Feckless

The Boss Man told me I'd hit the trifecta the other night. (Does one say "hit the perfect trifecta?" Or is that redundant?)

He came in from out of town all bedraggled and worn out. Poor guy had driven to Louisiana the night prior and got stuck in traffic until 3:30 am and then went to meetings all day and drove back to TX the next night. Pulled in to our house around 11. Ouch.

Meanwhile I'd taken nyquil and gone to bed with the kids around 8:30. Also ouch, if you count that I've been hacking and sneezing all week. But nonetheless, I had gone to bed at 8 pm. Drugged on cold meds. With both kids snuggled into our bed with me. Delicious.

Apparently I had also:

1. Left the car unlocked.

2. Left the front door unlocked.

3. Left the back door unlocked.

TRIFECTA! I WON!!!

oops. I was also in trouble.

My parents used to call me feckless. You don't have to go look it up. It means "inattentive to detail." Pretty much sums me up. Apparently I spent most of my childhood with my head in the clouds. At least it explains Quirky. I could give a rats ass about the details. Appreciate them, but pretty much only can't focus.

which brings me to my new favorite website:

www.shitmywiferuined.com

I like to send golden little nuggets to The Boss Man so he can see the humor in his wife's flaws. It seems to help.

Heart Ablaze

I CANNOT GET ENOUGH OF THIS!!!!

I keep playing it over and over and over and over. I've always had a huge crush on Super Grover (sigh...) and now I must admit that Quirky and I spent most of the evening practicing the little dance moves that the muppets do at the bottom of the screen.

Rare that one little 1:52 snippet can sum things up so well...

FORG

So Very Very Busy

Worrying about stupid shit like this:

If I go one way home after dropping Quirky off at school then I can stop at the convenient store that has caffeine free Diet Coke. Then I get my daily vat.

But the straws there suck.

The other way home I can stop at the convenient store with excellent straws.

But they have NO caffeine free Diet Coke.

Pushing Up Daisies

Literally.

I'm engaged in full fledged warfare. With my irrigation system. Look what I come downstairs to find each morning outside of my kitchen window.

It's so defeating and disappointing. Look where they're coming from.

Aren't the little window boxes outside of my guest room cute? It's my attempt to break up the monotony of the brick and concrete. (note- it's an ATTEMPT) But the flowers just don't want to stay there.

My sprinkler system has decided to push these little geraniums or daisies (or whatever they are) up out of their cozy dirt home each day. I guess the water pressure is just too much. I keep trying to replant and move the flowers farther away from the nozzle heads, but I keep losing the battle.

Losing.

How long do you think these will last? Another two weeks- tops. I'm not trained for the fight.

Why Can't??

Just for today-

I wish people would just LISTEN to my question,

ANSWER me,

and GIVE THE ANSWER THAT I WANT, goddamnit.

I want to paint the living room, got it???? Not purple, just eggshell.

But Boss Man, if you don't give me the answer that I want I'll slip you an ambien and paint it rainbow. So there.

Everyone else, give me the answer that I WANT today. Be forewarned.

(Cue Theme Music)

Hell yeah. I've picked my theme song. It came to me as I was walking out to the patio tables yesterday at Mission Burrito, carrying a tray of salads, soups, and kids quesadillas. This bad ass Michael Jackson classic started playing on the sound system. I had to groove.

I am going to be a "bad mama jama." And I intend to be "poetry in motion."

And I am definitely going to blast it out of the windows of my mini van. While in the church school parking lot.

Just In Case....

You may not have thought that I was telling the truth about Scrappy wanting to be a superhero. The girl lives in fantasy land 24/7. Sometimes she's Luther the newborn puppy, sometimes a pro-soccer player. The trick is figuring out how the story goes....

TGIF!!!!

It is so Friday. And in honor of Little Miss Scrappy, who is just itching for her situation as little sister to be something that she can change with her superpowers, I'm feauturing her favorite song. We play it over and over. I'm betting this weekend she'll probably wear her cape from sunup to sundown.

Hello??

My neuroses are getting worse. Or is that they are getting better? If something inherently negative is becoming more intense is that automatically an indication that they are worse? I would think that a neurosis were getting better that would mean that it were becoming more acute- ganing what it wants. I mean I'm sure that the neurosis itself doesn't want to become weaker, right?

I have that "invisible audience" thing going on right now. I feel like people are watching and caring about stuff that they don't care about. I was at the store yesterday and was sure that people were looking in my cart and judging me for what I was going to feed my family. I actually even picked up a box of Hamburger Helper because it has a "box top for education" symbol on it. And I'm all about Box Tops for Education. But then I sort of hid it behind the big container of organic strawberries. Like anybody would look in my cart? Jeez.... You'd think I were still 13.

But anyway, I feel like people are thinking things. And I put thought bubbles over their heads. I could be sitting in a circle of parents volunteering in Quirky's classroom and automatically think, "That lady thinks I'm a slob because I show up in my workout clothes every day. I bet she is sure that my kitchen counter is covered with crumbs and that I leave my clothes on the floor because if you look in my purse there are hundreds of receipts and half opened boxes of raisins and goldfish."

Anyone else have thought bubbles over people's heads?

I need reassurance here, people. The neuroses need to improve so they can gain strength like a hurricane and wipe out something.

I don't even know what to call this.

We were at a birthday party last weekend. There was a pinata.

It was cute and all and mostly the kids stayed in a line backed up against the wall. But you know, lines creep up when there is candy involved.

And then my mind imagined the worst. What if a kid actually really did crack some other kid's head open with the pinata stick? And you were either the parent of the kid who did it or the parent of the birthday kid?

I don't know which would be worse.

Someone turn off my brain.

Intense

Finished procrastinating for now.... So now I'll procrastinate about doing other stuff by blogging.

Let's talk about intensity. Someone once told me that we are as humans "driven to experiences of extreme emotion." Agreed. I could buy stock in that. People ride roller coasters. People agree to fall in love. People sit in movie theaters to have their emotions yanked to both poles several times in 90 minutes, have children, go to haunted houses, hang out with exciting or funny people, watch Hallmark commercials, and climb Mt. Everest. Heck, some people even live along earthquake fault lines. (Not that doing that's any stupider than living in a hurricane prone area, mind you.)

I was out running yesterday in the heat and just loving it. I LOVE to sweat. Gross. You've seen the pic of me after running- surely it's haunting you as badly as the pic of my feet. (sorry.... go barf now) It's ugly. Heat while moving doesn't bug me at all.

But just standing in the driveway chatting with a neighbor in the summer in Houston is atrocious. Watching the kids play at the park is unbearable. I can't stand to sit still in the heat and humidity. AWFUL.

It's the same with walking. I can walk fast for hours- even stroll leisurely. Like the energizer bunny. Keep on going. But as for standing in line? Ugh. Or standing while some docent drones on and on during a tour? shudder. Keep it moving, people.

One would think that the solution would be to get off my feet. Well, sort of. I don't like sitting in chairs. If you peeked under the tablecloth at a fancy restaurant you'd see my feet curled up criss-cross-applesauce on the chair or booth. My feet have to be up off the floor. Horizontal is even better. Why don't they make more bars with loungers? I would be so much more amenable to sitting around chatting and having a cocktail if there were a place to stick my big old feet up. Bar stools suck.

So I wonder about these quirks. It would seem that I do perhaps live that intensity quote. No standing in the heat- only running. No standing- let's walk. No sitting- let's lounge. No matter what it is, let's do it with gusto.

procrastination

Is it procrastination if everytime I sit down to write all of this awesomeness that I'm thinking (heh heh heh) I can't do it because I realize that there's something more pressing that I really should be doing. For real. Like making a lunch for a kid's school day or something....

I should go do that. Right now. Because I have to go wake them in 10 minutes.

So I'll just have to procrastinate and blow this off for now.

Obviously

Like an episode of Seinfeld there has been a repeating little theme to my week. The other day I was at an appointment and there was a copy of that "O" magazine on the waiting room coffee table. The big question on the front cover promising some insightful article was "What do you really believe?"

Then I was perusing blogs last night during a bout of insomnia and I read the first line of another mommy blog: "I don't believe in strict discipline."

And of course the other day I was embroiled in my inner beliefs about the "elements" in public schools.

So I started thinking about it. What do I really believe in?

That my loved ones will always be safe and healthy? no.

That my faith will never change or I will never have periods of doubt or uncertainty in my faith? no.

That I should always eat an apple a day? no.

In aliens? no.

I'm not sure that I really and truly believe in anything.

oh yeah- I do!!

"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

Muzzle Me

I live in Texas.... I do realize that I live in Texas. And I love it here. If you're not sitting here on the back porch with me right now you may imagine that there are tumbleweeds blowing around on the road out front. You might also imagine that I have big Texas hair, live in a suburb with houses that look all the same, live to paint my nails, drive a gigantic vehicle, hang out at the mall or other nice chain restaurants, and attend a mega-church. Maybe that's me, maybe that's not.

There are lots of people like that here in Texas. I have a very intelligent and unbelievably trained and talented pediatric immunologist friend (he's also Burmese-American) who wouldn't consider a job offer from Baylor Medical Center because he felt like he'd be spit on. Clearly, he's never been to the Texas Medical Center here in Houston. There's no ethnic majority there. And the community in those 24 institutions are just grateful to have wonderful practitioners.

But there certainly is a perception out there that Texas is comprised of all white bible- thumping, closed minded, ignorant and sometimes loud-mouthed people. Not so much around here. There are some, but generally speaking in Houston I can find the most beautiful saris I've ever seen, the best Vietnamese food around, friends who speak Arabic, Spanish, American and Scottish English, and hang with El Salvadorians and Ethiopians in restaurants from their own countries. There are huge mosques along with the mega-churches. Our mayor is an openly gay woman. I love this diversity- even thrive on it.

But I do live among those who don't. And I probably need to remember when to shut up.

So we decided to send Quirky to a Baptist school this year. I loved the inclusive and welcoming community, the class size (12 versus 26/27 in our neighborhood public school), and felt that he would find the best balance of nurture and challenge there. So far it has proven to be all that and more. Quirky is not going to be able to weasel himself through the cracks.

But I had a conversation the other day that stopped me in my tracks. After school we were hanging out at the indoor playground (another perk of the school- you don't have to roast and sweat like a pig in September in Houston) with other moms and kids. This one mom introduced herself to me and we began chatting. She asked me why we had chosen that school over others. I responded that it was the class size and balance of support/challenge. I also mentioned the public school option that we didn't feel was a good fit.

Her next comment? "Well, I didn't even go look at that public school. You know there are just elements in the public school that I just don't want my kids exposed to. I mean, I don't want my daughter to come home saying that her friend has two moms or anything like that."

My. Jaw. Dropped. I am afraid I might have even flushed. She didn't even know me. And my response probably was unnecessary considering I was sitting in a Baptist Church facility.

"Oh- are there no single sex parent families at this school? I thought it was illegal to discriminate against children based on race, ethnicity, or sexual orientation. You know, I have a friend whose child was really being courted by a Christian high school in town and when they found out that he had two dads they told the dad on the phone that there was no place for their family at that school. He wishes he had it recorded. You know if this school is going to go up for this big accreditation this year I wonder if that is going to be an issue."

Now here's what I have revealed in that stupid comment: I have friends who are gay (not to mention parents), that I'm interested in the legal aspects of school discrimination, and that I'm probably not fit to be a mother in the eyes of many of the parents at that school. Can you say "SOCIAL PARIAH?"

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But what if Quirky were to go to school and talk about his friends who have same sex parents? It's out there, right? I mean, just by sending a child to a school where it's not an option, you can't deny that it's there. Is it smart of a parent who wants to protect their family's values to deny the existence of stuff that they don't like? Or is it wiser to help a child decide that it's not something that he or she wants to associate with?

Whatever. There are a lot of different opinions in Texas. Perhaps I just need to know when to keep my mouth shut.

Stupidity- and ugliness

I take my toes for granted. I literally don't even think about them- unless they're getting pedicured. But once I break one, I know immediately that they are there. And how much I use them.

So obviously I haven't had a pedicure in a while. I figure why waste the money while I'm running a lot? But maybe I won't be for a while now. Too bad I'm supposed to run a marathon in six weeks or so and haven't done any long runs yet. That was supposed to start this weekend. Does anyone see 17 miles going on those toes in 3 days?

I know, I know.... everyone wanted to see an up close of my disgusting feet today. I'm trying to distract myself from the mental video I have of myself falling down the stairs yesterday in the rain.

MUSTS

The To-Do list is quite long today. I must be a lot of places and make a lot of phone calls. And email a lot of people and blah, blah, blah.....

So boring.

Taking the Edge Off

So lately if you live in Houston you might notice something different. Yes- it's still HOTTER THAN HELL out there. And muggy, right.

But there is a slight drop in temperature by one degree or so in the mornings. And while I still consider my runs to be combined attempts at saunas and cardio, I have hope that things will change.

And that first day that a real cool front comes through, boy howdy, I CAN RUN SO FAST!! (well... faster, anyway)

HUH?

You know, there's a lot of sense in the order of most things. For example, I find it pretty obviously logical that "God makes you so sick you don't care how big you get and then so big you don't care how much it hurts to get it out." Pregnancy, right? And we all know that if we were handed teenagers when we were new parents that the human species would die out.

But there are a few things about the order of our society that just leave me scratching my head.

At the time of our lives that we should be slowing down and soaking up time with our children, we're also in this race to build bigger, make more money, collect more things, take care of more stuff, and join in more. Let's face it, in our 20's, 30's, and 40's we're under a lot of pressure to work hard enough to solidify our future in our careers and to make enough money to live off of when we get old. And that's a HUGE job.

And this happens at the same moments that we're supposed to be creating and raising responsible human beings who can make decisions without hurting themselves and others, become good citizens, handle complicated relationships, and manage their own lives later on. Also a HUGE job.

Then throw in that largely during this time of amassing money, building a career, creating a home, and raising human beings..... we're supposed to start caring for our aging parents. It's perhaps too huge.

I don't know, Universe. This one doesn't make sense to me. Why does all of this happen at the same time? Shouldn't it make more sense to either raise kids first and then work on career? Or vice versa? Even if one partner decides to stay home and raise the kids and the other works outside of the home, both of those jobs are so huge that all that ends up happening is isolation in the relationship. That's a tough road for many many families that I know.

I need counseling to understand all of this. And maybe drugs.

I love my life.

Needy

I need some adoration today. Does anyone else?

I love and adore you.

Action!

Yesterday was Quirky's first day of Kindergarten. Now I am all about "back to school." As a teacher type person I will admit that I am downright gooby about new school supplies, cubbies, and having names all over classrooms. Actually, I'm feeling a little giddy just writing about those things now. New pencil boxes marked with your name in sharpie. Yummy.

But the little man was not quite so excited. And the ride to school in the mini-van was like something out of an ABC After School Special. Cash was sitting in his car seat in the way back looking out the window quietly after we dropped Sarah off at preschool... in his old classroom. This was clearly the big time.

Cash: "Mom, can you stay with me the whole time?"

Me: "Nope. But you're going to be fine. You can do it."

Cash: "But what if there are big huge bullies in the "lunch cafeteria" who will beat me up?"

Me: "There won't be. But just in case, Mrs. Overton will be there to help you out. She won't leave you alone today. "

Cash: "OK, but what if I can't do the writing and drawing part and Mrs. Overton will be disappointed?"

Me: "You don't have to worry. All that Mrs. Overton and Mommy and Daddy ever want is for you to try your very hardest, sweetie. Just do the best you can, ok? Everyone will love you for that."

Cash: "OK. I'm going to try to be brave."

Me: (thinking I can distract him by playing the XM Kids Place Live radio station- always good for a kid belly laugh) "Why don't I turn on the radio?"

And guess what played? As we turned on the radio the opening notes of the theme from the Raiders of the Lost Ark came on. I pumped that song up so loud and Cash just grinned and looked out the window and I gripped the steering wheel and we continued on to our next big adventure. And I only cried a little bit about my big brave boy growing up and going to kindergarten.

Welcome to My Inner Soul Train

I don't usually listen to anything while I run. But I was inspired recently by my friend, Ellie, who made a list of her fave running songs and shared them on her blog. She's very hip- much much cooler in her musical taste than I am.

Recently I have been taking to the treadmill more as The Boss Man has been traveling. It sucks, but it's the only way I can get a run in and have the kids somewhat maintained and tended. There are these little t.v. thingies on each treadmill at the gym but they are down on the keyboard sort of in front of you like a tray. I can't manage that. First off it gives me a headache. But more importantly, I would fall on my ass and make quite the spectacle. So I've pulled hooked up the headphones to the my trusty iPhone. Now I can answer the same question that all of the celebrities are asked in those magazine columns: "What's on your iPod?"

Here's the list. Please note the order in which the songs are played. Variety is key. You have to surprise jolt yourself. Important stuff.

1. Solsbury Hill- Peter Gabriel

2. Mr. Wendel-

3. Whomp! There it is- Tag Team

4. Use Somebody- Kings of Leon

5. P.Y.T.- Michael Jackson

6. Bop- Dan Seals

7. Seasons of Love- Rent

8. Suddenly I See- KT Turnstall

9. Chorus- Erasure

10. Can't Get it Right Today- Joe Purdy

11. Your Wildest Dreams- Moody Blues

12. Hometown Honeymoon- Alabama

13. Baby Give it Up- KC and the Sunshine Band

14. You Spin Me Round- RATT

15. Beautiful Day- U2

16. Would You Go With Me- Josh Turner

17. Never Let You Go- Third Eye Blind

18. Mayor of Simpleton-

19. Keep Your Hands to Yourself- Georgia Satellite

20. Heat of the Moment- Asia

21. Love is The Right Place- Bryan White

22. And We Danced- The Hooters

23. One Less Lonely Girl- Justin Bieber

24. Sweet Caroline- Neil Diamond

25. Send me On My Way- Rusted Root

26. Love is Stranger than Fiction- Joe Jackson

27. Don't Let's Start- They Might Be Giants

28. Shambala- Rockapella

29. So What- Pink

30. Fireflies- Owl City

31. Jump- Kriss Kross

32. Jesse's Girl- Rick Springfield

33. The Entertainer- Billy Joel

34. Holding Out for a Hero- Bonnie Tyler

35. I Believe- Cowboy Mouth

36. Eres Tu- Mocedades

37. Hands Open- Snow Patrol

38. Forever- Chris Brown

39. Take a Chance on Me- Erasure

40. Don't Stop Believing- Glee

41. -In Between Days- The Cure

42. Got My Mind Set On You- George Harrison

43. The Real End- Rickie Lee Jones

44. Lovely, Love my Family- The Roots

45. Love will Keep Us Together- Captain and Tennille

46. Come On Eileen- Dexy's Midnight Runners

47. The Sweet Escape- Gwen Stefani

48. Something to Believe In- Shawn Colvin

49. Superman- REM

50. Ordinary Miracle- Sarah McLaughlin

I know, I know. I put the hip back in hip replacement. Don't judge.

Starting Tomorrow

I'll eat better, try to put away the piles of laundry from the trip, organize the calendar, exercise more regularly, clip coupons and actually use them, and feed my children home made organic meals.

I'll also begin shitting diamonds.

And I'll buy Matt organic (and symmetrical) boobs.

Heaven and Hell

Flight from Houston Hobby to Phoenix Sky Harbor: 2 hours and 45 minutes.

Heaven: Sarah fell asleep as soon as the plane started down the runway to take off.

Hell: Cash spent the whole flight singing "Sweet Home Alabama" loudly to himself. Not sure whether it was the Lynyrd Skynyrd Version or the latest Kid Rock. Either one is sure catchy- and annoying.

Nerves

Due to the complaints of "My feet are tiiiireddd." from the children as we hoofed it around the mall in Washington D.C., The Boss Man and I made an executive decision to hitch a ride so we could see a bit more. The obvious solution was right in front of us as we walked out of the Museum of Natural History: a pedi-cab!! It would provide delight and entertainment to the children- and provide us a way to get all the way up to the capitol building and back to our parking lot. And to boot, Cash could sing "I'm just a bill, just an ordinary bill, and I'm sitting here on Capitol Hill..." over and over while we watched the impressive building get closer and closer. Much better than whining.

The dude (and I call him that because what else can you call a skinny biker guy with stringy long blonde hair who hangs out waiting to catch fares on his bike) refilled his gatorade bottle and chugged a bit as we arranged ourselves on the rickshaw. Then he hopped on his cycle and started out- very slowly. You could see his skinny little sinewy legs straining.

I tried very very hard to sit back and enjoy the ride with my kids. But all I could do was look at how skinny this guy was- and notice his b.o. It seemed easy enough to pull us along on the flats and once we got going, but starting out each time we had to stop for traffic took effort. And I could not help it- I felt guilty.

I'm hoping this guy enjoys what he is doing. I even asked him several times if this was a job he loved. He said he did, but sounded kind of nonchalant. I don't know.... it could have been that he really didn't dig lugging fat well-off tourists with whiney kids around the sights or it could have been that he was too high to answer my questions with much enthusiasm. It just seemed like we were "those people." You know, paying others to do hard labor so we could sit back and act like royalty. It made my nerves bad.

Worry

I'm really freaked out that I am continuing to smell as I head around the nation. Met up with an old/ new friend today. We've been online friends for a looooonnnnng time, but never had gotten to see each other in real life. So fun!!

But I was concerned that I stink.

Laundry from the suitcase is in the wash again.

Chemistry

I've got good things to report. My little boy has re-bonded with his first best buddy. There is nothing like it. Our good friends who moved to Baltimore last Fall have welcomed our chaotic motorcade into their house for a few days. This has been an anticipated highlight of the trip for the kiddos as they have missed their friends, Kirk and Avery, terribly.

But one always worries a little bit about that saying, "You can't go home again." Six months is an eternity for little guys. And though I brought Cash up here for a surprise trip in March a lot can happen in a few months.....

Well, my friends, I am happy to report that the magic is still there. Kirk and Cash have some amazing chemistry. They are just so soothed by each other's presence. It's magic, indeed. Happy boys.

Here are all four of the kiddos at the Maryland zoo having a good ole' time.

There's other chemistry going on during this journey- this time really really unpleasant. I had been wondering about an odor in my closet recently and just thought my shoes were stinking so I was throwing out old shoes. Everything just kind of smelled skunky.

So as I packed, I lovingly tucked in a never worn pair of red patent little ballet flats. I was so looking forward to wearing them with a little kicky denim skirt and some kind of cute top. I would be so fabulous in my new red shoes!!!

When we arrived in Charleston I opened my suitcase to get out swim clothes for the kids. Oh. My. Lord. The stench. There was clearly a moldy skunk living inside my suitcase. As my sister and I sorted, it became evident that the beloved new red shoes were the source of the nauseating odor. Crap. They ended up in a wastebasket in a Holiday Inn Express lobby in Mt. Pleasant, SC. If you ever stay there please forgive me for ruining your ambiance at the complimentary breakfast buffet. Barf.

But I've laundered all of the clothes in the suitcase and the stench remains. It's just with me until I can get home. Chemistry- what the hell did they make those shoes out of????

Scenes from the Trail

Cash found a new way to tell jokes and disguise himself. The Wendy's kids meal reward is potentially a new kazoo this week..... and also potentially a microphone. But the real road food prize is the Wendy's disguise and joke book.
Lots of leapster time.
Hanging with dad...
Road sleep is good sleep.Road sleep is soooo good for Scrappy Sarah.
So that she's not a mess when this kind of thing comes up....

On the Road

Checking in from Blacksburg, Virginia.

So far we've been to Raleigh/Durham, driven to Charleston, SC, up to Charlotte, NC, and back to Raleigh, then on to Blacksburg, VA.

It's been quite the adventure.... a missed flight (due to my own stupidity), eight people in a seven seat mini-van (I got to sit on the floor facing backwards dealing with the four kids due to my own stupidity again), a migraine/puking in a hotel room with four kids and two adults, and an iphone that totally quit so I had to buy a new one at almost full cost (thanks, Apple), and lots and lots of car time.

But it has also been soooo much chaotic fun. Quirky and Scrappy are excellent travelers. They have hilarious expectations and ideas. While passing an aircraft carrier in Charleston Cash wanted to know if they were Southwest Airlines planes on board. Sarah has developed a new accent that we can't quite figure out. They whine much less than expected and add a new perspective on everything we see.

Dealing with laundry on the road is a lot tougher than the kids. If only Cash wouldn't use his shirt like a napkin....

Justification

Is it possible that my diet coke habit is actually an addiction? Could the stuff maybe even be a transitional object?

Does this make the abuse more valid??

Capra Hircus

I just love goats. They have no inhibitions. Incessantly begging for food and attention.

One time I went to the rodeo with a friend who had just moved to Texas, Shannon. We were both pregnant with our second children and had baby boys who were not yet one year old. What the hell we were doing inside of a petting zoo at the rodeo with infants, I have no idea. I think we were trying to be super-moms, so sure that our boys were being exposed to every opportunity. Whatever.

Have any of you ever been to the petting zoo at the rodeo? The little people who run the situation even tell the adults walking in to hold on to the ice cream cone of feed so that the kids don't get knocked over. It's nuts. And it's all about the goats.

Anyway, my newbie Texan friend gamely grabbed her ice cream cone of little pellets and stepped in with me. The goats immediately started coming up to us in droves trying to get at the food, which we held over our heads. Because we had our babies on our hips, we didn't have another hand to deflect the madness. I had to keep ducking to keep the goats from licking and gnawing at Cash's face. (I guess they like the smell of regurgitated formula?) After about 40 seconds we both threw down the ice cream cones of food and decided to just sort of walk around and coo with the babies about the animals. You know how moms do that- they look at calves and say "moo" while pointing so that the baby on their hip learns to read early and can get into Harvard.

Suddenly I hear Shannon scream "Oh My God!" And then I heard a strange wet thwack. She yelled out, "It's eating my skirt!" Apparently this goat had eaten part of her Old Navy stretchy- but it's not maternity- skirt. Somehow she got it out of its mouth and the skirt thwacked against her leg. We got the heck out of there- and couldn't stop laughing.... all of the way to the ice cream kiosk.

But this little episode not only provided great introduction to the agricultural life that is Houston (NOT), but also was a great reminder to me of this wonderful quality about goats. A goat is sort of like a two year old- no inhibitions, does as it pleases, and every action screams "mine! mine!"

I think I could use a little bit more of this in my life and attitude. Selfish, I am, but too often it's tucked away in the effort to appear "nice." I certainly have the desire to be ridiculous, loud, pushy, and somewhat obnoxious- thankfully after I left toddlerhood most of those desires are able to be sublimated.

But where did they go? Did they become some of the resentment that I sometimes feel towards others who do push their own agendas? Or even in smaller ways- If I want to take a nap on Sunday afternoon should I not just because it seems lazy? Why be a martyr? The goats certainly aren't.

Maybe I want to be a goat in my next life. Gotta love them.

Unwitting

A week or so ago I was out running in Memorial Park. This is a big ass city park- and it has a three mile trail around it that I frequent as often as I can. Reminds me of when I really ran a lot prior to children and domesticity.

Bear in mind that this particular run was on a Monday morning at about 10:15 a.m. I stopped in to the tennis center to "powder my nose." (Yeah, right. My head looked like a giant tomato that had just been run under a shower.) There was this dude standing outside of the ladies room holding a giant sized black trash bag. You know.... Hefty or something. He wasn't wearing exercise clothes- more like khaki shorts and a grey tshirt. Nondescript.

Well, he was just standing there. About 4 feet from the entrance to the restroom. So I thought I was being all considerate and asked him if he needed to get in there.

"I DON'T WORK HERE!!!"

The tone was not nice. As a matter of fact, it seemed that I had inadvertently just called him some kind of incredibly insulting thing and spit on him. So much for my "thoughtfulness." Oops. I clearly ruined his morning.

Whatever. It was about a zillion degrees outside and I was hot and not really all that affected. I went in, did my business, and trudged on.

About a mile later I started to wonder what the Hell he was doing around the ladies restroom at the public park carrying a big black trash bag. Shudder.....

And yes, indeed, this is what I look like when I get back from a run outside in Houston. Except usually I'm even redder. Bet you're glad I shared that, right?

Phonics

Quirky Cash often has trouble letting go of the day.... sometimes I lie down with him at night while he tells me all about mosquito spray trucks, the White House, or the purpose of basements. It's informative, to say the least.

On Monday night I discovered that all of his preschool literacy work is somewhat effective. I had been rubbing his feet and he'd been quiet for about 4-5 minutes so I was hoping he was finally relaxing- maybe even drifting off. Suddenly he pulled himself up on his elbow and reported his thoughts.

C: "You know, there's this kid named Frank."

Me: "Where?"

C: "You know- at camp. I don't like the name Frank."

Me: "To tell you the truth, I don't like it much either."

C: "Why not?"

Me: "I don't know. I just don't like the way it sounds."

C: "Me too. It sounds like FUCK. Frank Fuck. Frank Fuck. F-f-f-f-....r-r-r-r........k-k-k. Do you hear it???"

Me: "Please don't use that word anywhere but here. "

C: "I know, I know..."

Glamorous Attempts

I adore stationery. As a matter of fact, I used to work in grad school at this high end stationer in San Antonio. It was ridiculous fun- the store front was in the mall but had these two big fancy tufted loveseats and antique writing desks, etc. I got to put together wedding invitation orders from families in Mexico. These were the most ornate, beautiful invitations you could imagine- family crests and insert after insert. Also somewhat stressful to proof, but that was just the flip dark side to the fun.

So this month The Boss Man's brother is getting married. It's all very very exciting. We are in loooooooove with his bride- I get a sister-in-law! So the ladies from our family got together and decided to host the bridal luncheon/ tea. I quickly grabbed dibs on getting the invites done. I want the pretty stuff, y'all. I don't want to be discussing shapes of pimiento cheese sandwiches with some dude in Virginia over the phone. Also, anyone who knows me well knows that I don't do details like that.... Just put out some food!!

But oh, I can spend hours at Berings looking at the pretties. And I had some interesting jumbles to throw into this one. The bride and groom are architects with somewhat less traditional senses of style than mine- in other words they are so much cooler than I am. They have used sort of blue and orange as their wedding colors- and all wording/invitations have been typeset in this kind of cool plain font.

Well.... I decided to do something a little bit different but keep the theme in mind. Here's the outcome.

So fun to see the finished product!

I spent the better part of a morning assembling them and addressing them using my very very best handwriting. I felt so pleased.

But here's a dirty little secret: While putting the printed card on top of the ribbon and under card I had to pull off scads of these little adhesive strips.

Maxi pads, anyone??

Let Freedom Ring!!!!

The Annual July 4 parade was this weekend in our neighborhood. Obviously, it would be kind of odd if they held it on August 13, huh? My cousin, Jennie, calls it the annual melt down. Literally and figuratively. Houston is oppressive in July. And for whatever reason the parade always falls the day after some drenchingaccumulating rain. It is sticky, y'all. Bad. Add to it the meltdowns of toddlers who can't quite wait for the parade to start, poorly duct taped bows falling from tricycles, hungover fathers who don't want to be out there, and moms trying to keep it all together, it really is a recipe for a gigantic fondue sized meltdown.

But get me a skewer. I love that shit. I think it is hilarious-if you can avoid the meltdowns. I LOVE seeing the kids wearing red, white, and blue. The little old people out waving miniature flags. The Uncle Sam costume and the kazoo band are my personal faves.

Last year Matt was wearing his typical grey tshirt at the parade. He wears one every day. For real. We had an odd parading experience last year worthy of a contortionist. Each child was riding a teeny tiny training wheel bike. But they were scared in the crowd for us to let go. So we walked the half mile to the parade and the half mile during the parade leaning over sideways holding on to the handlebars of the teeny tiny bike. I kept trying to switch sides but learned that I could only steer from the right as otherwise little Sarah veered directly into my leg. Matt had the same situation going on with the boy.

When we finished the parade Matt looked at me and said, "Honey, I'm that guy now." Huh? He explained. "When I was growing up I used to look at my dad when we were working out in the yard and stuff and see that he had sweat around his stomach. You know, his shirt was all wet around his back and waist. Gross. But now I'm that guy." Sorry, honey. You are. We are..... those people. Lucky Americans.

*On the subject of The Boss Man's grey tshirts. We are currently accepting donations.

You can add to the collection at any time. Seriously- gray shirt with the university/college lettering across the front in a dark color. Wears them EVERY DAY)*

Relax.....

My sweet friend, Lori, treated a group of us to a little spa day yesterday to express her appreciation for help and support during the birth and heart surgery of her new baby boy. Ridiculousness! It was the most natural and normal thing in the world to love on that sweet lady and her family- I love her big boys and was thrilled to spend time with them. And that she and her husband would trust us to be in the picture during such a trying time was a true privilege.

But who am I to turn down a massage and lunch with the girls at the spa? That would be even more ridiculousness, right?

So while I was getting the best rub down of my life I couldn't help but notice my odd musings.

Thoughts from the massage table:

I wonder about the Christmas party for the employees here. This place is a hotel, health club and spa. Do they have their Christmas party here at the hotel? And if so, who's serving and cooking the food? That would be so uncool if someone had to work their own party.

Beating Outside My Body

Last week I sent Sarah off into a big new world. She has enjoyed soccer in the past and seems to really love the feeling of being on a team. Mind you, she is a scrappy little thing.... but getting in the middle of the little cluster of kids fighting for the ball is a bit overwhelming.

I saw this Spring that there was a sports camp at Rice University for soccer. The "Owlets" were a special group of 4-6 year olds who could further their athletic endeavor. So I asked Miss Sarah if she wanted to do it and signed her up before she could change her mind.

As the week approached I grew apprehensive. She does PLENTY of activities- camps, gymnastics, art classes, music classes, t-ball, soccer, computer, blah, blah, blah.... But those have always been because her big brother wanted to do those activities. I had encouraged her to do an art class this Spring on her own with pretty disastrous results. She only wanted to go if one of her friends or Cash accompanied her. Or if I was in the waiting room, of course.

This was going to be the big time. All on her own. Big tough coaches. Heat. Unfamiliar territory.

But my little sweet Sarah did it. I pulled that minivan up in front of the practice and she somewhat cautiously looked out the window at the other kids. Man, you could tell she was scared. But I opened the door, put a (admittedly forced) smile on my face, and held out my hand to her. You could see her square her shoulders as she grabbed my hand. She was not going to let her fear get the best of her.

After drop off I sat in my car and watched her stand there with her ball in her hand and sort of look around waiting for instructions. It seemed like all of the other kids were either running around playing, chatting with friends, or kidding around with counselors. And Sarah just stood quietly and waited. My heart was right out there with her.

And all that week I would pull up at the end of camp and find the sweatiest, reddest faced, but most proud little girl you can ever imagine. My little mosquito girl was by far the tiniest of the bunch. And she did it. When I asked if she had a good time, she would bravely say "yes."

But at night or during quiet moments, she would quietly say to me, "Mommy, soccer camp is very long. Can you come and watch me? " I knew she was pushed to the limit. And my heart broke and felt lonely with her.

I know my baby girl has tremendous pride in her achievement. Little Scrappy wouldn't take off her shin guards every day after camp. And you should have seen the look on her face as she soooo proudly went up to get her medal and certificate at the end of the week. (It's currently framed on the wall in her room.)

Last week was truly an experience in letting my daughter do the hardest thing on her own.

And I have never had my heart squeezed outside of my body like that- ever.

grumble, grumble

Today I need to face some anxieties about "business in the home." Tricky stuff, this hiring someone to help you out with the stuff that you should be able to do on your own. And the shame that brings on makes things harder.

I'm suck terribly at housekeeping and all things domestic. And I'm trying to come to terms with that tremendous failing but am sucking at that, as well.

About 4 years ago, when Sarah was in the hospital a tremendous amountI hired on a lot of help as I was unable to be both at the hospital and at home with Cash, then 13 months old. It was a crazy scene.

Over time I certainly don't need that much help. It's been a tremendous luxury, though!

Now my help is asking for situations and monetary compensation that I just can't afford-nor do I want to spend! And the awkwardness around my avoiding the subject is bringing some negative energy into the home that I so carefully craft (haha).

So today I must pull myself up by my bootstrings and face the stomach churning.... It's time to tell her that we need to part ways. The woman who helped me with my babies and knows many of the nuances and intimacies of my home and family. It's hard.

The Big Picture

We have a lot of collections around here. As a matter of fact, Cash correctly identified himself as someone who likes to "accumulate" while watching Pinky Dinky Doo the other day. (Thanks for the vocab lessons, Pinky- cue the horn.) He has also leaked to his teachers the snarky things I've told him in my moments of frustration. Ms. Adriana and Ms. Lisa now know that I've told him that he's going to be on the t.v. show called "Hoarders" someday.

This is a kid who brought his trash home from school lunch everyday. The only time he really got in trouble was when he screamed "NOOOOOO!" because his sweet teacher threw away his empty chocolate milk box. He gets upset when I put boxes and plastic containers in the recycle bin because he can use them for his "machines." And GOD FORBID we should ever try to give toys to charity. Bad, bad idea.

Now as much as I get incredibly frustrated with these tendencies, I also have to tell you that I find them incredibly endearing. My son is quirky- there is no doubt. But he is also incredibly sentimental.... and it shows up in his inability to give up the old. Letting go of things, people, and even the day sometimes is excrutiating for him.

Cash had two major changes last year. The first was that we moved from our old house to the one next door. (I know, I know.... incredibly curious behavior.) The second was that his best buddy, Kirk, moved across the country. Fortunately, he had no other life events, remained at the same school, and had the same wonderful teacher for both grades because I don't thing his little psyche could have withstood any more.

I was completely unprepared for how unglued this would all make him. How attached could a 4 year old be to a little playgroup friend? I should have known.

Matt was shocked when Kirk pulled away from the curb and Cash literally broke down wailing for three hours. We both shed a tear just watching him so upset. And while I thought this wound would scab over, he is still heartbroken. When Cash has a few peaceful moments, he'll quietly say that "it isn't fair that Kirk lives so far away." Or "I wonder what Kirk is doing right now?" Cash mails Kirk things and asks me to take pics that I can text to Shannon, my buddy and Kirk's mom. And when I gave him a surprise trip to go see Kirk this Spring, it literally rendered him speechless. The boys fell immediately right back into their little world- even after 9 months. I've been pretty shocked that the preschooler can hold on to such a sweet bond.

But I shouldn't have been. My quirky little tender hearted hoarder has trouble letting go of the things and people that are so precious to him. I love that dearly.

Now if I could figure out how to teach him that collecting "nature" like roly polies might actually be harmful. Nature belongs with nature.... but that's another post.

On the Cheap

How to get out of Target for under $100: Don't go with me.

I can't handle the crack, y'all.

For Ellie

Blog updated. I suck.

Thank You So Much, Gwen Stefani

That song came out (or got popular on the radio, or whatever...) when Quirky was about 20 months old and Scrappy was just a little one riding backwards in her carseat. We drove around that Spring with the windows down and the wee man would sing out "Woo Hoo- Hee Hoo!" at the top of his little voice. It was adorable. But I didn't think much about the words.

It sounds cliche, but we're so bombarded these days by images and news. The internet, cell phones, texting, message boards, CNN and Fox News, DVR's, etc. It seems like everyone needs a way to connect. And I play right into it, trust me. I text like a mad teenager, LOVE interacting with friends on facebook and my fave messageboard, and watch the Today Show religiously.

Let's face it: I'm a people person- and the internet offers me one more way to push my sorry self onto others.

I haven't listened to the radio in a long time. The kids always have some crazy assed story to tell me or a thousand questions to ask. ("Mom, what is a 'situation'?" asks Quirky). Or I'm on the ridiculous phone chatting away and organizing my completely overscheduled with nothing serious life.

So last week I threw the kids in the car, got some red iced Shipley donuts, and just jammed out to Cheap Trick. So very good. And lately at night I've been getting back to my big old stack of novels and short stories. And I've been in total ESCAPE mode.

Most of you are probably heaving huge sighs of relief that the big old puppy dog named Alex is not licking your face constantly.

What If???

I'm a HUGE fan of industrial tours. My dad started me off as a kid by taking me to the Blue Diamond Almond factory somewhere out in California. He is a wonder source of trivia. Did you know that Godiva Chocolate is actually owned by Campbell's Soup??? Or the umbrella company, anyway. We added a bunch of interesting tours to our family road trips as kids- Bunny Bread (which is the N'awlins equivalent of Wonder Bread), Russell Ice Cream, Coors Beer, Hershey, Gerber baby food, blah, blah, blah...

The best with Dad was in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Know what is there? KELLOGG CEREALS! It was great- free sugar cereal at the end!!! I never knew that flake cereal really are flakes!! I had somehow imagined in my crazy brain that some machine sort of blobbed out flake-shaped stuff. But it turns out that they roll this paste out onto these huge drums and let it dry. And as it dries- it flakes!! For real!!

Then in my teacher life I always got to take plenty of industrial tours of the field-trip variety. At that point I was mostly just praying that children didn't mortify me publicly and that I had a constant head count. When I was teaching at M.D. Anderson I was able to take small groups of children to some really cool places (hello- skiing in Utah!!??). One of those industrial tour field trips with those kids was to the Houston Chronicle.

It was SO NEAT! I am a big newspaper person. Get one in every place I visit just so I can see what all is newsworthy there. I do the crossword and jumble every night. (Sudoku can go to Hell. Damn numbers.) And Dear Abby and the ethics columns make me swoon.

Did you know that they use something like two tons of paper every MINUTE when they are printing the paper? It is unreal! The operation is truly 24/7. It's mostly computerized layout and stuff now... though I was shocked that there was still one point in the whole process that uses the real old fashioned cut and paste. The tour gave us the inside scoop on the whole deal- from the ideas and reporters offices to the truck drivers and street urchins that hawk the paper.

Now here was what stuck with me: They actually print a huge portion of the paper BEFORE the day it goes out. For example, the food section (a favorite of mine) comes out on Wednesdays. But they actually print it on Sunday nights! And the majority of the Sunday paper is printed on Wednesday night and ready to go by Thursday morning.

Well... do you know what is in the Sunday paper? The weddings. So that means that the wedding announcements are largely actually printed PRIOR to the couple making the trip down the aisle. Seems risky to me.

I've thought about this a lot. And I've decided that if I were scheduled to get married on Saturday and I had actually shelled out the $2000+ to print it up in the paper the ceremony would go on. I don't care if he suddenly called my momma a fat whore. That wedding shit would be happening. The newspaper gets sent out to something like a MILLION people- literally!

And if my husband stood me up..... well- I just don't know.

WILDFIRE

We've been hit by strep. The Boss Man and Scrappy are infected by bacteria. Yes, 50% of our household is now running fever and laid up- thank The Good Lord (and Pasteur) for antibiotics. Also, many thanks go to our good friends Crazy Harry, the pcp, and Charlotte, the pediatrician, for bucking the system and giving us all preventative prescriptions of amoxicillin for when the other 50% of the family goes down. God willing and the creek don't rise, this won't happen.

Found out yesterday that we shared the strep throat love with a friend we played with over the weekend. Oops. sorry.

Clearly this stuff is contagious as Hell.

But you know, all kinds of things are contagious- wildly so.

I've been struck lately by the way attitudes are spread throughout our society. Have you ever noticed that when you're waiting in a doctor's office you are affected by the mood of those around you? When you walk and and everyone is sitting glowering, bitching about the wait time, snarling at children, and generally foul humored it is absolutely catching. I hate it- especially when I'm contributing to the situation. Which happens more than I even like to admit to myself.

The Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo is marvelous. The amount of money that the event raises every year to benefit students everywhere is mindblowing. And who wouldn't like to go hang out at a place that serves fried pop-tarts and funnel cakes?? But let me tell you what I think is even better- the attitudes of the volunteers who work there. I simply cannot get over how friendly everyone is. AND THE HAPPINESS IS CONTAGIOUS. When a volunteer wearing a cool cowboy vest and badge notices me trying to read the map about where the goats and pigs are and offers to walk my family there, I am awed. And consequently I even more lovingly compliment the presenters on their prized animals. And then in turn those presenters are more eager to answer questions from the next batch of visitors. And so on.... I'm telling you, the rodeo is the friendly place to be.

A close friend of mine (who I've never even actually met in real life!!) had a crummy day earlier this week. And here's what I noticed about her day: It wasn't actually the events of the day that made it so awful- it was the attitudes of those around her that affected the way she felt. She was trying to do good for a lot of people and those she loved were in a bad mood and NOT keeping it to themselves. Not particularly appreciative, if you know what I mean. It certainly made her mood to go shit, as well.

I was so impressed that the next day she got up, pulled herself up by her bootstraps, and told the world that she was going to change it- simply by her attitude. And it worked! Not only was her daughter in better humor (which I am sure was helped along by her mother's affable countenance) but she even got a home-made dinner on the table (a feat I have yet to achieve in the past two weeks), baking completed, and a two year old kept content and stimulated! Wow- way to go lady!

So, my friends, let's all go out and try to set wildfires today. I'm going to take inspiration from my friend and set those around me ablaze with my fierce optimism. Or go down trying, anyway. Who knows- maybe it will stave off the strep throat, too????

The Boss Man

He'll never admit to his power. As a matter of fact, he says that he is the lowest on the totem pole around here- after the kids, the house, the animals that we used to have, the social and household obligations.... he gets his needs met when the rest of us are all tucked away fat and happy.

There's probably some truth to that.

But I still call him The Boss Man because he likes to have his hand in everything that is going on around him. I've never worked for him- don't really want to, either- but I have some small sense that he micromanages. And here at the house he is kind of my boss. If I think we need a new dryer, I pretty much need to get his thoughts and approval before it's purchased. He is very involved in darn near every aspect of how the daily life/ routine goes around here- and often critical of it.

But I love him for it. I appreciate having a partner that cares so much about what we're doing that he feels the need to be in the middle of it. I often could use a little bit more of a sense that he trusts me to get things done, but it's not a deal breaker.

My dearie, The Boss Man.

Grace- in sooo many ways

I am a terrible spaz. As in, currently (and almost always) sporting a huge scab on my knee and multiple gag inducing big purple spots on my thighs. Yep. I fall down and bump into things a lot.

Unfortunately, I also speak in stream of consciousness, can sometimes be a "loud talker," make bad jokes, and probably frequently interrupt people.

You see, the grace portion of development somehow got screwed up on me.

If we were to look at the physical side of things, we could talk about how my gut frequently argues with me. It, ahem, is troubled. (we can use euphemisms, right?)

My children are perfect in my eyes. I mean- more than perfect. They're the most delicious thing that has ever been placed on a silver platter in front of me. I marvel in them.

But that being said, Scrappy has a little thing with her ears. Somehow when they were growing they missed a fold. There's some medical term for it- I can't remember. So we will decide soon whether to fix them or leave them as they are. Ok. Seems pretty minor.

And Quirky has a little dimple on his bottom. Sort of a divet at the bottom of his spine. Once caused a bit of consternation about some genetic disorder... but all ok now. Just a minor imperfection.

One of my dearest friends just found out that the sweet little baby boy growing in her belly right now probably has a heart defect. One that will cause him to live in the NICU the first few weeks of his life and he will have to have open heart surgery in the first week or so. It is frightening and worrisome. Terribly. And this wonderful mother worries that it was something she ate, some medicine that she took, some way that she thought, or some power line that she lived under. The joys of motherhood- unbelievable love and guilt.

But let me tell you what I think caused this heart defect, the dimple on my son's rear, and the funky ears on my sweet little noodle.

We are so miraculous. I can't even begin to imagine the millions of tiny little things that go on as we grow HUMAN BEINGS inside of ourselves. How come we all have toes and eyes and the ability to feel love and blink our eyes, hiccough, and kick? In order for us to freaking breathe alone there are TENS of thousands of things that have to happen as we develop. How amazing is it that so many things go right?

I have to excuse the few things that go wrong. I just do. When so many countless things go right I just have to forgive the few that don't. It makes sense that just a couple of miracles go awry when so many don't.

We probably all have some of these imperfections in the great plan that are not obvious. I don't know. Maybe I have freckles on my spleen or something. And maybe as my gut was developing some strange enzyme was missed or whatever that makes my colon hate me sometimes. All I know is that it's ok- because sooo much went right.

My new little buddy in his momma's stomach is growing perfectly- all except his tiny heart. And I have to forgive God for that. Because we all make mistakes (especially graceful old me). And there is SO MUCH RIGHT going on with this little miracle of a baby boy.

And if that's not grace, then I don't know what is.

OY

Crap. I was all set to post this morning.... then the stupid website locked me out and now I can't remember what I was going to write. And now my kid is pouring an entire box of honey smacks out into his bowl and the other one is standing on the toilet seat and shit she just put her foot in the toilet.

Trashy

Noone can say that word as well as my little sister. She says it in the same accent that we say "I'm all ashy"- meaning that our legs are dry and scaly. Sort of a cross between a southern accent and a full blown Chicago. Can't replicate this on here. Sorry. You're missing out- truly.

I've discovered a new hobby. Not knitting, much to the dismay of Quirky. Nope- I've taken recycling to a new level. Cool, huh?

Yes, I realize that this is something that we all should be doing, not a craft that you can pick up at Michael's or Hobby Lobby. But all those years that I spent needlepointing I found that I never really had a functional place to put all of those cute little creations of mine. And let's face it, it's not a joyful or meaningful experience if you can't enjoy the fruits of your labor. Noone really wanted those cute little eyeglass cases that I had ruined my eyes making.

So I've found the answer, everyone. RECYCLING. Always been doing it- now just taking it to a new level. I'm practically gift wrapping the shit up as I lovingly place it on the curb on Tuesday mornings. Prior to "the hobby," I threw the plastic in with the glass, sometimes shoved into a cereal box. Then there was the pesky problem that the garage is detached from the house so it was kind of a pain in the ass to get one little milk carton all the way out there. I recycled, but not with gusto.

Now I keep little paper bags inside the house into which I gleefully toss every little scrap of paper. Such excitement! I might as well have music playing as I imagine myself saving The Earth. Call me superwoman!

And there's the added bonus to this new ridiculous hobby. I am getting the trash the hell out of my house. The rest of the house may look like we should have a washer and sofa on our front porch (and don't even get me started on the trash pit that my car is. surely you've seen the "mom my ride" video on you tube. You haven't?- Get thee to you tube immediately.) but I have a semblance of control over the trash . Do you know how good this feels? It's better than the way those ridiculous yogurt commercials show women prancing around. Serious virtuosity, y'all.

So prepare for updates about how I've made glittery recycle containers for my kitchen. This is my new hobby.

Dread

You know what getting ready to run a long race reminds me of? Preparing for labor. You know it's going to hurt like hell.... but hopefully be all worth it.

**** as a side note- I laughed when I typed out the title for this post this morning. Instead of "dread" I typed "dead." Freudian slip, anyone?

That Friday Feeling

I've got it today- and most Fridays. Remember when we were in high school and would have all kinds of cool plans for the weekend? I recall sitting in Junior English on a warm Spring afternoon soooooo ready to bust outta there. The windows were down (did y'all have those windows that pulled down sort of into the room? They only seem to have those in classrooms) and I could hear a car outside playing Guns n' Roses. Jam on.

These days there isn't much difference between the weekends and the weekdays. I do the same shit everyday. Make beds, get small people dressed, pop waffles in the toaster oven, supervise training wheel bike rides, hang out at the park, blah, blah, blah.... Now that I'm a SAHM the weekends are actually a bit more complicated than the weekdays. I don't get those couple of hour breaks while the kids are at preschool. One would think I wouldn't get That Friday Feeling.

But I do. I admit, I look forward to The Boss Man being around a bit more. I sort of hope he'll do something with me and the kids that doesn't involve the daily drivel of snot wiping and hanging out around the house. Don't get me wrong...I love doing that stuff most days. But a little part of me holds out hope that we'll take a little adventure together so I won't be alone with my thoughts and obsessions about the wee ones.

Last week I wasn't disappointed. It was cold outside so we took the kids on a quick jaunt to the aquarium. Soooo fun. Saw the big tigers, rode the ferris wheel and the carousel, and had a good ole time.

So while Quirky and Scrappy don't quite yet know about the wonders of That Friday Feeling, I do. I'll keep imagining that there is a keg waiting for me somewhere in a sunshiney place, boys to flirt with, girlfriends to giggle with, and all of the delights of the weekend ahead. ahhh....

Introducing the two most important players.

I'd like you, The Great Big Internet, to meet my two children.

This is CASH. Also known as "Quirky."

Cash is a puzzle. Complicated little dude- and oh so lovable. He has an interesting command of language. Typical comments from Cash: "That's impressive." or "Is sign language the same as speech?" One never EVER knows what is going to come out of his mouth. He spent last Sunday skipping/running through the downtown aquarium here in Texas singing the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel's Messiah. I'm sure all of the other visitors were just delighted.

This is Sarah, also known as "Scrappy."

Sarah is a mess. And I think it's just fabulous. I taught her yesterday to tell people that she's a "straight shooter." She's wayyyyyy into superheroes, robots, playing space aliens, and arranging her stuffed animals into teams. Sarah despises pink, bows, princesses, and wearing dresses. Her Mimi is positive that this will change at some crucial point and she'll become a vamp, wearing the slinkiest clothes possible. Jury is out on that one.

Aren't they the most awesomest???

She'll never miss any.

You know you do it....

After wrangling with the unintelligible mumbling of the drive thru intercom system you drive up and they hand you a wonderful couple of bags of the best smelling, most forbidden food on the planet. It's hard to even accept the offerings of paper cups of cold drinks that they're even pushing through your window before you reach in the bag.

Then comes the hard part. Driving home to bring the food to your loved ones. The food smells so damned good. And those marvelously salty french fries at the top of the bag are so accessible. Nobody will miss one, right? So then, much like the old Pringles ads, you realize you can't just stop at one. Two? Three? The most difficult question of all: How many can you have before those waiting eagerly and hungrily at home will realize it- You've stolen their french fries.