I am Trish Marie

Got my lunch packed up...

2011-10-28T06:33:00.000-07:00

Did I tell you? I am back in school. I pretty sure the decision to finish my degree spawned out of boredom. It seemed like a fantastic idea until I actually had to do homework and study. Although, I would be lying if I tried to pretend like I didn't like it.

See the thing is I love winning. And being the winner. And being better than everyone else. It makes me happy. In a sick, sad way. My first time in college, I was not the winner. Sure, I passed Calc II, but barely. But now? I kick school's ass. I don't know if the classes are easier or if actually caring about attending classes and doing the work makes a difference. Who knew you should actually show up to class. Sober. And while I know I am putting in much more effort this time around, I am pretty sure this school is just slightly easier.

Take my management class for example. We get bonus points. For wearing orange to school on Fridays. Like it is Kindergarten. So every Friday I rock my orange, so I can have a 112 average. Except, I couldn't just wear my free Friday shirt like everyone else.

Bleh. Friday shirt.

Nope. I had to be the Friday orange winner. So I turned mine into a scarf. While you fools are in your orange shirt and sweatpants, I have on real pants.

Friday shirt + scissors + elastic thread = Friday scarf

And. Oh my God. School makes me look sleepy.

I think I am back. But I may forget to write again for another year.

2011-10-01T16:44:00.000-07:00

Hello, Old Friend. I mean this blog. Not you. I wouldn't call you old. To your face.

Where does one pick up after writing twice in the past year? Do bullet points work as an update on everything that has happened? I think so.

In no particular order, Dec 2010 through now.

Moved. Same neighborhood. Different house. And it has a craft/sewing room that is all mine. I like to hide in there.

Ran a bunch of races. Running my second Half Marathon in three weeks. Running 10 for Texas in one week.

Went back to college. Already changed my major once. Contemplating changing my minor again. Turns out I love Accounting. The numbers line up in such pretty little rows.

We bought another landscaping company.

Jill is no longer in elementary school. I swear she just started Kindergarten.

A bunch of other random crap. I can't really remember it, so that means you really won't give a shit about it either.

The End.

Mrs. Lunatic

2011-02-10T11:16:00.000-08:00

As Kenny and I were driving past the elementary school today, it dawned on me that I had forgotten to add money to Jill's lunch account. Jill's lunch was in twenty minutes. I had no time to make an online payment, so we stopped by the school. As I walked into the cafeteria, I realized it was right in the middle of Emmi's lunch time. I was definitely not getting away without stopping by her lunch table. As I hugged her hello, the other children clamored for my attention. Behind me, I could here one of Emmi's playmates attempting to get my attention.

"Excuse me! Mrs...... Mrs..... What is Emmi's last name," Emmi's playmate asked, turning to the child next to her. The child next to her (let's call her The Instigator) whispers something.

"Mrs. Lunatic," Emmi's playmate called out to me, completely unaware of what she has just said. As I turned toward her, several of Emmi's classmates started to snicker. A few children start to chant led by The Instigator, "Emmi Lun-a-tic!" They, obviously, did know what they were saying.

For a few seconds I stood perfectly still, not quite knowing how to react. This is how these children were treating Emmi to a parent's face? How were they treating Emmi when I was not around? Honestly, I have been expecting this moment for years.

Emmi is different. She does not talk as well as the other children due to her cleft palate. She does not understand everything they say due to the language delays. Her flashing cochlear implants over her ears make her an easy target. Bullying happens. It doesn't take being deaf or having a cleft palate to make a child a target of bullying. It could simply be your shoes or the style of your hair. But when a child is so clearly different, you can almost guarantee they will be the target of bullying at some point in time. This is something I have come to accept as a fact. My child is different, she will be bullied at some point. I just wasn't expecting to be faced with it quite so head on.

After I recovered my composure, I looked the child who had so clearly started the attack in the eye. I squatted down on her level and calmly said, "What you are saying is rude and can not be tolerated." I watched as the look of defiance transformed to fear. In reality this was just another first grader. A six-year-old child who just realized that she was seriously in trouble. For a brief moment, I felt sorry for her. But only briefly. For this was also the child that lead several children to taunt my child in the lunch room. She may have realized she was in trouble, but did she really understand the ramifications of what she was doing?

I know bullying existed when I was child. It existed before I was a child. It will continue to exist, until we, as a society, stop tolerating it. We blow off little things. We chalk name calling and taunting up to simply being a kid. But why? Have we not had enough proof that these "innocent" behaviors are not all that innocent? Have we not watched as children suffer from depression, fear going to school, even go so far as to commit suicide? How far will we continue to allow it go?

I made the choice today to not tolerate it. I spoke directly to the child. I informed the office staff. Together we made a plan. A plan that is based around educating the children in both the effects of bullying and the acceptance of difference. I plan to face this head on. I will not tolerate what I saw today.

Snow Day

2011-02-04T09:53:00.001-08:00

Minus the snow.

But we did get some ice, which is really all one needs to slide down a hill.

Posh Punk

2010-12-20T14:25:00.000-08:00

Emmi's favorite little friend (who happens to be the daughter of one of my besties) had a birthday party weekend before last. For her present, I made her two sets of pajamas. I love to sew. I am constantly making things for my kiddos. Jill just has to have an all white nightgown for character dress up day? Well, let me make it! But sewing for other people? It just wasn't something I had ever done. Yet, as soon as Emmi's little friend unwrapped her gift, I had two moms asking me to make sets for their daughters. They both spent the rest of the party convincing me that I needed to open up shop. So that is just what I did.

My little venture is just in its infant stage and has a long way to go. Over the next few weeks, more items will be added to my etsy store. In the works are more pajama sets, infinity scarves (inspired by Jill and her love of scarves.....just like her mom!), layered ruffle skirts, and much more.

World's Best Run On Sentence

2010-12-11T12:13:00.001-08:00

My favorite part of reading the online news is reading the comments. It might be the best form of entertainment. Ever. How can you not love things like this?

Couyld you people who leave comments at least learn to spell, I realize it is hard to spell correctly when you are evidently in the process of hating the person you are commenting on, however to the Misfit character, it is their, not there grief, or whatever the purpose you used the word, their and there have two different meanings, so perhaps instead of jumping to leave a comment, try picking up a thesaurus (yes that is a word too, in fact it is a book a lot like a dictionary which you should also use, ) so instead of hating, try learning to spell, that goes for all of you haters.

They spelled "could" wrong when bitching about poor spelling. Although, I applaud them for attempting to make that all one sentence.

What the hell was I thinking?

2010-11-22T10:38:00.000-08:00

So I ran my first ever race on Saturday. It was a small race. And only 5K. Our next goal was the ConocoPhillips Rodeo Run 10K in February. Yet, somehow we let ourselves get talked into signing up for the Run Thru the Woods on Thanksgiving Day. Five miles. We had never run more than 3.2 miles.

The day after our race, when we should have been resting, we hit the pavement. Our goal was four miles, which we easily hit. Today, we did a short run. Funny how two miles equals a short run now. Tomorrow our goal is 4.5 miles. On Wednesday we will run only one mile, and then Thursday we will attempt to run the whole five in the race.

Honestly, I am not sure what we were thinking when we signed up for this race, but I am really excited to run in a "real" race!

Hooked.

2010-11-20T09:54:00.001-08:00

Nine weeks ago, I joined a beginner running group. For the first group run, we had to run for ten whole minutes. I thought I was going to die. Nine weeks later, my running partner and I ran in our first race.

My awesome running partner. Without her, I would have quit 8.5 weeks ago.

And we are off....

Almost. There.

Crossing the finish line.

Our original goal was to simply run the whole 5K. Then we set a time of 34 minutes. When we broke 32 minutes last week, we reset our goal to under 30 minutes.

I finished with a time of 29 minutes and 26 seconds.

As we sat through awards, I realized I was SEVEN minutes behind my age group winner. I felt my competitive drive kick in. I. Want. To. Win. In two weeks I have gone from the girl who was just hoping to finish the race to the girl who wants to finish first. I want prizes. And to run faster. And farther. I am completely and hopelessly hooked on racing.

I am dying. Not really. I am just paranoid.

2010-11-11T06:24:00.000-08:00

All of my crazy symptoms like the randoms fevers, and the pain, and such have been around for years. Years. Yet now that I know they are a problem, I am suddenly more aware of them. And slightly crazy about them.

I keep a cup of water by the bed. Always have. In my car is a cup of water. Look around my house and you will find water glasses everywhere I have been sitting. Did I also mention I am really bad about leaving my water glasses everywhere and never picking them up? My husband loves that. I am never without a drink. Because my throat gets scratchy without one. My mouth feels thick. This has never really been a problem for me until....

"Do you often have dry-mouth," my doctor asked.

Oh shit. My need for constant water isn't some weird quirk. It is a symptom.

Days later, I am sitting at my desk, when I absentmindedly reach for my water glass. Before I can take a sip, it dawns on me. I. Have. Dry. Mouth. Oh God. I am dying. I just know it. In fact my kidneys are shutting down as we speak, because my mouth is dry. And is my left index finger joint swollen? I think I have a fever. Does anybody else see a rash on my legs?

Maybe those others doctors weren't too off the mark with their diagnosis of anxiety after all.

Goodbye Starbucks. Goodbye cupcakes.

2010-11-10T10:50:00.000-08:00

I flip-flopped back and forth on whether or not I would even write this post.

1. How do you write nothing for months, and then just reappear? And with drama.
2. I hate sympathy posts. And complainers. And other people's health problems.

For several years, I have suffered from some seemingly random symptoms. Chest pain with no known heart abnormalities. Severe abdominal pain. Bouts of insomnia. Numb hands and feet. Fatigue. Achy joints. The list goes on. I have seen many doctors. Each one eventually determining I was depressed or anxious. Not one offering any solution other than anti-depressants.

When a blood vessel in my eye burst a few months ago, my opthamalogist became concerned. She pieced together some of my other symptoms and suggested I see a Rheumatologist. I made my appointment, and then braced myself for a diagnosis of Rheumatoid Arthritis.

I was completely thrown off when my doctor told me that I did not, in fact, have RA. Instead, I have a rare genetic condition that is also an inflammatory auto-immune disorder. Except, I get the added fun of organ failure. Predominantly kidney failure, followed by liver failure. Yay.

There is no cure, and it is progressive. The really good news is there is a known treatment that will significantly reduce my chances of kidney and liver failure. The downside is I will have to take this for the rest of my life. And there are some serious side effects. The biggest is it speeds up your digestive system (read: diarrhea. ew.) AND blocks absorption of some vitamins and minerals. Almost all patients have severe weight loss. I am a size four. I doubt I need any severe weight loss. Especially given the worst part.

I will have to give up dairy while taking this medication. No Starbucks white chocolate mochas. No cupcakes with milk every evening. This, my friends, is the part that makes me tear up. You want me to give up cupcakes? Forever? And while I can eat as much as I want and still be skinny?

The results of my liver function test should be in by Tuesday, which means I should start on a low dose of my medication by Wednesday. I have to be dairy free three days prior to my first dose. That gives me through Sunday.

Don't worry friends, I started two-a-days in preparation. White mochas in the morning. Peppermint lattes in the afternoon.

Practical Advice

2010-08-18T13:25:00.000-07:00

The kids go back to school on Monday. A few days ago, they posted teacher assignments. Jill was a little upset because they split up her and her two best friends. What she was most upset about was being stuck with the one kid who acts like an asshole to her all day, everyday. I started to spew off some nonsense about how she just needed to remember to kill him with kindness or some crap like that. But then I stopped myself. Why do we also tell our kids this bullshit? Why don't we tell them how it really is?

Some people are just assholes. Being kind to them isn't going to make them less of an asshole. It is just going to peg you as the person who won't stand up to them. Maybe this will make them look for another target, but more than likely it will make them decide you are the perfect target. I say put them in their place. When some little punk boy mouths off to her, she should respond with "Assholes like you grow up to be assholes who will never in a million years get a girl like me. You are going to be forty, alone, fired from four jobs, twice for sexual harassment, once for anger management issues, and once for just plain being stupid. Your best friend is going to be your beer can, and even your mother won't be able to stand you."

That is practical advice.

August 15th

2010-08-13T10:09:00.000-07:00

It's almost been one year, since Kenny and I were married. It some ways it feels like no time at all has passed. In other ways, it is hard to imagine that it has only been one year with everything that has happened.

Kenny, thank you for being the husband and father that you are. You are an amazing man. And pretty damn funny, too. I am thankful for every moment we have had together, even if I still haven't figured out how to get you to put your cups in the dishwasher. Although, I guess if that is worst that I have to say about you, then I have it pretty good. Happy Anniversary. I love you.

My Current Obssession.

2010-08-09T11:39:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, we went out with some friends for some wakesurfing and wakeboarding. Kenny was able to toss the rope in while wakesurfing, and I attempted some tricks that are way to advanced for me (but I am determined to learn right this minute). I spent the whole day practicing techniques and watching videos. You know because I am ~~going to be a pro some day~~ obsessed.

But first, how stinkin' cute is she? I am absolutely in love with how adventurous and courageous this kid is. When she is out there wakeboarding, you see a different side of her.

And my favorite photo of the day....

Although, I should probably mention, he actually flipped of the board on purpose (which is what I was trying to get a picture of) when he started to lose his balance!

Awkward.

2010-08-08T05:25:00.000-07:00

Many years ago, like over ten, I dated a guy. Let's call him The Ex. The Ex and I dated for several months. At eighteen and nineteen we thought we were a big time, serious couple. But then as most relationships between teenagers, we broke up. I turned into evil, vengeful bitch, and several of my friends may have participated in the tormenting of The Ex. Because we went to different colleges, I never spoke to him again.

Fast forward to over ten years later.

The plan for the day was the guys were going wakeboarding, and the girls were cooking dinner. Kenny went on ahead of me to meet up with our friend and another guy he had never met. When I arrived to help with dinner, I immediately question my friend about this new guy. Why? Because he happened to have the same first name as The Ex. A name that is not common at all. As in, I have never met another person with said name.

I breathed a sigh of relief when, even though she didn't know his last name, she did know that he was only twenty-four. Thank goodness, because that was going to be really awkward.

Awkward like when they walked in the back door, and my husband and the new guy are chatting away and I freeze because it is clearly The Ex who is definitely not twenty four and he has just been hanging out with my husband.

Breaking My Bloggy Silence...

2010-08-07T06:04:00.000-07:00

....to introduce Jill the Badass. Seriously, I might have the coolest kid ever.

Let's recap our summer so far.

While tubing, she takes time to pose.

Cliff diving. A sport that every nine-year-old should try.

And then she bought herself this.

And did this at her first lesson ever.

Ignore my inability to focus the camera on her. I blame Emmi. She was tugging on my arm. And speaking of little Emmi. Even she took a turn.

What I learned about customer service from Starbucks.

2010-04-22T10:59:00.001-07:00

Oh Starbucks. I have been pretty open and honest with the Internets about my obsessive love for you. To protect our relationship, I have lied to my husband. I have hidden evidence. What? That cup? That's from last week. Hmm? Yes, I do find it weird that the ice has not melted since last week. When we were weighing out the options on our move, "No Starbucks in new town" was on my negative list. Sometimes, I plan my day around you, Starbucks. If I run errand A at such and such time, I can drive past a Starbucks. So Starbucks, you see, we have had good times, and I find it hard to talk bad about you. But. But. I am a tad bit annoyed with you right now.

The two closest SB's are a good fifteen minutes away, in two opposing towns. Both are slightly inconvenient. I have to go a bit out of my way to get to either. That leaves SB number three. It is about twenty minutes away, but near other stores that I sometimes need to go to. Read: TARGET. It's not everyday that I make it by SB anymore. My sometimes twice a day habit is now down to twice a week. If I am lucky. So on those rare occasions that I do get to SB, it better damn well be good.

Yet SB #3 sucks. Consistently. Once, they made the wrong drink for me. I ordered correctly. I had the receipt in my hand to prove it. Then, they fussed at me for not wanting the wrong drink. I mean, it was cold outside, I should want a hot drink. Why on earth did I order a cold one anyway? The second time, they forgot the white mocha part of my iced white mocha. When I explained this, they were severely confused. I wanted extra white mocha? I don't like white mocha? How about a new cherry mocha! Today, I figured, third time's a charm. They were bound to improve. Right? Wrong.

I ordered my usual. I stepped aside. Then, the barista explained that she just needed to restart the empty coffee maker. While the other three employees watched. Meanwhile, I waited and the line at the register grew. When the coffee maker was restarted, I expected the barista to go back to making my drink. That I had ordered a full five minutes ago. Instead, she returned to the register to help the two men that walked in less than a minute ago. Obviously. They placed their orders, plain coffees and pastries. Which she immediately served. At my, "Excuse me," and gesture she responded, "I am sorry, their orders are just so much easier." Oh yes. That makes sense. I will just stand here until someone orders a much more complicate drink.

At first I was annoyed. Then I realized. I am clearly in the wrong and know nothing about customer service.

PS To all of our clients. We will only be mowing those houses with very little flowerbeds to maintain today. They are easier. Don't worry, we will still charge you. And make you wait indefinitely until we feel like getting around to you. Thanks.

A new thing.

2010-04-16T07:44:00.000-07:00

Hey There,

It's been awhile. I'd apologize. Except, I hate when people do that. And, I am not sorry. Obviously, this blog is not my main priority.

I think there was a time when it used to be a priority. Now I can't even say that. It was fine when I actually talked about what was going on in my life, but then things started happening that I wasn't entirely comfortable sharing. Pretty major things. Not secrets exactly. In fact, if you sat down with me for coffee I love coffee, I consume it for every meal, I would probably talk your ear off about it. But, since it has a lot to do with my kids, I don't feel like the internet where I have used their actual names and pictures is the right place to do such. There is no need to immortalize everything. Right? So I made the decision not to talk about certain things.

But that lead to trying to search for things to talk about. And that became exhausting. This was no longer my outlet, but just another job. And we all know I don't really like working all that much. The postings spaced out, lacked depth or character, and even I became bored reading them. I read some of my earlier posts, and think, "That shit was funny. What happened?" But I know what happened. My life changed, but I never adapted my blog.

I thought long and hard about what to do. I don't want to give up this blog. I have put a lot of effort into it, so I won't abandon it all together. I am definitely going to keep reading all of my favorites. I will post when I have something to say. But mostly, I am focusing on a new project.

It is a blog format. Completely different from this one. I will be writing anonymously. That means you may or may not ever find me. Sors. Don't worry, most of you won't care. It is all about raising two kids with disabilities.

So until next time...which could be tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month.

Tricia

Old

2010-03-31T07:13:00.001-07:00

Listen, Self.

I know we turned 30, and promptly came down with strep throat in protest. Five days later, for extra fun while still on antibiotics, we spiked a fever of 102.

What gives? Did my warranty run out?

T-Mobile is not full of sparkles. Or magic.

2010-03-29T12:32:00.000-07:00

Today has been an irritating day. Very irritating. And T-Mobile, you are to blame.

I woke up this morning. And the screen on my phone looked like this.

That's right. Blank. Nada. Nothing. Redundant, I know. I was standing in front of T-Mobile when they opened their doors this morning. I expected magic. And fireworks. And sparkles. Instead I got, "Go home, and try this. Then, dial xyz cause I can't remember what he actually said from your cell to call customer service." Oh really, genius. I should call them. From my phone that won't turn on. When I told Mr. Not Magic or Helpful At All Man that his lack of action pissed me off, he proceeded to tell me all about his bad day. Guess what. I don't care.

At home, his special magic fix, did not work. I made my first call to customer service. Not from my cell phone. Which, of course, required extra top secret verification that I should in fact be attempting to fix this broken phone. Because it would be a real issue if someone not on the account attempted to troubleshoot my phone. And although, I was in fact on the account, they decided I was not. Even after calling my husband fourteen times and having him confirm my ability to be trusted with my own phone. And so, argument and thirty minute phone call number one began.

Five phone calls and two and a half hours later, Blackberry technical support determined they could not fix the problem. I needed a new phone. Which is funny, because that is what I said. TWO AND A HALF hours ago. "Ma'am, just call T-Mobile back, and tell them you need a phone exchange." Which sounded simple.

Except then T-Mobile was unconvinced, and thought perhaps they should send me to Blackberry technical support for further assistance. The same technical support that sent me to them for a new phone. This was a fun loop. Finally, I began responding to all statements and questions with, "SEND ME A NEW PHONE."

Ma'am can you hold, please. SEND ME A NEW PHONE.

Ma'am, have you attempted to take the battery out. No, of course not, asshat. Nobody in the past six phone calls though to have me do that! SEND ME A NEW PHONE.

Ma'am what does the screen look like now. SEND ME A NEW PHONE.

As we headed into hour three, they finally decided to SEND ME A NEW PHONE. I guess they got tired of my screaming and analogies. "If I bought a shirt and it ripped before I even took the tag off of it, I would take it back to the store. The store would then not send me home, and ask me to attempt to sew it myself. When they failed, they would also not send me to another store to ask them for help. They would simply get ME A NEW shirt." How was this complicated? The phone was dead. Shit happens. Phones mysteriously die in the dead of the night.

And now, three hours of my life have been wasted.

T-Mobile. I hate you.

The Big 3-0 = Strep Throat

2010-03-28T05:39:00.000-07:00

My 30th birthday was this weekend.

For my birthday, I got strep throat. Awesome. Kids dropped off with my parents for the weekend, and I start to feel horrible. Fever. Sore throat complete with white patches. Horrible headache. Did I mention awesome?

Don't worry, I let the antibiotics do their thing, and managed to do some celebrating.

And car shopping.

And present getting. And because my husband is way more awesome than strep throat, he got me this

Although not so much that, as a confirmation number for that, as it doesn't come out until next week.

Protein

2010-03-23T16:48:00.000-07:00

Once, my mom fed me caterpillars. She will debate this fact. She will claim it was part of the broccoli. Don't let her fool you. Caterpillars. I am still traumatized to this day. I examine broccoli piece by piece before I bite into it.

This weekend Kenny wanted to go out to eat. Jill did not want to go. As a compromise, we let her choose the restaurant. The pickle place. I am not sure any of us know the actual name. Just that Kenny and Jill love the fried pickles. The food is never all that great. The margaritas are.

I was half way through my first margarita before I noticed the bug embedded in my ice cube. Like Jurassic Park. The mosquito in amber. Not as pretty, though. And now, I am scared of margaritas. I will have to sort through them ice cube by ice cube.

Emmi had multiple appointments today. We were in Houston early this morning. Near Starbucks. I ordered an iced white mocha. Non-fat. I swear the milk gets colder without the fat. In winter, I order 2%. I need the warmth. The muffins called my name as I ordered my drink.

Two bites later, I noticed the bug leg. Had I eaten the bug? Was the bug leg all that was left or all that ever was?

It's my party.... Or not exactly party. But still, buy me presents.

2010-03-21T16:15:00.000-07:00

My 30th Birthday is this week. My mother and my husband asked for a present list.

So far this is what I have.

1. Range Rover. Preferably Sport. Preferably blue. Preferably with tan leather. Must have a DVD player.
2. Golf Cart. I don't play golf. Nobody in our family plays golf. I just want it to go to the bus stop. And pool. And to the Easter Egg Hunt in two Saturdays cause the website says, "Please take your golf cart, parking is limited." See totally need it.
3. ipad. Comes out April 3rd. I'll take a raincheck.
4. Money for clothes. Although, let's be real. I'll spend money on clothes whether or not he gives me money.
5. Photoshop Elements. Although, this requires me also taking the computer in for some work. But, just think of all of those pictures waiting on me to play with them.

That's all I got. Somehow, I don't think I am getting the Range Rover.

What would you ask for, if you were me? This is where I look conversational, but am really just trying to steal your ideas.

Last official day of Spring Break. Boo.

2010-03-19T07:20:00.000-07:00

The Lucky Fats.

2010-03-17T06:09:00.000-07:00

It started with Jump Rope for Heart. My kids knocked on the neighbor's door. They sent out emails linking to their donation pages. They raised money, followed by some rope jumping. They learned about being heart healthy, and eating heart healthy. You know, so you maintain a good body weight.

Apparently, Emmi got exactly one thing from that. Fat = UNHEALTHY.

After a long day and night before of cake baking and birthday partying, I was not about to cook. And I was starving. Kenny and I had shoved breakfast tacos in our faces between the mopping, vacuuming, and cake icing prior to the party. At 5:45, I made the executive decision that we were going out for Chinese. At the restaurant right outside our neighborhood whose parking lot is littered with cars bearing our neighborhood entrance sticker. By the end of dinner our neighbor two doors down sat one table over and our across the street neighbor sat two tables over. And we were the only people in there. My point? We know everyone who eats there. You see them at the country club later in the week or walking the dog.

When we first arrived there was exactly one other person eating in the restaurant. She sat at a table directly across from us, eating alone. I didn't recognize her, but the only other car in the parking displayed the reflection of the moon sticker I know so well. As we settled into our seats, she chatted with us about how cute our kids were and such.

The waitress handed her a fortune cookie and her check. She cracked open the cookie. No fortune. She turned to us, "What do you suppose that means?!"

The waitress called across the nearly empty restaurant, "I heard that was supposed to be good luck."

We all laughed.

Emmi had been watching, evaluating the whole situation. Listening. Finally she piped up.

"SHE IS SO FAT! SHE IS UNHEALTHY! Right, Mommy? Right?!"

I am pretty sure right then, that empty cookie was not good luck.

Happy Birthday Little Monkey.

2010-03-16T17:35:00.000-07:00

Five. I could still pretend five was a baby. Five was not in school. Five did not come with full sentences and correct grammar and a sudden five pound gain after years of weighing 33 pounds or less. Six did.

Six it seems, turned my Little Monkey into a girl. Not a baby. But a big girl. This is the year of the most profound changes. The most significant accomplishments. This past year, I have been blown away by everything you have done. Have far you have come.

This year you started Kindergarten with your class. In a mainstream classroom. Three years ago as you entered PPCD, we were told there was no chance of that. In fact, we were told to prepare for the fact that you may never be in a mainstream classroom. But here you are. Reading on level. Writing far beyond your grade level. Taking Spanish classes. Loving art. Hating PE. Performing either on target or ahead of your class in everything.

You have done a lot of things you shouldn't have. Shouldn't have according to a whole slew of doctors. Doctors that shake their head in wonder with every visit. You are their miracle patient. You are that one. According to your doctors, you were not supposed to live much past your first birthday. Then they said, "She won't sit, crawl, walk or talk." I think you proved to them that you had some other plans. You still struggle. You still scare the hell out of me sometimes. But here you are.

You are silly and sweet. Every morning as the bus pulls off you hold your hands up to the window in the shape of a heart. You wait in the front window for Daddy to come home. You love to cuddle on the couch with Macy. You spend your days following your sister around. You are suddenly eating, and you certainly have some favorite foods. You love sushi. Anyone can with your heart over with a crunchy roll. Want to make you really happy? Take you out for crab. Drink of choice? Brown milk. Call it chocolate milk, and you won't drink it. You also love coffee. Love. You steal mine, if I leave it unattended. You love to color. You just came into the office and asked me for "a thousand fifty hundred" pieces of paper to bring to your room. If I try to take your picture, you strike a pose.

You decided this year your hair would be long. A first. You normally wear it short. I think this change came about, because you now wear your processors over the ear. Speaking of ears, you got your ears pierced. It was what you asked for for your birthday. Along with Lanie, the American Girl doll of the year, and a scooter. All of which you got. You wanted a rainbow cake. I think you would have been happy with a cake with a rainbow on it, but we all know Mommy can't just leave it at that. So you got a rainbow cake. Six layers. Homemade icing. Nine batches of icing. And I still did not have enough.

Pretty much, I would do anything for you. Even stay up all night baking a rainbow cake.

I still can't believe you are six, Ems. Happy Birthday Little E. I hope this next year is everything you wished for.

Big Huge Mommy Accomplishment That Probably Wasn't All That Big or Huge.

2010-03-12T06:03:00.000-08:00

I took both kids shopping. All by myself. Then I took both kids to eat. In a sit down, nice restaurant. Also by myself.

And I lived. With all of my hair still on my head.

I know. I know. People do this kind of thing all the time. Some moms even have, like, a bajillion kids and take them places. All by themselves.

But they don't have my kids.

Let's start with Emmi. Until very recently, her communication skills were far behind her age level. But her cognitive skills weren't. Meaning, she could wander through a store, see a pink shirt that she thought would look fabulous with a bright green skirt if only she could get some blue socks to go along with it all, and yell something along the lines of "PINK GREEN SOCK!" So I would furiously try to find some pink and green socks, and be completely dismayed when she hated the pink and green socks I produced. Then the pantomiming and wild guessing would begin. "You want socks? Not these socks? Pink socks? No? But socks? Point to the socks, Emmi. Point! Okay? Blue socks? So you wanted socks that weren't pink and green? You like pink? You hate green?" And inevitably we would leave with blue socks, nothing else, a pissed off kid, and a near tears mommy.

Meanwhile, Jill was standing in the corner rocking back and forth screaming because it was too loud or too bright or too smelly in the store and the tag in her shirt had suddenly started to bother her and someone accidentally bumped into her and her left shoe is too tight and she HATES me BECAUSE I AM THE WORSTEST MOMMY EVER because I was trying to buy her new clothes that have too many colors on them.

And then I would have to ride home with them.

It was good fun times.

But then Emmi started talking. Really talking. I would say it is the years of therapy that finally kicked in, but I am actually going to go with replacing the faulty cochlear implant that did it. It is amazing what actually being able to hear will do for ones ability to speak. On a side note, the more she is talking, the more she is signing too. I thought she would lose interest, which was a bit sad. But, she actually wants to learn more. So now when she wants a pink shirt and a green skirt with blue socks, she can say, "I like that pink shirt and that green skirt, but can we get blue socks with it?" Albeit, she says it in the cutest little voice EVER.

And then, finally, someone figured out that Jill is NOT bipolar and doesn't have ADHD nor am I just a bad parent or out of sync with my child. Nope. She has a neurological disorder that went undiagnosed for over eight years. Mostly because she hid the physical symptoms very well. Another side note, her formal evaluation came back yesterday. I was expected a her to be lagging a bit here and there. She was FOUR YEARS behind developmentally on some physical aspects. FOUR YEARS. She is just smart and compensates well. And now she can do things like go out in public and wear clothes and such. So we went shopping, followed the OT's orders, and Jill left smiling. Smiling! With new clothes! And new shoes. Oh, good gravy, she was the cutest thing this morning.

And our house is full of rainbows and sunshine. And maybe even unicorns today. Because yesterday might have been the best day ever.

And who of you childless people wants children now after reading that? Because if you didn't get, let me make it more clear. It took SIX YEARS for me to take both of my kids out shopping and to eat without backup. Six. Years.

Veda the Beta

2010-03-05T06:44:00.000-08:00

Many, many years ago Jill had to have a fish. Had to. Needed it. I didn't want to buy that damn fish. I don't particularly like animals that I have to clean up after. Dogs go outside and poo. They don't have a tank to clean. No litter box. Hell, I even used to throw them in the pool at our old house to bathe them. But fish? Their tanks get stinky, and somebody has to clean that shit. But Jill wanted that fish.

I made her work for it. For months. And so we got a fish. A fish that she promptly decided was boring, and somehow ended up on my kitchen countertop with Kenny and I feeding it.

I hated that stupid fish. I tried to kill it. I wouldn't feed it for weeks, but there it would be wagging it's little fishy tail, swimming happy little fishy circles. Not dead.

When we moved over two years later, the fish travelled in the cup holder of the u-haul in a plastic cup. I thought for sure that would be the death of the fish. But no. Fishy plopped happily into it's tank on it's new perch in the new kitchen. Swim, swim, swim.

Then Jill decided the fish was cool. She cleaned it's tank. She started feeding it when she remembered. She would talk to the fish. She drew pictures for the fish. Fish became cool.

Until yesterday morning.

"Jill did you remember to feed your fish," Kenny asked.

Jill jumped up from the couch where she sat watching TV ten minutes before we left for school. Fish food in hand, Jill lifted the lid from the tank....

"MY FISH IS DEAD!"

I looked to Kenny, waiting for him to say it was just sitting still. But instead, he nodded his head, slowly, solemnly.

The fish was dead.

RIP Veda the Beta.

You lived a good, long fishy life. I am sorry they gave you a girl name, even though you were a boy. Really it was your fault, because you were pink and purple. And those were girl colors. Also, forgive Emmi for tormenting you with Dino. Emmi says she hopes you are playing with Chance-y Boy. And Papa. In our brown car which isn't dead, but sold. Try telling her that, though. All of which she insists are in heaven.

Child Birth. According to Emmi.

2010-02-26T08:10:00.000-08:00

And by "That sounds simple," I mean, "You are scaring me, and I am glad I can never have more children."

Tiger Woods and Sparkle Men

2010-02-19T15:12:00.000-08:00

I don't get it. Why the hell is Tiger Woods apologizing breaking news? Fine, fine. You owe your wife an apology. You possibly owe your kids and your family one, too. But perhaps, you don't need to do that via my television. I do, however, really enjoy laughing at all of the commentary such as, "Women will never be able to forgive him." Why? What did he do to you? I hate to break this to you, maybe I should hold a press conference, lots of people cheat. Everyday. Sometimes it ends with your wife chasing you down with a golf club. I still wonder how that happened. Did she plan that lovely bit of irony? Or does he love golf that much that there are clubs just everywhere at her disposal just waiting for a moment like such? Other times it ends up with hubs shooting boyfriend in my driveway. No, No. Not my hubs. That was the crazies before us who now live around the corner. In any case, get off my TV. I have other things to watch.

Like men in sparkles.

Men in sparkles that greatly disturb my daughter. Men in sparkles and feathers and tights that Jill claims is "just not right." Even after I told her, some men love sparkles. And feathers. And even tights. She sadly shook her head and said, "They needed a daddy to show them how to not wear sparkles."

Proving after all that gayness really does stem from Daddy issues.

PS I don't believe that at all. I think it is a genetic thing. Or hormonal. Or whatnot. Don't send me hate mail.

Since I don't have to count the calories from lunch, can I have truffles for a snack?

2010-02-18T11:02:00.001-08:00

I have never considered myself a runner, even though I used to several miles a day. And by several, I mean about five. But I don't like running. It doesn't make me happy. It doesn't clear my head. In fact, I pretty much spend the whole time thinking, "I fucking hate this. I fucking hate this. I FUCKING HATE THIS." But then I get done, and I have the skinnies. And I don't hate the skinnies. So I used to run. A lot. Sometimes outside, if the weather was absolutely perfect and my knee felt up to it. But often on a treadmill, because running outside makes my knee swell to the size of a grapefruit. I have never been fond of grapefruit. Especially on my knee.

When we moved, I gave up my gym membership. No big deal. With the purchase of our house came a fancy pants country club membership along with a sports club. Except, long story short that is an entirely different story that I am not going to tell right now because it will make me scream, we won't have that gym membership for about two more weeks. That means six months without a gym membership. In winter. When I won't run outside. Because I don't do cold.

But today the weather was perfect. No excuse perfect. And the skinny jeans were getting way too tight. I dug my running shoes out of my closet. Took the tag off the brand new running shirts I bought SIX months ago. Loaded my running mix back on my ipod. And set off, determined to make it two miles. Just go easy.

The half mile point put me just outside of our section and even with the guard shack where a line of cars sat waiting to enter the neighborhood. Which is just about where I threw up.

The first time.

Whatever. That's just how you get the skinnies faster.

The post where I talk about oversensitive whiney babies AND open myself up to a lot of criticism.

2010-02-16T08:11:00.001-08:00

Plus two posts in one day. It's like crazy times around here.

Even thought it is still ice cube cold around here, February never fails to be the start of our busy season. Which means, Kenny comes out of his semi-retirement and actually works, leaving me to fend for myself everyday until about 7. I know. How do I ever survive? With homework and crazy children, I never have time to cook a decent dinner. Which is why I became friends with my crock pot. Dinner is just magically ready at dinner time. While I chopped green bell peppers and onions for a green chile verde chicken dish, I watched The View, a show I try not to watch because it never fails to piss me off.

Just like today.

Small mention was made of two things. One a four-year-old boy with leg braces who was made to take them off to go through airport security. The other an episode of Family Guy that depicted a woman with Downe Syndrome. And everyone was claiming injustice.

Except? I highly disagree. I think nothing wrong happened in either situation. Other than people looking for a reason to be mad. Let me explain, before you think I am a meanie and hate unicorns, too.

My daughter is deaf. Deaf. As in, can not hear. Profoundly deaf. That's an actually medical term, look it up if you wish. At two she received her first cochlear implant, a device implanted into her skull and inner ear that long story short allows her to hear ONLY in conjunction with an outer processor worn similarly to a hearing aid. It is way more complicated than that, but the point of my story is not cochlear implant education. It is that my kid has a dissablility and a hunk of wires and plastic and metal in her head that tends to cause some issues with airport security at times.

In order to fly, I carry a medical card for Emmi. The past few trips to the airport, we made Emmi present the card herself as we are teaching her what she should do, because we know that she may require special accommodation. Special accommodation that is our job to ask for and be educated about, not the job of some hourly employee told to adhere to strict set of guidelines. Prior to travelling with Emmi, I contacted our doctor, the implant manufacturer, and the airport to determine what exactly we should do going through security and during the flight, because it is my job as the parent of a special needs child to be prepared. We were educated on the exact process, and were prepared that we may need to request a hand search for Emmi should she set off the metal detectors. I wonder, did the parents of this little boy request a hand search? Perhaps. Perhaps this wasn't handled in the best possible way by the airport security. I wasn't there. But I do highly doubt that anyone intended to harm or belittle a four-year-old disabled child.

Nor do I think Family Guy was belittling people with Down Syndrome. The clip I saw seemed to poke more fun at people's avoidance of talking about disabilities in general. The woman told the man to ask her things about herself. And he outright avoided the obvious. That was the funny part. Not that she had a disability, but that no one will talk about it. The woman portrayed was assertive. She was witty. In no way was her personality, demeanor or intellect being attacked. Am I the only one that go the point of that? Maybe it comes from having a child with a disability. Try being in the room when someone says, "Ohhh what do you have on that is flashing, sweety?!" And you point out the flashing light is not actually a toy, but a medical device. Do they ask about it? Do they seem curious how it works? Do they want to know why it blinks? Hell no. They act like they never asked the question in the first place. Like hell did they mention that elephant in the room. Like hell.

I just have no clue when we as a society got so hell bent on being pissed off about everything? And why do we think that everyone has to be accommodated? Hell, while we are at it, perfume and bright lights give me migraines. I am going to ask that everyone stop wearing perfume and dim their lights. And if you could speak in a whisper voice around me that would be nice. However, you will need to speak up and enunciate when my child is in the room, because she is DEAF. Also, she doesn't like to eat much other than marshmallows due to her metabolic disorder. I don't want her to feel bad for this. Like she is some marshmallow eating freak. Please, send all of your children to school with only marshmallows. And, could you go buy them all hearing aids to wear around, so my kid doesn't look too different. But whatever you do, do not tell her she is deaf. That would be nice.

Except it is ridiculous. And we all know it.

It was a sad day for the Internets and the Cable.

2010-02-16T06:40:00.001-08:00

We live in a small town about forty-five minutes outside of Houston. The official population less than five hundred. We have a McDonalds and a Walmart. And we willingly moved here, because I was going to go crazy if one more teenager walked by me with their pants around their knees acting like it was cool to be ghetto when you were being raised in an upper middle class gated community. Being that I choose to move, I am sure I have no right to complain about anything. And really I have very few complaints. Except our lack of choices of cable and internet companies. And by lack of choices, I mean there is exactly one company to use. One company that sucks ass. With a dvr capable of recording two shows at a time AND YOU HAVE TO BE WATCHING ONE OF THEM.

Mid afternoon, there was a power surge. I reset all the clocks. Restarted the computers, and waited for my glorious internet access to come back. Except nothing happened. No signal. I did the whole unplug the router, blow on the cord the shit works sometimes and you know it, and wait. Nothing. Finally after a few hours I conceded that it was coming back on it's own. I needed to call the internet/cable company.

It was in that moment that it dawned on me. No working phone. Vonage phone lines and a cell that runs on wi-fi inside the house thanks to our tech shield roof. I would have to go stand outside in the cold to call. But I had blogs to read. And the book of face to check. I made the call. In the cold.

Then I went back inside to watch TV and wait until tomorrow for a tech to come fix my sad little internets. I made it about halfway across the living room, before the cable went out in front of my very eyes. Shit. Should I call back? Could the same tech take care of my internet and cable?

I decided not to chance it, so I called back.

"Ma'am, I am going to send a signal to your box, could you tell me when the box shuts off?"

"I can't walk in the house on my cell phone, because my cell phone will loose signal. So I can't see the box. I can set the phone down, and come back to tell you."

"Ma'am, I just need you to stay on the line, and tell me when it shuts..."

"I can't take my phone in the house, so you have two choices. I can set it down, and come back when it shuts off. Or I can stand here and talk to you, and not see the box at all."

"If you could just stay on the line with me while looking at the box."

"What about 'I can't take me phone inside, because it will loose signal' is confusing you?"

"Okay then sinc you can't see the box, have you checked that your TV is on the right input?"

"The cable went off right before my eyes. I know there was a shooting at my house, and my husband and I debate the existence of a ghost, but the ghost has not shown the ability to fuck with the TV. Given the fact that my internet is out also, I am going to take a chance and say it is not my TV input. Now, do you still want me to check to see if the box shut off?"

Sometimes the crazies tell me to do things.

2010-02-10T15:31:00.000-08:00

One day, I decided my house had to be painted. Yellow.

Although, really I didn't think it would be quite so yellow.

But then I sat and thought and looked at the yellow. And I started to hate the yellow. "Yellow sucks," said the crazies in my head. And the crazies told me that the yellow was actually the cause of all of my problems. If I didn't get rid of the yellow right that minute, I would never be happy again.

Now, the crazies are happy. The crazies apparently like Ralph Lauren Regent Metallics in Lush Brown and Torch much better than Behr Fortune Cookie.

With a spray tan, I look just like a girl I went to high school with. Weird.

2010-02-04T12:00:00.001-08:00

Everybody has been playing the what celebrity do you look like game. But, I fear I am not Asian enough to play along. It would be revealed exactly how un-Asian I am. There for, I skipped that. I will not deny my Italian heritage. I will embrace it. Even though the only words I know in Italian are curse words. And I learned those from my fancy private school friends, not even my little Italian grandpa. One my question my Italianess now, given my new last name and country club membership. But somewhere under that, I am really just a girl from the Jersey Shore.

The news teaches me things. Things like how to make sexy times sexier.

2010-02-03T10:18:00.000-08:00

Valentine's Day is right around the corner. Traditionally, Kenny and I don't really celebrate such. We use it as an excuse to order take-out. Sometimes, there are a few gifts exchanged if we happen to need something at the time. Last year, I made cute little tags that spelled out "I Love you!" and attached each one to a beer. Yeah. Beer. Kenny got beer last year. With pink ribbons affixed. And I made him drink them with the pink ribbons still attached. But mostly, we ignore the day. Romantic, right?

Today, Kenny and I drug our work out to the kitchen table, so we could spread out. We had a system. Fold invoice, stuff invoice, lick envelope, pass. Stamp envelope, add return label, move to outbox. Fold, stuff, lick. We spend so much sexy times together. Who needs Valentine's Day? While we worked, the news droned on in the background.

News worthy topics? How to bring the sexy back into your marriage in time for Valentine's Day.

Let me summarize:

1. Get away from the kids and neighbors. Yes. Neighbors. Take your wife to a hotel for a night. A hotel such as Motel 6. I completely see the validity of this one. Our neighbors are constantly keeping us from doing the sexy times with her looking in our window all the damn time. Plus, nothin' says hourly lovin' like Motel 6.

2. Kiss in the elevator. I missed the part about whether or not this should be done in the elevator at the Motel 6. Last Motel 6 I saw didn't even have an elevator. Just stairs. I give you permission to do it in the stairwell.

3. Dress like sexiness. I am guess because you are going to Motel 6 to make out in the stairwell that they meant dress like a hooker.

And to think all I asked for was chinese take out from Bing's and all Kenny is getting is a golf cart which is really a present to me. With pink ribbons.

Mickey Mouse. Rainbows. Only unicorns would have made this better.

2010-02-02T07:32:00.000-08:00

Last year, when Kenny and I got to register for all those fun presents wedding registry is like extended Christmas I found the perfect bedding. But sads. I didn't get to register for it. For one, the whole set cost over 3 grand. I have no "for two". That's it. That shit was just expensive. But pretty. Oh so pretty.

I imagined it with mirrored side tables, a tufted white velvet headboard, Ralph Lauren metallic paint in Silver Plated coupled with Disney paint in Mickey's Shadow stop laughing that shit is the best grey paint EVER, a white dresser, black velvet curtains, and finally a home for my crystal Tiffany candlesticks.

Every few weeks, I checked the website for a sale. Then. Finally. Sunshine. Rainbows! A SALE! My doctor ordered me to get a new mattress, so I would quit showing up in his office hitting him up for pain pills because my shoulder hurts so bad and I refuse to have surgery and our mattress is forever old. So with a sale, and a need for new bedding for our new mattress, it was a totally justified purchase. I ordered that shit with a quickness. All of it except the filler for the duvet. Because I am picky. My blanket has to have to right weight to it. Just right. Perfect right.

And wouldn't you know it, when I showed up at Bed, Bath, and Beyond, they had sensors over the zippers. I couldn't feel the fluff. How could I know it was right? How? And don't dare expect any of the employees in that store to actually help you by doing any work. Who was I to ask to actually be able to touch and feel the products before I buy them and drive thirty minutes back to my house? I am so demanding.

So Bed, Bath, and Beyond. We are not friends. Not at all. Your employees suck ass. I spent my money elsewhere. My duvet is the perfect weight no thanks to you.

Now I just need to convince my husband that these are also a necessity.

Weekend Recap

2010-01-24T14:45:00.000-08:00

On the way to go see my sister's newest baby so cute, does not make me want another one we stopped at What-a-Burger for lunch and a potty break. I should have been concerned when I had trouble closing the stall door. I really became concerned when I could not get the damn thing to open. After a few seconds of pushing, I called out to my eight-year-old for help. Desperate times. Instead, the sixteen-year-old girl waiting for the bathroom hears my cries for help. Between the two of us, we still can not get the door open. I almost start to cry. I am going to have to crawl on the icky floor. But then I gave the door one last kick, and it flew open. Safe at last.

Sunday, the weather was awesome. Like-shorts-and-a-tshirt-and-please-say-that-I-got-enough-sun-that-I-am-no-longer-ghost-white awesome. Kenny cleaned the garage. I read a book in a lawn chair. The kids ran around in the front yard. I even drank lemonade. It was good times. Until. My neighbor, the vacation home next door part-time neighbor, came over. To let me know that my kids ride their scooter in the street. And once walked in her yard. And climb the tree. The tree that is in my yard. The tree in my yard that I don't give a shit if they climb. And. And! Those hoodlum kids who lived here before us used to jump off of things. The audacity of those kids. And those boys in our neighborhood? They are always doing horrible, horrible things like playing football in the street. Fucking brats. It wasn't until after she stomped off that it occurred to me that I should have mentioned how much I don't appreciate her spying on me. We catch her looking in our windows. Often.

So in conclusion:

I got stuck in the What-a-Burger bathroom, which would have made for better rapping if it had been Burger King. Go ahead...name that song.

Once again, we have crazy fucking neighbors. Kenny is already packing our boxes.

Casper

2010-01-19T11:53:00.000-08:00

So even though my husband claims that we have no ghostie because nobody actually died in our house, I know he is wrong. There is a ghost. And now every little sound I hear at night, I make him investigate.

Because I am that girl.

And because he could totally take on a ghost once he found the source of the sound.

Last night, as I was just about to drift off to sleep, I swear I heard our bedroom door handle jiggle. I demanded Kenny investigate. He found nothing. Which actually proves my ghost theory, not his "you are imagining things" theory. Everybody knows you can't see ghosts. Except sometimes. When they want you to.

But Kenny gave me the look and told me to quit bothering him and let him sleep.

Which I did for ten minutes until I heard another sound.

He refused to budge this time, so I pulled the covers completely over my head. Because, obviously ghosts can only attack the exposed parts of your body. I fell asleep, made it through the night alive, and forgot that a ghost had tried to attack me in the middle of the night.

Until.

@#$$*BAM!@#$##@

Something came crashing down upstairs. With both dogs in my line of sight. With no one else home.

I did the only sensible thing to do.

I ran outside.

Where I found our trashcan blown over right outside the office window. Not upstairs.

Whatever. Ghosts can totally knock over trash cans.

Magically, Mysterious Dissappearing Chicken Nuggets.

2010-01-17T17:10:00.000-08:00

We sat down at the dinner table tonight with a wondrously nutritious meal of McD's. Don't judge. McD's is our only fast food option in this town. We had stopped on the way home. I passed the kids meals back to the kiddos as we made the way around to our side of the lake. Emmi saved hers for home. Jill dug in. By the time we made it home, she had finished her drink but not her food.

So we all sat down for family dinner. I pulled out my snack wraps. Jill takes out her box of nuggets. She opens it. It is empty.

"What happened to my nuggets," Jill calmly inquired.

And that is when I knew. She did something to those nuggets. She was calm. And there was missing food involved.

Eyeing her suspiciously, I asked if she perhaps had accidentally on purpose dropped the nuggets in the car. She responded back with perhaps McD's had given her an empty box. When I pointed out the nugget crumbs in the bottom of the box, she suddenly remembered eating one nugget. But the others? Vanished. Disappeared.

I took her to the car to search.

No nuggets.

Kenny and I checked the grass surrounding the car.

No nuggets.

We checked her bags. Her shoe. Yes, I even checked her shoe.

No nuggets.

But I know. I just know she did something with those nuggets, and one of these days I am going to figure it out.

Probably when the car starts to stink like dead nugget.

How I spent my Sunday.

2010-01-17T12:57:00.000-08:00

So we have etsablished that I have not had the best of luck finding a new hair dresser. But my bargain hunting skills? They rock.

Guess Jeans. $12.48

Grey Suede Boots. Half-off.
The website claims them to be $40 more than I found them at the store.

Guess Bag. 25% off. Plus, the sales lady just liked me and gave me an additional 15% off. I smile sweetly sometimes.

And I am officially out of Christmas money.

I think I would look good in a wig.

2010-01-14T13:59:00.000-08:00

It's official. I have to worst haircutting luck. Ever. I guess it doesn't look bad. It just isn't what I asked for. And seriously? Could I just once have a normal hair cut experience?

The last time I went to a hair appointment, it was just plain weird. Like salon owner harassing my hair dressed while I was getting my hair cut kind of weird. This time proved to be no better.

Ten minutes before my appointment, after I drove an hour, I got a call that my usual colorist called in sick. Someone else would fill in. Whatever. I thought it would not matter. Until I was greeted, or grunted at, by my replacement colorist. His sparkly scarf and heeled boots should have given away that he would love himself way more than me. He grumbled something along the lines of "What are you wanting done?" To which I basically said, "Can you look up my previous color? That is what I want." Without so much as a reply, he walked away. Fifteen minutes later, he magically returned. Silently. With color.

"Um. What do you have going on there? Is that the color I had last time?"

No reply. Just a prissy pursing of the lips. A face that said obviously.

Fine. Prissy Pants. Just remember, I tip based on how special you make me feel. Fail. Big fail for you.

At least the color came out right.

Which is more than I can say for my hair cut. And I don't get it. I even brought in a picture. Not just a celebrity picture with some impossible to recreate haircut. Oh no. I brought a picture of me. With my very own hair. Cut just like I like it.

And still hairdresser number two could not get it. What the hell?

PS Please send wigs.

**Updated**

I just broke out the scissors. I should be a fucking hairdresser. My hair looks awesome now.

It would probably be more impressive if I had a before shot to go with the after I attacked my hair with scissors shot. But my husband thought I was crazy enough making him take an after picture of my hair for my blog. Also, pretend that light fixture does not look like it is growing from my head.

Apparently I like Tiffani-Amber Thiessen's hair. A lot.

2010-01-13T17:04:00.000-08:00

I don't have a lot of patience with stupid people. Stupid people waste my time. They get in my way. When I have to explain to you how to do your job, I am going to get irritated. Or when you make the same mistake fifteen times? Also going to annoy the shit out of me.

Yesterday I made a hair appointment. Which reminds me, I can't decide what to do with my hair. I have always had some sort of swoop or bangs or something. I kind of grew it out for my wedding. I attempted to get it fixed at my last appointment. But my hairdresser decided having a baby was more important that cutting my hair. The bitch. I tried a new girl. She sucked. Now I am on new hair dresser number two. And I can't decide what I should do with my hair.

But back to the point. I made a hair appointment. And then I needed to cancel it and reschedule for tomorrow. So I called the salon.

Now. Perhaps it was my fault for confusing them by calling from the office line, instead of my cell phone which was in their system. Because I know it can be super confusing to understand that some people might have access to more than one phone. So after establishing that my number on file did not match the one of the caller ID on purpose, we moved on.

"I need to reschedule my appointment with Beatrix." Bitch's name is really Beatrice. You are fooling no one with the faux hip spelling.

"Mrs. Mylastname, I don't see that you had an appointment."

"Yes. It is today at 11."

"Oh. Hmmm. Well, I see a Tricia ThelastnameIjustfuckingtoldher at 11." I must have pronounced Tricia wrong.

"Yeah. That is me."

"Okay, great. Well your appointment is today at 11."

"Yes. I know. I just told you that. I need to cancel it. And then make a new one." I start speaking slowly. It is obviously going to be a long conversation.

"Oh. Okay. Well did you need to cancel that one for today then?"

Really, Genius? What ever gave you that idea?

My phone does tricks. And could be a weapon.

2010-01-12T08:55:00.000-08:00

Let's discuss some things. Well really just one thing.

I just figured out I can post blogs from my phone. I know this is probably something I should have long since figured out, but I tend to resist change. Use a phone for email? Beh. Read blogs in the waiting room of the millions of appointments I go to a week. Meh. But finally the waiting room boredom drew me in. And then. Today. I got this idea. I wanted to know if I could blog while in the school pick up line. Or at the dentist. And I can!

Aren't you proud of me?

Now. I should also mention that I am seriously considering throwing my phone at the lady across from me if she does not get quit attempting to make small talk with me. See my wall? Respect it.

His what, where?

2010-01-11T05:58:00.000-08:00

I was looking for pictures of busted sprinkler pipes and stumbled on this article. And really how do you top the man getting his penis stuck in a pipe story.

It's Cold

2010-01-09T06:14:00.001-08:00

I wish I was back here.

Double Standards

2010-01-08T11:07:00.001-08:00

How come when my husband is bored it is okay for him to call me forty seven times in twenty three minutes? But when I call him out of boredom, he acts all irritated like he didn't want to know what I had for lunch. Or that I can take nineteen REALLY big steps from the desk to couch.

2010. Fuck You.

2010-01-06T11:19:00.000-08:00

How has this new year been so far? Hmmm... let's see.

I am so sick I can barely stand up. Some sort of combo sinus infection and bronchial infection. You would not believe the pain it causes to sneeze or cough, which happens roughly every three seconds. I started off with that cough syrup so nice they make songs about it (Mom, that's the codeine one, since you are really confused right now..... She doesn't get down with Purple Stuff.). When even that wasn't helping me sleep, they kicked it up a notch to some crazy medicine that taste like shit and gives me insane dreams. Honestly, I am not sure it it works or just makes me so damn loopy I don't care that I can't breathe.

On the way to the doctor the other day, I stopped by the mail box praying my new insurance cards were in. They were not. It was fun paying out of pocket for the doctor and two medications WHEN YOU HAVE INSURANCE. What I did find in the mail was a lovely packet from the IRS.

I was audited. I kind of blew it off at first thinking it was some dumbass from the IRS's mistake, because clearly I had not under reported my income. Obviously, they had transposed my 2007 income with my 2008 income. I certainly did not owe them money. Except I did, because it was my accountant who transposed my 2007 and 2008 incomes. Which is awesome because I more than doubled my 2007 income in 2008. There are a whole lot of zeros behind the number I now owe the IRS after the back due taxes, penalties, and interest.

During one of my phone calls with my accountant, also known as my ex-mother-in-law, I learned that my ex-husband's phone was not working because he shut if off since he is leaving the country for over six months. Awesome, since he had told no one, including his daughter of this plan. Best part? He is to go marry some girl he met while travelling, who I highly suspect is a prostitute, and bring her back to the US. I think their first meeting when something like this. "Me love you long time." "Let's get married. I'll take you to the US." When I finally did get in touch with him, I demanded he tell his daughter about his plans. He only bothered to tell her the part where he was leaving the country. I guess he just plans on showing up on the doorstep, "Hey Jill. Meet your new mommy. She speaks no English. Who is hungry for noodles?" Do they even eat noodles in Thailand? The good news is, I know for a fact that half blond, half Thai babies are pretty damn cute, right Zak? So there's that.

To recap:
I am sick.

I owe the IRS thousands. That is thousands. Emphasis on the plural.

My ex-husband is marrying a hooker. Which is either a step up or step down from a stripper, depending on how you look at it.

I am going back to the couch now. Let me know when 2010 is fucking over.

Box 'o poo

2009-12-25T16:22:00.000-08:00

After we Christmased it up this morning Kenny was smart, he gave me cash with instructions that I could only spend it on clothes and shoes, we piled into the car for our trip to the big city (IE a town that has Starbucks). A few blocks from Kenny's grandmother's, I spotted a marquee outside of the area pet groomer.

(Here is where I should have a picture, but I forgot to go back and take one.)

Holiday Puppies
Maltepoo
Snorkie
Maltesnickerdoodle (or something similar)

"What the fuck is with the designer dogs? Those idiots know they are paying $1500 for a breeder's nightmare, right? That shit is a mutt."

"Hey, Kenny, I once had part lab, part shar pei. Want to know what we called him?"

"Free!"

"Hell no. I paid $60 whole dollars for him at the SPCA. AND that was a Sharpador! Can you believe I got a Sharpador for $60. A steal if you ask me."

"If we mix our boxers with a cocker spaniel, do we get a cockbox?"

"You might, but I am pretty damn sure if we mix our boxers with a poodle with get a boxepoo."

"Which if you think about it, is essentially what all of those designer dogs are."

(That's pronounced box 'o poo, if it helps.)

Grandma and the Reindeer Have Issues, Apparently.

2009-12-23T06:27:00.000-08:00

I have, apparently, traumatized my children. It started off simply. I wanted to go to Santa's Wonderland.

The mecca of Christmas lights. Amazing. Awe inspiring. Like Jesus rising from the dead awesome.

So we set out at 5pm, an hour before the display even opened. Trying to beat the crowd.

Instead, we sat in a line for hours. Thirty minutes of which we were stuck next to a dead deer. I suppose I could have distracted the children. Pointed out the trees. Asked them to count the number of cars in line. Instead, I started to sing "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer." Jill is smarter than I give her credit for. She made the leap quickly from Grandma getting run over by a reindeer to Grandma retaliating.

The next 27 minutes were spent examining the dead deer through the window, trying to determine exactly which reindeer had been lost, while Emmi who may have found it all funny made dead reindeer sounds and faces. For the record, it was not Rodolph. No red nose.

Finally we moved beyond the deer. By 10:30, after two port-a-potty trips and three chicken finger baskets from Layne's, we finally made it to the entrance. The holy grail. Angels singing. Hallelujah. The lights!

"Girls aren't the lights so pretty?!" I exclaimed.

Silence.

Six total hours in the car to go to a light display thirty minutes from our house and both kids fell asleep.

But at least they got to see a reindeer.

FFPF

2009-12-18T10:14:00.000-08:00

Smile Politely.

2009-12-17T13:40:00.001-08:00

Christmas Party Day. There are always those couple of sad kids whose parent never show up to anything. They latch on to any parent who shows them any sign of attention. I know by now to give one polite smile and move on. Quickly. Otherwise, you are trapped. Suckered into an hour of my-mommy-doesn't-love-me-but-you-will-do.

I sat next to Emmi as she attempted to smear icing on a cookie. Half her cookie had icing the other sad half had none. Finally I guided her hand along. We couldn't have sprinkles sticking to only one half of that cookie, could we?

From the other side of Emmi a little voice says, "Can you help me?" I look around. She was clearly speaking to me. One polite smile. One quick quide of the hand. But? The rule was broken. I had made contant. The floodgates were open.

"I miss my mommy." I know better than to take the bait and respond to this. I say nothing.

Louder this time, "I miss my mommy." Still I say nothing.

Determining I will not respond to that one, she changes tactics. "Want to know where my mommy is?"

Crap. A direct question. I could ignore her. I could pretend I didn't hear her. But I don't. Of course I don't.

"Where is your mommy, sweety?"

She smiles at me proudly. "Jail."

Shake your what?

2009-12-17T06:46:00.001-08:00

For some people I am talking to you MODG a lot of thought goes into whether or not they want to be a parent, have the responsibility of a child, and if they are ready to make that shift in their lives. I am sure a lot factors into this decision. Financial security. Relationship stability. So on. But I do wonder, do any of these people, prior to making this momentous decision ever sit themselves down and subject themselves to an hour of children's programming? If so, I think we might have a lot less babies around here.

My least favorite or favorite depending on my mood episode of Mickey Mouse playhouse came on this morning. There is just something inherently wrong with a half dressed, hip waggling duck with a lisp singing, "Shake your peanuts." Go ahead. You sing that with a lisp. While shaking your hips. Tell me you do not think what I think, especially with an elephant trunk dangling from a tree in the background.

And don't even get me started about the Imagination Movers. I will admit, they scare me a lot less than The Wiggles God even saying "The Wiggles" gets that damn fruit salad song stuck in my head and those Doodlebops. Four grown men singing to little children. Has anyone run a background check on these clowns?

One hour of this shit, and it is no wonder I seriously consider running away everyday by 8am.

Well that, and the fact that my children are generally engaged in some argument along the lines of "She touched me" "No! My hand is just near her!" by that point in time.

A sunny shade of mustard and eggs.

2009-12-16T06:13:00.001-08:00

I still haven't gotten over the whole SOMEBODY GOT SHOT IN MY HOUSE thing, but I am trying. We have been here since October, and still boxes were everywhere. All of the walls were a lovely shade of white, and our microwave didn't work. What the hell? How the fuck was I supposed to cook with no working microwave? I decided this weekend was ~~get the dead people germs off my walls~~ house remodel weekend.

So far we have half of the new appliances installed and the entry, dining, kitchen, and living room painted. Progress? I guess. Except, I can decide if I like the color. Opinions....

Things you should keep in mind and use your imagination for...

1. Let's pretend I have already swept and mopped my floors today. Or this week.

2. The God awful dirty window coverings are being replaced by wood blinds. Although, I hate to admit it, but those do block out a lot of cold and heat.

3. The tacky white fan will soon be replaced. As will the gold doorknobs. Antique bronze will be the finish for the fixtures and faucets in the main rooms.

4. The red in the art niche looks pinky. In fact, it is a dark red glaze in a linen finish, because I am fancy like that with mad painting skills. No. Make that skillz. The other art niche will match by the end of today, but I got tired.

5. The white wall leading up the stairs will not remain white. We have a khaki color (nope not the same khaki from our other house, but practically. Just a different name.) we are using for the hallways.

6. The dining room will have an accent wall in the same metallic green color (you do know about my obsession with Ralph Lauren paints, right?) of our old dining room. If you never went in my old house, you have no clue what I am talking about. Too bad for you.

7. I couldn't take better pictures, because then you would see just how messy my house is right now. We couldn't have that.

Also, I joked on the way home that I was going to pick a random neighbor to come check it out and give their opinion. When we got to our door, a package had been accidentally left at our house. I went to deliver it to the very neighbor I had made jokes about inviting over. He opened his door, and his living room was THE EXACT SAME COLOR. Is this a sign that I should keep it? I think my ghostie set that up.

Things that are awesome.

2009-12-12T06:36:00.000-08:00

A list of things I find awesome.

1. Going to a fun Christmas party.

2. Hearing a little rumor, while at said Christmas party, about a shooting on our street last year involving two doctors.

3. Me, being obsessive, coming home to search the news reports.

4. Finding the article online about an estranged husband shooting his wife's new man in the driveway of her house before driving back home and shooting himself.

5. Seeing the name of the woman involved and recognizing it, because her mail still comes to the house.

6. Living in the house where the man got shot.

For clarification sake, he lived. But still creepy.

Fashion Faux Pas Friday

2009-12-11T04:21:00.000-08:00

Fashion Faux Pas....Wednesday

2009-12-09T14:16:00.000-08:00

The other day I was catching up one some episodes of The City, watching Olivia and Erin bitch at each other over who didn't do what for some TV shoot.

You know the episode. The one where they showed what a girl thinks looks good, and then they show the guy's perspective.

It got me thinking about all the times that Kenny has said, "Does she think she looks good?" Cause ladies? All that fashion and frills? That is so you impress other girls. Not guys. In fact, men think we look ridiculous half the time.

Or at least Kenny does.

It was then and there I decided Kenny should be put to work saving all of us from certain embarrassment. Without his consent, I committed him to contribute words of wisdom once a week.

So begins Fashion Faux Pas Fridays, on um Friday, where Kenny will tell you just how stupid we are for wearing shit like this.

Why Men Are Not Mothers.

2009-12-07T05:52:00.000-08:00

Two am this morning, I woke from a crazy dream in which I was actually Emmi trying to learn to read. It took a few seconds for the dream to fade, before I realized what woke me was a nasty migraine. One that had probably been in full swing for at least an hour untreated while I slept. Trying to get back on top of this one would be almost impossible. I took the first round of medication, waiting the appropriate fifteen minutes to determine if I needed to up the dose. The pain increased. It was then I decided this was not a migraine. Oh no. It was an aneurysm. Do you even get a headache or have any symptoms? It had to be. I never woke up with migraines. The pain often stayed steady with the first round of medication, but never increased. I could no longer put my head on my pillow due to the pain it caused. Nausea had long since set in. Something was really wrong.

It was then I woke Kenny. "My head. Something is really wrong," I was barely able to gasp out. Pain shot through my head with each word. I was dying.

Kenny reached over, patted my head, and went back to sleep.

Fine then. See what happens next time you are dying.

Obviously, I was not actually dying. It was jut a migraine. One that is still hanging around this morning, although it is down to dull throb. And I should probably give him credit for getting up an hour later to get me third dose of medication.

Snow Day

2009-12-05T06:25:00.000-08:00

It snowed in Houston yesterday, which means the world shut down. Half the schools had early release. Employers let everyone leave at noon. For a few snowflakes. But here? Just 45 minutes north of Houston. The looked at those kids, told them to put their coats and boots on and suck it up. Then they took them outside to play all day.

While the parents decorated the halls for Christmas yes Christmas, you can say Christmas here at this school, the kids sipped hot chocolate in class, ran in and out chasing snowflakes, and Christmas music piped through the halls. By the time Kenny and I had strung lights down the entire Kindergarten hallway, Emmi had her fill of the cold. She was over the snow, and refused to go out again. Her first real snow over and done with. She was decidedly not a fan.

I, however, was still in awe. I count the number of times I have been in snow on one hand. Maybe two. No more than that, though. I ran around outside taking pictures that is snow, not rain, I swear, until I remembered snow is cold. And? I don't much like cold.

But it sure is pretty once every five years.

First Dance

2009-11-25T08:11:00.000-08:00

The Ceremony

2009-11-24T07:59:00.001-08:00

Here Comes...The Groom.

2009-11-23T17:29:00.000-08:00

My favorite picture. Don't know why. Just love it. Those feet are my dad on the left, Kenny in the middle, and Kenny's brother on the right.

Pretty Little Girls

2009-11-23T06:19:00.001-08:00

Champagne Toast with the Ladies!

2009-11-22T17:47:00.000-08:00

Anita, me, my mom (hiding!), Stacy, Cindi, Laura (my sis), and Sheri

Soon to Be Mrs.

2009-11-22T17:32:00.000-08:00

Wedding Pictures

2009-11-22T17:15:00.000-08:00

I can't possibly post all the pictures I want to post from the wedding in one post, so I will do it in phases.

Also, I definitely need to credit my photographer, Ashley. Go ahead and click her link. I am a big fan of her work, obviously, and of her. She is pretty damn cool, and I miss her being my neighbor!

Noboby likes a tease.

2009-11-21T19:23:00.000-08:00

I have wedding pictures. But for now. This is all you get. A tease. Tomorrow, I might upload more. Maybe. I if I get bored of playing with my new phone.

Gone Fishin'

2009-11-10T17:51:00.000-08:00

After school on Tuesday, we took the girls fishing. Actually, Jill had gone on Sunday and Monday, as well. But I showed up with a camera on Tuesday. So let's start there.

The girls prepared for fishing, by dressing like they were heading out to the Kentucky Derby. Because everyone knows you need an Easter hat, your little sister's skirt, and Hannah Montana purse to fish. Although, Jill did explain that this was a "tactic." The boy fish will find her pretty and come close. The girl fish will come to ask her where she got her shoes. Oh Lord, please help me. She is only eight.

Emmi was completely enamored of the whole process. Read: Could not give a crap, spent most of the time posing for pictures.

But then Jill discovered the bait. Minnows. Little Fish. And Jill had never held a fish, and apparently this is something I have been depriving of her "her whole life."

Both kids did eventually cast a few lines, but tired quickly of having to sit still. Imagine. Sitting still and being quiet. So they passed off the pole to Kenny, who immediately caught a fish. A fish that was obviously dying to be petted.

While the kids, spent the rest of their time digging in the sand and chasing a stray cat, I tried my hand at fishing.

I am a rockstar fisherman. Woman. Whatever. I caught a fish on my first try. Let's just not talk about how I gagged at the sight of a minnow on a hook and I ran squealing when the fish started flopping around.

The post will lots of pictures of my messy house.

2009-11-09T07:34:00.000-08:00

I promised pictures of the new house, I know. But our house still looks a lot like this.

And this.

But don't worry. Even though I haven't finished unpacking, I did manage to find time to ROYGBIV my closet. Although, I still haven't gotten them back into sleeve length order or ironed all the clothes that are hanging in there. I know. The shame.

We are settling in despite not quite being unpacked. There are things I really love so far about this house.

Like this little craft and computer area for the kids.

And the kitchen. Although this kitchen is on our to-do list. The black appliances will be gone oh-so-shortly. Actually the new appliances are sitting in the garage. But we still have boxes everywhere, like we have had time to put in a new oven.

And that I can see the TV from the kitchen. I suddenly like cooking so much more.

And I love that we have doors to our office that is way at the front of the house. I can actually talk to clients on the phone after the kids get off of school.

And how our dining room table is no longer the drop off spot for bills and backpacks and such. Although, you wouldn't know that now with a stapler and paint samples all over it. But for real. It is clear of junk almost all of the time!

And the kids' bathroom actually has drawers. The bathroom itself is smaller, but it is more functional. Plus, we have a third bathroom and upstairs attached to another bedroom. I am sure when Jill gets a bit older, she will move up there.

On my to-do list for today is buying the paint for the girls' rooms, the dining room, and the living room. The plain beige walls are driving me insane. I have great, big grand plans for the kids' rooms.

After pictures coming soon.

Don't hold your breath. Soon = sometime in the next year.

Where the hell are my pants?

2009-11-04T11:10:00.000-08:00

Obviously we moved. I took pictures of our empty, old house, planned a whole blog post about all of our happy memories, then promptly put the camera somewhere and have yet to find it.
Most of the house is unpacked. If most means, not the upstairs, all the random shit still in the garage, half of the kids rooms, the missing box that contains my checkbooks and my good jeans.
I did not realize how much traffic and massive amounts of people everywhere put me in a bad mood. Everyone kept telling me how much I would hate having to drive far to the grocery store, Target, Starbucks (two towns away, y'all). Except? I don't mind, because there is never any traffic!
I think I love the guards at the gate. They smile at me. They wave. Yes, they are paid to do such. But it makes me feel special. It doesn't take much, obviously. My old neighborhood gate? Nothing. Generally, the damn thing would not even open for me, let alone smile and wave.
My dog is freaking the fuck out. One of the them is all, "WHOA! Check out the huge backyard! Look! A squirrel!" The other is hiding in the laundry room, under the desk. She won't come out, except to eat. I bought them bones to lure Macy out of the laundry room. They are currently growling at each other over one, while the other bone sits untouched. My children do the same thing. Not with bones, though.

Moving on up...or over.

2009-10-27T07:10:00.001-07:00

Seriously. I never want to move again. Or until I forget how hectic this has all been. Whichever comes first.

Everyday something new pops up. A problem at the new school (although, I have to admit, I am kind of in love with them. Two phone calls, and a major crisis was averted. Two phone calls. Less than an hour. That never would have happened in our current district, which also happens to be good...just HUGE.), a problem with the loan, and problem with the move. You name it.

Our moving day is fast approaching. Thursday. Kenny brought the first load up today, while he goes to meet the cable guy. All of our framed pictures and breakables are going ahead of the moving van. Tomorrow, I am going to stock the fridge, finish cleaning, and bring a few more things. Then the actual move begins. I am already ready for this to be over.

Somebody stop me the next time I think this is a good idea.

Boundaries

2009-10-21T07:07:00.000-07:00

Let's discuss boundaries.

See, I sometimes wonder if it just me. Or does everyone around me really lack boundaries, and something is wrong with them.

I know that because I work (I use the term "work" loosely. I now answer the phones and do the billing for Kenny's company. Work = 2 - 3 hours per day. But still, these things must get done.) from home and Kenny has his own company, people tend to think we are available all the time. Sure, Kenny is home a lot during the day, but that doesn't mean he is camped up on the couch watching TV. Sometimes, he is doing work from home. Imagine that. But none the less, we are home. So we get called upon to babysit during the day or unclog drains or whatnot. Either that, or my friends want to come over and hang out all day long, like I was just sitting around with nothing to do. Hardly. And probably this would not be an issue if it was just one person, but someone asks something of us everyday. I have taken to not answering my phone. Which one would think would solve the problem.

But no. Because apparently nobody has manners anymore. Did you know if someone doesn't answer the phone, you should call them back immediately. Maybe even four or five times in a row. If that fails, send a text message. Don't even think about the fact that you might be interrupting a phone call with a client or an appointment with a doctor. No way! You have something important to say, like, "Let's do lunch!" And? If you can't get through by phone, well just stop by. I mean, someone not answering the phone is not a clear indicator that they are busy. Nope, it means they are craving an unsolicited visit from you!

You would think that my friends and neighbors would have figured out by now that I have a formula. The more times you call me in a row, the longer I take to call you back. Seriously. I add two hours for every additional phone call. For real. Ask Kenny. He laughs at me when I actually time it. Just doing my part to teach people boundaries, since, obviously, their mamas didn't.

But maybe I am expecting too much of people. Maybe this is normal. The cell phone age and instant message era and so forth.

Send more boxes.

2009-10-17T13:35:00.000-07:00

The move is quickly approaching. A few days ago, I was talking about how it was a little over three weeks away. Then, while checking Jill's assignment sheet and looking ahead at her test schedule, I realized it was two weeks away. TWO. As of today, one week four days. I had not done anything. Not one box packed.

This weekend? All about packing. For three hours, I pulled everything off the shelves in our bathroom. I cleaned out old makeup, shampoo, and crap. I packed clothes. I packed shoes. I left out only what I need for the next week. Three hours.

Then, I stepped back, surveyed my work, and realized it looked I had done nothing. Three hours of nothing.

I am never going to finish.

Grass Emergencies

2009-10-16T10:09:00.000-07:00

I have always managed the billing and scheduling for our landscaping company. But since recently becoming unemployed, Kenny decided I should take on a few more duties. Like answering the phone calls. You know, for all the grass emergencies.

Most of our clients are great. Our commercial clients never even bother to call. They fax in work orders, and I do nothing more than schedule the service for the appropriate crew. I never even have to talk to anyone. Awesome. The residential clients? Oh Lord. They call for everything under the sun. Some just to tell me they mailed their payment. Great. I'll figure that out when I receive it. Some to tell me to schedule extra services. Score! Extra money! And some? Because well, they have a landscaping emergency. Like a blade of grass out of place. Or a rogue weed. Or oh my God Santiago mowed in a circular path instead of straight lines! For real.

We have this one customer. Let's call her Sally, because, well, that's her name. Let's also hope Sally doesn't read this here blog. If so, Hi Sally, I swear I am saying all of this with love. Anyway, Sally calls me, I kid you not, at least three times a day. We mow her yard once a week. That is fifteen phone calls per mow. At first, I thought Sally might be a bit lonely, so I humored her and talked to her. Then, I decided Sally is actually crazy. But crazy still pays the bills, apparently. Yesterday, Sally called to tell me we should not mow, because it had rained. A few days ago. Fine. Then she called back to tell me we should mow on a later day. I scheduled it for another day, just like she asked. Then she called to ask me to trim her hedges and the hedges at her daughter's house. Then she called to tell me not to trim her hedges, just to trim the hedges at her daughter's house. Whew. Done.

Today, she called to tell me they were getting a new company, since we did not show up to mow.

Um. Okay.

Do you think this means she will really quit calling me, or do you think she will call me next week and wonder why we didn't show up?

Zany

2009-10-09T06:34:00.000-07:00

Emmi's kindergarten class had their first project today. They picked a word, defined the word, made a poster showing the word and the definition, and then dressed up like the word.

Emmi's word?

Zany.

Her poster?

A bunch of crazily patterned papers cut into odd shapes all glued haphazardly to a poster board with ZANY in bold letters.

Her outfit?

Remind anyone of anything?

Anyone?

Perhaps this is coming to mind?

Pie.

2009-10-02T06:30:00.000-07:00

The pig flu? It was nothing for Jill. She was sick for approximately 1.3 seconds. Just long enough to get her banned from school until Monday. Then Emmi got sick, and it seemed like she would follow Jill's pattern. Plus she got the much sought after Tamiflu (even if it took me and a very nice pharmacist forever to track it down). I thought we were golden when by day two she was not horrible. I emailed one of my friends that I thought Emmi was on the upswing. I obviously cursed myself. Upswing, it was not.

She was up all night, coughing. Which meant I was up all night listening to her cough and analyzing her breathing deciding at which point I used which medicine. At three am, she finally fell asleep just in time for a storm to roll in. Kenny and I were up another forty minutes with ~~Jill~~ the dog that was shaking like a damn leaf. Sometime around four I slipped into glorious dream land, only to be woken at 5:45 by Emmi.

"Mommy. Mommy. Where's my pie?" She was crying. She was frantic. I needed her to calm down, because her breathing was already not great. "Pie, Mommy."

I searched. I looked through her covers, under her bed, in her closet. And I had no idea why she wanted that stupid pie toy. Perhaps some strange dream? Maybe something Jill and her fought over. While Jill was sleeping, was Emmi dead set on getting the upper hand? I didn't have a fucking clue. All I know is that I searched for that stupid pie toy for forty-five minutes.

We gave up. Jill woke up. I made hot chocolate for the girls. Jill requested a movie. I set them in front of the TV with their hot chocolate, Emmi still wheezing away. I grabbed Emmi's Kenny's that Emmi claimed for herself ipod, loaded with the latest movie downloads.

"Mommy you found my pie!"

Pie. ipod. She had been trying to say ipod. I searched for a fucking toy pie for 45 minutes on less than three hours of sleep, and I knew where that damn ipod was the whole time.

Slippity Slide

2009-10-01T08:42:00.000-07:00

Not for the faint of heart.

Or ones who do not enjoy pictures of broken bones and dislocated fingers. LAURA, I am talking to you. Remember when I tormented you by describing my stitches to you. Not even showing them to you. Just telling you about them. Those were good times. For me.

It's a good thing I can handle a little broken bones and stitches who am I kidding I cover my eyes during Grey's Anatomy. Because my kid's finger? It's not right.

She fell during gymnastics last week while walking to the next event. Genius. Her finger jammed into the springboard floor, and the cry that followed definitely said hurt. But then she cried for about two minutes and was done. I thought about taking her to the ER just in case, but I didn't want to expose her to the swine flu. Awesome planning on my part, because now she has a broken finger and the swine flu. The next days she seemed fine, there was no bruise, nothing.

Then yesterday I noticed her finger looked like this.

Of course, I brought her to the doctor, who sent her for an x-ray, now infecting all of the radiology department at the nearby hospital with the swine flu. It's cool. Everybody can use a healthy dose of swine flu, right? So they x-rayed and poked and prodded and talked about surgery.

And then this morning. Her finger looked like this.

Almost normal. Slippity slide right back into place.

Caterpillars and Pigs

2009-09-30T08:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, our family doctor gave us some very bad news. Jill can't go back to school for at least seven days. SEVEN days? Is he trying to kill me? Is my blood pressure not high enough? The kid is not even that sick. But she may or may not have a certain illness.
And now she has gotten her sister sick, which means I am now busy hunting down Tamiflu. Emmi has to be treated, because of her pre-existing conditons. And so now they are both sentenced to at least seven days at home. They must be fever free for three days before they can go back to school. I am sure they will be fine. However, I am not sure I am going to make it. Nor am I sure the world's population of butterflies will survive.

Do you think caterpillars can get the piggie flu?

All the caterpillars have names. Mommy, Daddy, Emmi, Jill, Madelyn (her sister on her dad's side), Allie (her best friend), and Ally (Emmi's best friend). Apparently, Emmi (the real one, not the caterpillar) just squished one of the Allies. There is a fight I am pretending not to hear.

Donut know when to shut up.

2009-09-29T10:06:00.000-07:00

Quite often a police car or two is parked in front of the kids' schools. I have inquired about this before, and learned they are required to stop by each school a certain number of times each week. One or two police cars is not all that unusual. Four seemed a bit much.

But when I walked in, all four officers stood laughing and talking in the foyer. They all said hello, as I walked by. Being the smartass I am, I quipped, "Those kindergartners giving you trouble?"

The smallest of the officers laughs and replies, "No ma'am. Just hanging out."

Not knowing when to shut up, I go on. "Well, four police officers 'hanging out' in front of the school kind of makes the mommies nervous. Maybe you guys should go hang out across the street." I glance back over my shoulder as I say across the street, getting a glimpse of the only building across the street.

A donut shop.

Silence. And I am parked in a fire zone.

The Cat's Meow

2009-09-24T08:01:00.000-07:00

Halloween is right around the corner. I happen to love Halloween. I get into the costumes and the candy and the scaring of the neighborhood children. Did I tell you how last year Kenny hid in the bushes, set Emmi and Jill out front with the candy dish, then scared the crap out of a group of about ten junior high kids when they came to trick or treat at our house? The best part of the whole thing was the neighbor across the street video taped it from his driveway where he was handing out candy. The girls screamed. But the boys? They ran! And screamed, high pitched little squeals. We heard kids telling the story for the rest of the night and for several weeks after. Jill is still known as the kid whose dad hid in the bushes on Halloween. I am already planning what we will do this year. It has to top last year. We have to live up to our reputation. And I should probably also get with the program in the Halloween costume department.

Emmi's we have figured out. I actually lucked out. Sitting in my bedroom is a picture of Jill at four and Emmi at seven months. They are decked out in the Halloween costumes. Jill is a pink witch, Emmi a black cat. The picture cracks me up, because of what you can't see. Emmi could not hold her head up. So to get the shot, we had to put a pillow under the white screen, lift Emmi's head, then click the picture before her head clunked down. It was hysterical. And a bit sad. But mostly funny, because everyone, including Emmi, was laughing. And somehow, the picture is perfect. A few weeks ago, Emmi noticed the picture for, perhaps, the first time. And insisted that she MUST be a pink witch for Halloween. Then, by random luck, I cleaned the storage bins in the garage (That isn't the lucky part. That part fucking sucked.), and shoved at the bottom of one was the pink witch costume. Preserved in perfect condition, lacking only black tights. Hell yes. One down, one to go.

Jill has been more difficult. First she was going to be Demi Lavato. I assumed that would work out as good as the Hannah Montana costume of last year. She would deem the wig too itchy, the jacket too hot, and the shoes too tight. Therefore ending up in a white t-shirt, a purple skirt, and flip-flops, looking pretty much like she does everyday. I vetoed that idea. She moved on to Taylor Swift, because she could "wear her real hair" and just carry her guitar. Right. I can see where this is going. I am going to end up carrying that guitar all through the damn neighborhood, while, no doubt, carrying Emmi at the same time. Veto again. Then I had a brilliant idea. Jill and her friends play this game. The Cheetah Game. It basically consists of chasing the boys that she thinks are cute around on the playground, while calling themselves The Cheetah Team. She now loves cheetahs. And Tyler. But we are not allowed to talk about how cute Tyler is. I suggested she be a cheetah. A tail. Some ears. I am sure I could find something.

Something would be one word for the costumes I found. Hooker would be another.

For that sassy little eight-year-old, who loves come hither looks and flipping her tail around. The website promises me she will be the "cat's meow" in this one.

And I know, perhaps, only my child loves cheetahs. So for the rest of you.

Don't worry. It now comes in sizes 4-6x, too!

A day in pictures.

2009-09-17T18:19:00.001-07:00

Kenny and I were out running errands, when we stopped behind a handyman at a light. Since we have our landscaping company info on our truck, I am in the habit of sizing up other people's advertisements on their vehicles. At first I was just tearing apart Handyman's unfortunate spelling abilities, until I noticed his bumper sticker.

"Dude. Kenny. That guy totally has a sticker that says 'Heavily Armed. Easily Pissed.' Oh yeah. That is the guy I want to let in my house to work on my shit. Maybe I could tell him I don't like the way he tiles, and then he could get pissed....wait a second. LOOK! His other bumper sticker says "Dare to resist drugs and violence.' What?! Dare to resist violence and heavily armed?!"

I knew I needed a picture. Out came the blackberry. Click. Click. Click. Roll. Roll.

Fuck! The stupid roller ball was stuck, and the camera would not zoom. "Kenny, I need that picture for my blog," I cried in despair. But it was too late. He had turned, and the damn roller ball was still stuck. No zoom. No picture. Fail.

Commence pouting.

But then, wouldn't you know it. Something better, even more amazing, came along. A better picture opportunity! We pulled along side a police officer shaving his face while driving in a school zone. You can't talk on your phone in a school zone, but shaving your face is cool? This. This would totally make up for the missed armed and pissed shot.

Out came the camera. Click. Tap. Click. Phone lock stuck. Motherfuckingstupidfucker. Why!

Further into despair I sunk. "That picture would have made up for it."

Pouting the rest of the drive, I sat looking out the window. But then? There is a God, and he is good. Because right there. Right next to me. Was a man pushing a dog in a swing. Dog. In. A. Swing. I am going to get my picture. I am. Phone out, unlocked, zoom working. Hell yes. My thumb hovered over the shutter button, pausing long enough for puppy pusher to notice me. Faster than I click the button, he takes the dog from the swing.

I was heartbroken. I needed those pictures. For my blog. For you.

But all was not lost. I had a plan. An idea. It was genius. "I can draw the pictures, Kenny!" He looked at me like I was stupid. "Tricia, you need to get a job. You have too much time on your hands."

I could have been insulted. Instead? I smirked. "You totally know that is going on my blog. With a picture."

Oh Kanye.

2009-09-14T12:36:00.001-07:00

This might be my favorite thing ever. Go ahead. Watch it a few times.

Monday + DMV = WTF

2009-09-14T09:20:00.000-07:00

I love Mondays. I love Mondays spent at the DMV where all you accomplish is being told to come back when you have done it right. But you can't do it right, because nobody informed the SS office that DMV has new rules.

Back in the good ole days that really weren't so good because I was married to a douchebag, all you did was show up at the DMV with a marriage license. Then boom, new ID, new name. I never even bothered to change my SS card. I just ran around town with an alias of one name, while still, technically, being another person. This made things very simple when I later divorced his ass. All I had to do was show up at the DMV with a copy of my SS card, and then I was back to me. So, I thought I had it all under control when I showed up at the DMV with my marriage license and such.

Wrong. You have to change your SS first now. Except, the SS admin wants something with your new name on it before they change your SS card. Something like a license. Somebody please explain how this works. I need a license to change my SS card, but I can't get a license until I change my SS card? Seriously? Are you fucking with me? You know it is Monday, right? You know I got up, put on makeup, and got dressed nice from the waist up for this fucking picture, right?

Shit like this is why I drove around with an expired license for over a year. Cause the DMV, they like to fuck with people. It's how they get their kicks, I think.

Poles. Stuffed dead dogs. And what did you do this weekend?

2009-09-13T13:29:00.000-07:00

When you find your kid halfway up the light pole, most parents might yell for them to get down. Me? Nope. I yell, "Don't you dare fall off before I get the camera."

Kenny would have stopped her from climbing it in the first place, but he was busy.

While Jill managed to get halfway up the light pole, we didn't really have to worry about Emmi.

The real trouble came however, when we went back inside. We discovered that while we were outside, JR, the stuffed dog, had committed suicide.

I am sure it has something to do with the smiley face I found drawn on his ass when I took him down from that coat hanger. It must have been demeaning, and he was over the abuse.

Parent/Teacher Conference should be fun.

2009-09-10T17:30:00.000-07:00

Emmi is mainstreamed this year. No deaf ed classes. She is pulled for therapy and audio services, but spends most of the day in a mainstream class. This decision? I worried about. I was scared she would not be able to keep up. I was assured she would, in fact, be ahead of many children, regardless of her vocabulary/speech issues. She can read basic readers. She can do some basic math. Still I worried. Kindergarten? Mainstream?

The first week passed with no problems. Week Two, some work came home with Emmi that she was having trouble with. I quickly figured out she didn't know the word 'different'. Solved that. I thought we were good.

Until the end of the week.

Oh Emmi is doing just fine educationally, but there is a problem. Emmi is naughty. All the time. And I think she is driving her teacher bonkers.

The notes have progressed like this:

Note One: Emmi had trouble sitting in circle time. Have a good weekend! :)

Note Two: Emmi would not stand in line. She also talked during story time. (Note the lack of smiley face.)

Note Three: Emmi ran around the classroom, refused to sit in her seat, and would not join the class when asked. Please discuss her behavior with her.

Note Four: Emmi poked another student with a pencil. When I asked for the pencil, she ran away from me. I had to chase her and grab the pencil. Your child is a holy terror. Please send her to another school, so help me God, before I use said pencil to poke myself in the eye.

I may have added the part beginning with holy terror. The rest is all verbatim. For real y'all, my kid poked another kid with a pencil then ran, giggling (according to last year's teacher) from her teacher in circles around a desk.

Maybe. Maybe Not.

2009-09-07T19:50:00.001-07:00

The girls are finally excited about moving. Jill pretty much hates her school now. Then they saw they playground at the new school, and they were sold! Whatever, and in any case, everyone is ready to go.

And it might not happen.

See, we just weren't planning on selling this home first. And now, we have to sell in weeks. Actually, days would be preferable. While we have had some promising showings, we have no offers. Of course, the house has only been on the market for five days. Still. We are reaching the end of our option period, so we will have to give the seller the right to accept other offers. Basically all we can do now is hope for an offer quickly on our home and no offer higher than ours on the other home.

Me, being the ultimate pessimist, does not see it happening. So now, I am sad. We found the perfect house, and it may not work out.

And anyone who tells me that maybe it isn't meant to be will be hunted down and hurt. No one wants to hear shit like that. I want to hear my fax machine ring, followed by the sound of an offer printing.

Why won't you stop?

2009-09-06T07:36:00.000-07:00

Listen, jcrew, Abercrombie, Hollister and World Market. I get it. You are confused. I usually shop online with wild abandon. I hit up your stores like there is no tomorrow. I find cute things, and I just get them.

But. I have no J.O.B. Even the Starbucks runs have been outlawed. My head hurts from lack of caffeine, and frankly I just can't handle you jamming up my inbox with all of your buy this, get that, these are nice.

So lay off. I have no money. I can't buy your shit. Quit sending me stuff to make me feel bad.

Up, then down, then up....

2009-09-01T20:47:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was kind of a rollercoaster day.

First our offer was accepted with no counter offer. I sort of expected this, with one exception. I only worried about the transfer fees on the country club membership. We asked for the seller to pay them, and I wasn't sure she would. However, she is! Awesome. The same exact floorplan sold for a significant amount more ten days ago in the same neighborhood. Why? This one needs to be painted, have the carpet (which is new) restretched, and have the wood floors polished. All things that make it not show well. All things that are simple, simple, simple and Kenny and I know to look past. The other house looked amazing. So we are getting a great deal. And our offer was accepted as is.

And then, I got laid off. After years with the same company, with no warning, I was laid off. I answered the phone while I sat in a doctor's appointment with Emmi. I mentioned I was in a doctor's appointment. And then, with Emmi's doctor listening in, I was laid off after being reassured that my job was not in jeopardy.

Kenny and I spent the rest of the day determining whether or not we could move. Should downsize? Should we stay here? Should we just move anyway? And then after much debate, we decided that since Kenny actually makes the bulk of our income, we will be okay. There will need to be some changes. But Kenny doesn't want one of those changes to be where the girls grow up. Nothing that drastic needs to happen. (Although, panicking me still does not believe) The changes need to be how often we go on vacation, and whether or not our kids get flat screen tvs and cell phones for Christmas. Perhaps their clothes will be more from Target than crewcuts. Hey, I love both. But I didn't make enough money to significantly impact our living situation.

So last night we made our decision. And I better get packing! Allison, here we come!

I now interrupt

2009-08-31T10:15:00.001-07:00

..my random babble about our honeymoon, because I have something else to talk about.

Houses. And moving. And holy shit, I think we are going to move. And it is only 45 minutes away, but it might as well be a world away.

I have lived in this same area since I was nine, minus some time in Austin and Dallas. Basically that equals seventeen years of living within three miles of my current house. I shop at the same grocery store my mom did. I go to the convenience store and the owner talks about when I was little and rode my bike there. I don't get IDed at the bank, because everyone knows me. I can't go to the gas station without seeing my old neighbor, or my old high school teacher, or my best friend. This little bubble, "The Bubble," has been my bubble for years. And now, we want out.

We have lots of reasons. Schools. Better neighborhood. The lake. Hills. Trees. But mostly, we just want to. And I do. I really do. But I am also terrified.

But I better get over it quick, because we faxed the offer over this morning.

Day 2

2009-08-27T14:46:00.000-07:00

Day two was tourist day. The only day we did official touristy things. Two hours in the car each way to Black River, YS Falls, and Appleton Rum Factory. The drive, itself, was an event.

Our second day began early. Sometime during our drunken debauchery of the day prior we passed a tour guide parked at the front of resort. Rumor has it I questioned his parenting skills when I learned, in the first 2.5 seconds of meeting him, that he had a child living in the US and not with him in Jamaica. Despite grilling him about whether or not he paid child support, he still agreed to cart our asses around Jamaica. And he even brought me pictures of his kid. And later became our friend. Hi, Marc!

Though the trip was supposed to be about the Black River tour, the falls, and the rum factory, I was actually more amazed by the trip itself. Two hours each way, winding through small little mountain roads, bordered on one side by the ocean. We stopped at roadside stands for fritters. We giggled at the goats walking along the side of the road that apparently make their way home every evening all on their own. The whole trip I was in awe. The view! The mountains! The ocean! The goats!

Stopping along the way to Black River to take pictures.

By the time we arrived at Black River we were giddy and ready for some adventures.

Black River. Called so, because, obviously, the water looks black. However, the water is actually the clearest river water I have ever seen.

The four of us were joined by several other tourists, including a family with a disabled teenager. The mother immediately announced they were making this trip for the girl who looked miserable after being lifted, and almost dropped, onto a pontoon boat in her wheelchair. Mama, then whips out her camera. A polaroid. No not a fancy I-still-use-a-polaroid-for-artist-purposes polaroid, but a cheap, old polaroid. "Sit up straight and smile like you are having fun," she barks at the poor girl. Then before any of us knew what was happening, she made us all pose with her family members "like we were friends."

Someone should have thrown her to the crocodiles, which there were plenty of along the river. Our tour guide thought it great fun to pull the boat right up to them. Especially the side of the boat I was sitting on.

"Don't worry," he assured us. "They are quite tame," he says as he hand feeds them chicken.

Luckily, that crocodile did not eat our tour guide.

After escaping death by crocodile, we drove another thirty minutes or so to YS Falls. By the time we arrived the sky had darkened. Then the rain began. We made it about halfway up the falls, before some old dude leered at me and grabbed Emily's ass. I was a little upset, because, obviously, that meant she had the better ass.

By that point we were over it. It was raining. Hard. Old men were creeping us out. Emily and I found ourselves waiting at the bottom of the falls while the guys headed off to find the rope swing. While waiting we noticed two things.

1.The signs all explicitly warn you not to smoke ganja.

2. The non-American men wear little bitty swimsuits with their junk hanging out.

The guys never made it to the rope swing. And Kenny caught me taking pictures of this guy in the little pants. Kenny and Michael decided it was best to head on to Appleton Rum factory before we were completely ~~water logged~~ I got myself in trouble.

This is the tour that everyone looks forward to. All you can drink free rum. Rum punch. Rum shots. 30-year-old rums. Whatever your heart desires. Unless, of course, you heart desires to never see rum again after drinking rum punch for 8 straight hours the day before. The smell wafting from the parking lot was enough to make me want to puke.

But the tour was supposed to be really interesting, too.

Or not. We could have cared less how the pot stills work.

I did perk up when I heard that we could taste some raw molasses (a by product...see I was too listening Mr. Tour Guide Who Kept Fussing At Us For Trailing Behind). Sugar in any form is my friend.

Licorice, however, is not. And that is what that shit tasted like.

By then end of the day, we were done being goofy tourist. We took our fanny packs off Not really. You didn't think I actually have a fanny pack did, you? and started planning our next day. Local spots. Where the natives go. Those were our requirements. Marc, mapped out a plan, and we agreed to meet at four the next afternoon.

Honeymoon, Day 1

2009-08-26T12:14:00.001-07:00

I figure it took us seven days to travel around Jamaica, it should take me about that long to blog about it. Or at least download all of the photos.

The first day was really just half day. The only thing worth mention was meeting another honeymooning couple, Emily and Michael. Love them. Love. After that, we went to bed before nine. By the next day, we were up and ready to go early. Six am early. On the beach by 7:30.

The bar opened at 10am. The rum punches were nice to us. Very nice. As was the fresh snapper cooked right on the beach. And that tuna melt that was unlike any other tuna melt I have every had. You know, other than the twelve or sixteen I ate while I was there. We spent the day camped out on the beach, listening to music, eating all we could eat, hanging out with friends, and taking a spontaneous snorkeling trip.

Unfortunately, the bar did not come with us on the boat, which meant a two hour lack of rum punch. And Red Stripe. But have no fear. Our captain, Lucky, took care of us. He found us a bucket of beer.

We passed around the ~~bucket of beer~~ bottle of "Wata" as we made our way out to the reef for the best snorkeling I have ever done. Although probably not the best snorkeling to be had. Just better than Mexico where we generally see nothing. This time there were eels, starfish, plants, crazy reef, and tons of fish.

Our snorkeling was cut short by a storm, complete with lightening. One a rickety boat. On water. Although Lucky ensures me that is how he got his name. By never being struck by lightening? He must have been telling the truth, because we made it back safe.

The storm had soon passed, and we made our way over to the pool bar. We had been previously warned about those bartenders and that flaming drink they had. But rum punches and a bucket of beer made Kenny think trying it would be a good idea.

His name is not really Austria. We just called him that. Because he lives in Austria. Obviously.

*I am told this is when the bar walking happened. I sort of believe this from the camera angle. And the wet footprints on the bar.

Honeymoon. Part 1 of.....

2009-08-25T06:51:00.000-07:00

The wedding I hardly remember. The honeymoon? I have a total of 1417 pictures and 12 videos chronicling our journey. I remember pretty much all of it. Except some parts of Monday. It is apparently not a good idea to drink the rum punch from 10am until 8pm. What I don't remember, I was able to piece back together in pictures. And stories from the bartenders which included, but where not limited to

1. Emily (my vacation bestie) and I walking on the bar, stepping over people's drinks.
2. Me telling a girl she was not in our club of people we were married on the 15th, followed by Emily telling her she had been married "a looooong time." They had gotten married on the 8th.
3. Emily and I harassing the bartender who admitted to me that he had five kids with five different moms.

Don't worry. I took it easy with the rum punches the rest of the trip. However, I can't exactly say we took it easy the whole trip. We did a lot. We went everywhere. We did touristy things. We ate a local restaurants. We made good friends with our driver. We hiked. We snorkeled. We sat on the beach. I read four books. We woke up by 6am everyday, and were asleep by 9:30pm every night. I ate no less than three lunches a day. I loved the food. I ate fritters from roadside stands and drank coconut water straight from the coconut. Crocodiles swam within feet of me. I held a starfish, chased a stingray, and ran from jellyfish. And I loved every minute of it.

From the moment we arrived, I knew this was going to be an amazing vacation.

.....to be continued. With pictures.

Half. Whole.

2009-08-24T12:36:00.000-07:00

A little over a week ago, I was just me. Now I am me, but married. Half of a whole. Or so I am told. Even though I feel more than whole now, I am suddenly just half.

I don't remember a lot about the wedding. Little snippets. It went fast and blurred by. I remember laughing. I remember smiling until I had to rub my cheeks. I can't tell you a single word I said during the ceremony. I barely remember hearing the song play during our first dance. One minute I was waiting to walk down the isle, sure my heart would explode it was beating so hard. The next minute, we were kissing the girls goodbye as we piled them into the car and headed off for the night. One minute I was just me. The next minute, I was one of us.

Today. A lot nothing. You are excited, right?

2009-08-07T13:04:00.000-07:00

A weird thing happened. Maybe not that weird. Simply, my other computer has yet another virus. But, dude, google has straight up banned me from everything. It told me hells to the no. I can't view a damn thing because apparently my hacking ass computer is sending automated messages across the blogosphere. So if I randomly linked you to porn or some such, it wasn't actually me. Although, if it made you happy, I will take the credit.

In the meantime, I am running some virus scans until I see my neighbor who is a computer genius drive by, so I can go cry to him until he fixes it. Other than my computer virus, it is kind of boring around here.

We all threw up yesterday. We are all better today. I am driving myself insane with last minute things for the wedding, although really I have everything done. I just keep worrying that I don't have everything done.

Emmi has me watching "Scary" which is actually Coraline (please somebody I know have a girl and name her Coraline. I would suggest such to my sister if her baby is a girl, but it is probably a little to close to her daughter's name. I would also be happy with Delilah...LAURA, I am talking to you.) Jill is grounded after a little incident involving the woman cutting her hair. And by grounded, I mean she annoyed the piss out of me until I told her to go play at the neighbor's house.

And that is pretty much it. Tomorrow marks exactly one week until the wedding. I have something planned for every day of the official one week countdown. But with my lack of enthusiasm for blogging, I am not sure I will get to it. Let's shoot for three out of seven.

Talking Dirty

2009-08-03T17:05:00.000-07:00

I don't know what it is, but I just can't for the life of me talk dirty. Mostly because I am, like, thirteen and still giggle at naughty words. Kenny has never complained, but what man wouldn't like a little dirty talk now and then. Something tells me it just isn't the same when I giggle and snort my way through it and whisper the naughty words for fear that someone might hear me. My friends have tried to be helpful over the years and give me pointers whenever I mention this issue. But, I am apparently a poor student. The most I can manage is something along the lines of "Hey Baby" followed by a wink and a nudge. It just isn't working. I need help.

I think help will come in the form of these.

Little tokens with dirty little phrases I can slip in Kenny's pocket or leave in his car. Although with my luck he would switch trucks with one of the guys, and I would end up telling our crew leader I want to strip for him. I won't even have to say anything. Which is probably a hell of a lot sexier, in my case.

And, for all of you parents out there, there ones for your kids to slip in their lunch boxes. Although, you should make sure you keep those suckers separate so as not to mix those up. I am not sure how my kid's kindergarten teacher would feel about me not wearing panties all day.

Two

2009-08-01T05:52:00.000-07:00

Two weeks. In exactly two weeks from today, Kenny and I will be married.

You're Not Bad, Are You?

2009-07-31T06:36:00.000-07:00

We are down to weeks before our wedding. Long ago, I took care of the major details. Now the little details are catching up to me. Like getting our marriage license. Minor detail.

But I was kind of dreading it. The courthouse? In Houston? I was imagining a line a hour and a half long. Apparently, that is only the misdemeanor and licence tag/car titles lines. How should I know that, though? It isn't like I have done this before. A lot. And that time wasn't even in Texas. My hour and a half fear, in reality turned out to be no line at all. We walked right in, sat down, and were immediately helped.

A young white man in his early twenties, motioned for us to sit down. He fired off several questions about previous marriages, child support, and past felonies. After he entered the info from our driver's licences, he asked one final question.

"City and county of birth?"

Shit. What county was I born in? I think for a minute. Hold on. I know this. It was the name of the damn hospital. Mid-something or another. Crap. Crap!

Finally it comes to me, "Jefferson! I was born in Jefferson County! I think?"

The man entering our info looks at me, "You lived in the Port Arthur area?"

I nod.

"Then that is right. That is near Vidor, you know. You aren't bad are you? You know what I mean? You know what is in Vidor, right?"

Um. I glance over at the black woman at the table over who is staring at him. At us. How did this conversation turn like this? One minute I am happily getting my marriage license and the next minute I am in the KKK? What the fuck?

He is still waiting on an answer. Holding my marriage license hostage. "Um. No. I am not bad," I say reaching for the envelope in his hand. Another couple walks in, dressed up for the occasion of getting their license. I motion to them, "But I think they might be."

Short, Quick Update

2009-07-27T17:38:00.000-07:00

Emmi is doing well. In the past half hour, she has chased bubbles, ate crackers, made glove balloon people, and drew a picture of Daddy sleeping. Although, Daddy has yet to sleep since 5am. Maybe she actually drew a picture of Wishful Thinking.

The past half hour has been good. Before that she slept. Before that was not much fun. There was vomiting and thrashing about and ripping bandages off and having to restrain her and a nurse that was no help at all that I yelled at causing an orderly to step in and help us out. He saved the day. Luckily, we were moved out of her care pretty quickly, and other than those not so fun thirty minutes all has gone well.

The surgery itself was a success. The old implant is out. The new one is in. If all goes as planned we will be home sometime tomorrow.

Words that begin with F.

2009-07-24T08:48:00.001-07:00

Jill has practically moved in with my parents this summer. She pretty much refuses to come back! This weekend will be the last weekend Emmi will be at her dad's before our wedding. Both kids gone all weekend. Kenny and I made a list of every little thing that MUST get done before the wedding so that we could take care of it all this weekend. Especially with Emmi having surgery Monday. I don't know exactly what will happen, so nothing can be left until after this weekend.

So, of course, Emmi's dad would cancel this weekend. (Although for once he did admit fault for not realizing he needed to switch his work schedule since this is not technically is weekend. We were switching due to her upcoming surgery.)

And of course Emmi is on social isolation so we can't just bring her with us to run errands.

I have some special words for her dad right now. One of them begins with Fuck and ends with er.

PS Guess who also has not one time asked when her surgery is, how long it will be, what exactly is being done, or if he can help out in anyway.

Schedule Conflicts.

2009-07-22T08:57:00.000-07:00

I was just informed that Emmi will be staying several days in the hospital after surgery this time. Surgery one, she was home riding her tricycle the same day. Surgery two, she stayed one night and was back at school the next day. Surgery three, for some reason (okay, I actually know the reason, but whatever.), we have to stay several days.

I started going over a mental checklist of what I need to get ready. Favorite sweatpants to sleep in. Download new movies on the ipod. Locate my spare phone cord.

Then, it hit me.

I have a wedding dress fitting scheduled for while she will still be at the hospital. Two weeks prior to the wedding. That I can't put off. Because my damn dress is falling off of me.

Fuck.

$1.50/minute for parking.

2009-07-20T07:32:00.001-07:00

Emmi's CT scan was this morning. No results yet, obviously. But it is done. The test itself went much better than I thought it would.

We arrived with a sleeping Emmi, and they quickly whisked her into the room. Much better to have a sleeping child, than have to sedate a child. I was impressed with their response and the decision to move Emmi ahead to hopefully keep her asleep. She opened her eyes at the end, exclaimed, "WOW," and then closed her eyes for the remainder of the test. We were in and out in less than ten minutes.

We were done so quickly that the valet parking did not have our keys returned from the driver yet. After a little confusion locating our keys, someone was sent down to the parking abyss to retrieve our car. But he came back empty handed. No car.

Approaching the supervisor, he shows him the slip, then explains that the slip on our dash does not match up. I immediately knew what the problem was. I have about nine parking slips sitting on my dashboard. The supervisor attempts to explain this to his employee, he tries to send him back down to locate the car, but the man refuses. The two begin to argue. Meanwhile, nobody is getting our car. So we wait. For over fifteen minutes.

It took longer to get our car than to get signed in, brought back, and complete a CT scan.

Texas Children's West Tower valet, we need to speak. Those guys over at Clinical Care are much better than you. Plus, I am a little pissed that is cost me $1.50/minute for parking today. I so did not get my money's worth.