Deep In The Heart

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.