to recognize them). I tell them what happened. They open it up, and it's flooded. I'm not eligible for an upgrade, but my husband is. So my Genius quietly suggests that I return at 11:20 the next morning- the same time they typically get their morning shipment of the handful of new 4G phones that sell out in half an hour.

So there I was, BACK at the apple store- this very morning. Dragged my little Moron Game expert and her sister to the local mall. Checked myself in for my appointment, and politely inquired if they had unpacked their morning shipment.

The Genius bar scheduler looks at me with disdain- and says, "We don't have any 4gs. I cannot tell you when we will get more." She then suggests I speak with a salesperson. I find the closest looking Vulcan in a blue apple shirt and ask him the same question.

He says he will go in the back and check. But as he leaves... I notice that he sighs--not a sigh of compassion, more akin to a sigh of annoyance. I don't even think he went to the backroom- he probably stayed on the other side of the door and waited until it felt like a long enough time before coming out and telling me they didn't have any phones.

Finally, it came time for my appointment. ANOTHER Genius in a blue shirt approaches me. I tell him the whole potty-sob-story. I say that I'm here to use my husband's upgrade for a 4G. I tell him that 2 people have already told me there are no phones. Before I can finish, he says he will go to the back to check.

He's gone for a while.

I start to feel hopeful.

My blue shirt (Genius?) returns. He's holding an iphone box under a piece of paper, close to his chest. He quietly approaches me, and tells me he found a box of phones in the back that had not been unpacked. He motions for me to follow him to the front of the store.

I don't understand why he's being so secretive. They have a product to sell, I'm willing to part with some cash- so sell it to me, right? Suddenly, I notice a gaggle of people have spotted the box. They start following us to the front of the store. (I know I can exaggerate on occasion, but I pinkie swear that I am not making this up).

My Genius takes out a black rope- similar to what they use at Disneyland or the movie theater to control lines, and puts it behind me. He holds the phone and says to the nearby OTHER Genius who will be completing the transaction:

"Congratulations! Here is your first iphone sale of the day!"

The other Genius claps her hands and yells "Oh Goodie!"

The crowd on the other side of the black rope starts murmuring with excitement. They start jostling to get a better position in the line that has now formed, directly behind me.

They activate the phone. They take my money. They act like they have done me a HUGE favor- this honor of allowing me to pay cash for a product.

Who's the real Moron now?

First Graders Do Not Prefer Plaid

2010-08-03T17:55:00.002-05:00

I'm not sure if it's the heat, or my rapidly advancing age- but this unpacking business is kicking my patootie. I start every day with grand illusions of what will get done- and by 6pm, I'm left scratching my head and wondering "is that it? Is that all I will get to today?"

Sigh.

I do have most of the boxes unpacked. I still can't find our red toolbox with all of our tools, or 12 of the botanical prints I so lovingly framed for the living room. Or 2 more pictures for the family room. My husband is sure we will uncover them, but I have my doubts.

We are really enjoying the pool- especially the dog. If you leave him outside for longer than 3 minutes, he comes to the door and cries. Not whimpers- full on pooch-sobbing sounds that say "I am a black lab! Let me in! It's 105 and my paws are melting!"

He's a wimp.

I spent a small fortune on uniforms for my first grader today. I was not aware that the required plaid jumpers are lined in 14 karat gold. I did stifle a laugh when I saw my daughter's face in the fitting room. "THIS?" she exclaimed. "This is what I have to wear? Every day? Are you KIDDING me?"

I told her to call her grandmother and commiserate. Her lifetime spent in Catholic school uniforms manifested itself into a serious Eileen Fisher addiction later in life. I told my daughter that one day, her closet would benefit from a short lifetime of uniform torture. She glanced at me, and I was able to marvel that even in all of her red/navy plaid cuteness, her eye rolls were still annoying.

I am not cooking. I am not regularly applying makeup, or doing much with my hair. My house looks better than I do, and that's really not saying much. I'm hoping that I will unpack my mojo soon, and start to feel more like myself. Or maybe, just like my botanical prints and toolbox, the mojo is something I will have to claim on the insurance form.

Talking Trash

2010-07-31T13:18:00.003-05:00

The fingernails are gone, but the feeling that I'm camping still lingers.
It is the rainiest summer Houston has seen since the early 1900s. Which is basically the long way of saying that it rains EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.
But I'm always one for counting their blessings, and so I shall.

Thank you God. Thank you for creating gymnastics camp. This provides me a brief respite from the continual squabbles and bickering that plague my everyday existence.

Thank you for Texas neighbors. In our short time here, someone has already baked us a cake. Our next door neighbors could not be friendlier. (almost too friendly, but that's a story for another time).

Thank you for Big Trash Day. Oh yes- I've missed this one. Once a month, you can put ANYTHING- really anything, out to the curb, and the trash folks take it away. (Unless people driving by don't scavenge it first). This Monday, my curb will look like Sarah Cynthia Syliva Stout finally did take her garbage out.

Thank you for Central Market. For those not in the know, Central Market is like a merging of Whole Foods, Trader Joes and Bristol Farms- but only better. It says something when the entire damn family wants to go grocery shopping. Yesterday, my kids sampled imported salami shaped like a flower, something called Cowboy Cookies and freshly squeezed orange juice. Walking into the doors of Central Market was like saying hello to an old friend- an old friend that likes to make me fat.

Amen.

Temporary Fix

2010-07-23T22:26:00.003-05:00

I wanted to take a picture of my current situation, but I can't find the camera.
It's somewhere here- somewhere behind the 300 boxes (not an exaggeration) littering our small rental house.

We are renting a house in Texas, until our house in California sells. Actually, we decided to rent even when we thought we had sold our house, but that's neither here nor there. It will give us time to get our bearings- relearn the neighborhoods, get a lay of the land, so to speak.

Except the lay of the land is dirty. Renting a house is dirty business. Yesterday, I cleaned someone else's fingernails out of a drawer. SOMEONE THAT IS NOT RELATED TO ME. I think I will have nightmares about this for the rest of my life.

In other news, our stuff arrived on the day they said it would. I have been married 14 years, and out of those 14, I've moved 7 times. That's an average of one move every two years. This is the first time my stuff has arrived on time.

The moving truck showed up two days ago- at 8am. It was a balmy 76 degrees- with a big Texas blue sky, littered with fluffy, white clouds. Off in the distance, you could see a few grey clouds- but really nothing to speak of. I thought to myself, "Hey! This isn't so bad! Where's the humidity?"

They started to bring the stuff in. It's fun seeing your stuff come off the truck. You exclaim as you recognize each piece- it's almost like Christmas morning-but instead of wrapping paper, your stuff is entrenched in awkward blue moving blankets. I had a great crew- one guy used to play the drums for the Temptations. Another guy, named DJ, could lift a mattress like it was piece of paper.

After lunch, we started to lose our steam. By "we", I mean the crew- because yours truly was parked in a lawn chair- ticking off box numbers as they paraded by. The air started to get thicker, the grey clouds began to outnumber the white ones. I suddenly got nervous. It was going to rain- pour, judging by the looks of things. My kitchen and bedroom had boxes stacked to the ceiling. My house began to look more like a storage facility, and I could only imagine the work ahead of me.

I don't mind moving, I really don't. I mean, I don't "enjoy" it- but I do get a high out of the organizing that takes place as you prepare. The sorting of the junk drawers- the cleaning of the closets. It's the same with laundry. I don't mind doing laundry. I love emptying the hamper- throwing them in, starting a load. But I absolutely detest putting laundry away. Almost as much as I hate unpacking a box. Any box. And now, I've got 300 of them, staring me down.

So, forgive the lack of pictures. Once I find the camera, I'm hopeful the amount of boxes will be less than a hundred, and that our current digs will resemble more of a cozy, temporary place to rest our heads- instead of one of those pods people use to store their stuff. Because right now, it's Chez Storage Facility.

Scenes From A Move

2010-07-15T01:02:00.005-05:00

My house was packed.
The truck was loaded.
Everything was fine, until I realize that the 2 cases of wine that I lovingly, painstakingly collected had mistakenly been loaded on the truck. The truck that is driving through the country's hottest inferno.

I've now got 2 cases of vinegar that will make excellent salad dressing.
Sigh.

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

We're at the furniture store, trying out different mattresses.
We didn't ship our old set- it is 12 years old and harder than a plywood shelf.
We've never tried a tempurpedic before. The saleswoman keeps talking about how great the "memory" foam is.
My husband pipes up: "Just my luck- it's memory will be so great it will say 'Hello fatty. I remember you. You gained some weight.''
*************

I've got 12 packs of gum in my purse- hopeful distractions during the long roadtrip ahead. Today, I gave my 4 year old a piece, and she chews it for a moment and then immediately hands it back. "Gum is too chewy, Mom." she says. Alrighty. Must find new distraction.
**************

I am currently crashing at my mother-in-law's house. She's got the volume of the television on the highest possible setting, and keeps a running commentary of her favorite shows. (America's Got Talent & So You Think You Can Dance). Please- if you don't hear from me soon, it's because my head exploded and I shuffled off to Buffalo to the nearest loony bin.
***

Weather Girl

2010-07-06T22:27:00.002-05:00

Every summer, we go to Laguna Beach. We ride the trolley, we hit the beach- we go to the art festivals. With one week until we pull up the wheels and take off, we decided to go to the Sawdust Festival.

My kids love the Sawdust. They really enjoy the pottery station- where you pay $15, and a college student helps your kid throw some clay on the wheel, and make a vase. Yesterday, after waiting an hour and a half, my 4 year old got to make a bowl, and have her picture taken for the local paper.

All in all, a great day. Until we headed home. Suddenly, and without warning, I got a migraine. I'm relatively new to the migraine club. My doctor recently gifted me six tablets to try out at the onset of a headache, and of course, yours truly wasn't carrying any. I couldn't figure out the trigger. I hadn't eaten chocolate- no red wine. My sleep was "ok". No excessive amount (or lack thereof) of caffeine. Stress, ok- but that's become de rigueur given the last couple of months.

The pain started in the back of my head, and slowly made its way over my right eye. It sat there, throbbing- while my husband anxiously made his way through summer traffic. I clutched the car's miniscule trash container- just in case I decided to heave up my Sawdust lunch.

This morning, with the ghost of a headache still rattling around my battered skull, I opened my eyes to rain. RAIN. In Southern California. In July. There's the trigger. God only knows what's going to happen when I hang my hat in hurricane alley.

Bad Medicine

2010-06-28T21:44:00.002-05:00

My husband's last day at work in California is this Friday. For the past 2 weeks, his patients have been spoiling him with gifts. Gift certificates for fancy dinners at the beach. Steakhouse gift certificates. Heart-felt cards, a few tears.

Tonight, when he came home, he popped his trunk and unloaded a huge, gold box.

4lbs of Sees candy.

You could hear the squeals of delight down the block. And this was only me- I haven't shown it to the kids yet.

Good Times

2010-06-25T12:26:00.003-05:00

I'm here. I just didn't want to write.

Our house in California, on day 40 of a 45 day escrow, fell through. The buyer "felt like he couldn't focus" so he cancelled. Um, thanks? Thanks for pulling our house off the market a week and half after we listed it. Thanks for wasting our time. Thanks for the two wasted trips to Houston, spent trying to buy a house. Thanks for the stress. The arguments. The sleepless nights. And lastly, thanks for your deposit. We'll enjoy that.

In other news, we are somehow incapable of renting a house in Texas. Not to sound like Goldilocks, but they are either too small, too expensive, too strict (we do have a dog), or in too sketchy an area.

We've had other stuff too, that I can't or won't write about. Other incidents that left me shaking me head in embarrassment and disbelief. I'm not good at asking for help. I don't like to. And after recent events, I'm reminded why. Good times, folks. Good, good times.

But looking at the bright side- because there always is one, and that's what I'm going to do..... we are excited about Texas. It will be GREAT to have my husband excited about work. We are thrilled to see our friends again. My kids are going to great schools.

But we've just pushed the move another ten days so we can find somewhere to hang our hat.

A House Is Not A Home

2010-06-07T09:28:00.002-05:00

Last week, I flew to Texas for 48 hours to try and find a house. I felt like my own reality tv show. The pressure was ridiculous.

I've bought 2 houses in my life. Both very different. Atypical. Not your run of the mill tract house. I loved them both. My current house in California was built in 1964. Originally, it was supposed to be the first house of a nudist colony, but instead- real estate developers from Palm Springs took it over and imported tile from the Old Desert Inn in Palm Springs to outfit my roof. It's kooky. Unique. Different.

Our move to Texas is an investment in our future. I get this. But trying to buy a house there may just put me in the loony bin.

California is still in a depressed market. Apparently, Houston is not. One house we were considering, was on the market for one day. 24 hours. Before we could even get an appointment in to see it, they had 4 offers above the asking price.

There was another house my agent emailed to me before the trip. It looked lovely. It had all the right working parts, was in a pretty good area- right school district. I finally got inside, and got that feeling- that "Hey! I could see us living here!" My husband went outside to walk up and down the street, and I went upstairs to call the kids. While I was on the phone, someone faxed an offer and it was accepted.

We did find a house. It also had all of the right parts, but I didn't love it. We put a bid in. They countered. We countered. They kept pushing the closing date. Pushing on the price. Yesterday, we pulled our offer.

I give up. I'm going to rent. And find out where the nudists live, because I really like their way with houses.

Toddler Logic

2010-05-29T22:38:00.002-05:00

Tonight, my four year old touched the necklace around her neck and said-

"Mommy? I love this necklace. Every time I wear it, it reminds me of the person who gave it to me."

"Who gave it to you, sweetheart?" I ask her.

She thinks for a minute and says, "Ummm... I don't remember."

Complaints

2010-05-24T22:53:00.002-05:00

I'm starting to wonder if I was born with a magnetic ability to attract stress and chaos.

Literally.

Tragically, I currently have a family member that is critically ill. This is heart wrenching, and difficult, and upsetting to everyone- including my kids. It's hard to explain death to your child. I'm trying my best to be honest, but respect the innocence of their childhood.

We are moving. Which by itself, can be stressful. We do not have a house picked out in Texas, and we're still trying to decide whether to buy or rent.

We are maneuvering through a difficult real estate market in California- and not to poke fun, but it's a bit wild, wild, west.

I'm trying to get my kid in a private school that requires a bit of hoop jumping, magic tricks and professional head shots. (thank God I know a GREAT photographer).

I'm having trouble sleeping. My dog is acting up. My kids are a bit on the sensitive side. I'm craving a normal, ho hum day where we can all relax, make a mess and not worry about strangers coming in. No boxes to unpack. No repairmen all over the house.

We'll get there. But you'll probably have to listen to me whine a bit more before it happens.

Open Wide

2010-05-18T23:44:00.002-05:00

These past two weeks have been a flurry of "getting stuff done." Pediatrician appointments. Termite inspections. Plumbers. Roofers. Bleh. Before we hightail it out of Cali, I thought it would be a good idea to sneak in another visit to our dentist.

My dentist is a unique guy. Quite frankly, until this encounter, I thought he played for the other team. He has always been friendly. But recently? More so. Uncomfortably so. With his hands in my mouth, he commented on my skin. I gurgled and mumbled thank you. Then he asked me if I knew what my first name meant. (It's hard to carry on a conversation while someone is scraping tartar, but I tried my best). He said he thought it meant (and I'm not making this up) angel. I started giggling (which caused me to drool on myself) and said, "Um, I don't think so." He insisted that "for you, it must mean angel." ????

Today, I was back in the office, taking my kids to get their teeth checked. (different dentist). He saw me in the hallway. He walked by me. Turned around .Took off his glasses, looked me up and down and said "How are you today, angel?" For the record, I'm a 37 year old Mom in yoga pants. With a bit of a tarnished halo. And I don't think I'll let this guy use anesthetic anytime soon.

Deep In The Heart

2010-05-12T15:55:00.005-05:00

Whew. I can finally let this out.

So here's the deal: we're moving back to Texas.

I know! I know! We just got here, just got settled. But you should know by now that I have a unique ability to magnetically attract chaos, discord and emotional upheaval into my life.

A week AFTER we moved into our house in California, almost two years ago, the phone rang. It was my husband's old job in Texas, telling him that a position was opening up, and would he be interested? After getting some smelling salts, and remembering how much I love my friends in Houston, I told him to go for it.

Two years later- after endless phone calls, funding getting put on hold, it is finally official. We put our house on the market two weeks ago, flew out to Texas to look at schools and neighborhoods- it's really happening!

We are, of course, so sad to be moving (yet again) far from our family. Our kids will miss their schools and friends. But all of us are excited to see the friends we have left. We love Texas. Sure, it's humid. It's got tree roaches bigger than Thanksgiving turkeys. But it also has a blue sky like no other, the friendliest people on earth and something called queso that I could take a bath in.

So that's it. Secret's out. I apologize for not being around lately, but it's a bit hard for me to keep stuff in. Until my husband made it official at work, yours truly couldn't blab (unless you count twitter, which I really don't). Lots more to follow.

We Interrupt This Blog For Some Stupid Stories

2010-04-26T21:02:00.002-05:00

I am alive. Lots of stuff happening, none of which I can post about. I'm hoping that by the end of the week I can come clean and tell everyone what's been going on. It kills me to be this quiet!

So, in lieu of anything meaty- I will tell you the random stuff that otherwise occupies my time.

I asked Lucy if she would like a tuna fish sandwich for lunch yesterday.

She replied, "No thanks Mommy. Tunafish tastes like it is made out of real fish."

Earlier today, I was talking to my husband on the phone. He was a bit snippy last night, and since I have the memory of an elephant, I was still a bit miffed.

"Are you ready to tell me you're sorry?" I asked, a bit indignantly.

"I'm sorry." he says, very sincerely.

I pause.

..................

"Do you know what you're apologizing for?" I ask.

He pauses.

.................

"Not really." he replies.

We laughed. After 14 years of marriage, most of our fights end like this.

Worth 1000 Words

2010-04-08T01:05:00.004-05:00

This picture is from the egg hunt on Sunday.

The youngest anklebiter? Loves pink. Loves to have her picture taken.

The oldest anklebiter? (Seen running in the background). Would sell her mother to win a contest. Hates to have her picture taken.

My girls. As different as different can be.

American Girls

2010-04-08T00:14:00.010-05:00

When I was four, my preschool's dress up box consisted of one pink negligee that someone generously donated. We fought over the flimsy nightgown EVERY.SINGLE.DAY. It would drive the teachers crazy. We'd pull, push, taunt and tease to get our hands on that nightgown. Because in our minds? That nightgown, when properly tied around one's head, became a princess veil.

Today, I broke down and took the girls to the American Girl Store in Los Angeles. Since we didn't leave town over spring break, I've booked a daily adventure for each day we're out of school. Recently, they have become enamored with all of the American Girl movies, books, etc- so I thought we'd finally go see the mecca of all dolls.

Wow. No nightgowns tied around heads here. During the lunch, I think my girls were embarrassed at how excited I was. They have the cutest little chairs so your doll can sit next to you, and the waitress makes a big deal out of serving each doll her own pretend drink in a miniature teacup. (And as she does this, you know she is dying a little bit on the inside, and hoping for her shift to end so she can make a very real G&T in a large glass).

My favorite part of the lunch was a little black and white polka dotted box on the table. It was filled with little question cards, and we took turns picking one and asking each other the questions. "What is your best summer memory? (My oldest said it was the day we spent at Main Beach in Laguna and then went for ice cream. The four year old said she just loves the flowers that come out in summer). What would be your dream job? (one wants to own a furniture store (?) , the other wants to be a pilot).

Afterwards, we toured the historical dolls. My girls asked questions about WWII, about Native Americans, slavery and the state of New Mexico. The oldest anklebiter is currently learning about money in kindergarten, and it was a bit funny to her her gasp at how expensive Kit's Tree House was. I am fortunate to know someone that graciously shared their employee discount with me, so today's visit did not hurt their college fund as much as I anticipated. But if we need new clothes? I've got a few old nightgowns we can turn into headwear.

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

2010-04-05T23:46:00.003-05:00

Easter. Once again, the holidays come and go, and I become so mesmerized by their presence, that by the end of the festivities, I cannot look at another egg. Or a bunny. Or a basket. Or I will vomit.

Seriously. I get SO excited for a holiday- any holiday (arbor day, anyone!) and completely overdo things, that by the time they are over, I'm more than ecstatic to have them go away for another 364 days.

And this Easter was no exception. We hightailed it to the grandparents, to hook up with the rest of my family, to commence the annual dying of Easter eggs on Saturday. My Dad was put in charge of the egg dying- and while we practiced egg hunts in the front yard, he set up the vinegar bowls and wax crayons and empty egg containers in the backyard. (Side note: my sister-in-law is the Master Egg Hider, and she taught me some awesome hiding tips. She always hides two eggs in almost the same exact hiding spot. The kid gets so excited to find the one egg, they walk right by the second. Genius, I tell you).

Except, Grandad got a little overzealous with the egg dying. By the time we discovered him, he had dyed half of the eggs by himself, and each kid only had 2 a piece to make their mark on. (What, you think I came by this holiday fanaticism by my environment? Oh no, pure genetics, baby).

We celebrated my Mom's birthday that night- and every year we try and find her the perfect gift. And every year, she gets angry that we spent any money at all. Next year, I'm going to schedule a blood mobile to show up while my Dad is dying all of the Easter eggs. We'll all make a donation in her honor. She will still complain that we should have saved our blood to give to our children.

The next day, the Bunny made an appearance (he had to take a trip to Vons at 11pm the night before to bulk up the Easter candy stash) and we made it to my parents' club for brunch. I indulged in one bloody mary too many, and a few hours later, found myself being driven home by my Dad, while I rode in the 3rd row of my minivan. I told him that it felt just like old times, and that I hoped I wasn't grounded when I got home.

After a quick nap on their super comfy couch, I awoke to a swaying, and rocking sensation. At first, I thought the dogs had gotten inside and were playing coyote- until I heard my Dad softly mutter, "Is that an earthquake?"

It was. We were feeling the rumblings of a 7.2 quake on an previously undiscovered fault in Mexicali. An interesting end to an otherwise unforgettable day.

A Random, Useless Update

2010-03-25T15:51:00.003-05:00

1. I am sick. A horrible cold has infested my body and turned me into a snivelly, snotty cranky pants. Luckily, Netflix delivered my copy of "New Moon" and I'll have some Mrs. Robinson's Cougar oogling to do over Edward to make me feel better.

2. The much talked about talent show is this Saturday. You can bet your bottom dollar I'll be there with my camera, and will give you guys a full report. Someone recently, anonymously, commented "Stop The Insanity!": and I hear you sister. (or brother, since I'm not sure which gender of anonymous you are). I promise to give all the salacious details as it unfolds.

3. Is anyone watching the show "Parenthood?" If not, please fix this as soon as possible. It somehow captures the melancholy looniness of family life in a way that doesn't dumb things down for the audience. And on the flip side? American Idol has completely jumped the shark. I never thought I'd miss Paula Abdul so much.

4. Has anyone tried Pop Chips? I'm on a hunt for them- and hope they satisfy that 3:00pm gnaw off my arm hunger that is inhibiting my weight loss progress. Pop Chips, I will find you.

5. My kids are now completely obsessed with American Girl. I bought the DVD set of movies at Costco, and suddenly found myself explaining black out raids, circa WWII, and child labor laws. Thanks American Girl, for making me parent a little harder.

Out Of Luck

2010-03-23T22:47:00.003-05:00

Today was one of those days. One of those days you don't want to remember when you're gumming jello in the assisted living center. My oldest anklebiter's elementary school is getting out early all week- for parent teacher conferences. So when I showed up for pickup, there was a ton of parents that aren't normally there at that hour. The street was clogged, cars were lining up one after another.

My minivan had been parked against the curb for fifteen minutes. 1-5. As I toted my kids back to the car, there was a woman standing in front of it, looking sheepish.

"Is this your car?" she asked, nervously.

I nodded my head and noticed my left bumper was hanging on by a thread.

She quickly explained that she had run into my car, and was in the process of writing me a note. As I listened to her explain, I found myself consoling her. Patting her on the arm, assuring her that no one was hurt, it could have been worse, yadda yadda yadda. She told me how her husband was going to kill her, how she had never hit anyone before how, OMG! I can't believe this has happened!

I took her info, got the kids in the car, and tried to make my way out of the parking spot. Except the woman that had hit me penned me in. And she was so flustered, she had to leave her car running and jump out to tell the car in front of her the whole damn story. Which left me boxed in. For ten minutes. Ten, very long minutes.

When I got home, I opened the garage door and discovered we have another dead varmint rotting away in our walls.

Yeah, I really don't want to remember this day.

Unplugged

2010-03-23T00:45:00.004-05:00

During the dinner party on Saturday, one of the kids inadvertently lost the remote for our family room television. You cannot operate the television without the remote. I feel like I'm starring in my own "LIttle House On The Prairie" but honestly? It's been kind of nice. The kids are playing more board games. We're all reading more books. Talking to each other.

But suddenly I think about all of the shows recorded on the DVR and I start to shake. I've furtively thrown every couch cushion every which way. Looked in every nook and cranny. Natta. Zip. So if anyone watches "The Real Housewives of NYC" and something juicy happens? Please take pity on me.

Spring Broke

2010-03-21T00:35:00.003-05:00

I'm whipped. Plum tuckered out.

Some of the country celebrated spring break this week, and even though it was supposed to be work/school, business as usual- we've had quite the time. Last weekend, my family got together to celebrate my older brother turning 40. 40! We rushed home from his shindig in time to greet an old friend that was visiting us for a few days from New York.

Ironically, it was 85 and hot when she arrived, and her family at home was in the midst of a terrible storm and left without power. The orange blossoms are in full bloom over here, and we had one teeny, tiny earthquake- so she got the full California experience. (We also decided to hit Disneyland at 7:30pm on Tuesday night- and between 8pm and midnight, we went on 8 rides: Small World, Pirates, Nemo, Star Tours, Tiki Room, Indiana Jones, Peter Pan & Mr. Toad).

After my houseguest left, we went to a Pirate dinner theater with the grandparents and visiting cousins. It was fun, and I tweeted the entire experience, but if you think the dinner fare at a pirate theater is going to be halfway decent? Think again.

The next day, after school- we hightailed it back to Disneyland. It was a lot more crowded than it was late Tuesday night- but we had a great time hanging out at California Adventure and talked all the little kids into getting on "Soaring" (one of my favorite rides).

Today? We hosted a dinner party for the family that graciously lent us ski stuff for our vacation.

Tomorrow? I'm not getting out of my pajamas. For anyone.

Wake Up Call

2010-03-02T15:58:00.004-06:00

Today is a sick day. Sick as in, my four year old was up most of last night puking her brains out, and sick because what I had to live through was way beyond what anyone told me was in the Mom Job Description. We've been lucky. My kids haven't been sick much this year. Just when I realized this, the Gods of Bacteria smiled upon me and thrust the plague of ear infections on my brood once again.

Then last night, at 3am, Lucy cried out the dreaded words no mother wants to hear. "Moooommmm? My tummy doesn't feel too goo....."

She didn't get to finish her sentence.

My dog is not allowed to lick anyone today.

I am forever thankful I bought a Hoover carpet cleaner.

The rest of the night spiraled downhill. Lucy knows I'm a huge fan of Jane Austen, and decided to go all "Pride and Prejudice" and insisted on puking in a bucket, while laying propped up on pillows. No indoor plumbing for my little Elizabeth Bennett. Of course, someone needed to procure the bucket, and that lucky job fell to me. We had many important life discussions during this escapade:

1. We discussed the importance of keeping your mouth OPEN while vomiting.
2. We learned why they call it "waves of nausea".
3. Hey! Let's time your waves! 3:30, 4:00, 4:30, 5:30- Wow! We could almost set a clock by her vomiting skills!
4. Yes, I know you feel better. You just puked. No, you may not drink chocolate milk. My Hoover can only take so much.

So today, we are watching lots of television, stupid pet tricks on youtube, and busting out the carpet cleaner. We look forward to returning to regular programming soon.

Aloha

2010-02-26T17:41:00.002-06:00

We just got back from a four day ski extravaganza. It was much more fun than I anticipated since A) I hate snow, and B) I don't know how to ski. But my husband loves it, the kids are young enough to get going and I was taking one for the team. (Plus, I get veto power on the next vacation, and let's just say that I'm holding out for Hawaii. After paying the astronomical ski rentals, that should be in 2025).

We had a great time- the kids played in the snow, yadda yadda yadda. I won't bore you with the family togetherness, but I did meet the coolest lady. On the way home, we drove through a pretty intense snowstorm. We careened down the mountain in our chains, and decided we'd better try and get ahead of the storm and would stop for breakfast further down the mountain.

After driving an hour and a half, we stopped at a place called Jack's Cafe in Bishop, California. Your typical hole-in-the-wall breakfast joint, this place was exactly what we needed. Known for their homemade pie and muffins, the place was brimming with locals eating eggs, huevos rancheros and drinking your standard white diner mugs of coffee.

Our waitress appeared. She looked like an extra from the tv show "Alice." She was gritty, had a smoker's voice and crows feet deeply embedded on either sides of her eyes. She smiled, (which wrinkled up the crows feet) and asked us if we were on our way to play in the snow.

"On our way back, actually." My husband replied, and she took notice of his weary face and white knuckles.

"Did you need chains this morning?" she asked.

"We sure did." my husband grimaced.

She smiled, and immediately careened up and down the aisles, telling everyone to "chain up" if they were headed up the mountain. She refilled our coffee cups, yelled at the bus boy to give us more water and brought me a blueberry muffin that was larger than my 4 year old's head.

Her girlfriends came in and sat at her station. She paused to gossip and give them their cheese omelettes. She was clearly in her element- trading one liners with her regulars and wielding her pot of coffee like she was General Folgers. It was, seriously, the best service I have ever had. I wished I could eat breakfast every morning at Jack's- and then I remembered the snow, waved goodbye, and got the hell out of there.

Pampered Pooches

2010-02-18T23:39:00.003-06:00

Today I was at Petsmart, and I saw a most disturbing thing: Snuggies for dogs. The most disturbing part of this story is that I came "this close" to buying one. Poor George.

It was 80 degrees today. It's been beautiful all week- I even took the kids to the beach on Monday. So how do we celebrate? By taking a quick vacation six hours away to the snow. I hate snow. But my husband loves to ski and I love my husband. And hot chocolate. And lodges with fires and a good book.

I love watching the Olympics, but I feel a little uncomfortable when we win a lot of medals. To me, it seems like grandstanding. I'm like "c'mon, let Jamaica win a bobsled medal." I like the little guys. I also think Speed Skaters look like sperm in the Woody Allen film "Everything You Wanted To Know About Sex...". Sperm that go really, really fast.

We finished reading "Mary Poppins" during our family storytime, and have moved on to "Little House On The Prairie." It's really interesting to hear this story as an adult. I keep thinking about Ma, and what she was thinking when she sat on that wagon, with her hands in her lap. And why did they make their dog Jack walk UNDER the wagon? His poor paws. He needed a Snuggie.

Thank God for the Disney Channel

2010-02-17T23:11:00.008-06:00

I know I promised more on Vegas, but given the events of the last couple of days- you guys have to hear this.

My oldest anklebiter goes to a public school. Public. Funded by taxpayers. A really great, nationally recognized PUBLIC school. This week it felt like an east coast private school straight out of the Nanny Diaries.

There is a talent show. Put on by elementary school kids. It's an annual tradition at this school, and folks take it seriously. My daughter was asked to join a group of girls- Kindergarten girls, to perform a 2 minute dance routine. Originally, she said no. Then she realized the weekly rehearsals were a kind of built in playdate and she enthusiastically agreed.

We started rehearsing. When I say "we" I mean the kids and the 2 high school students we hired to teach them a dance. I enjoyed hanging out with the other mothers during the rehearsals, and only when the audition date grew near did I start to get nervous.

"Do they really audition kids?" I ask. "Or are they really just checking for acceptable content?"

"Oh no, they really audition them." one of the more seasoned moms with older children replied.

I couldn't really wrap my head around this because 1. These kids are 5 and 6 years old. 2. They are really cute. 3. They may not be the world's best dancers, but did I tell you they were cute?

Auditions were RIDICULOUS. The group ahead of us was a third grade contingent of can-can dancers in fishnet stockings. (I am SO NOT kidding. I didn't even know fishnets came in such a small size). Their hair was professionally styled, and I watched their curls bob up and down as they nodded their head at their very professional choreographer's pep talk. Next to them was a group of 5th grade boys- all dressed as Michael Jacksons- in wigs, short pants and bedazzled socks. We were in very, very big trouble.

The audition wasn't great. They were cute, but the girls forgot half of their choreography and kind of stood there like a kindergarten amobea, gaping at the judges. The judges sat behind a table, scribbling notes- and I suddenly felt like I was on a rejected version of "American Idol."

We got word on Monday that our kids wouldn't be on the list of accepted acts. The judges agreed to give the kids one more chance, and are letting them have 2 more weeks to try and get their act together. (both literally and figuratively).

We got together today, and rallied in the kitchen. We needed new choreography. Our teenage coaches weren't cutting it- and none of us were Bob Fosse material. You do know I danced like Elaine at the Bellagio, right?

Suddenly, I remembered something. "Did any of you see Daisy Duck do that dance on the "Mickey Mouse Club?" I asked.

The other moms looked at me like I had been smoking too much of Goofy's hash. "You know! Jump Forward, Jump Back, March March March. Slide to this side- Slide to the other side!" I explain. I borrow an umbrella from a 5 year old girl, and start to dance it for them.

The kids are now doing a modified dance routine stolen from a cartoon. Take that, you Hollywood bitches.

Craps- Play It? Or Drink it?

2010-02-08T02:04:00.006-06:00

A week ago, I was in Las Vegas, wearing a cocktail dress, stealing sips of a dirty martini and getting on a VIP list at the Bellagio. Tonight I watched my husband drink coffee made from the excrement of some cat-like animal in Vietnam. (Weasel coffee? Who knew such a thing existed, and who in their right minds would think of this?)

But I digress.

I miss my friends from Texas. It's a rare event when you meet a gaggle of girls with no other agenda than having a great time, being supportive and sharing lots of laughs. In my 2 years in Houston, I spent many a Friday afternoon at a playgroup with these women, sharing a glass of wine, parenting skills and the occasional dirty joke or two. I've moved back to California, one other member now lives in New Hampshire, and the rest are still in Texas. We were bemoaning our distance via email when we suddenly decided to plan a Girls Weekend Getaway. In Las Vegas.

Vegas. I had not been there in 12 years. It's changed quite a bit. The slot machines have gone digital- and no longer leave that ding ding dinging ringing in your ears. Most of the upscale casinos do not allow smoking (or have amazing filters). We decided to go out for a Mack-Daddy dinner our first night, so we got all dolled up in cocktail dresses and tried out Thomas Keller's Bouchon. Our waiter was a German guy named Randy that was hell bent on convincing us German guys can have a sense of humor. (He didn't succeed). The food was great. The beignets filled with pastry cream were my personal favorite.

After leaving Bouchon, we hightailed it over to the Bellagio. The light was dim, & I was walking fast- so when I was stopped by a young gentleman in a suit, who asked me if I wanted to get my name on a VIP list for the club at the Bellagio- I stopped short. Envisioning a scene from "Knocked Up" ("Doorman, I'm not too old"!) I quickly laughed and told the guy, "You DO know I'm 37 and have 2 kids right? I'm wearing Spanx which are hiding my stretch marks. I think you have made a mistake." He laughed, asked for my cell number and said he'd text me.

Meanwhile, we decided to try our hand at craps. One of the more well versed gamblers of our group quickly demonstrated how craps worked by pocketing $150 in 30 minutes. How simple! How fun! (Fun yes... simple? No. I lost the next night). But craps is like a party- the kind of party where you hang out with strangers- one that looks just like Bill Clinton and calls himself "Big Daddy" and his escort (using the term loosely) that is, maybe 22- and proud of her big boobies.

We did get into the club at the Bellagio. I haven't been to a club in more years than I care to remember, and I was shocked at the changes. The VIP seating areas cost $750 for a booth, and it comes with 2 bottles of Vodka. (We opted to not do this). However, we did get to watch 2 blondes in gold dresses light bottles of Cristal Champagne on fire and shake their moneymakers in some guys' face. The dance floor was packed, and after a few drinks, we decided to make the best of our situation by either doing aerobic dance moves, or impersonating Elaine from "Seinfeld." No one else around us was born in the 80's so our jokes went unnoticed. We just looked like goofy old ladies that didn't know how to dance.

Goofy old ladies that were having some serious fun.

To be continued....

9 Completely Random Things You Didn't Know

2010-01-26T01:11:00.004-06:00

1. Today I had to attend a scrapbooking convention for work. I admire people that scrapbook, but I just can't do it. Truly? It escapes me. The 300 women I saw today going bonkers for what appeared to be a series of stencils scared me. Really, really scared me.

2. I'm going to Vegas this weekend, with my Houston girls. I cannot wait. My husband is staying home and taking the kids to a local show of "Annie." This weekend? I'm on "Easy Street" and he has "A Hard Knock Life." (sorry, couldn't resist- at least you can't hear me singing "Tomorrow").

3. I joined a book club recently, and volunteered to host this month's session. All was well and good until I drank a bit too much wine and then started acting out my favorite scenes from "Jersey Shore." Instead of demonstrating my intellectual prowess, I told a story about pickles in a spot-on South Jersey accent. And then I showed them where my dog ate my couch. Classy.

4. Tonight was supposed to be my night to cook a mac-daddy dinner, but I was still shaking from my run-in with the scrapbooking fans so I ordered pizza. And checked twitter so I could use the "secret word of the day" and get a free fountain drink. Social media. I love it so.

5. I had to drive to LAX last night to pick up my husband at the airport. I think I'm the only person in the world that loves LAX. I love the pillars of light that surround the "official" entrance to the airport with the cartoonishly large letters that spell out L-A-X. I love that the cops are complete assholes about security, and you can't even idle the engine when you try and pick someone up at baggage claim. (You just slow down, pop the door open, and the person you are picking up throws their bags in and climbs in while the car is still moving. Or you get a ticket. And sent to a jail off the shore of Cuba). I love that security is run by a woman- a no nonsense woman that probably still buys her pantyhose in plastic eggs in the supermarket. That's how tough she is. Plus, everytime I go to LAX, I remember my first time there. I was 15, just moved to Califoria from Hawaii, and saw Kirk Cameron get into a limo. This was the height of "Growing Pains", and it is forever burned into my memory.

6. My dog- my 80lb pile of black fur that thinks he is a lap cat? Smells. And not in a good way. With all of the rain that we've had, he's channeled all of it into one musty, smelly, dog smell. It's payback for making him do his business in the middle of a typhoon.

7. Sunday was National Pie Day. Did you know this? I'm somewhat sad that I did.

8. I am playing Mafia Wars on Facebook, and losing miserably. I never want to fight anyone, or rob anybody. I just want to open casinos, and Italian restaurants. I'm going to wake up one of these mornings with a horse head in my bed, I just know it.

9. Tomorrow I am pitching my newly found Public Relations skills to a new would-be client. This client prides itself on its East coast attitude for the West coast, and I'm wondering if I should act out some "Jersey Shore" stuff for credibility. I'll keep you posted as to how this works out.

The Most Boring Blog Entry Of All Time

2010-01-26T00:56:00.002-06:00

My husband spent the weekend in Orlando, at a conference. I can tell you this now, because he is now home, and has returned to his job of protecting us from all would-be home invaders, strange forms of bacteria and door-to-door salespeople.

While he was gone, I cleaned. I know that does not sound exciting, but when this mood strikes, I'm a force to be reckoned with. It's something that must be taken advantage of, because this wind doesn't blow this way that often.

It was the kind of weekend that tied up loose ends- like boxing up the mistaken doll American Girl almost ruined my Christmas with and getting her ready to return to America, or wherever she is from. Finally filing 2 months worth of bills and being able to see the top of my desk. Finishing framing the calendar I bought from Smith & Hawken days before they went out of business and successfully hanging 12 botanical prints in my living room that is ACTUALLY starting to look like a living room, and less like a bowling alley. (I should show you a picture of this one, because it took me an entire afternoon).

My closet still needs cleaning, and I still can't find my debit card. (My kids were "playing" store and it hasn't been seen since). I didn't cook- one night I took the kids out for dinner, the next night we made pancakes. (lemon zest & vanilla are my 2 not-so-secret ingredients). Sunday night, I drove to Los Angeles to pick up my husband and took a deep breath. It felt good. Like we're ready to start the week. Remind me of this on Wednesday, when I'm ready to put someone up for sale.

Purplicious

2010-01-20T15:09:00.002-06:00

Oh my goodness, I can't stop looking at these.

The Internet Is Not So Scary After All

2010-01-18T12:41:00.005-06:00

It's Monday.
It's cold outside. And raining.
A harsh return to reality, after a surreal weekend crammed full of fun.

About a week ago, I was on twitter, when I saw a certain photographer of Dallas had the opportunity to visit Los Angeles with her 15 month old. We've virtually known each other for a couple of years, and although we've never met- I quickly browbeat her into extending her stint in LA so we could meet.

Then I got word that she was bringing a friend. Not just any friend- but THIS friend.

When I called my husband at work to tell him, he couldn't understand me at first because I was giggling so much. Then he got worried. He doesn't tweet. He doesn't blog, and generally, he's pretty wary of the internet. But then a case of wine arrived at our house in anticipation of my internet friends' arrival. (They send the BEST hostess gifts. The Cannonball Cabernet is the yummiest thing I have tasted in quite awhile). He laughed his worries away, and offered to cook us dinner so I could drive to LA and pick them up.

They were in the midst of Golden Globes Baby-Palooza. We waited for them by the pool, and as I sat on the chaise lounge and watched my anklebiters do cartwheels in the grass, I laughed at how silly this whole thing was. MinivanMom comes out- and despite her protests about how unfashionable she is (Readers: She DOES know how to apply makeup!) I am here to tell the internet that she is a tall, striking blonde with amazing style. She was wearing a green patterned empire dress, with tall black boots that I immediately coveted.

We quickly hook up with the rest of the party- which not only includes Jen, of Sugar Photography fame (who DOES look like she starred on "Saved By The Bell"!) but her adorable toddler Coco. (Jen is tall- is the entire Posse a gaggle of Southern supermodels? As expected, Jen has epic boobs but a bigger smile). After a quick lunch at In-N-Out, I drove them to Orange County. We visited the beach, the park, they picked lemons and oogled the flora and fauna.

But the best part? You know when you haven't seen an old friend in a while, and the minute you're back together- it's like you never left? That's how it was like with these people that I have never met in person. After polishing off a few bottles of wine (5, but who's counting?) and eating my husband's yummy chicken with morels- we put the kids to bed, lit a fire and just talked (and laughed) until 2am.

I got to see firsthand why Tracey moved to Dallas. This group of women is like a family that they have selectively chosen. They are honest- candidly so. They are very, very genuine. But best of all? They are stinkin' funny. Most of the funny stuff has been locked in the "what happens on the road, stays on the road" vault- but trust me. Hilarity ensued.

The next day, Jen worked her magic and did a photoshoot of my kids that had me weepy just looking at the raw shots in her camera. After dropping them off in time to barely make their flight- I remembered why I love Texas. It's all about the people. And if you're not originally from there, Texas works its magic to get you there. Plain and simple.

Confucius Say: This Girl Is Funny

2010-01-09T23:52:00.002-06:00

Last night, I took the youngest anklebiter out with me to pick up some Chinese food. We get in the car, and she immediately pipes up.

"Mommy?" she asks. "Who is farting?"

"No honey, that's just the Chinese food." I reply.

There is a pause. And then she says, "The Chinese food is farting?"

Smitten With This One...

2010-01-05T22:26:00.005-06:00

I know you all know I love food. You are shaking your heads, wondering how I can possibly waste another entry talking about food. Food!

We like to eat around here.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away- I stopped cooking a big dinner on Sundays. We tend to eat a big family lunch after church on Sundays, and dinner is usually mellow- or something we'll grab out. So I shifted the whole "big Sunday dinner" fete to Mondays.

Mondays are dreary. No one likes Mondays. Especially my husband. He detests Mondays even more than Garfield the Cat. And that's saying something, for those of you that were born after 1982. So when I have my act together, I plan a knock down, drag out, time consuming meal for Mondays. It makes everyone happy. It soothes the soul. It makes Monday feel more, well, like Sunday.

This Monday, I cooked this. And HOLY COW! It was seriously amazing. I did not reduce the sauce- I served it right out of the crockpot. I did make the pickled onions, and the red cabbage slaw, and I did serve it on corn tortillas with little bits of jalapeno as garnish.

I'm not usually a fan of the crockpot. I try to avoid condensed things in red cans, and most of the recipes involving crock pots usually use that too. I usually think if you cook anything for 10 hours, it tastes like it. But not this. Seriously. The meat could be shredded with a fork- it practically fell apart. The cabbage slaw had the right balance of crunch, vinegar and sweetness to make me want seconds. But those pickled onions? Stupidly easy- but they make the whole dish get up and sing. Seriously. Even Simon Cowell would have liked this one.

Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Bust out your crockpot and make this. (and don't forget to serve it with your favorite Mexican beer). And then come back here and let me know. Because I love to talk about food.

Catching Up

2010-01-03T01:18:00.003-06:00

Happy 2010 everyone!

Our new year started off with an unexpected, unwelcome surprise. Of which I'm not allowed to blog about, or discuss- because it is just plain gross. Seriously. I'll leave it at that.

In other news, have I told you how much I love January? My tree is halfway down, the decorations are halfway in their boxes, and I love the feeling of reclaiming my home. The sparseness, the empty tables- it just feels good. In other news, besides the usual "lose weight, be healthy" etc. of the standard resolutions-- here are a few more I'm adding to my list this year.

1. Plan a REAL family vacation. We went to Catalina for TWO days last summer. That's the most vacation we've had in awhile. Now granted, we live 15 minutes from the beach and visit Disneyland on average, 3xs a month. But still. We need to get away.

2. Try 3 new recipes a month. I did a pretty good job of this last year. I cooked ribs. I made a blueberry pie. We steamed lobsters. I did fancy French food. Now I'm going to strive to cook more seasonally, without leaving much of a carbon footprint. (Barbara Kingsolver's "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" was my favorite read of 2009). I need to capitalize on the bounty of Southern California's produce. It's seriously amazing. My neighbor knocked on my door yesterday (why yes! It was 2pm and I was still in my jammies) and brought me oranges, tangerines and lemons- picked from her trees.

3. I have some major organizing that needs to be tackled. Before I left for China, I ordered a lovely black lateral filing cabinet for my office. (thanks Ballard Designs!) I envisioned a clear desktop- and oodles of neatly tabbed folders containing all of my organized paperwork. Ummmm..... it contains the paperwork- but it's in stacks, and not filed. And my desk? Is a total mess. So are my closets. My garage. My linen closet. Lots to do here.

4. Focus more on date nights. When I lived in Houston, I was really good about this. We had 2 nights a month- dedicated to spending time as a couple. Every 3 months or so, Matt would take me out to a mac-Daddy dinner and we tried some of the best restaurants in Houston. Since we moved here? Not so much. When we do go out, it's usually for a work function, or to see other couples. I'm tired of having crayons at EVERY meal we have as a couple.

5. Photograph more. We put together awesome photo books for the grandparents for Xmas (thank you Blurb.com!) and it made me realize that I need to figure out how to work the camera (not just in Dummy mode) and take more pictures. My husband is the expert, but I'm the one that's got the time. My friend told me about a class I can take, and I'm seriously thinking about signing up.

That's it! I hope all of you are having a healthy, and welcoming start to the new year. It's gonna be a good one. I can feel it in my bones.

The Eve of the Eve

2009-12-24T00:56:00.003-06:00

I'm in the middle of wrapping presents. My husband is asleep on the couch, the dog is passed out on his bed, and I hope the kids are upstairs sleeping. I'm trying to write Santa Claus in eight different versions of handwriting, and keep tossing presents from pile to pile- trying to even things out.

This year has been a tough one in some ways, a blessing in more. Today at lunch, my 4 year old ate a meatball that was bigger than her head. She giggled about it the entire time. We spent all day yesterday making cookies. Cut out sugar cookies, iced in royal icing, doused in sanding sugar. The only thing preventing the day from becoming a Hallmark movie was my oldest daughter's continuous bouts of gas.

Tonight after dinner- the girls asked if we could read a couple of books from the Christmas basket. A few years ago, I started collecting Christmas storybooks, and I put them in a basket under the tree. (Some folks wrap theirs, but that is way too on top of things for this house). Every night, the girls pick a book for us to read.Tonight, we read the last of our basket books, and my oldest asked if we could sing carols. She insists we "look at the tree" when we sing. Seriously. Next year I'm going to outfit the family in Victorian caroling costumes.

I hope you all have a wonderful, wonderful holiday. Make sure you look at the tree when you sing. Trust me.

Christmas Crisis, Averted

2009-12-22T11:08:00.003-06:00

Sometimes, I feel like I belong in another era.

I like being a stay at home mom.

I like to cook. And while I don't have my husband's slippers waiting for him when he gets home, with a vodka tonic in one hand and his paper in the other, I'm a tad more traditional than most of my friends. (except politically, which makes me the enigma that I am).

Do you see where this is going? I went to my husband's work Xmas party this weekend. I love his co-workers. I have written about them before. They are, ahem, surgically enhanced. They are beautiful, in a very Southern California, Orange County way. They also have a very, very raunchy sense of humor.

They couldn't wait to tell me how, on a recent business trip to Vegas, they snared the department head's luggage and filled it with g-strings. Then they told me they were planning on giving my husband something similar for Christmas. I like these girls, I really do. But I shook my head and said to them "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"

My husband would die. Seriously. A hole would open up in the ground and swallow him whole. I gently suggested they move along to the tin of popcorn route. After seeing my face, they quickly agreed.

Oh Come All Ye Crazies

2009-12-21T21:53:00.005-06:00

Crikey, time is going fast.

I cannot believe Christmas is this Friday. I'm usually on top of the shopping, and did the majority of Santa's work on November 18th- a night I stayed up late and shopped online. I pulled the stuff out yesterday, and started wrapping. I cracked open the box from American Girl (which should have been dipped in gold, considering how crazy expensive those suckers are) and was horrified to find out they shipped me Josefina, instead of Molly.

No offense Josefina. You look like a nice girl. But your hair isn't in braids, you don't wear glasses AND IF YOUR COMPANY DOESN'T GET YOUR FRIEND MOLLY TO MY HOUSE IN TWO DAYS, I will personally drop your box off at the Los Angeles tea room and make a wee bit of a scene.

In other news, no matter how ready I think I am, I never feel like it's enough. Don't get me wrong- I don't mean to sound insensitive, and I know the economy is hurting and folks are scaling way back (we are too!), but each year- about 2 days before Xmas, my kids ask for something- something they haven't mentioned before (certainly not before Nov. 18th) and I find myself panicking, and looking at their loot and thinking what a disappointment it will be.

This year, aside from the Molly snafoo- Lucy has asked for a Belle doll. I found this out 2 days ago, and despite living in Orange County- there is not a Belle doll to be found. My Disney pass is blocked out, so I'm verboten from tracking one down at the Happiest Place on Earth, and Targets' shelves look like we're readying for a snowstorm. Toys R Us is dirtier than normal and has even more staff that are not helpful AND they don't have any dolls either. In desperation, at a cocktail party this weekend, I remembered that my husband's co-worker is engaged to a girl that is Minnie Mouse at Disneyland. Yes, I cornered Minnie at a party and basically pleaded with her to find my 4 year old a doll dressed in yellow.

In other news, my husband recently borrowed my computer and when I went to open the screen? I found out he had last been visiting the "Fountain Pen Network" where they leave posts about ink, repairing your pen, nib sizes etc. His office porn made me laugh with glee. Under my tree, wrapped in shiny paper, is a new fountain pen. Unless someone shipped me a felt tip by mistake.

Dear Santa, I'd Like Tens and Twenties

2009-12-11T02:12:00.004-06:00

In the weeks since I've last updated, much has happened. We had a birthday party for my now six year old. I turned (gulp) 37, and my husband, uncharacteristically gave me the most thoughtful gift ever. He had my blog published. Into a book. And I am now the owner of the only copy available. He wrote a wickedly funny about the author, and made up silly quotes from people like the New York Times, Dog Fancy and Christian Science Monitor. He had me laughing and doing the ugly cry all at once.

My kid wrote a letter to Santa in her kindergarten class. She asked him for money, and slippers. She's trying to use more adjectives, so she specified shiny quarters, a $2 bill and purple slippers. It's like we're acting out our own version of "Charlie Brown Christmas." (remember when Sally dictates to Charlie that she wants tens and twenties?)

I'm co-hosting a cookie exchange with my neighbor, and my kid's kindergarten teacher is coming. That means I can't go hog wild on the egg nog- like I did 2 years ago with my buddies in Houston. I wound up entertaining myself in a corner by laughing about the "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" episode involving a nudist, some hummus, and a certain appendage waving over the pita bread basket.

I am hosting Christmas Eve here at my house, and must figure out what I can serve that won't kill everyone the next day. I was going to repeat the lobster corn chowder we made last year, but that seems to have food poisoning written all over it. Maybe I'll just give everyone a prescription for Compazine in their stocking and call it a day. Funny anecdote: Compazine apparently is not only used for nausea, but schizophrenia as well. The day after my stomach issues, I felt like Parent of the Year. Now I know it was a residual after effect of the medication, and my kids are unhappy to report that I'm back to my Polish Washwoman ways of screaming like a banshee. Yes folks, the Christmas spirit is alive and well.

Thankful I Didn't Kill Anyone

2009-12-02T09:30:00.004-06:00

Thanksgiving was unforgettable. We had 20 of our dearest friends and family come join us, and while usually this would cause my head to spin and my nerves to fray- this year it didn't. I've been married for 13 years, and of those 13 years, I think I've cooked 10 turkeys. This year, I got my act together early- made my pies and messy stuff the day before, wiped down the kitchen, set the table, packed up the kids and dog and headed to my folks.

My Dad made dinner for everybody the night before (did you know they sell more pizzas the night before Thanksgiving than they do on Superbowl Sunday?) and on early Thursday morning, I left the kids with Grandad. My mom, and sister-in-law joined me at my house. We had Christmas music on. We had the turkey in the oven. There was always someone to stir your pot, or wipe down the counter. We laughed. We joked. More importantly, we did not freak out. By 3pm, everything was ready to go, and my Mom and I were sitting in lounge chairs, outside (it was 80 degrees people!) drinking orange Pellegrino spiked with gin. Here's a picture of the kids, not drinking orange fizzy gin, but having fun all the same:

Dinner was great, the company was better. We stayed up until 1am playing poker, and my stomach ached from laughing so hard. At least, that's what I thought. The next day, my older brother was felled with violent stomach issues. Then, my next brother, and my sister-in-law. Then, my nephew. My niece. My mother. My husband. My aunt. My dear friend from high school. And finally? Yours truly. Somehow, I don't think I'll be cooking anybody turkey anytime soon.

The Best Birthday Present Ever

2009-11-20T22:43:00.004-06:00

Today, my Annie turns six. And while six years can be a long time--- and mean living in 3 different houses and attending 4 different schools- it feels like only yesterday that they placed her in my arms for the very first time. I was so lucky to have my friend Theresa, the best doula in the whole wide world, there for Annie's birth. Admittedly, I was a little distracted on the day Annie was born, and had no idea Theresa was keeping notes of all of the flurry of activity until she read this letter to us on Annie's first birthday. It makes me cry every single time.

November 20, 2003

As your Mom touched the top of your head while you were being born, the room exploded with emotion. Your Mom began - "is that my baby girl? Oh, our baby girl is here! She is here!" She repeated this over and over as you were placed on her tummy. She exclaimed how beautiful you were and how much you looked like your Daddy. As you started to cry she instantly tried to calm you - "hush, hush - I know it has been a scary day". She wished you a happy birthday and said - "we have our little family". Although your Dad was not as vocal as your Mom, he was just as emotional. They were both overjoyed as they met you for the very first time.

Annie - I was asked to be present at your birth to provide support to your Mom and Dad. It was an honor to witness such a wonderful moment. I was very moved by the way your parents received you. It was a welcome like no other I have seen. I tried to express the emotion that filled the room in my first paragraph, but my words are not able to capture the amount of excitement and love that filled the tiny delivery room. Aside from your actual birth - I recorded the events that lead up to that time. The following is the chain of events as I knew them. I hope you enjoy this story and hold it as a special memory for ever and ever.

Friday November 7th, your parents and I met for lunch to discuss their wishes about your birth and what role I would take. We talked a lot about the labor process. Your mother wanted to labor at home during early labor, but your father was sure he would take your mom to the hospital as soon as there was any sign of labor. I have to say - all the knowledge your Dad has about medicine - flew out the window when it came to your birth. I reassured both of your parents that home was the best place for early labor and that your Mom would know when it was time for her to go to the hospital. Overall, the conversation was full of excitement as we were all anxiously awaiting your arrival.

Sunday November 16th, your Mom called me at noon and said that she was experiencing contractions. Both your Mom and Dad were very excited that that day would be the day they got to meet you. They were going to enjoy a walk together - maybe for the last time before having their daughter in tow. At 2pm I checked-in with your Mom and she was disappointed that the contractions had stopped.

Tuesday November 18, your Mom emailed me that she had had a doctors appointment and her cervix had not changed at all. She was disappointed as it looked liked it could be a week or so before your birth.

Thursday November 20th, your Mom phoned me at 4 am and said she had been up since 1 am with contractions. Both she and your Dad were unsure if this would turn into your birthday or not. We joked that if it were to be your birthday - you were a punctual kid because the 20th was your due date. I asked your Dad to record the contractions for the next hour and call me back. At about 5:30 am I checked in again and the contractions were 5 to 12 minutes apart and lasting about 30 seconds. Your Mom seemed to be coping fine and both of your parents were thinking they would rest at home for awhile longer. I called again a little after 8 am and your parents were on the way to a bagel shop to get some breakfast. You must know that your house was under construction and there was no kitchen - that would be a whole different story. Anyway - your parents were still unsure if this indeed was going to be your birthday. I told them I would be very surprised if the contractions stopped at this point. I told them to call me as soon as they needed me. Your parents tell me that after breakfast they went to a park to walk around. When they arrived to the park your Mom tried to get out of the car and knew she was not going to be able to do the walk. They decided it was time to go to the hospital. They got to the hospital about 9:30ish. Your Mom was checked and found to have contracted 4 cm, she was about 50% effaced and her water bag had ruptured. She was in great spirits and was happy to have gotten so far before arriving to the hospital. Your Mom's goal was to get to 4-5 cm before having an epidural - she made it! Yeah Mom!!

I arrived to the hospital at about 10 am. To find your parents making a flurry of phone calls to let everyone know you were on your way. Now they knew this would be your birthday and they were very excited. Soon it was time for the epidural and your Mom was concerned about the procedure, but was very brave. She continued to cope with the contractions using her relaxation breathing. At 10:40 the attending anesthesiologist provided your Mom with the epidural and then she was able to rest. She called your grandma, but could not reach her as she and your grandfather were driving back from Arizona after having met your cousin John. At 11:30 am your Mom was checked again and was 5cm and 70% effaced. She was progressing well, but we still had some time. Your Dad ran out to get some lunch, your Mom and I listened to music and chatted. At 2 pm, your mother had reached 6 cm and was 100% effaced. At 2:40 pm your Mom's friend Nicola visited. Your Mom and she chatted for awhile, but soon your Mom started feeling a lot of pressure and needed to start focusing on her contractions again. At about 3 pm the nurse had begun trying to give your Mom pitocin, and at the same time the epidural began to loose its effect. The anesthesiologist was called to provide more pain medication, but the pain continued essentially until your birth.

At 3:30pm your Mom had reached 7 cm and was 0/+1 station. At 4:00 your Mom really began to feel pressure. The doctor seemed to hesitate to re-check your Mom, because it had only been a half an hour, but at 4:15 he did and found she was complete! Things started moving very quickly at that time. Your mom was really feeling pressure and had an urgent need to begin pushing. I did my best to talk her out of pushing, but she was getting vary anxious and uncomfortable. When the doctors were ready - your Mom was more than ready - she exclaimed, let's get this done! The doctors explained exactly what they needed for her to do and she listened intently and pushed exactly as they had said. Your Dad was up next to your Mom's ear - counting for her and telling her what a good job she was doing. Between several contractions your parents told each other how much they loved each other. Your Mom continued to work with ever contraction and very soon you could see the top of your head. Your Mom asked if your hair was black and when the Doctor said yes - she said she knew it. I knew your Dad was not sure about watching your actual birth, but when you were nearly here, I leaned over to him and told him it was time to look.

As he peered over your Mom, he could see the very top of your head. Within the next few seconds the room exploded with emotion. One of the doctors grabbed your mom's hand and put it on your head as you were coming out. Your Mom instantly began to talk to you. She said is that my baby girl? Oh, our baby girl is here! She repeated it over and over as you were placed on her tummy. She exclaimed how beautiful you were, how much you looked like your daddy. She began to calm you - "hush, hush - I know it has been a scary day". She wished you a happy birthday and said - we have our little family. Your Mom was so vocal and emotional, your Dad was overjoyed and taking it all in.

You were born at 4:41 pm, weighed 8 pounds 10 ounces and were 20.08 inches long.

At about 5:30 pm your mom tried to nurse for the first time. Soon after that many of your Dad's coworkers came by to visit. Again the room filled with excitement. Your Nana and Tad arrived. Your grandmother held you for the first time and her eyes began to well, she too exclaimed how much you looked like your Dad. Within the next hour you and your Mom were transferred to another room where your other grandparents had just arrived. They too were thrilled to meet you and gave you a special Raggedy Anne doll as a welcoming gift.

Annie - Thank you for the honor of sharing your first moments of life with me. It is a day that I will always hold as a special memory.

I wish for you to always have the love and excitement that filled your delivery room in your heart and in your life.

Love, Theresa

Manly Men

2009-11-19T18:02:00.002-06:00

Whenever someone finds out what my husband does, inevitably, I usually get a few wiggled eyebrows and a wink and a "aren't you lucky!" And I am. I love my husband. But his job? It doesn't immediately turn him into a Chippendales dancer. Now, admittedly, the first time I visited him at work (as a recent graduate from med school- on his 1st day as a surgical resident), I thought the blue scrubs and white coat were cute. Then, a week later, he came home covered in someone else's poo (people! there's a reason you're not supposed to eat for 12 hours before surgery!) and I suddenly changed my mind.

You know what job I find attractive? General contractor. Handyman. Anybody that knows how to fix things. Today, my handyman stopped by the house. He hasn't been here in six months. In the span of an hour and a half, he did the following:

1. Fixed a drawer that was jammed in the garage. This drawer houses all of my tools, batteries, flashlights etc. The drawer hasn't been able to open for 2 months.
2. The doorknob in the garage that kept falling off every time I'd go to take the trash out.
3. He put address numbers on the house. So now the fedex guy can stop taking antidepressants.
4. He unjammed the pocket door in my bedroom. (I didn't even know it was jammed)
5. My daughter's bedframe kept coming apart- he screwed it all back together.
6. He hung a Roman shade in the master bath so my husband can stop his 5am peepshow.
7. He hung a shade in my daughter's bedroom that I'm hoping will entice her to stay in her own bed. (yeah right).
8. He hung 2 shelves. 2 shelves that have been propped against the wall since we moved in. One YEAR ago.
9. He hung a 100 lb mirror that was also propped up on my dresser and that every night, I prayed wouldn't topple over and kill me during an earthquake.

Seriously, this stuff makes me happy. Giddy. It makes me look at my handyman, in all of his 61 year old, handlebar moustached glory, and say "What a man." God bless the guys that know how to fix things. And the other guys that know how to fix the guys that fix things when something goes wrong. Even if they do get pooed upon from time to time.

Stocking Stuffers

2009-11-15T10:20:00.005-06:00

I'm here! I'm here! My life has just been a whirlwind of random activities that all seem determined to bring me to my knees.

Case in point? My beloved pooch somehow got his paws on some chicken piccata. Chicken piccata and black labs don't mix. At all. He basically imploded, and I spent the greater part of one night scouring carpets, inadvertently walking through poop and cursing like a sailor. The rest of the week was dedicated to steam cleaners, a God send of a product called "Nature's Miracle" and a test in patience when he imploded on my living room carpet when it was still wet from being cleaned. Sigh.

My husband then invited his whole department over to our house for dinner. On a Friday. He works late every Friday, and even though this was supposed to be his chance to cook for his work friends, can you guess who did the work? I really love doing stuff like this, but I'm not good at winging it at the last minute. Combine that with an insanely busy week, and I was a big ball of stress. For 20 people, I decided to do a "cozy after work dinner" and did the following:

huge cheese board (dill havarti, triple cream brie, smoked gouda & stilton w/ cranberries)
Cheddar corn chowder
Butternut squash & apple soup
mango glazed ham
green salad (w/ pears and blue cheese)
dinner rolls
apple crisp w/ vanilla ice cream

I figured with a couple of different pots of soup on the stove, the fireplace going and a few open bottles of wine, it might distract them from the heavy scent of Febreeze and a mopey dog that was only eating rice and boiled chicken. My house was a complete nuclear bomb site two hours before the party, and despite three guests showing up half an hour early (that 30 minutes is when all the magic happens, folks) we had a really good time.

So good in fact, that a couple of nurses that work with my husband asked me if I'd host a holiday party. Here's a little background. 90% of the nurses that I've met are lovely, lovely people. Truly dedicated to what they do, real nurturers, and have a calling to do what they do. 10% of them (and I've met most of these in Southern Cal, go figure) are products of breast implant operations, hair extensions and "travel" to exotic locations to try stints at different hospitals. I learned a long time ago to make these girls my friends--- it's always better to admire their plastic surgery up close, than to gossip from afar.

One very attractive nurse, we'll call her Nurse A, asks me if I'll host a holiday party- a party just for girls.

"I love it!" I exclaim. "How about a cookie exchange!"
They all look at me with blank faces.
"You know, where everybody brings a different kind of cookie, and we all trade- so you go home with a platter of different kinds of cookies?" I explain, slowly realizing these girls haven't ever eaten a cookie, or a carb for that matter.

"Ummmm.... ok, " Nurse A says. Then her face lights up. "I can bring my toys!" The other girls immediately dissolve into giggles. Now it's my turn to look confused.

Apparently Nurse A has a side business of naughty toys. Her clear footwear should have been a dead give away.
Ho ho ho. No. No way.

Good Morning

2009-11-06T13:02:00.003-06:00

This morning, all before 10 am, the following things happened:

1. I found out that two little people that I hold most dear have swine flu. I also mistakenly told my friend that rats were worse than her two anklebiters with swine flu. What I meant to say was "dude! I just have decomposed varmints! You have a little one with a 104 degree fever! And are housebound indefinitely!" In the never ending game of whose life is worse, she wins. I am so buying her a drink when I see her IN VEGAS IN TWO MONTHS! Yes, I'm excited.

2. My dog jumped in the shower with my kid this morning. After he got out the front door and ran down the neighborhood.

3. My kid dumped a whole cup of my coffee on the chair that matches the dog eaten couch. Luckily, they are not coming to shoot the cover for House Beautiful anytime soon. Or ever.

I'm starting to wonder what the afternoon has in store.

The not -so-pep Rally

2009-11-02T22:39:00.006-06:00

I'm a homebody. I love putzing around in my pajamas, rereading old decorating magazines. Planning my next purchase. But I'm also a busy mother of two extremely active anklebiters, which means my house isn't always company ready.

My neighborhood is a mixed bag of ages. We've got some young families, but a few folks have grown kids that are long out of the house. These neighbors like to spring me with surprise attacks/visits. My doorbell will suddenly ring, and I'm in my Costco pajamas, coffee cup in hand- and I will glance over and see the breakfast dishes still in the sink, laundry in mid-folding on the dog chewed couch, recycling that hasn't been taken out. And the daily dose of Barbies, crayons, stuffed animals and other toddler crap that explodes in my house on a regular basis.

My Mom always taught me that if you could get the following things done each day, your house may not be company ready, but you won't be swallowed by mess. Not to get all flylady on you or anything, but they are:
1. Run the dishwasher before you go to bed and empty it first thing in the morning.
2. Make your bed. Your room can be a disaster but if the bed is made? It looks neat.
3. Wipe down the bathrooms.
4. Wash, dry, fold and put away one load of laundry each day.

Most days, this gets done. But, honestly? I've come up with a word that best describes my housekeeping style.
It's called "The Rally."

At five o'clock, I scurry around, yelling like a Polish washwoman, trying to undo a day's worth of mess in 60 minutes. My kids dread five o'clock. It's the witching hour when their mother morphs into a lunatic armed with Lysol wipes and empty threats. One hour later, the house looks presentable. Dinner gets started, my husband arrives home, and life is good.

Except for the day he came home early.

His eyes literally bugged out of his head, and if I remember correctly? He thought we got robbed.
The Rally. Right, wrong or indifferent, it works.

If you come home after six.

Heavy Stuff

2009-10-31T11:57:00.005-05:00

Last night was interesting. I decided to take what I had learned from this week's cooking class, and apply it in a real life situation. Here is what we cooked in this week's class:

Potage Parmentier (Leek
and Potato Soup)
Tournedo Henry IV (beef filets with artichoke bottoms and bernaise sauce)
Pointes D'Asperges Au beurre (asparagus tips sauteed in butter)
Clafouti Aux Poires

Bottom line? The French love butter. Henry IV was a fat ass and Parisian cooking involves a lot of suffering for aesthetic purposes only. I don't think I will ever peel a small waxy potato and then use a melon baller to make small rounds of potatoes again. Or trim the little baby leaves off an asparagus tip. Seriously.

But? The artichoke cups filled with bernaise sauce placed on top of a filet that has been seasoned and encased in bacon? Crikey, it was good. And when I paired that with some plain roasted asparagus and roasted potatoes? Good stuff. I even found an easier recipe for pear clafouti (thank you Ina Garten).

We had a small, but interesting group from my husband's work. A nurse that he works with, that is married to a game warden, and another doctor that specializes in helping people die (can't remember the Latin name) that is married to an Economics professor. I spent most of my time talking to the Death Doctor.

I had never heard of her specialty before, but it makes perfect sense. After a person is given a terminal sentence, she assists with their pain management, works with hospice and ironically, spends a good amount of time convincing the patient's original doctor to let them go gracefully. She said she gets a lot of satisfaction out of comforting families, and helping folks live out their last days with dignity and peace. Surprisingly, she said most of her job frustration is from working with the other doctors. They have a hard time letting go- of accepting defeat and letting their patient die. It goes against everything they have trained for, worked towards. She chastised my husband last night for giving a family hope, when she felt there was none to be had. He vehemently disagreed with her, and at one point, I thought someone was going to take a bath in bernaise sauce. (not really, but it makes for a tasty visual).

She is comfortable with death. She's not jaded. She loves the interactions she has with patients and their families, and really feels like she is bettering a situation. That day, hours before she hightailed it over to our house for a cholesterol-laden meal, she was helping a 37 year old that had been diagnosed with cancer and had 2 weeks left to live. She has 2 young kids.

Heavy. Heavy meal, heavy discussion.

Inconvenient

2009-10-30T11:55:00.001-05:00

Last night, I was headed to a cooking class.
A class I have looked forward to for months.
French cooking.
Which means butter. Lots and lots of butter.
I love butter.
But when I went to get in my car?
It wouldn't start.
I panicked, called my husband and took his instead.

This morning, when the guy came to jump start my beloved minivan?
He found a fried rat in the engine.

Someone please come hold me.

Haute Cuisine

2009-10-25T10:27:00.003-05:00

Update:
The smell is gone. Either I've tricked myself into believing that, or Mother Nature took pity on me. On Monday, I've got exterminators coming to help me better seal the house. Gah.

On to brighter things....
My baby turns four on Tuesday. Last night, we gathered local family for her annual "birthday dinner party." She loves this event. It's her time to be fawned on by grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, and best of all? She gets to pick the menu.

Lucy's 4th Dinner Party Extravaganza:
spinach artichoke parmesan dip from Costco.
Chick Fil-A chicken nuggets platter
Pioneer Woman's baked beans (these are insanely good)
butter lettuce salad with blue cheese, dried cherries, almonds
Texas sheet cake w/ pink writing

Last year, we also served the nuggets. I sheepishly explained to everyone that this is what happens when your kid plans the menu- but was astonished at the rapid rate the nuggets were eaten. Folks secretly love the nuggets. My Mom even asked me if I'd make the baked beans. I love my family. They know how to party like a 4 year old.

Rats.

2009-10-22T23:48:00.002-05:00

My stellar week continues!!
So, apparently, my dog ate the couch because there was a rat in the wall. (located behind the couch).

The rat has now kicked the bucket, and the stench is unbelievable. Although my neighbors are consoling me with their own tales (pardon the pun) involving these beloved tree rats, (they love the fruit trees)- I'd love your opinion.

Do I tear holes in my wall searching for this pleasant surprise? Or just let nature run its course?

Inquiring minds (in a God awful smelly den of deceased varmin stench) would like to know.

Cocktail, Anyone?

2009-10-22T00:06:00.002-05:00

Last week, my dog ate my couch.

Today, my computer imploded.
The service light came on in my car.
The first case of swine flu was diagnosed in my daughter's class.
So was a raging case of head lice.

Girl Vs. Food

2009-10-14T22:44:00.007-05:00

Lunch in the countryside of China. Not something I'll forget anytime soon. After wondering if they had defibrillators installed on the Great Wall of China, our local guide escorted us to a random shack in the country for a casual lunch.

I have to mention that autumn had just started to hit China the week I was there. At first, it was startling- because I stupidly think autumn is a franchise of New England, and that they own a monopoly on leaves turning, and pumpkins and such. Not so, ignorant travelers! You CAN see pumpkins and eat kung pao. (My husband and I continually joked about this after first arriving- "Look! The sun shines the same in China! Look! Ikea looks the same in China!" You get the idea).

Our friend had never been to this strip of countryside restaurants before, but as our van careened down the dirt road, folks would start frantically waving at us- hoping to entice us to stop at their rustic place for a bit of grub.

The place we stopped had two people waving instead of one, so we decided to reward their extra effort by giving Mr. Lee a much needed rest from his job of chauffering/murdering us.

The walls were cinderblock. The floor was dirt in some places, crusty linoleum in others. We were taken to a small back room, and seated at a large round table. Truthfully, we all looked a little nervous. Our friend, and Mr. Lee started to converse with the waitress, and local beers and room-temperature bottled Cokes were quickly served.

Then the dishes started to arrive. First, there was chicken soup. Literally, soup with a chicken in it. Lucky for me, I was seated right next to our local friend. My husband was on my other side, and he frantically grabbed his beer and quietly muttered that he would be passing on the first course.

I couldn't. First, I didn't want to offend my friend. He was eagerly looking for my reaction, and the amount of kindness and generosity he had shown us that day was seriously remarkable. I didn't want to disappoint my new friend, or Mr. Lee (we still had a long drive home). Second, when am I going to get this chance again? To eat such a meal in such a setting? So I grinned, tried not to look at the floating chicken head in my bowl (with one eye and a bit of brain floating around) and took a bite.

Spicy. Savory. Seriously Delicious. The group eyed me with apprehension, and Matt whispered quietly, "Holy shit. You're like my own Andrew Zimmerman."

After that, the game was on. I ate from an entire fish (caught that day from a nearby lake), pumpkin, an unidentifiable filled dumpling, bok choy and a myriad of other dishes that boggled my mind. I drank my coke from a bottle and prayed I wouldn't have to discover the bathroom facilities. (This place had no running water, and yes, my husband took pictures of their restroom. I will NOT be posting these). My friend was pleased that I was so enthusiastic, and kept placing bits and morsels on my plate for me to taste.

Then, my new friend from China said something to the waitress, and she nodded her head. My friend then escorted me to their kitchen, where I could see them cook. It was a small room, probably no bigger than 8 feet by 8 feet. There was one small window. No sink. A piece of wood propped up on bricks in the center of the room that served as their prepping station and dirty dish repository. An old woman held the biggest chef's knife I have ever seen (more akin to a cleaver, really) and smiled a toothless grin before she went back to work hacking a chicken.

It was definitely a meal I will remember, and an experience I will treasure. Chicken head soup- who knew?

Someone's In The Dog House

2009-10-13T22:20:00.003-05:00

So yeah, I want to continue musing on my trip to China, but reality has other plans.

My dog destroyed my couch today.

Ruined. Beyond repair. His ball went behind the couch, and he figured the fastest way to retrieve it was to go through the couch. Literally. There is a huge, gaping hole about the size of a tennis ball through the back of the couch, and for good measure, a pawful of rips and tears scattered throughout. I was home when this happened- in the garage trying to figure out how a drill bit works (don't ask). The kids were apparently sitting on either side of the dog, and all they asked was "Mommy? Why is there snow inside of our couch?"

Because sometimes I feel like there must be a studio audience and a laugh track hiding somewhere--- I just so happened to order a new sofa for my empty living room last Friday. It took me a year to do---- to decide what to get, to save up the money. I second guessed myself a thousand times- and almost chickened out when I went to the showroom to place the order.

Now I've got to start all over again. Looking at the bright side, I really needed new family room furniture. Our current stuff is 11 years old, and has been peed on (potty training wars), sat on and moved across the country twice. It looks its age. Unfortunately, it's not something we've got budgeted right now. So if you happen to come over? No Sanford and Son jokes folks- or I'll move the couch out to my front porch and sick my dog on you.

The Great Wall

2009-10-07T12:31:00.003-05:00

My husband has a friend that works in Beijing. Our friend hired a driver for the day, picked up a group of us from our hotel and took us to spend the day in the countryside.

First stop? The Great Wall of China. Before I can tell you how magnificent, and surreal, and life changing it was- I need to describe the drive there. Our driver's name was Mr. Lee. He was young- probably mid-30's, and a really nice guy. But Mr. Lee cannot drive. Nor can anyone else I met in my short stint in Beijing- including every cab driver I unfortunately came across. Every time I got into a moving vehicle, I took a deep breath, clutched my husband's arm and tried not to dig my nails in as we zoomed through intersections, made right turns from left lanes and cut off every rickshaw in the joint.

Mr. Lee took us about an hour outside Beijing. The smog lifted, and the skies were sunny and gorgeous. Groves upon groves of persimmon trees (some over 500 years old) were dripping with fruit, and before I could take a picture, Mr. Lee decided to play chicken with some oncoming semi-trucks on a 2 lane highway.

We got to Badaling, one of the more popular parts of the Great Wall around 10:00. We were surrounded by rocky hills, sunny skies and cooler air. We set off on our climb- and it was really and truly, absolutely fantastic. Each part of the Wall is separated by towers, and you weave your way through the hills and get higher... and higher... and higher...

I was pretty peppy to begin with. I kept making Ghengis Khan jokes, and pretended to hide from some Mongols in a tunnel in one of the towers. For the first 20 minutes- you are absolutely amazed with where you are. What you are doing. Where you're walking. What you're seeing.

And then it gets kind of rough. The Great Wall is steep. Some parts have stairs, some are just rubbly steep inclines that put any stairmaster to shame. It quickly degenerated into a game of survival. Of trying to put on a happy face to the rest of the folks in my group who were also quietly suffering and try not to look too winded. It amazed me to see folks huff and puff up to a tower, and then light a ciggy before taking the next leg.

One guy brought a Flat Stanley for his niece's classroom project, and I did notice that he spent quite a bit of time arranging Stanley for a photo opp. I really think he was buying time to catch his breath.

I did get some amazing pictures- and will post them once I get them off my husband's hard drive. You will see my red, sweaty face, my gleeful smile and the panic in my husband's eyes when he realized how we were going to get down.

We didn't walk down. We took a tram. Suspended on wires, Badaling has little cars that careen down the mountain at an alarming pace. They had a sign in English that said "Please keep bodies inside." And another one that said "Don't scratch the cabin." That struck me as funny until we started, and I realized some folks must turn into rabid stray cats and claw the doors for safety.

My husband screamed like a little girl, but you didn't hear that from me.

Next up? My lunch in the countryside. Life changing. And yes, chicken heads are involved.

More Cankles, Concubines & "Cheese"

2009-10-02T23:35:00.007-05:00

Our first day in Beijing was adventure from start to finish. Folks that were well versed in visiting China encouraged us to take full advantage of the extensive breakfast buffet at our hotel. I had packed power bars, dried fruit and nuts to slip into our pockets while we were exploring the city (along with travel toilet paper, but we'll save that for another time) - but brunch? Brunch was ridiculous.

You had your traditional brunch stuff- pancakes, french toast, hash browns, omelette station. For the Europeans, they had charcuterie, and Muesli and for random folks that like this sort of thing- a big pot of baked beans. (?)

Then there were the dumplings. In the more traditional sense- they set up a noodle station- where they would create a bowl of noodle soup for you. Next to the soup was an enormous lazy susan of steam pots containing every kind of dumpling imaginable. Steamed shrimp dumplings. Pan fried pork dumplings. Lots of random dumplings that I have no idea what was in them, but tasted mighty fine. And there were little dipping bowls of chili sauce, soy sauce, vinegars etc. It was awesome.

It was also salty. Given this newfound breakfast of champions, it didn't look like my cankles were going to disappear anytime soon. By day 3, my rings hardly fit. I may swell like a puffer fish, but I like me some dumplings.

My husband was so concerned about where his next meal may come from, that he, (how shall I say this nicely?) completely over-did at our first breakfast. He ate more at one sitting than I've ever seen him eat. Seriously. I think the Chinese chefs became afraid that Homer Simpson had checked in, and I think I overheard them placing an emergency order of dumplings.

We decided to work off our extensive brunch that had manifested itself into lunch/dinner & potentially breakfast for the next day by visiting the Forbidden City. The Forbidden City is the original court of the Emperor. Built in 1406, it's a vast series of buildings that make up the inner and outer court of imperial China. It is, without a doubt, the coolest thing I've ever seen.

We splurged and got the audio tour- since most of the historical signs were in Chinese. Roger Moore, Mr. James Bond, happened to be the narrator, and he really got into it. Anytime he mentioned the word "concubine" or "eunuch" James Bond would try to not giggle, and since Imperial China had a thing for concubines and castration, there was a lot of repressed laughing.

We spent hours looking at the architecture, taking pictures and people watching. Not a lot of Westerners were there that day. Since we were visiting so closely to the 60th anniversary of Communism, a lot of Chinese folks made the trek to Beijing to celebrate. Since I had gotten my highlights touched up in anticipation of the trip, yours truly stood out quite a bit. I didn't really notice anything until we left the last gate of the Forbidden City. Now standing directly in front of Tiananmen Square, I noticed a few local folks staring at me.

At first, I wondered if someone had told them how many dumplings we had consumed that morning. Then I slyly checked my fly. I looked behind me to see if they were potentially staring at something else. Nope. Just me. Finally, a young man in a black suit with a grey mock turtleneck (I hate mock turtlenecks- why mock one? Just wear a real one if you like turtles) approached me and in halting English asked if he could take a picture. I thought he wanted me to take a picture of him, so I smiled and nodded and reached for his camera.

He giggled (I promise! I did not say concubine!) and shook his head. He stood next to me and held the camera to his friend. I put my arm around his shoulder (not realizing that most local folk do not touch each other when taking a picture) and gave my best smile. I was about to offer him an autograph but we got caught up in a marching band of Communist soldiers that were heading across the square. My husband was wary at first- wondering the guy's intention and not appreciating it when I told him that clearly, the folks of Beijing understand real beauty. That clearly, the most literate society on Earth has a deep abiding affinity for swollen ankles. It made perfect sense.

Then, five minutes later, a group of 20 year old girls stopped and gestured that they would also like to take a picture with me. Without using language, we were somehow able to compliment each other on our shoes, discuss the plot line for the next "Sex In The City movie",swap makeup advice and extoll the virtues of eating a good dumpling breakfast. By the time we took the picture, we were fast friends...

to be continued...

Cankles & Cargo Pants

2009-09-30T16:19:00.007-05:00

This was my first trip away from the anklebiters. My saintly aunt and uncle kindly agreed to watch them for a week, and preparing all of the little details that make up my life with the kids was a daunting task. Borderline overwhelming. Since they would be driving my car, I needed to get that disinfected. Since they would be cooking in my kitchen, I needed to find the stray mold spores hiding in my veggie drawer. By the time it came to leave, I was a tired, exhausted, emotional mess of a wreck that tried to hide her tears as her little ones furtively waved goodbye.

And then I boarded a fifteen hour flight headed to Hong Kong. Most of the travelers were extremely well dressed- in utilitarian cargo pants with cool looking shoes. Our flight was sold out, but luckily, the middle seat between Matt and I mysteriously remained empty. As people continued to board, Matt kept telling me not to get my hopes up. Then they locked the doors, and I did a celebratory jig and stretched out.

My older brother asked me what I was going to do on such a long flight. I jokingly told him that I packed lots of sticker books and lollipops. Little does he know, that I've been thinking about this for almost ten months. Fifteen hours of solace. Granted, most of it would be in the middle of the night, but for someone that hasn't been to the bathroom by herself in five years, this was an opportunity to indulge.

Cathay Pacific gives everyone their own little screen- and you can watch a live camera outside the cockpit, play video games, watch television or catch a movie. I watched "The Hangover." I started laughing so loudly the cargo pants people started giving me strange looks, and since it was 3am California time, I piped down. (Side note: Hangover was hilarious. So was "I Love You Man"). I also read. I splurged at Amazon, and throughout the week, I read the following:
The Help- by Kathryn Stockett (loved this. loved. loved. loved.)
Best Friends Forever- Jennifer Weiner (eh. Didn't like this one).
The Lost Symbol- Dan Brown (like my brother says, you always feel kind of dirty for reading such commercial candy, but it was decent)
Water For Elephants- by Sara Gruen (I liked it. Didn't love it, but liked it a lot.)
The Secret History of the Pink Carnation- by Lauren Willig (cute historical fiction)

It was strange- leaving at 2am and flying east. We chased the night for the entire flight, and I kept opening the shade- checking for daylight. It was dark for quite a while. When we finally landed in Hong Kong in the mid-morning, my eyes were tired and my legs were swollen. We had a few hours to kill before our connection to Beijing, so yours truly decided to get a traditional Chinese Reflexology massage.

Big mistake. Huge mistake! It was the most painful 45 minutes of my life. My ankles were so swollen from the flight, and the elderly Chinese woman not only used her knuckles as torture devices, she slapped the patootie out of my calves. Matt took pictures, and if I didn't look so completely vile I'd post them. I kept trying to look composed, but I kept dissolving into giggles of pain as my legs were kneaded, poked and prodded.

After that and a $9 latte from Hong Kong Starbucks (they serve mango brown rice wraps y'all!) we boarded our flight for Beijing.
To Be Continued...

Awake, But Not Really

2009-09-28T00:51:00.002-05:00

I'm back from China.
I did not choke on a fish eyeball at the Summer Palace.
I did climb the Great Wall-
which almost gave me a heart attack-
but that's a story for another time, hopefully soon.

Did you ever hear of this saying about jet lag?
East is the Beast & the West is the best?
I still think I won't sleep tonight.
15 hours is a big way to swing.

Bed Bugs

2009-09-10T23:52:00.006-05:00

My dog thinks he's a cat. He's 65lbs of pure canine denial and thinks he belongs on your lap. Or in your bed. Every morning, George stealthily waits until Matt hits the ground running at o'dark thirty.The minute he hears the shower taps turn on, he leaps into bed and dives under the covers.

This might be funny if I haven't already been invaded by one or more anklebiters. My kids don't like to sleep alone. They have mastered the art of the "looking insanely cute and needy at 3am" routine that I regularly awaken with one or more princess-pajama clad bodyparts casually draped across my torso. (Where do kids get the talent to inflate their body mass and overtake a bed? How can a 3 year old take up that much bodily space? It defies the law of physics.)

The irony that should have been an Alanis Morrisette lyric is that I used to hate being touched when I slept. Seriously. Before kids and schizo-pooches, I would draw an imaginary line down the bed when it was time to get some shuteye. Like a roadtrip game played in the backseat of a 1970's station wagon- "this here is my space, and only my space. Do not cross that line or I will feed the dog an ice cube from the cooler and have him puke in the only pair of shoes you packed for our 2 week trip." (true story).

Now, I regularly constrict my ever expanding body into the 2cm of space that my daughter leaves me on the edge of the bed and wait for the sun to rise. So my crazy pooch can come join in the fun.

The Meter Is Running

2009-09-09T22:57:00.003-05:00

Back to school is kicking my ass.
There, I said it.
I only have 2 kids, so it's not like I'm Kate Gosselin over here, and one of them hasn't even started yet.
But Annie is only in school for 3 hours and 20 minutes.
3 hours and 20 minutes is not a lot of time when you factor in walking up and down the hill to school, Target runs because your kid hates Target and grocery store runs because your kid hates Operation fruit snacks. Starting Friday, I have to drop yet another anklebiter off at yet another school.

Which will leave me approximately one hour to be alone.
ONE hour.
ONE HOUR.
Holy schnikey, folks. This could get ugly.

Then, because I'm so concerned that Annie is not in a full day of rigorous learning, I've bulked up her afternoons with activities. Like swim lessons. Ballet. Tap. Tumbling. Poking her mother's eyeball out with an ice pick.

Today, I had to go get vaccinated against typhoid and mad cow disease before my trip to China. Scheduling this amongst all of the many Mom-Taxi maneuvers I do was trickier than devising a national healthcare system. I've put off my airconditioning repairman THREE times because I'm not home for a long enough time to accomodate their window. I can't get my hair cut for another month for the same reason.

I feel like I'm constantly watching the clock. Or sitting on my ass waiting for someone to be done. With something. Because at the end of the day? I'm coming undone. All over.

On the First Day

2009-09-03T17:42:00.001-05:00

A Change of Heart

2009-09-01T21:50:00.002-05:00

Today went great. Annie was excited from the minute she got out of bed. Her Daddy took the day off from work, and the whole damn-family walked the half block to school. She lined up outside of her classroom, waved goodbye to us, and was shepherded into the classroom by a teacher that was trying not to laugh as all of the mothers lost their swizzleshizz.

Yes. I cried.

Then, because I'm such a genius at time management I scheduled new swim lessons for the FIRST day of school- I took both kids to the swim club at 4pm. Annie's new instructor had a bit of a challenge. She kept giggling. She kept cackling (this Wicked Witch of the West cackle that means nothing but trouble). He would ask her to swim straight- she'd go sideways. She'd dive down to the bottom of the pool. She'd float on her back. ANYTHING but what he asked her to do.

After fifteen minutes, he gave up. He swam up to the side and asked if I minded if he gave the extra time to her little sister. Which was a great idea, but after 45 minutes of non-stop swimming for my three year old, she was completely wiped out.

By 5pm, my house looked like a toddler episode of "Cops." My kids were half naked, mouthing off worse than meth addicts from the South and screaming like wild banshees.

Oh school. How could I ever doubt you? I heart you. With every fiber of my being.

My Ann-With-An-E

2009-08-31T22:35:00.003-05:00

Tomorrow Annie starts kindergarten.

She is more than ready. Her Hannah Montana backpack is by the back door, her lunchbox is packed. Her outfit is picked out, and she's already decided what she wants to ask her teacher. ("When is show and tell? Do we get to check books out of the library? Did you know that I want to be a scientist?").

Today, we went to kindergarten orientation. They asked the kids to sit in the front of the multi-purpose room, and the parents sat in chairs at the back. We listened to drop off rules, pick up rules, birthday rules, PTA stuff. The kids started to get antsy. The principal then asked the kids to stand up, and she taught them the school cheer.

My Annie- my normally ebullient, brimming-over-with-things-to-tell little girl hung her head low and didn't yell with the others. When the principal instructed the kids to head out of the room first, and that the parents would soon follow- she shot me a look. A look that said, "I'm not sure I want to do this."

This weekend, I reread, for the gazillionth time, the book "Anne of Green Gables." I adore this book. It is a large part of why I have my own "Ann-with an e". And I always get teary when Anne has to leave the island to pass hers school exams. Tomorrow, my little girl's world grows exponentially bigger. Even though her backpack is bigger than she is, and her three missing bottom teeth make her whistle when she talks, she's heading off the island. And when I look at her? I still see that chubby newborn- with the endless cheeks and know-it-all expression. Tomorrow brings new things for all of us.

Morbidity- Thy Middle Name

2009-08-25T20:34:00.003-05:00

So here's the deal.
I'm going on a trip soon.
It's my first overseas trip.
With my husband, sans kids.
We are going to China.
I just got my first passport.
I also got my first visa.
And now, I'm having my first panic attack.
Yes, I'm thrilled that I will see the Great Wall.
I will haggle for pearls.
I will eat unique food.
I also think I'm going to die.
I am now obsessed with Plan B for my kids.
Involving life insurance, guardians, and fantasizing my funeral.
I hope this is just me being silly.
But if I happen to choke on a fish eyeball while visiting the Summer Palace?
Don't say I told you so.

Sneaky

2009-08-17T23:19:00.002-05:00

Tonight, I tucked in my 3 year old. She is my baby. She knows she is my baby. And she is one sneaky devil.

"Mommy?" she squeaks. (even tonsil-free, she's still a little Mouse).

I turn around, and stop in her doorway.

"You're the nicest Mommy I ever had."

It's two hours later, and I'm still laughing.

The Horror! The Horror!

2009-08-15T12:35:00.007-05:00

We finally made it to the Discovery Science Center. Do you guys remember me telling you about my kid's insane fear of the "Operation Game"? Well, just my luck- we pull in to the parking lot & see this:

Holy crikey. It was all I could do to get her out of the car. Then, we make our way inside, but she still looks pretty freaked out.

Determined to have fun, we slowly make our way through the exhibits. Now, the only other thing besides taking out someone's Funny Bone that strikes the fear of God into Annie's heart is... Wall-E the Robot. So, do you guys want to guess what the other big exhibit was?

Robots! Just our luck! And just to ensure the Discovery Science Center is an equal opportunity, horrifying scare of a place- they had this exhibit, just for little old me.

I think we're all ready for school to start.

Ponyo. A Movie Review. Sort of. Ok, Not Really.

2009-08-15T12:26:00.003-05:00

We made it to Ponyo last night. Without any visible signs of Operation Games or Wall-E the robot, my kids didn't think it looked scary enough to prevent them from sleeping by themselves, and so we decided to brave it. Aside from a theme song that is perhaps, the most brain numbing addictive ditty since "It's A Small World" we all really liked it.

It was funny to see a Japanese, animated Tina Fey. It was not funny to see said Tina Fey attempt to explain to her five year old son why she was leaving him during a raging storm so she could go rescue the old folk at the senior center. I now have to tell MY five year old that she is not quite ready to stay in the house by herself, captain a ship and light matches. Oh, the Japanese. You wacky writers.

I am now in the throes of the summer blues. The days seem to stretch on endlessly, and my bag of tricks is almost over. I was at the neighborhood pool the other day, and happened to run into the one mom in our neighborhood that has younger kids. (Incidentally, she hates my guts, but that's besides the point). I casually asked her if she was looking forward to school starting- and she shakes her head and says with a pitying voice, "No, I enjoy every moment I'm home with my kids."

Whatever.

In other news, well, there really isn't any other news except I've now read the entire "True Blood series", the new book by Jane Greene-"Dune Road" (bleh), "The Temporary Wife"(which I loved) and am welcoming the respite from summer chick-lit with some Don Draper oogling on Sunday night. I've missed you Mad Men.

Warning! Sickly Sweet Post Below!

2009-08-04T12:28:00.002-05:00

The other night, we had a sleepover at my folks' house. I was tucking the kids into bed when my five year old put her arms around my neck. "Tonight, Mommy..." she whispered. "You will be my dream catcher."

Sorry folks, but when I'm 87 and hanging with my peeps in Assisted Living, this is the stuff I want to remember.

The Cop Out

2009-07-31T23:07:00.004-05:00

As this week wraps up, I find myself smack dab in the middle of summer. And since my brain is too fried to come up with a legitimate post, I'm resorting to the second-best cop-out. (The first being a haiku, and that's just too much effort). And so, dear folks, I bring you the list. The List of Un-Related Activities That Clog My Brain & Made Up My Week.

When your kids are eating dinner and a lizard the size of your fist decides to crawl up the wall? Don't scream like a banshee while you wave a broom and plea for mercy. Your kids won't sleep for weeks.

If your 3 year old suddenly decides to actually "swim" at her lesson (Face underwater! Legs kicking! Arms moving! Not drowning!) Don't scream like there is a lizard in your kitchen and make the gentleman sitting next to you poop his pants. He quietly muttered a "you scared me" in a calm, little voice and then sidestepped his poopie way to the exit.

If you happen to come down with a mysterious, summer virus that leaves you with stomach cramps, lethargy and no appetite- do not expect your spouse to notice, or convey any pity. However, when they are stricken with the same malaise three days later- the red carpets of nursing must be rolled out, stat. Combine that with lots of coddling, a written excuse from all parental responsibilities and a free pass for the grumpies. What you do to their soup however, is between you and God. No one else.

If you suddenly think your year old puppy is ready to roam free at night, do not stop crating him. Or you will suddenly realize your favorite pair of shorts no longer has a crotch. And your three year old will awaken and say "Mommy? It snowed in my room!" Only to realize that a certain stuffed Seussical Horton met his maker in a grim, shredded massacre.

So, there you have it. A stellar week of reptiles, incontinent strangers, swine-like flu and a Horton-Who-Can-No-Longer-Hear-A-Who. I hope next week is nice and boring. So I can write a haiku about it.

Don't Pull His Finger...

2009-07-28T22:47:00.002-05:00

I've been married for thirteen years. Been together with my husband for 20. Needless to say, we know each other pretty well.

So well, that there's a new brand of romance in this house.

Not exactly Harlequin material, but more along the lines of fourth grade sleep away camp.

We tell a lot of poopie jokes. We make a lot of inappropriate innuendos.

He may not bring me flowers, but he does make me laugh until my stomach hurts.

And I really wouldn't have it any other way.

Funny Bone To Pick

2009-07-14T00:17:00.004-05:00

My five year old is an interesting kid. Nothing about her is by the book. No parenting article, wives tale, or well intended advice could ever really help me. She refused to poop in the potty until she was well past three. She'd happily ask me for a pull-up, squat down in anyone's presence and re-enact her own National Geographic tribal defecation regularly.

I tried everything. I coaxed. I offered ridiculous bribes. I made a chart. Nothing worked. Until one day, when I had her on the changing table, and I looked her right in the eye and said "Annie? This is gross. Really gross. I'd really like it if you'd go in the bathroom from now on."

She shrugged her shoulders and said, in a not-so-big-deal voice, "Ok."
And that was it.

Since we've moved, her quirks have really settled down. She doesn't insist I call her Pooh Bear anymore, she poops in an appropriate place, and she'll eat off a plate (used to be only bowls) and let's us use the words "cute and tasty" (formerly verboten).

Until today. I may or may not have mentioned that Annie has developed a deep seated fear of the Operation Game. (You know the one? Where you pull the guy's funny bone out and his nose lights up?) SHE HATES THIS GAME. Santa brought her one for Christmas, somehow thinking that given her family's livelihood, and Annie's obsession with anatomy that this will provide oodles of hours of entertainment.

Strike one for the big guy in the red suit. She gasped when she opened the box, and set it gently across the room and quietly told me that she would like to put it in the birthday closet where Mommy pilfers from when we're late for a birthday party. (Sorry five year old Heather. Hope he doesn't scare you as much as he did Annie!)

A few weeks ago, we were in Target, admiring their pool toys when Annie started hyperventilating. Tears coursed down her cheeks, and when she could finally put a word together, she trembled "operation!" in a scared, little voice that sounds strange coming from a kid with such a big personality. I mistakenly parked the cart near the game aisle, and the bright yellow box with red letters was proudly on display. Now she refuses to go to Target, which since she's home with me all summer, is saving us tons of money!

She then refused to go to Vons, our local grocery store, claiming Operation had taken a hold there as well. I told her this was ridiculous, that grocery stores did not sell games. I even took it one step further (because damn you Vons! You're the only one that carries St. Superey Sauvingnon Blanc) and called the store manager to ask him if they stocked the dreaded game. He emphatically told me no, and I visibly could see Annie breathe a sigh of relief as we piled into the car.

She even brought it up when we walked through the door. "No You-Know-What-Here Mommy!" she crowed, as she clutched my new Iphone and the killer Grocerystore IQ app that we now use to do our shopping. (she likes to check the boxes).

Things were good until we hit the breakfast cereal aisle. And then (drumroll please), that asshole Vons Store Manager neglected to tell me that they may not carry the Operation Game, but they DO carry Operation Fruit Snacks. (because what's tastier? Eating someone's gelatinous, infected funny bone?) There were a GAZILLION yellow boxes with red lettering and oversized pictures of body parts.

She totally lost it. Like, cause a spectacle LOST IT. Like, my Mommy has tied me to a chair and Freddie Krueger and Linda Blair are coming over for tea LOST it. I started giggling nervously and turned the boxes over as fast as I could. I cajoled and coaxed her into the next aisle, promising that we wouldn't have to go back there.

And like something out of a horror movie, that asshole Vons Store Manager must have decided that Operation Fruit Snacks were the item of the century. They were on display at the end of EVERY other aisle throughout the store. It was like Operation Fruit Snack was going to cure cancer. Or solve the Iraq war.

Or maybe? Maybe the Store Manager was huddled behind the customer service counter, laughing himself into oblivion. I'll get your Funnybone mister. And your little dog, Toto too.

Wish You Were There

2009-07-08T23:56:00.003-05:00

Immediately after dropping our bags off at the house we were going to share with 4 other adults, 4 teenage girls, 4 little kids and one baby (our own Waltons episode?) we headed to the beach front Mexican place that served up margaritas by the pitcher. After my 3rd libation or so, I realized that Catalina must be like living in 1951. Your kids can play. They can walk across the street with a gaggle of other kids to buy themselves an ice cream cone. The group we became an honorary part of calls themselves "The Too Much Fun" club and they have been vacationing together for almost 25 years. It's a varied assortment of ages, but no matter where you go, someone in the club is there and keeping an eye out.

Someone from the group goes down to the beach at 5am and lays down blankets for the late stragglers to enjoy. Somebody else stays on the beach at 5pm when everyone else goes to take a shower and sets up beach chairs for the Beach Bingo the city runs every Tuesday and Thursday night. It was insanely awesome.

When we all decided to hit the local beach club one day, a TMF Club member showed up with their golf cart to give the little kids a ride. (it's a bit of a walk). Someone was always on hand to buy me a drink, lend me a beach chair or include me in a funny conversation. It was so nice- so, so nice that I kept waiting for it to turn into its own "Hotel California" video and watch these nice people morph into crazy demons, snatch my kidney or sell me on a pyramid scheme.

Did we have a great time? Yes. Do I want to go back next year? Absotootely. But I don't want to be the guy that has to get up at 5am.

26 Miles Across The Sea

2009-07-07T11:27:00.004-05:00

I'm here! I'm here! Sorry for the lag folks, I took a couple of days off to recoup and relax. Umm... not exactly.

Out of the blue, old friends that we haven't seen in ten years unexpectedly contacted us and invited us to join them on Catalina island for two days. We jumped at the opportunity, and I'm slowly recovering.

It was fun. Serious fun. Like fraternity-party-with-kids-in-tow fun. But we're not really used to that. Matt and I like to vacation like senior citizens- lots of down time, a bit of sight seeing, lots of time for reading, an early-bird dinner and a prostate exam. This was a bit of a different scene.

We missed our first boat. Silly me thought she could rally her family and drive 45 minutes away to the dock to make an 8:30am boat. Didn't happen. If someone -who-shall-remain- nameless hadn't wanted to stop for coffee and missed the turnoff, we may have had a fighting chance, but no luck. When I went to the ticket counter to plead and beg (since all boats were sold out for the remainder of the day) something strange happened.

She upgraded us. To first class. Which included mucho bloody marys. I had to leave my youngest child with her as payment, but I figured, Hey! What's two bloody marys instead of college tuition!

To be continued...

Flounder

2009-06-26T19:46:00.002-05:00

Every day this week, I promised my girls we would do something fun. In between bouts of work and laundry, here's how it boiled down.
Monday- yet another invitation to private, fancy beach. (apparently, my new friend doesn't know me well enough as she STILL invites us over). Lots of sand castles, sea anemones in tide pools and overheard conversations of homes in Geneva and sailing in France. I still think this place is not real, and is really Hollywood staging a set for a new Danielle Steele miniseries. I tried hard not to look like an extra from "My Name is Earl" that happened upon the wrong soundstage.

Tuesday- We swam in our pool. The kids insist on playing "Little Mermaid" and somehow I always wind up playing Flounder. I can't wait until we can all watch "Animal House" together.

Wednesday- We stopped by to visit a friend that has a nearby lake with ducks. We fed them lots of bread, and sang countless versions of "Five Little Ducks." Then we came home and ate one of their cousins for dinner (roasted chicken).

Thursday- we hit the library, where Annie loudly announced to everyone within a twenty mile radius that she loves "Junie B. Jones" and has two loose teeth.

Friday- Today the girls stayed in their jammies and played "Little People" for most of the day. We did make it to swim lessons, where someone else had to be Flounder for awhile.

Next week? We're finally getting our oven installed, my Grandmother's arriving and I'm supposed to go see some friends in Catalina. Summer is looking up!

Um, Irony? Nice To Meet You.

2009-06-19T21:14:00.003-05:00

I look at my last post and laugh. Besides sounding like one of those Xmas card letters you get that make you want to slowly poke your eye out with a letter opener, the Gods of Summer have taken their revenge and turned a bunch of stuff upside down.

I can't go into a lot of detail yet, but it's taxing, and tolling, and exhausting to say the least. I'm keeping it away from the kids for now, and trying to be present for them and let them play in the pool. We've gone back to the beach, but I think the porpoises could sense my high blood pressure and stayed far, far away.

My husband has been away all week, and I thought it would be a good idea to keep George out of his crate. In case a burglar might appear at o'dark thirty, my plan was to have George take him apart limb by limb. Instead, he quietly and stealthily ate a pair of my jeans. And Lucy's ear plugs. And farted. Not so quietly.

So I'm reading a lot of "Junie B Jones" and laughing with my kids. I'm trying to take things one day at a time. I'm trying to look for the good in things, and remember that life is more than what certain folks make it out to be.

And apparently, I'm going shopping for a new pair of jeans.

And We're Off! School, That Is.

2009-06-14T00:04:00.002-05:00

Summer is off with a bang. The kids celebrated their last day of school on Thursday, and I picked them up with surprise guests: my sister-in-law, nephew and niece! They were here for a brief visit from Arizona. We quickly hightailed it in the car, and made the hour long trek to Los Angeles to visit the La Brea Tar Pits.

This place was awesome. Smack dab in the middle of the city is an area of asphalt pits that hold gobs and gobs of prehistoric bones. There is a small museum with fossils of sabre tooth tigers, Columbian Mammoths, wolves, condors, lions- you name it!

The next day, we took George to the infamous dog beach, and managed not to lose him. It was hilarious to once again see all of the pooches in their element. Even better- around 3pm we saw a pod of porpoises swimming by. They even started body surfing in the waves. The kids dug in the sand, screamed at the waves and got their toes wet. At one point, Annie came running up to me, kissed my cheek and said "Happy Summer Vacation, Mommy!". I'm sure next week I'll want to rethink my idea of a camp-free summer, but right now? We're in the honeymoon phase of summer.

That night, I arranged for a babysitter so the grownups once again made the trek to Los Angeles- this time to try Craft, Tom Colicchio's restaurant. We ate fois gras, homemade pasta, pork belly, shortribs, steak, risotto, morels, bread and butter pudding and a blackberry tart. This doesn't count all of the "amuse bouches" they kept gifting the table---- a mushroom custard with onion marmalade to start, a lemon meringue shot glass before dessert and pate de fruits and truffles after dinner. With the check, they brought us all blackberry muffins to take home. Excessive, but fun.

Today, we took the kids to a minor league baseball game in Long Beach. We ate hotdogs and roasted peanuts, and tried to explain the game to a 3 and 5 year old. We made it through 4 innings before they grew tired of eating and got bored. Minor league is pretty hilarious- kind of like watching the first half of the movie "Major League" in person. Sans Charlie Sheen.

So that's the last four days, in a nutshell. Methinks the next week will be a bit tame by comparison.

And No, I'm Not Taking Anti-depressants

2009-06-05T22:48:00.002-05:00

Although technically summer doesn't "officially" start until a week or so from now, tonight it felt like summer. We had rain this morning, that opened up to a sunny afternoon with a sky filled with big, fat marshmallow clouds. The wind blew a bit, the grass seemed greener and everyone just seemed....mellow. Calmer.

My kids ate a late dinner, which didn't feel so late because the sun was still streaming through the windows. After they finished, they ran, in their barefeet, outside. They played ball with their puppy while I pulled a few weeds. The moon decided to make an early appearance, and as my kids climbed a tree and I swept the driveway, I remembered that feeling as a kid. The feeling of having the whole summer ahead of you. Of staying up late and sneaking in extra bits of fun.

My girls decided to wear matching night gowns to bed (the matching dresses they wore to school didn't seem to curb their twin habit) and they made up a new game. Each one takes turns "rocking" the other one to pretend sleep in the rocking chair- complete with very off kilter lullabies. It was a great ending to a really, really nice day.