Who....Me?

Today, we took Annie to her gymnastics class. Matt and I were making casual conversation outside of the glass partition, while watching Annie fake her forward rolls and refuse to go on the parallel bars. (Her athletic ability must come from me). We were talking about our plans for the day- nothing too earth shattering, when a nearby Mom interrupts us.

"You guys are the nicest couple." She says.

Matt and I stop talking, and look at her quizzically.

"You both speak with such consideration of one another. I hope you don't mind, but I've been eavesdropping on your conversation. You're both so fresh, and into each other-- you don't look like a couple that's been married for a while."

Matt and I start laughing and he asks her, "Have you been drinking?" While at the same time I say "Can we record you saying this so I can have my Mother hear this?" We laugh the whole way home- and now Matt keeps calling me his pal.

The irony is- we never get compliments like this. Do we love each other? With every fiber of our beings. Am I happily married? You bet your cargo pants I am. But, we're the kind of couple folks keep around for comic relief--- we've known each other for so long, that sometimes, the niceties fall to the wayside. We are also EXTREMELY competitive, and our good friends refuse to play board games with us. (I remember some mumblings of discomfort after Matt and I screamed "Cheater! Cheater!" at each other during a friendly game of Hearts). Anywhoo- it was pretty hilarious to have this woman think we were Disney family personified... if only for a moment.

You're My Obsession

I've been sick lately folks. Matt's a bit worried because it doesn't seem to be getting better, in fact- it's actually much worse. I've got baby fever. BAD. If I'm out shopping, and I hear that little newborn cry, the insides of my heart start to ache and I instantly want to buy some size 1 Pampers. At our little playgroup, I constantly ask to hold the babies, and get a bit weepy when I remember how much I loved to nurse. Conveniently, I seem to forget the explosive poops, the nonstop up and down at night and how they always seem to look like plucked chickens and wizened old grandpas in the beginning.

It's so ironic- because life is finally starting to get easier. Lucy is now consistently sleeping through the night (although she still likes to pop up at 5am to hang out with her Da a bit before he heads off to work), and Annie is finally potty trained. Lucy's going to join Annie at preschool in fall, and yours truly actually started working out last week. I'm cooking dinner again, I found us a new babysitter and flew across the country solo with the kids and didn't want to insert a fork in my eye mid-flight. So what gives? Why do I want to shake up the equilibrium?

There's just something about that downy fuzz on the top of their heads, and the way they snuggle into your chest and sleep, and those darling footie pajamas and the way they clasp your finger and hold on for dear life. and the way they love to hear me sing (Annie & Lucy yell "No! No! Mommy! No more singing- we can't hear the music!) and bouncy seats, and slings and carrying them with you wherever you are..... argh. Matt's happy with the way things are---- and honestly, I am too. I'm also almost 35, and didn't exactly have the easiest of pregnancies. We have another big move ahead of us, and big adjustments ahead. So, I need to make peace with this- and hope my friends don't think I'm strange when I hold their babies just a little too long.

Summer Picks

In homage of Mindy's blog (writer and star of the Office, bestest show of all time) I'm going to include a few things that are making my summer fun. I've got nasty feet. Seriously. To make a few extra bucks, I could spend the day picking crops- that's how bad my feet are (and my hubby continually reminds me). I always feel bad when I get professional manicures, because they always upsell me on callous removers (a type of girly acid that burns them away and smells like a bad perm) but after they unwrap my tootsies from plastic bags, the poor woman has to slough away so hard, she breaks out in a mean sweat. No more! Due to a frivolous Walgreens purchase, the Tweezerman callous shaver makes my feet softer than a newborn's bum. Plus- it's as addicting as peeling away sunburn.

I got my first whiff of this as a birthday present from my uber cool sister-in-law. I never in my life thought I would pay this much money for shower gel, but this stuff is pure nirvana. Matt loves it so much, I went out and bought the matching perfume and body lotion. It's kind of like the grown up girl's version of Clinique's Happy- but a touch softer. You can find it at sephora.



Have you checked out Jack's Big Music Show? Aside from Wonderpets, Jack is the man of the hour at our house. If it weren't for Jack, Mary and Mel- dinner would never get on our table. Because I'm nerdy, I looked up Jack on Wikipedia. It's based on the Jack Benny show- and has that wonderful Shrek touch of magic that makes it entertaining for kids and adults to watch together. Annie wants to be just like Mary, and is the only kid in America that asked Santa for an accordian this year. Matt wishes they made t-shirts, so he could be the coolest Daddio on the block.

Signs of a Shoe Addiction?

When entering the security area of the airport- my 3.5 year old says "Look Mommy! This is where we take off our shoes and pay for them, and then put them back on."

Last Chance

I'm back. Thunderstorms, airport delays, landing in another city to refuel and waiting for airports to open couldn't keep me from returning home---- 3.5 hours late, but I'm home. I took the kiddos- sans husband- to Phoenix for the weekend to hook up with my family and see my little brother before he leaves for Iraq in a couple of weeks. I'll blog about the trip later--- but wanted to share an important piece of critical information for all of the Bargain Bettys that are out there.



Some may wonder- why visit Phoenix in the dead of summer? Since I'm currently hanging my hat in Southeast Texas, I am surprised at how little the 110 degree Arizona heat affects me. That whole "it's a dry heat thing" that you think is complete bullshit and something folks chant like a mantra to convince themselves to live where water must be imported? It's actually true. I currently live in what can only be described as "wet heat" (and no, this blog is not going porno). But Texas summers mean Texas sized thunderstorms- with humidity levels that make hairstyling a complete joke, and the strongest deodorant completely useless.



But what draws me to Phoenix in June? Family yes..... little brother leaving for a bullshit war... yes.... but also, Dear Readers, was the chance to go to Last Chance. This is the mecca of bargain shopping. In the food chain of shopping: first there is Nordstroms, then, there is the Rack. at the end of the retail journey is Last Chance- the last possible chance for Nordstroms to get a dollar for anything and everything before they burn it- literally. My heart starts pounding if I even think of it! Think garage sale, with a touch of Goodwill combined with haute couture.



The shoes! The shoes! I dream of the shoes. I came home with 3 pairs- handmade Italian flats ($39.99), a pony haired ballet shoe in the most darling leopard print ($18.99) and a pair of Dansko clogs (for my lesbian, jjill cord wearing in the winter) $18.99. But the real steal? My husband has a love affair for French, Faconnable shirts. He treasures them (and they are extremely soft) but at their normal price tag- usually unattainable.



I got him 3 Faconnable shirts- at $14.97 a piece!!! You could hear my screams of delight all the way to handbags. The hunter had found her prey, and those shirts soon found their way crammed into my diaper bag aboard a Southwest flight to home. I celebrated with honey roasted peanuts, a 3.5 hour delay and a much needed in-flight bloody mary.

Even Steven

Part of me feels very mean spirited with this post... but then I remind myself, that blogging is therapeutic, and the whole reason I'm doing this thing is to vent so I don't go all Pompeii on my family and turn into volcanic ash. Today, we had a playdate. But I wouldn't really call it a playdate, more like a "try to prevent house from being destroyed" date. The folks that come over (unannounced, mind you- ) frequent our house pretty regularly. In the short time we have lived here, this family has: ripped a towl bar off the wall, broken the leg off our dining room table (ouch!), smashed our Halloween pumpkins while ringing our doorbell (2 days prior to Halloween, mind you), emptied the playroom of every toy and scattered them throughout the house, and the piece de la resistance- on their last "visit" they made their way into my bedroom and found Matt's secret stash of trojans and dumped them on the living room floor. They only have 2 kids- one sweet 5 year old girl, and a little boy that's almost 2. It's a lot of work for 2 kids to create such destruction, but with the sustenance of peanut butter and jelly and all of the milk in my fridge, these kids soldier on.

Now, mess is mess. If you have kids, you expect some level of violation in your house. It goes with the territory. However- there is an unspoken Mom rule that you spread the destruction amongst each other. You may come smash my pumpkins, and then I send my little ones over to plug your toilet up with race cars. An eye for eye, a pumpkin for a plumber, I say. But, in this particular case--- it's become a one way street. We have only been to their house twice, and on one of these occasions- the mom shepherded us to the local Chick-fil-A for some chicken nuggets and rotovirus. This family is moving next week. so I'm quickly losing my opportunity for payback. I may load the kids up in my minivan and teach Annie the finer art of t-ping.

Cowboy Junkies

My Dad is obsessed with cowboy stuff. He's been known to go garage sailing, and bring home velvet cowboy paintings, and not understand when my Mom would go all "Christmas Story" on his ass and accidentally shred them with pinking shears. Anyway, in his cowboy collection, he has a CD recording of cowboys doing spoken word- --instead of berets, they wear ten gallons, but you get the point. During highschool, my Dad and I used to love to listen to one of the cowboys rattle off this poem about how ill he was- it started off with the line "I'm bone tired, and gut sick."

That's how I feel today.

I have that kind of tired that makes existing feel difficult. My head feels like a cotton ball someone is slowly shredding apart, and my arms are as heavy as a piece of Bud's pie from the Roundtop Cafe. When Lucy took a nap, I propped Annie up on my bed and tried to read her a story or two. Faster than you could say Knuffle Bunny I fell asleep. Annie didn't do too badly. Like a bad puppy, she got into some of my art supplies and ripped a pad of paper apart. (She insisted it was snowing). I was so relieved for the respite, I let her put her mittens on.