Angels In My Rearview

I Really Should Post

2006-06-26T20:15:00.000-07:00

It just makes sense to be consistent. But my mind is swimming with trivial and non-trivial and I can't pick a side.

My sister called me on my cell and yelled at me to post because she'd been waiting for 3 days and that was long enough. This is the sister I just spent an entire week with and sat next to for 2 very long plane rides. I was on the land line with my mom when she did this and my mom told me to tell her to shut up. So apparently it's now okay to say that word in her house.

Avery runs from me the INSTANT she realizes I want or need her. Sometimes it's like she's telepathic and takes off before I even know I need her. But tonight at bedtime I held my hand out to her and said, "Let's go to bed Avery". Sometimes I just do things like that for the sheer entertainment of the response. Imagine my shock when she happily trotted over to me, grasped two of my fingers with both of her hands and pulled me down the hall to her bed. The girl is a sleeper and I couldn't be more thrilled.

Ben on the other hand is a parrot. Last night after he got a suprise belated birthday present, he got into a little bit of a scuffle over it with Avery. She started it. Ben has gotten really good about using his words and so he was talking (albeit through gritted teeth) Avery through it and ended the incident with, "Avee, I am NOT having dis tonvo-sation with you!"

Remember those things your mom or dad used to say to you and you thought to yourself, "I am NEVER saying that" or "Do they REALIZE how stupid that sounds?" Well, here I am. I say it. They're not so stupid. Or they are and I don't care. Hearing Ben say that was very entertaining because there was no conversation, and it brings home the point that much of what I say to him doesn't make sense. But it was funny to realize I had already begun my phrases of nonsense as a parent. I believe that I can say with complete assurity that, "If I have to come in there..." and "If I come in there and find it, you will be fined $5" (Jay not excluded) and "If you don't mess around, you won't have to say you're sorry" will fill my childrens ears for many, many years to come. Maybe even after they are movie stars and brain surgeons, supporting my chocolate and botox habits. By then we'll be eating botulism and injecting chocolate though.

It's our anniversary in 3 days. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world because Jay will be in town for it. See, he got that wise advice long ago from some old veteran of marriage, "keep your standards low, so her expectations won't be high". I got the same advice, but then it turned out, some things just can't get lower. How do you accidentally burn a shirt ironing when you don't even own an iron? And how do you "really foul up" a dinner of hot dogs and ramen? Or leave a ring around a tub that's a solid grey?

I want to do something fun and/or different for our anniversary so if you have any ideas, send them my way. My friend suggested one of those Medieval Times type dinner shows. One starts here on our anniversary. I looked it up and it's $50 a ticket. I'm sorry, but it would have to be Heath Ledger, in tights, jousting, on my table, for me to pay that much. And even then, I'd have to reconsider because men in tights is just wrong on so many levels.

I guess the trivial won out.

Next time you'll think twice before you harrass me for a post.

FYOOSH

2006-06-23T08:17:00.000-07:00

We're still safely housed. I knew the eviction notice was a formality, but oh the drama of pretending I didn't! The management lady (ML) tried to appease my no-tolerance-for-this-crap-in-my-life attitude with "and good for you that you have never gotten one of these before so you don't know how it works". (I had said, "Don't you think an eviction notice is a bit of a rash response to a bounced check?") I stared incredulously and said, "I fail to see the silver lining here. It's good that I have to deal with this for the first time because you guys are unorganized?" I went in being nice but firm, but I think that got mistaken for ignorant and vulnerable.

I have come up with 7 tips for dealing with management when bogus eviction notices are placed on your door while you are out of town for a family reunion.

1) Get dressed and apply mascara before going to the office. I don't think the frumpy housewife look holds much credibility when saying things like, "I corrected my mistake quickly, it's not my business to pay late fees on your mistake." For mascara, I prefer the Clinique High Impact, dark brown. I needed the extra pow of high impact, since I wanted to make one. And dark brown is a soft color for fair-skinned redheads, it says, "I'm awake and alert" but also "I'm approachable with this soft hue, versus a more harsh black."

2)Take your 1 and 3 year old children with you. Even if you have two capable teenagers at home to watch them. They add so much credibility to the "I really don't have time for this crap" factor. It's particularly helpful when your son is wearing a bright orange flowered hat, singing half the alphabet over and over, while spreading sugar cookie crumbs all over the office, and your 1 year old is slapping your face and screeching with slimey sugar cookie crumbs covering her hands and face.

3) Be armed with the facts. I knew that legally they couldn't evict. I also knew the policy on bounced checks because I read the lease before going to the office this morning. When she tried to pull a fast one and say she was bound to only accept a money order from me, I quoted the portion of the lease that stated they could "opt" to only accept money orders if they felt personal checks weren't reliable. She stopped suddenly when I did that. Because she had already said 3 or 4 times she "trusted me" and "believed me" and wanted to "make me happy. She kept telling me it wasn't personal and she had nothing against me. After the third time I said, "the wasting of my time and money IS personal to me." Did she really think I was in there to win over her friendship?

4) If you can swing it have your own "Wedding Singer" moment, complete with 3 year old repeating what he's overheard a grown up say. "You duys are wee-dickey-us!" That came after I got a little worked up at the "my hands are tied" line ML kept trying to play. Ben picked up on my frustration and got protective and threw in his two cents. It was priceless.

5) Repeat, repeat, repeat. That's what they do to you, you do it back. Only when she went to repeat herself I'd say things like, "You already said that." That was the 3 year old in me shining through. It was a little fun.

6) Don't leave until you are satisfied. She tried to end our "meeting" several times, with me still owing $240 in fees I shouldn't have to pay. She said things like, "When can you pay this?" I never answered it until the amount she stated was owed, and put in her computer, was an amount I agreed to pay. In fact, when I walked in and said I had come home to this eviction notice she immediately said, "Okay, when can you pay what you owe?" Finally after the 4th time of asking when I could pay in an effort to be done with me without resolving anything, I said, "That depends, when will you be able to be an organized office that doesn't waste my time like this?" She finally quit asking when I could pay.

7) Hold your tongue on the unnecessary comments. First she said she had to take a money order from me. I said she didn't. Then she said if she made an exception for me and let me write a check, she'd have to make exceptions for others. I bit my tongue and didn't say, "Isn't the definition of exception to let one and not the others?" but I did say, "Um, no one else will even know you have let me pay with a check so that's not true." Then she said management checked her books and would see she made an "unauthorized exception". She said that several times. I wanted SO BADLY to say, "If it were true that management checked your books, then they would know that we haven't paid rent for the last 5 months and have in fact been squatting." But see, that isn't true, and I just really had to keep it simple with this lady. But it would have been fun.

And as sort of a bonus suggestion---It's sort of luck of the draw, but try to contract a stomach virus in the few hours before you go into the office and breathe excessively while there. Increase breaths per minute and force per breath with each annoying response and unhelpful suggestion

Well, I have 3 suitcases full of dirty laundry that aren't going to unpack and wash themselves. They are however going to multiple and spread through out my house, by themselves. Is there no justice?

On My Way

2006-06-23T07:38:00.000-07:00

I am on my way to the management office to deal with our eviction sitchey-ashun. I'm not sure if it's foreshadowing or just incessant spam, but I got an email with the subjectline of "Good luck on your apartment search this weekend". We'll see. I'll be back. Homeless or vindicated, I'll be back!

Eviction

2006-06-22T21:34:00.000-07:00

So, we may or may not be evicted tonight at midnight. I once watched a Michael Mo.o.re movie, that one he ~~fabricated~~ did about Roger the GM dude, and I saw a family get evicted. I imagine having to throw all my stuff into garbage bags (because that's more dramatic than the boxes I have stashed and luggage) and drag my babies out in their stained onsies and droopy diapers and all the while cursing the man---whoever he is. It might happen---we have 26 minutes until I'll know for sure. But if midnight rolls around and I still have a place to lay my head....well, then in the morning I'm marching up to the office and raising cane. Because I don't need this kind of junk in my life.

Jay accidentally wrote a check from an old account that has 32 cents in it. As soon as I realized he'd done this, I wrote a new check and took it in. It did not get delivered to the right hands. That's happened to me about 5 times now, in the 6 months I've lived here. They have gone through three entire different staffs of management since I moved here. I'd say something's amiss up in management land. Well, anyway---I think eviction is somewhat of a drastic response to a lousy bounced check and poor communication. Jay would have evicted me years ago if that were an appropriate response.

That's pretty much all I really had to say.
P.S. Blogger Spell Check just suggested that I change "onesies" to "honkies". We are. But I won't.

Not much, but it's something

2006-06-22T12:29:00.000-07:00

It would appear that I have very literal people in my life. Based on my blog, my husband told someone that my plane would land around 3:30. Because it's like me to announce to the world my arrival time, and other very important details. Then my friend just IMed me and asked why I was back, I wasn't due back yet for another hour or so. Because I said 3:47.

If you must know, that was the estimated POST time. And I thought I was being funny.

We're back and very tired and better for the wear.

Avery cooed and giggled as I laid her down her bed. She missed it.

Benjamin immediately sought out vacuum parts to beat my exercise ball "like a drum" and his "songs sound pretty good" according to him. I need to get back to the basics, as demonstrated by 3 year olds. Do something completely inane and untalented and then congratulate myself on how good it was. Seriously, isn't that how it should be?

Benjamin learned a short 15 word song that contains both the words "albatross" and "butt" in one sentence. Now there's a literary masterpiece for a song. After some inopportune times of him singing it loudly, we had to discuss what kinds of words can only be said in the bathroom. I made that "in the bathroom" part up on my own. I'm not ready to enter the world of "bad word" "sometimes bad word" "not really a bad word but can be used wrong" and "only mommy can say that word when you color the carpet with magic marker" just yet. He is a very obedient boy so when he just can't control himself, he sings the song with his hand tightly covering his mouth, I guess so to keep the words from escaping entirely. Then about 15 minutes ago he sat in the bathroom bellowing the song. I said in my warning voice, "Benjamin....." and he said, "What mom? I'm in the bathroom, I can use that word." So there you have it. I've been beat at my own game. Again.

Avery perfected the art of snatching and running while we stayed in California. My cousin's daughter doesn't walk yet, so basically she was a sitting duck if she had something Avery wanted. Even an adult trying to catch Avery is a challenge. I feel so proud when my daughter steals other children's food and then runs through the house in an effort to evade.

I got reacquainted with how unbelievably fast paced life in California is. Even just "hanging out" in California involves a lot of travel and activity. I lived there for a year when I was 20 and it exhausted me. 10 years later, 1 week of it beats me to a pulp. But I did get a haircut and an In-N-Out burger, so all is well.

We're all going to go take a nap now. If anyone wants to know what time I'll be waking up....

Gone Again

2006-06-15T16:35:00.000-07:00

We're off jetsetting again, this time for a family reunion. The largest conglomerate of redheads in the West---that would be our family reunion.

I'll be back at 3:47 on June 22nd. Watch for me.

What to talk about today....

2006-06-12T21:18:00.000-07:00

Oh hummmm, what to say. I really want to post, but I have nothing of much consequence to say. It's all important to me, but you, who are eagerly awaiting enlightenment or laughter or just a feeling of superiority, might not find it too important.

I could talk about some of the random google searches that have led to my blog. Like, "bare bottomed spanking". I spent about 3 days trying to decide if I should alter the spelling of spanking or something, then realized that the people who did come look clicked in and clicked out in the same second. Do you know how hard that is to do?
Nature Vs Nurture with Oliver Twist. That's gotten two people led to me.
And My favorite, this exact phrase in "ask Je.eves"
Where can a teenage girl, such as myself, find an appropriate blogging website? What the? Do teenage girls, such as this one, actually use phrases like, "such as myself"? I ask you!

Or I could talk about how today my friend Camille turned 25. I babysat her when she was 8 years old. And her 5 younger siblings. Then 10 years after that, she was my roommate in college. My senior year, her freshman year. We did things like, cram 12 people into my 2 door Sentra to drive 4 blocks, we couch surfed and body surfed (that's the airplane thing I do with my children now, yeah, I did it with my 18 year old wisp of a thing roommate, I have big bones).

We both let other people drive our cars and they wrecked them. Not with each other, but on separate days at separate intersections. The girl who wrecked hers was gawking at a hotty in Wranglers and the girl who wrecked mine was getting flipped off by an 80 year old lady in an Oldsmobile. We took multiple road trips together from 90 miles to 9 hours away.

She drove me over to my boyfriend's house and waited in the car while I broke up with him. I didn't want to, but I needed to (he wanted a taco bar at his wedding reception guys, I had no choice!) and she sat and waited and then told me I had done the right thing and let me cry. She told me once that I didn't ever act like an annoying know-it-all even though I did and I got the point. Now I don't act like an annoying know-it-all. I'm not annoying and I'm not acting.

She didn't even pretend to be helpful in staying awake on more than one long road trip. On one midnight trip our other roommate made it her duty to "help me stay awake" and fell asleep almost immediately. She would wake up every 8 minutes or so and scream "LEAF!" and clutch the dashboard, or "IT'S PURPLE, YES!" and seize my shoulder and bear down on it as though to save it from suddenly seperating from my body. I think it might have been safer to fall asleep at the wheel.

She talked me into going to our final Hoorah dance at our university and participate in the "most couples kissing at one time" with some random boy. Yeah, that boy came to our house everyday, twice on Tuesday's and Thursday's for the rest of the school year after that kiss. Camille on the other hand, got her photo taken kissing our neighbor boy who was "just a friend" and it was front page, dead center of the local newspaper (not piddly school paper) in what looked like a reenactment of a scene from Casablanca. Yeah, they got married after that kiss.

When Camille, the oldest of 8 moved into our apartment, her parents drove her the 5 hours and her mom came and picked the room that was furthest from the kitchen, in case a fire started in the kitchen she'd have enough time to be apprised of it and escape. That room was selected to have the easiest escape route from fires, rapists, and rabid dogs. She flipped her mattress to be on the cleanest side. She checked the closest and under the bed. She made 5 duplicate house keys, 4 of which she took back home with her. She made her husband add two more dead bolts and replace the door knob lock on our door. All the window locks were checked. The windows had to open AND lock. She stayed until Camille was unpacked, loaded up with groceries, and walked her to her first class. I shared a room with Camille. I'm the 8th of 9 children. My mom called a week and a half into the school year and asked if I'd had any luck finding a place to live yet.

She rode with me on graduation day and cried with me when I left that perfect little college town that we loved so much.

She drove the 1000 plus miles with me to my home in Missouri, and then flew out to see me again a few weeks later.

Then she got married.

Then I got married. To to this guy ------------------->

Then I had a baby, and she watched my baby twice a week.

Then she had a baby, and we watched each other's babies and talked about the great secrets our mothers had kept from us about pregnancy and parenting. They made it seem so effortless.

And now we have toddlers/preschoolers and go where our husbands get jobs and email between our children's demands and phone calls and laundry and meal preparation. We share recipes, she gives my kids the best books, and when I listen to Indigo Girls while my two children throw the pillows off the couch and put craft paint on hammers and hit the carpet with it and smear snot across their faces in a valiant effort to keep their noses clean, I get a nostalgic feeling for so many of the memories we've created. I'd like to cram into my Sentra, or road trip to Colorado, or make a midnight run for french fries, or explain to a neighbor that pickles are cucumbers, but other foods can be pickled, and still not actually BE pickles, and then laugh until tears are coming, all over again.

But my Sentra died, I still mourn it's untimely death. Road trips are out of the question, we don't even live in the same state. French Fries are a no-no for my aging thighs, and I make a pointed effort to avoid adults who don't understand the concept of pickling. So much has changed in 7 short years.

I think there will always be a little part of me that wishes to live some of those moments again. But an even bigger part of me is simply glad for those experiences and for all that time I got to spend with Camille. And so grateful that now we can swap parenting advice and share baby stories and brag about our children's "accomplishments" and coast forevermore on the foundation that started 16 years ago when I, an annoying know-it-all 15 year old argued with Camille's mom (the giver of sage advice in this post) about the correct pronunciation of "often" (silent T or not guys---this may be a defining point in our future relationship) and Camille, a quiet, but brilliant 9 year old, secretly sided with me and always remembered that conversation.

Yeah, I think I'll talk about my friend Camille who turned 25 today.

Saturday Tidbits

2006-06-10T15:48:00.000-07:00

I haven't felt like posting or reading or commenting for the past several days. Still don't really feel like it, but there have been several things in the last few days that have made me laugh that I just need to record.

Conversations with Ben:

Ben: Mom, stop singing that song, I don't like it!
Mom: Well then! Who died and made you king?
Ben: I did! You're the King! And I'm Fiona the Princess! (or rather "Piona the Frincess")

Ben: But this shirt is wet!
Me: It's okay, it will dry fast, I just sprayed it with Febreeze because it kind of smelled bad. (From sitting in the washer too long, that slight mildewy smell, lovely)
Ben: So. So, (with much consternation) everyone tooted on my shirt and now it fmells bad?

I just want to know who exactly he thinks goes around "tooting" on small boy's shirts.

Ben: What are you getting?
Me: I'm getting some grapes for Avery to eat, would you like some too?
Ben: Oh mom, you're just adorable.

Avery said, Good Girl "goo-grr" to me while I was cleaning up Ben's toys. She also said, "Thank You" "Koo-koooo!" to Ben for giving her a filler book after yanking the one he wanted out of her hands.

My brother-in-law is a little angel in a 14 year old boy body. He has helped me SO much this week with the kids and childcare and housekeeping and laughing at dumb things. He cleaned the kitchen of his own volition a couple of days ago. He unloads the dishwasher every morning, takes out the trash every other day, and makes Ben stop saying, "Mom, look at this" every 5 seconds.

Now I'm going to go on a double date with two very cute Bryner boys. I think I'll probably end up paying, but whatever.

Good News and Bad News

2006-06-09T06:40:00.000-07:00

The good news is...

I really had just cleaned the toilet.

The bad news is...

I have no idea how she managed to get in there so swiftly, soundly, and deftly.

AND

In his short life, but still more than twice as long as Avery's it has never, ever, EVER occurred to Ben to do something like this.

p.s. This is the exact same expression Avery has when she is being scolded. Not that whipping out the digital camera is a scolding---but Ben was hollering some THAT'S NOT OKAY['s] of his own.

Remember When

2006-06-06T19:43:00.000-07:00

You were young and being popular was such a wonderful dream? If you were, you loved it, and if you weren't, you aspired to it? You just wanted to be picked first, invited everywhere, confided in the most, sought after on the playground regularly, and surrounded by people who loved and adored you? You wanted someone to sit with lunch to swap your mom's homemade uber-fiber oatmeal, rasin, carrot, sunflower seed "cookie" for your friend's uber-processed negative-health benefits Oreo? You wanted someone to pair up with to do out-loud reading or times tables. Someone to sit under the table with who would try to pierce your ear with a dull safety pin because your completely unhip parents wouldn't let you get it done the right way? You dreamed of overnight parties to be smooshed into a room with 8 other girls who giggle and talked and crowded you?

Sigh.

All I wanted today was to be totally unpopular and left alone, and ignored to meander through the playground alone and sit on the swing in silence, even though there was a really cool lego tower that matchbox cars went through and a dozen open mouthed kisses waiting to be received and the harsh reality that my body perfectly resembles a jungle gym, and 12 half songs to be heard and a swimming pool to be loudly advertised about, and, water bottles demanding to be shared, and nary a solo visit to the bathroom to be had.

I wish I was a lonely outcast.

Some random thoughts and whatnots

2006-06-05T19:22:00.000-07:00

My house is a wreck. No really guys, I know you think I'm all anal and stuff and that a speck of dust here or there constitutes "a wreck" in my world, but it's really a wreck today. If I had no pride at all, and I mean NONE, I would take a picture to prove it. Previous posts on poop and cake decorating (not the same post, but sadly very close together) have proven I have very little pride. But I have some.

My husband is gone again, our time together this weekend seemed close to nonexistent, and I'm looking into getting South Carolina wiped off the map, or else some airline having mercy and getting a direct flight to it.

My children aren't getting enough sleep.

I can't seem to motivate myself to do anything besides eat and swim. I generally wait 30 minutes, but still.

I have felt those complete and whole feelings of "I love being a mom" a few times today. Although, in general, they come sort of randomly, one was elicited by a comment from Ben. I took Ben "on a date like I did with dad yestowday". We went to lunch and a movie. I felt kind of gross after eating an overly greasy lunch and groaned, "Ugh, I feel sick" as I pulled into the movie theater parking lot. From the back I hear Ben assure me, "It's okay mom, the movie will make you feel better." It did. It really really did.

By the way, the movie we saw was The Shaggy Dog and I really enjoyed it. It made me laugh out loud several times, it developed a story line enough to not make it dull or overly something about nothing, I really do like Tim Allen, and it was just a nice, average, man-not-involved-enough-in-his-own-family-so-he-turns-into-a-dog-to-learn-the-more-important-lessons-in-life story like we all enjoy now and then.

The other elicited feeling was when Avery pushed her face harder against my lips as I was kissing her cheek. I love that she loves getting loves. You'd think I'd use a different word than "loves" since that sentence only had 7 words and three of them were of the root word "love". But I'm just not like that.

Oh, and I'm sure that I have exceeded any proper limit on talking about poop in a blog, but if it's going to invade my life as it does, it's going to do the same to my blog. This morning I was at the computer and Ben and Avery were toodling around. I hear Ben say, "oh no, Avery's poopy". Sometimes just by walking through a room, she announces the present condition of her bowels to a 5 foot radius. So, I figured that's what happened. Then Ben must have said something about changing her, but I'm not listening that well, and I have this delusion that is constantly being shattered, that my kids don't do ~~stupid~~ ~~disgusting~~ things that I don't want them to when I'm not looking. Then Ben comes running around the corner and says, "Avery's touching her poop". Since, generally, she has hit developmental milestones anywhere from 4-8 months before Ben has, I groan and think she is sticking her hand in her poopy diaper, like Ben discovered to do at 2. I go into the kitchen and find her with her diaper hanging mostly off. I think some part of one tab was clinging to her shirt. She held a large ball off poo in her hand that she immediately chucked away when she saw me, because she does that when she thinks she's getting busted. I just started whooping and hollering. I was really grossed out and at the same time found it very funny, and I was a little overwhelmed, and just really didn't know what to do. So I whooped and laughed. Both Ben and Avery thought that was funny and poor Sam stood back a little, not sure if he should dial 911 or laugh.

And lately, I have thought a lot about with whom you choose to marry and have children. If you are naughty, marry someone overly rule-bound. If you are sneaky, marry an open book who cannot lie. If you are smart, marry someone dull-witted. There has got to be a balance and some kind of compensation for what you are contributing to the gene pool.

Avery learned this week to fold her arms to pray. She concentrated pretty hard on Ben one night, and then pulled it off. It's just about the cutest thing I've ever seen. She'll squint her eyes, put her head down and mutter a few things. I have tried to get her to do it all week to show different people because it's so cute. She doesn't ever do what I ask her to. Ever. So today, (before the poop incident) she was eating breakfast and I gave her milk in a sippy cup. I'm always trying to upgrade from the bottle to no avail. She dumped the entire cup out. Organic, 3-plus dollars a quart, milk. I got mad. Because she knows better and because milk doesn't grow on trees. I scolded her sternly. See, Avery's a pretty intent little child and often when I get after her, or "lose my cool" (she has it WAY better than Ben ever did on the keeping it cool mom thing) she looks at me intently and about 2 words into my "tirade" she makes me feel like the stupid idiot I'm being. All with a look. You guys don't know how she can look at me, it's just not right for a baby to be doing that.

Anyway, I get after her about the milk, she looks at me the whole time, I'm feeling stupid right away, and then I like, feel like I need to stand there to show I'm not gonna be bullied by her focused, unblinking stares, but I don't really have anything to say, and I'm not quite sure what to do with my hands---so I just stand there. She folds her arms, bows her head, and starts muttering a prayer. She was either praying for me and my angered heart or praying for herself and her hopeful redemption from being a milk spilling mommy-antagonizer. Or she was trying to manipulate me by being cute and doing something she knows I like.
Either way you put it, I am not intellectually equipped to mother this kind of child.

Some Mid-day Trivia

2006-06-02T11:25:00.000-07:00

This morning I was driving to the HUMONGOUS DFW airport to pick up Jay. It really is a huge airport, well, maybe not the inside, but the outside is like 6 freeway exits to get to your desired terminal. Insane. You have to get on the right highway (which, despite the fact that this airport is humongous, I did not do and STILL missed in my first attempt to get there this morning) and then once you are, Terminals A-E are big ol' freeway-like exits. Then after you take your right off-ramp, then you have two more choices of direction, and then I've only ever chosen "Arrivals" but even after that, there's two more choices. We are rats in a maze and Jay is our piece of cheese. It's okay, I think if Jay had to be any food, it would be cheese.

Anyway, as I'm nearing the airport the SECOND time around, Ben asks, "When will we see Daddy?" I say, "Really soon, we are sooo close!" Then he asks, "Hey! What does 'soon' mean?"
And this is what I came up with:

It means, s-s-s...It means pretty s-s-s...uhhh, it's like, in the near fut---it's coming up....it's....

What it WAS, was entirely ridiculous. WHAT DOES SOON MEAN!?!?! Is the reason that I, an intelligent woman, cannot define soon because I have conversations like this regularly:
Ben: Somebody broke my fire truck
Me: What happened?
Ben: It's broken
Me: How did it break?
Ben: Somebody broke it.
Me: What's wrong with it? How do you know it's broken?
Ben: Because it won't work

The sad thing about this dialogue is, I'm the idiot in the conversation. He is answering every question I ask. He later came crying about it again (it sadly is not making it's 110 decibels screeching siren sound, the jury is still out on whether this constitutes broken or blessing) and I suggested he might need a nap. He suddenly forced a horrific smile that looked more like a chihuahua bearing it's teeth and "cheerfully" said, "But I'm happy! I'm just happy" combined with some lovely forced laughs. We really do condition our children unknowingly. This all stems from, "Your whining and crying tells me you are tired." So obviously, happy and forced giggles means you aren't tired.

I'll give a quarter to anyone who can define soon for me. I'll make it a vintage eagle coin if you do it without making me feel like a complete idiot.

I have no clever title, my creative energy is spent

2006-06-01T21:39:00.000-07:00

I've had a dozen different half-thoughts flee in and out of my brain today. Things tend to flee out faster than in, for me.

I've been thinking a lot about the aging process. I'm 30. My age has almost become meaningless to me. I don't feel old, I don't feel young, I feel nothing. This is big for me. I have loved every age I have ever been. And the birthday that has accompanied it. If there is one thing you should know about me, above all else, I love my birthday. I have loved every age except for 9 and 25. Nine was dreadfully dull and 4th grade was just more tedium than I could handle. 25 was depressing and I spent it in my childhood bedroom crying or trying to make myself cry because I felt it was the best way to express myself on that day. My mom slid a birthday card under my door, so not to disturb my pity party of one. This still makes me laugh. That's a woman who understands that women are impossible to understand.

When my friend Traci turned 31 last Fall, I asked her how it felt. She wrote, "31 feels like thirty, except I think it means that I am even more officially termed a “woman.” They don’t say, “A 31-year-old girl saved twelve people from rolling away with a tumbleweed” in news reports. Nope, they would call me a woman if I did anything heroic like that."

I laughed, and then surprisingly, this comment has made me think about that change from girl to woman, a lot. When I go somewhere and forget that I'm bigger than I was even 5 years ago, (I don't mean to belabor the point of my weight guys, I'm not obsessive, much, but it does factor in) and have a little bit more worn face, and inevitably have some kind of branding of motherhood on my clothing, (if not just the clothing alone) and then I hear myself say something cutesy or witty that would be better suited coming from a young, slender, carefree 20-something chick, and see the bewilderment on the 17-year-old kid handing me my change, and suddenly I feel 30. And suddenly that number means something. That is OLD to a 17 year old. It's true, I'm not a girl anymore. It's woman from here on out.

What really gets me is, here I am 30, often sludging through a day with matted hair in a pony-tail, a shower my ultimate goal, kids clinging to my ankles, or trying to kick them (what is that? Suddenly my 3 year old needs to punctuate every statement with a swift kick to my shin? "I want some cheese!" *FWAP*), counting calories, wishing that since somebody else made me fat, someone else could make me skinny, stressing about the balance line on our budget and wondering why Wal-mart a stone's throw away(literally, even if you throw like a girl) has made that balance line impossible to keep in the black, tired, engaging perpetually in household tasks that just undo themselves in a quarter of the time it took to do them, and writing impossibly long run-ons in my blog, that may or may not have a predicate (something I learned in 4th grade, along with the definition of a linking verb---both have taken me far in life).

And old people, as in, over 65 (yes, when I'm 60, that will be young to me too) say, "enjoy these times, they just fly by" and "these are the best years, enjoy them while you can". An older woman said this to me today. She was at the pool, out sunbathing her very tanned and tight body, watching her grandsons (that she gets to return when she's done) swim. I on the other hand was lathered so thickly in layer upon layer of SPF 175, wearing a bathing suit that covered so much, I'd make a flapper look scandalous, and barking at Ben every 20 seconds not to drink the pool water, not to pee in the pool water, then to stay in the water, and not splash it all out of the pool, and not to steal other kids water toys, and then not to spray other kids in the face with the water toys he just stole from them...

Am I just the same 10 year old girl who can't wait to be 11, because we all know what joy the age 11 brings? I don't wish I was older, but I admit, at times I wish my kids were. For example, when Ben's four, all kinds of responsibilities will be shifted. One can't help but to look forward to that. And although it hasn't been openly discussed, I'm sure that soon both Jay and I will be coup d'état-ed because Avery's just about one inch and a couple of gutteral consonant sounds away from putting us out on our weak, sorry, permissive, non-authoritarian-enough batooties. I can see it in her eyes

I do love so much about my life, but I think I'm often living like it's a stage I just need to get through. But maybe that's wrong. If these are in fact the best years, I really should be reveling in that a bit more, wouldn't you think

So, how do you feel about your age? Does losing weight or maintaining a figure and looking good really get harder the older you get? My slender and beautiful 70 year old mother makes that completely unbelievable for me. If you're older, I'd like to know. If you are my age, is how I feel common? If you're younger, why are you reading this blog, surely you have better things to do with your still attractive and youthful self.

Today while I was pilfering through drawers and baskets, looking for nonexistent scotch tape, I came across a picture that left me feeling both sad and very happy at the same time. I was a bit sad for that youthful innocence, and sad that such lovely red hair was ever forced to hold such an unforgivable mullet. And I was happy because, there are good things that come with being 30 and not 7. My mother doesn't cut my hair anymore and I've grown into my teeth.

And a coupla "things" I'm glad to be 30 to have...

Time For Another Meme

2006-05-31T17:18:00.000-07:00

Got this from Code Yellow Mom and while presently, I feel my creative juices (even for basic facts) are dried up, I'm gonna give it a whirl. Also, feel free, if you are a fellow blogger to do this one yourself.

7 Books I Love:
Sarah--OSC
Rebekah--OSC
The Good Earth
The Bean Trees
I do love me some Harry Potter reading
Cold Sassy Tree
Secret Life of Bees

7 Movies I Can Watch Over and Over
The Wedding Singer
Scarlet Pimpernel
Steel Magnolias
The Incredibles
Hitch
My Fair Lady
Sound of Music

7 Things I Say Often
I'll give you five hundred dollars if you....
Do NOT push your sister!
You may not wipe your own butt until you are at least 4!
Are you KIDDING me?
Does this pint of Ben and Jerry's make me look fat?
Oh my gosh could you be any cuter!?
Hi, my name is Angela, I'm a Cancer, this is my son Ben, he's a Gemini---would you and your son be interested in setting up a playdate with us?

7 Things I Love About My Spouse
Great conversationalist
Even better listener
He is muy intell-ee-hin-tay and loves to learn and pursues knowledge
He genuinely likes just about everyone, and even if he doesn't really that much, he is still genuinely kind.
He is responsive
He has running conversations in his head and sometimes forgets they are in his head and comments out loud and then realizes what he's done and doesn't get mad or feel bad when I fall out of my chair laughing
He is innately good at being a husband and father

7 Things I Cannot Do
Lose Weight---back off healthnut exercise fiends, I'll change it!
Get up early and be happy about it
Cartwheels
Yodel
Walk past a container of Ben and Jerry's without buying and partaking
Listen to talk radio without getting agitated
Tolerate elective stupidity
Dive
Be superficial or subject myself to it
Count

Things I Want to Do Before I Die
Lose weight
Yodel
Dive
Meet Ben and Jerry
Parasail
Go on a Cruise
Write a book
Become a psychic and go on Montel
Learn to Count

I Prefer Liposuction, Thank You Very Much

2006-05-30T11:03:00.000-07:00

Before I begin my barrage of thoughts, I'd like to make a comment on comments. Maybe some of you don't know this. Maybe some of you do. My last post elicited 5 phone calls, all with the caller laughing heartily and choking out words like, "cake" and "icing" and "can't breathe" as I said hello. Maybe you are all like me and don't like to laugh alone. I understand. But what I need you to understand is this. The comment section of a blogger's blog is like the inside of a yearbook cover for a 7th grader on the last day of school. An empty one is not acceptable. And she feels dejected and lame and oh-so unpopular. But that doesn't happen. A 7th grader doesn't put herself in that situation and she will walk up to perfect strangers to get those "Hey, I didn't know you well, but I saw you sometimes in Civics and you seem cool" or "Stay sweet, have a great summer, see you next year, lylas!" Well, I draw the line, as a 30 year old woman who is mostly comfortable in her own skin, I'm not gonna crawl. But leave comments for pete's sake. And to make my point clear, from now on I will only be accepting phone calls from comment leavers.

Onward.

My title is what I have been thinking for the last hour or so. I went to the gym with Ben. I took him because I want to instill in him the deep and abiding love that I have for all things exercisely. What I instead gave him was my newly acquired, deep and abiding fear of treadmills. I FELL OFF THE TREADMILL. I really fell off. I didn't stumble, miss a step, catch myself, no sireebob, I fell off. I guess more fittingly, I fell ON it, and it quickly spit me off. Not nearly quickly enough for my wounded pride and bruised....well, this is a family-friendly blog.

It really hurt, and even though I was alone, my eyes of course darted around the room to hastily ascertain who else had seen my unsightly flailing off the 'mill. Only my son. And that will be embarrassing in time. It will undoubtedly come back to haunt me, like letting him pee in the woods and taking him to my 9 month pregnant doctor's examine has. "Treadmiwl? Treadmiwl? My mommy got sucko-punched by one yestowday---I saw four limbs go in 7 diffowent diwections!" I felt some consolation as I scraped my body off the floor and my upper thigh from the tread of the mill as I realized I had just created a blog topic. To make me seem tough in this blog, I got back on the treadmill and finished my "workout". Amidst my racing heart (not yet from the workout, for fear of the blasted machine), and Ben's queries, "Why did you falled mom? Why did you dood that? Why did your mouff go on that black thing, that's (d')susting mom, we don't do that..."

I spent the rest of my workout studying the treadmill trying to figure out how I fell as I did. I didn't figure it out. I didn't make it up. And if this wasn't a family-friendly blog, and if I didn't have some decency, I'd post a picture to prove it. I'm really not a clumsy person either---I have no explanation. When Jay gets home, I'm gonna ask him if we can return this nifty heart rate monitor he just got, and just put the money toward my lipo fund. There has GOT to be a better way.

My House is a Wreck, But the Silence is Flawless

2006-05-27T12:29:00.000-07:00

Jay is swimming with Ben. Avery is soundly sleeping in her rootbeer sodden dress. And I am finally blogging. We have Jay's 14 year old brother staying with us for a few weeks and now computer time is shared between 3 computer-aholics. I also have to be very careful what I write about the said younger brother because in the 3 and a half days he's been here, he has "quoted" me 3 times from my blog. Like when I hauled him into the master bathroom to make him watch the kids while they bathed (ie, free childcare in a contained space) and he said, "Oh yeah, I see what you mean by a terrifically large and almost completely useless master bathroom." I sort of stopped cold. It's very odd hearing yourself quoted like that. I'm gonna try and not talk too much about him. My spouse, children, and random impression-leaving people are fair game, but he didn't ask to be blog fodder, so I won't force him to be. Plus I overheard him say to Jay, "So now that I'm coming to stay with you for a few weeks, Angela's probably gonna blog about me now." Sam, if you're reading this, go get me a Slurpy at 7-Eleven and never you mind what I write about you in my blog.

I have 5 gazillion things I'd like to blather on about, but I'm going to try and control myself. We had a family party in Missouri for Benjamin. One of my friends made Ben's cake. It was amazing. It was a crime to cut into it.

If I were completely internet/picture-posting saavy, combined with verbally succinct, I could post the picture of the "cake" I made for Ben's Texas party today that we had with a couple of friends and two of Jay's cousins here. It would just be so much more amusing to see them side by side. But alas, I'm none of the above so you have to wait a minute to see it.

We have some cute footage here of the 3-year-old showing off his new skill of holding up three fingers (I'm impressed because I was 23 before I mastered that skill). That combined with, "I'm free at last" made for some great party entertainment. I wish I had some pictures of my adorable 4 year old nephew asking me with wide eyes of delight and anticipation, "Is THAT a PINATA". When I told him it was he asked if he could please be the first to hit it. I said yes because that's what you do when you still haven't found a way to hang the pinata and your 1 year old is dumping out the pineapple plate and your birthday boy is peeing down the slide, and your so hot and sweaty and...

I'm quite certain that Avery still thinks my brother is her dad, which is okay for now but could present some social problems if the misperception continues into adulthood. Avery spent most of her time getting people to hold her or chasing various cats and dogs and screeching with delight. She said her first REAL word. I'm calling it real because she uses it in the right context, she'll repeat it, and we all understood it. It is "Cuatica" for Nautica, my brother's gigantic Siberian Husky. I totally could have made that breed name up, but it sounds good, right?

I adore this picture of Avery with Grandpa and a box of raisins.

About today's party. I just couldn't get my act together enough to even remotely plan or prepare for Ben's party. I was really excited about it because it was at a really cool spray/water park in a nearby town---but just the logistics of it all were overwhelming me. Going to Wal-mart at 10 PM to find "anything train" to put on cupcakes is your first clue. When I walked away from the cake department with 8 Spongebob toppers, I knew we were in for a long night.
Finally after looking for ANYTHING train to no avail my friend Amy thought of just doing a giant cookie and putting a little train and tracks on there. Brilliant. So we got a little train toy, a gigantic tube of cookie dough, and headed home. That should be simple, right?

Here's the interesting part of the story. I have icing dye, I have decorating tips, I have black icing in a tube---if you looked in my cupboard, you would think "Now there's a girl who knows how to decorate." Even just a simple, "Happy Birthday Ben" and not much more. You would think that. You would be sorely mistaken. I burned the first cookie. Jay, bless his heart, jumped in the car and got me another one in record time. I did not burn the second one. But by the time it was time to walk out the door, it was not cooled, nor decorated. No problem. I watched my friend Amy effortlessly decorate a gigantic cookie with cute little pink and green "flower" dots with pastel M&M centers. I can write a few measly words and some black lines. Please.

What actually happened was a full on war with a sandwich bag and red frosting. It was all over me, and nowhere it should have been on the cake. After poorly gauging the spacing on the cookie (hereafter to be referred to as the ~~artistic attempt from hell~~ cake), I had to settle for just writing "happy birthday" and not include Ben. What does he care, he's only Free, and won't notice. I step back from my work and groan at random splotches of red icing. I had already conceded that the lettering didn't have to look good, but random splotches, come on now---even Ben's gotta know that ain't right. Jay is standing nearby and either out of kindness and sympathy, or a desperate attempt to salvage any decency, offered to do the train tracks on the cake. I happily surrendered the decorating tools. I walked off muttering to myself about, "just because you have the tools, doesn't make you a craftsman."

I was applying mascara when I heard Jay blurt out something like, "Oh geez!" I didn't care. I can control my mascara brush, I can't control anything else. I finish my makeup (yes, I did say that the cake decorating commenced AFTER it was time to go, so what if I went and put on makeup AFTER that...) and walk back into the kitchen where Jay appears to have hit a bump in the road. Or the tracks. And he is in a bit of a skirmish with a blob of black icing, a butter knife, and his own body's manueverability. If I have laughed that hard ever, I don't know when. Okay, I know when, but I started laughing SO HARD. And I seriously can't stop. This was 4.5 hours ago and I have burst out laughing about 14 times since then. Not just Jay fighting with the cake, but the finished product was just ridiculous.

What's really funny to me though, is in all of my decorating ineptness, I have these incredibly talented friends. It was Amy's idea to put a train on the cake---so we had a topper train on hand.
I mentioned it to Jay and he immediately dropped the butter knife and let out a heavy sigh of relief. Not that a cute toy train was going to stop THIS train wreck, but whatever, we do what we can. I plunked the cute little train on top and we walked out the door.

I was still laughing when we arrived at the park and of course had to explain why. Jay's cousin said, "It looks cute, it's a little weird that the train is stuck in tar, but the rest is cute" That too keeps making me burst out laughing at random times. When Amy, who had conceived of the idea, showed up, she burst out laughing. I'm sure what she had in mind and what we produced were two very, very different things.

I Hesitate

2006-05-24T21:08:00.000-07:00

to give you the forthcoming link because there are some of you who think I am witty and funny and captivating and write well and maybe even articulate; this woman puts me to shame. But that's okay. I am strong enough to let her be better. :) She just posted about Kristin Armstrong's opinion on marriage and such, and well, I just love what she had to say. So go check it out. That's what this entire post is about. I just ended a sentence with a preposition.

I really want to post about my THREE year old and other fascinating tidbits, but my living room is a veritable maelstrom of luggage, laundry, and litter. Yes, I could have said trash, but I must alliterate. My three year old DID discover that by throwing his arms around my neck and burying his face in me and saying, "oh, I just love you" he could get me to stay with him 2 minutes longer at bedtime. He is smart, but don't think I'm not smarter. I know what he was doing. And I ate it up. Oh yeah, and his uncle taught him to say, "I'm three at last, I'm three at last" which of course comes out, "I'm free at last..." I laugh every time he says it. He also has said at least 5 times today, "when I was two" which I think might replace his all-encompassing "yesterday".

Back in the Saddle Sweltering Heat

2006-05-24T08:33:00.000-07:00

I have a couple of things I want to post, but I just came across this website you can do a celebrity match to your face. It's pretty darn hilarious. I'm sure it all depends on what picture you give it to match, but I've been flattered and insulted all at once with just a click of the mouse. This is how I look:

To keep the results "accurate" I put in three different pictures of me and these two came up every time:

The first one is Kylie Minogue (don't know who she is) and the second is Mollie Ringwald. Great big fat newsflash on that one. I've been told that I look like her since I was in pampers. Or at least since Sixteen Candles came out. Turns out though, I had to do a little work to find Ms Pretty In Pink, prettily clothed in any color. Hmmmm.

Anyway, while I don't mind being compared to these two, I must confess, some men made it on the list.

People just can't get past the red hair and squinty eyes. Whatever. One thing I will point out, that might not be readily apparent to the naked eye....these women spend considerably more time on their hair. Ron probably would, but he just can't.

I put in the cutest pictures of Ben and Avery that I could find.
The list of who Ben looks the most like goes: Rachel Bilson, Sophie Marceau, and Bic Runga. All females. The first male listed: Julio Iglesias. And I'm not real up to date on how that man looks, but in the photo they provide, it looks like a drunk, binged out, mug shot.
With Avery it's: James Doohan (trekkies love my daughter probably), Jerry Lee Lewis, Ulysses S Grant, and THEN Shirley Temple.

That's all. It was very fun for me to see that my son looks like an Asian model and my daughter looks like an 1870's United States President. They must get their looks from their Asian-Hispanic-Bearded-19th Century father because we all saw who I look like...

Oops, totally forgot to tell you the site---of course you'll want to see what kind of celebrity hotness you are yourselves!

Living La Vida Loca

2006-05-19T05:45:00.000-07:00

We're off visiting the Grandma's and eating lots of late-night custard.
I'll be back!

Of COOOOUUUUUUUURSE

2006-05-17T09:24:00.000-07:00

Monday morning we went to the park. After about an hour, Ben had to go to the bathroom. I stood and looked as far as the eye could see and there was no visible bathroom. There was a pool that was closed that probably had a bathroom. So I walked over to a little wooded area with Ben's innocent little hand in mine. My mind is racing, debating if I should do this, because I know once this experience is in his head, there's no turning back. In the few moments a child gives you between when they say they have to go, and when they actually go, I just didn't have enough time to think of anything else. I helped him pee in the woods. He giggled uncontrollably the entire time. This was the same park visit that Avery chased down a Hungarian grandmother with a bright red dye job and insisted that she hold her. So while Avery was being tended to by her self-designated nagymama, I took the time to talk to Ben seriously about outside peeing etiquette. He was prying his hands out of mine and craning his neck to look over my shoulder at the new kids who just showed up at the sandbox with sand toys, and was saying, "otay, otay, OTAY!" while I carried on with my superb parenting/teaching methods. I finally let him go and put the whole thing out of my head. It was just a small incident, hes not going to dwell on it, and he certainly isn't going to listen to my lecture on where it's okay to pee standing in a shroud of trees, where he just did.

Today is Wednesday. I have caught him 3 times outside with his pants down. I had to interrupt the writing of this blog to go retrieve him from the neighbor's yard, watering their lawn. I'm not entirely sure how to handle this, but I'm sure we'll figure something out. In the meantime, I hope none of my friendly neighbors get too offended while Ben learns protocol and I learn parenting strategies. After 3 different times of sitting on his bed and thinking about where he should go when he needs to go potty, I heard him outside talking to an older lady walking by to go get her mail. "Howya doin? I'm dood. See ya later!" I think, how cute is that little conversationalist? What I SHOULD have been thinking was, how shameless is that little exhibitionist! He had the entire conversation while communing with Mother Nature in his most natural attire.

ADDENDUM: Ben has left me a nice little suprise on our back porch. This might be too much information but the ensuing conversation MUST be reported.
Exasperated Me:Ben, what am I going to do? Do you need a spank on the bum to stop going to the bathroom outside, it's not okay!
Reasoning, but bare-bottomed Ben: But mom, if you fank me now it will be loud (opposite of soft), so only do it if it's soft
Me: I don't want to spank you at all Ben, but I don't know what to do about this!
Ben: Well, you tan dit a paper towel and pick it up with your hands and put it in the toilet and I can flush it.
Sarcastic Me: Oh, right, that will fix everything won't it?
Delightful Ben: Yep! It sho' does!

Help!?

The ABC's of Me

2006-05-16T18:13:00.000-07:00

So, this is a game in the blogging world. It reminds me of when I first got into the internet, email world and I would get those forwards, "Send this to 432 people in the next 5 minutes and a really cool dancing....oh wait, I can't tell you WHAT will show up, but it will show up and within 5 minutes Bill Gates will call you and ask you to marry him and give you half of his fortune and believe me, my mailman's niece is a lawyer, and she said her boyfriend had this really happen to his aunt" Or the one where you write what time you start and what you are wearing, and answer all these random questions and then at the end you write what time you finished, and if you are still wearing anything. I thought those were so cool and I passed them along to everyone I knew. I soon learned that these emails were more prevalent than thousand dollar bills in Mr. Gate's wallet, and pretty annoying after the 32nd time in two days that you got one in your inbox. Well, I think these memes are cool and I got "tagged" by Traci so I'm gonna do this. Five extra points if you know what a meme is and how to pronounce it. Camille, bring it. Here goes:

ABC Meme
Accent: I do not have one. Unless I'm in another country. And then it's American
Bible book that I like: I really like Talmadge's Jesus the Christ that goes in depth with the New Testament books on Christ's life. Oh wait, what book IN the bible? Probably Esther cuz I LOVE the story of Esther, and Psalms.
Chore I don't care for: This really should be plural, but I'll settle for putting away laundry.
Dog or Cat: Jay and I have a prenup that solely states we will never own animals. I dread the day the kids get wind of the idea that owning them is a choice and start asking. Glad we have that prenup at least...
Essential Electronics: Computer and my hot chocolate maker. Not really. I really have one, and it's really cool, but it's not essential. And I do love a freezer.
Favorite Cologne: I learned recently that Jay didn't think cologne was used to enhance and for other's enjoyment, but to mask, so he's never worn it. I find that entirely amusing and would rather he keep that belief than start wearing scents I like. I don't know any scents by name. I usually end up complimenting someone's deodorant, so I just steer clear of that area all together. I used to love wearing Cool Water and then the scent made me nauseous when I was pregnant with Ben, and my love for it has faded, even though the nausea is gone. Sad.
Gold or Silver: If you're standing in front of me holding it, and it's in a jewelry box, it can be pig's hide and dirt, and I'll love it. Gold for wedding ring, but I do love a classy silver piece.
Handbag I Carry Most Often: Handbag? Handbag?! Handbags are for cute stylish girls who can still match their shoes and earrings and accessorize. I am a utilitarianist that hates baggage. In any form. A backpack is ideal, but even I have come to terms with the fact that at some point you gotta give that up. Oh to leave the house without diapers, wipes, sippy cups, change of clothes, snacks, baggies for poopies, baggies for banana peels...
Insomnia: Only when I'm pregnant and it makes me uncontrollably raging mad. Even the word insomnia makes me grit my teeth.
Job Title: Not feeling creative enough to come up with that.
Kids: 2 A boy and a girl in a tippy-canoe
Living Arrangements: undesirable. My husband stays with the Marriots and Ben invades my bed more frequently than I prefer. Oh, that's sleeping arrangements. I live in a great apartment with a closet converted to a bedroom and a terrifically large and almost completely useless master bathroom.
Most Admirable Trait: I just asked Jay over the phone and he said, "Making others feel comfortable". Could I get anyone some lemonade, perhaps a foot rub? Then he added, "With themselves."
Naughtiest Childhood Behavior: Well, as long as you all are clear that this was my CHILDHOOD and in my PAST and that I do have some excuse in being a redhead, I had a horrible mouth that said things I always immediately regretted, but could never retract or even stop from following up on if the instigator stuck around.
Overnight Hospital Stays: Two babies, and an ER admit that turned into gall bladder surgery. I never loved a hospital or morphine more than that night.
Phobias: cacophobia, ablutophobia, alektorophobia, coprastasophobia, soceraphobia, geniophobia, and arachibutyrophobia. These are only what's been DIAGNOSED.
Quote: "There's a saying in Missouri, if you don't like the weather just wait five minutes. In Blaine, with hard work, I think we can get that down to three or four minutes." Waiting For Guffman
Religion: LDS
Siblings: 6 brothers, 2 sisters
Time I Wake Up: When I hear Avery singing from her crib, or grunting as she tries to scale the sides of it. Or when I hear Ben whisper, "It feels like my eyes are open, tan I dit up?"
Unusual Talent or Skill: See, these are the kinds of things that make me feel like a dolt. I can't think of even a USUAL talent or skill.
Vegetable I Refuse to Eat: I really love vegetables but I really don't like celery. In any form.
Worst Habit: You know, I don't really have any bad habits. But maybe my husband or former roommates or siblings would be better able to answer this one. I may do a lot of bad things, but not really habitually.
X-rays: I've had a few. I fell down my marble stairs outside my studio apartment when I was 25. I was mopping them because I thought if I cleaned the stairwell really well, I wouldn't smell Smelly Fat Man all the time, but instead I just dislocated my tailbone and chipped my elbow. I had the imprint of stairs on my back and walked tilted to the side to accommodate my displaced tailbone until I had it fixed. When I had an x-ray done on my arm, the dr asked me if I was raised on a farm. When I asked why he thought that (I was not, by the way) he said because people who do hard manual labor when they are young tend to have larger bones, so basically he was wondering how a nice girl like me got big bones. He then showed me the x-rays of a small man and my bones were only slightly smaller. I might have been offended if it wasn't just plain, indisputable fact.
Yummy Stuff I cook: Oh, do we have to go here? I'm not that great of a cook. It's not bad, but it's hardly characterized as yummy. I make a mean ice cream cone, and a killer frozen daiquiri.
Zoo animal I Like Most: When I go to the zoo, I don't care if I see nothing else, if I see the monkeys. They are thoroughly entertaining to me. And so relatable...

Well, to keep in the spirit of this game, I tag Analiese. Tag, your turn to meme!

Nature VS Nurture

2006-05-15T06:56:00.000-07:00

This is a topic that periodically crosses my mind. While earning my undergraduate in Psychology, it was a topic that was frequently discussed in my classes. As far as behavior and other debatable psychological issues go, I'm a fence sitter on whether something is born of genetics or nurtured through environment.

Now that I am married, and we've produced little offspring, the topic fascinates me even more. I find myself frequently wondering if one of my children's behavior is learned or just they way they're born.

When Jay and I were first married we lived in a little studio apartment in St. Louis. It was a charming, but tiny apartment. But that doesn't matter with newlyweds, right? One thing about living in such a small space is that you notice everything the other is doing or has done. One day early into our wedded bliss, I opened the refrigerator and found a bowl of white-grey sludge with a spoon stuck in it. I thought to myself, "hmm, I never knew Jay was the scientific experimenting kind of guy. Clearly he is performing some type of experiment here; there is no other explanation for this sludge in our fridge." Well, along comes Jay who sees the refrigerator open and sees the bowl, and before I can ask what type of experiment he's performing, he picks it up and finishes his cereal from 2 or 3 hours before. He eats in stages. I didn't yet know this about my dear husband. And it doesn't matter WHAT it is, he'll stop eating something when he gets full (novel concept) and will return to it when he's not so full. Ice cream (left out, mind you), hot soup, cold cereal, lumpy oatmeal....you name it, he's not above leaving and returning.

Well Ben does the same. Namely with cold cereal. He can nurse a bowl of mini shredded wheat for the entire morning. It's more than I can handle visibly. But I fall into the curse of motherhood where you get so desperate for your child to eat something besides fruit snacks and goldfish crackers, you let whatever "healthy" eating occurs, happen. No mind to its temperature, consistency, or vomit-like appearance.

Lately Avery has started showing her appreciation for yummy tasting food with a well-placed and emphatic "mmmmmm!" It's absolutely darling. And it's absolutely her mother. I am a verbal appreciator of food. I can be heard to say to Jay, "If this isn't the best thing you have ever tasted, don't eat it because I believe it is the best thing I've ever tasted and I don't want it wasted on a non-believer". Okay, I say something a little different, but my mother and mother-in-law read this blog. It's not to say Jay doesn't appreciate some foods, but I'm sure that Avery's expression at such an early age is "nature", and it is from me.

Lest you think all we do around here in our house is eat, here are some other behaviors. Learned, or just born that way? See if you can guess from which parent they get some of these traits, if either. Some of these traits are throwbacks from other relatives.

-------Both children take off running when they hear an authoritative "Okay kids, lets..."
-------Ben sings loudly and off key along with the hymns at church
-------Avery sings loudly on key
-------Both of their lyrics are unintelligible
-------Ben gleefully exclaims "I'm so happy that _____" about things like, new underwear, me returning from the store, bottles of Propel in the refrigerator. Jay's mom has a tape of him when he's only 5 talking about the new roller skates he got for his birthday. He exuberantly lists all the things he can do on them, like "jump, turn, stop..." and then he exclaims with the same kind of glee, "I can't believe all the things I can do!!" It's absolutely priceless. We say that phrase a lot around here.
-------When Ben is hungry or tired he turns into a completely different child/person.
-------When Avery's tired she gets snuggly, adorable, and just wants to be held
-------Ben loves to converse with ANYONE and says things like, "So, how do you like that red Gatorade?"
-------As I was typing this, Ben said, "I'm so happy you said, 'YES BEN YOU TAN HAVE A SNACK!!!' “Ben ALWAYS quotes me as yelling, no matter what I say or how I say it.
-------Ben can happily subsist completely on snack foods
-------Avery can eat her brother under the table
-------If you tell Avery to stop doing something or "no-no" she yells or cries and has to have the last word. It's none of your business from whom she acquired this trait
-------If you tell Ben no, mostly he says, "Otay" or "why" and moves on
-------Ben likes to clean
-------Ben has the memory of an elephant
-------Avery will always go to the highest bidder when she wants to be held. Today it was a Hungarian Grandmother at the park who had two nerf balls in her hands.

Well, I guess I could really keep going but somebody is turning into a different child and I WILL have the last word in this battle...

My Friend Oprah

2006-05-13T09:35:00.000-07:00

Last week I sent Ben over to borrow some eggs from our neighbor. Later that day he really wanted to go over and play with her boys and instead of saying as much, went over to their house and asked to borrow more eggs. Unbeknownst to me. So their 6 year old shows up in my kitchen holding a carton of eggs, with their three remaining eggs. He says, "You can just have the rest, it's okay, really." I could NOT convince him that I didn't need the eggs. Ben stood there smugly because he had successfully lured a friend into our home.

But that is neither here nor there. Today I want to talk about Oprah. Most of you who read this know that I went to the Oprah show in February. Most of you know because in my jubilance of making the Oprah audience team, I wrote a poem. Although the emotions and expectations surrounding the poem writing have dissipated, my pride for my poetry-writing prowess has not. And so I'm posting it. Skip to the end if you must....

The Oprah Show
I was perusing the Oprah website,
As I am periodically known to do
Checking to see what was showing today
Since 4 o’clock seems to come so soon.

Would it be a rerun with a desperate housewife,
Mowing her lawn in a bra
Or an interview with Tim or Phil
Either one of those hottie McGraws

I could be persuaded by a specialist
Showing us our innards laid out
“This is what McDonalds biweekly will do”
With a name like Oz, he’s got clout.

Will it be tragedy or triumph
Today for my 4 o’clock routine
Will I be motivated to get in shape
Or enthralled by Lisa Marie?

And there on the site whilst checking the schedule
I saw what appeared an insignificant link
“E-mail for Last-Minute Reservations”
So I did, in indelible-cyber-ink.

Fast-forward the next day at noon
I’m on the phone with my friend
Call-waiting clicks stating “Harpo Inc”
And I frenziedly hang up on Jen.

Well, it was “Julie from Audience” calling,
They got the email I sent.
Two seats in Oprah’s audience were mine,
If I could show up looking half decent.

Well, the rest of the afternoon was a blur
As I called my family, friends and Jay
Telling them my news happily,
Just to see what each had to say.

I imagined I’d have a choice on who to take,
That I might “earn” lots of kindness, without question
But apparently blood IS thicker than water
And my sister eased me of this misimpression.

So in two weeks we are headed to Chicago
For a one day trip without kids
Truth be told, I’d go see anything
For a one day trip without kids!

Between now and then I have lots to do
The perfect outfit, I really must find
Something to slim, lift and separate
Is particularly what I have in mind.

And of course I will constantly be thinking
Of something appropriate to my age
Some way, some how, SOMETHING
That will get me up on that stage!!!

I can rise to the occasion when occasion requires, but I'm not a real prolific poetry writer like my blogging friend Shelah or this totally unique and very entertaining Midwestern Poet. But as I reread this poem, a part of my heart aches for that naive joy I felt, that uninhibited zeal, those sad, sad, unrealistic expectations of Oprah.

Now, don't get me wrong, I wasn't disappointed because I didn't get a car, or her favorite things show (which by the way, I cannot watch AT ALL because I turn into this malcontent, coveting wretch) or even so much an interview with Bon Jovi (it's a sick, unexplainable kind of love, don't ask) or Tom Hanks. I was excited to be doing something new and something a lot of people didn't get a chance to. And I'd never really "met" or been in that close of proximity to a star. Plus I'd never been to Chicago and doing a little trip like that with my sister was just ideal.

Well, everyone knew I was going, but I scarcely followed up with details when I got back. Because I was let down. I've probably watched the Oprah show 5 times, and none of them in its entirity, since I went in February. Here's how I described it to my sister in an email...

The Oprah Show itself was a bit of a let down. We waited for nearly 4 hours because she decided to squeeze in an extra taping between her first show and our show (she normally does 2 a day). Not only did that add to our wait time, it was super obnoxious because we had to be very quiet for an hour or so of it because the studio was right next to where we waited. Oprah the billionaire can't get a sound proof studio and a waiting room big enough to accommodate her guests. She had probably 300 guests and only room enough for 250 of them. The other 50 people literally stood in the aisles, hovering over the seated guests. We had cards with numbers on them and thought we would get to file into the seats, based on those numbers, we were told that as well. The atmosphere was a bit too much for me. A bunch of women, all dressed to the nines, hoping or thinking they looked better than anyone else there. I was about to lose my mind in that environment, combined with 70 year old Joanne yelling in my ear every 7 and half minutes for everyone to be quiet. So, after getting there early, and clinging to our numbers thinking they would get us good seats in the studio, they called about half of the audience out early as "VIPs" which I started noticing meant, "Dressed really stylish and much more attractive than the majority" but dismissed it. Then when we finally got in, it wasn't "oh this crowd fill this section" it was "how many are there of you? Oh there's 3 of you and you all look quite nice, come right down here. And you there, with the hair lip and your friend with the goiter, go ahead on up there, behind that column." Sadly, my excess weight, combined with Sara's got us seats in the rafters. Then when we were settled, and coming to terms with our unattractiveness and not-quite-stylish-enough clothes, a member of the audience department leans over two older (and also not Oprah-classified-attractive) woman to a very attractive, young, tall, olive-skinned woman, in the MIDDLE OF THE ROW and asked if she could please leave her seat in the middle of the show if at any time a seat up in the ATTRACTIVE SECTION was vacated. At that point I was incensed. But what kind of clout do fat redheads in rafters have?

The taping was of Part 4 of the Debt Diet. Oprah was tired, and the topic was boring to her, and obviously not one she relates to. As a result, we got NO interaction or acknowledgement from her. Even a Miss America wave would have sufficed, but she had places to go, people to see. Plus I was in the nosebleed section, so honestly, even if she DID wave, I'm not sure I would have seen it. I was disappointed by the seating protocol. I was disappointed by the "pep" talk we got beforehand that assured us we were the greatest most valued Oprah audience to ever step foot into Harpo studios, and I was disappointed that "embellished" reactions were encouraged. Now when I watch the show I see all the gasps of surprise and bursts of laughter and ooohs of admiration as forced---as they may well be. I held true to myself and didn't laugh once if I didn't think it was funny. I did gasp and mutter my contempt for such indulgence when they showed the teenage girl with 73 t-shirts in her closet. But that is IT. I won't be bought so cheaply.

I would have slapped my knee loudly and guffawed heartily for a new car though.

So, I watched Oprah the other day when it had Lance Armstrong's ex-wife on there. She seemed very well put together and I liked her. But something Oprah did infuriated me. And I had to compose another letter for my friend (one-sided as it may be) Oprah. Here's what happened.Kristin Armstrong's marriage to Lance failed because she says she "lost herself". She was smart, educated, successful, and independent, owned a home, dog, car, and had a great job. She met Lance and left her job, sold her house, gave up her dog, and moved to France with him and had three kids fairly quickly. She said marriage is the biggest conspiracy. It may be for some. For me, pregnancy and North Dakota are still the biggest conspiracies. She goes on to say how she lost herself and how that wasn't good for her or her marriage. Then Oprah suddenly jumps in and says, "Oh yes! That's why I've never gotten married!"
PUHHHHHHHLEASE!
I know that we all have better things to do than to criticize some TV celebrity, but Oprah is intelligent, and influential and that comment infuriated me. Some mindless woman watching will take this as her cue to disregard her vows, and "find" herself, or some “independent” woman watching will take it as her cue to never marry because she can’t bear to "lose" herself. I am educated, independent, and successful in my personal endeavors and was all of that BEFORE I met my husband. I have become MORE that since marrying him. He helps me cut the crap, improve the good stuff, raise our children, eliminate bad habits, pursue good ones, reach my goals, and be so much more than I can be alone. It's not MARRIAGE that makes the woman lose herself, nor the husband, it's the woman. There are already so many screwed up ideas about marriage and disregard for its sanctity, it saddens me that Oprah contributes to it on her show. Maybe she'll let me pick her next book for book club.

Today I Have a Goal

2006-05-12T10:25:00.000-07:00

It is to write a short post. I don't now why my posts are so blasted long. I think I'm fascinating, so I can make my way to the end, but bless you faithful readers who might not be as in love with me as I am with myself, and still make it to the end. And bless more the ones who leave comments. I will remember you when I win the lottery.
Have a nice day.

Waxing all Nostalgic

2006-05-11T06:50:00.000-07:00

Ben is really into singing lately. Suddenly all the songs I sang to him since birth, are coming out of him. My latest favorite thing that he does is try to sing along with the theme songs from various PBS shows. He knows a couple, has a hard time keeping up with the speed of them, but others, he doesn't know at all and has no problem trying to sing along. So it turns into this loud, sing-songy, burble. Which is something that I have enjoyed entirely, since my youth.

In high school, I had a friend who desperately wanted to have more in common with me than another friend. I'm not just saying, that, there was actually a 4 day fight, complete with folded notes to support this claim, of who was a better friend with more in common. I was a goddess among my peers. I still vividly remember sitting at the cafeteria table and a song came on the jukebox (yes, in Independence Missouri, we had a "jukebox" in our cafeteria. It came complete with weekly letters to the school paper from the "cowboys" that not enough country was played to represent, and objections from the "freaks" that Metallica wasn't blasted often enough). I exclaimed how I loved this song and started singing along. She immediately chimed in that she loved it too and started "singing" along. It was much like Ben's attempts to sing along with the sloth from Big Big World. She always nailed the last word, and did so with gusto. To this day, I enjoy such performances immensely.

The stages of our lives are marked by songs of the time. Many of them we can still feel how we felt the first time we heard them. What is it about music that can prompt such intense feelings of nostalgia? One strain of Eric Carmen suggesting I turn my radio up and it Makes Me Lose Control. I'm back at 17, the weather is always perfect and my spirits are high. George Strait Crossing his Heart and promising too, takes me back to my greasy job at Pizza Hut where the pay was low and the pick-up lines were lower, but I didn't have a car payment, or a weight problem, or $3 gas, or guilt about whether I'm doing enough because I was FABULOUS. I'd give anything on some days for Jon Bon Jovi to lay me down in a Bed of Roses. That has nothing to do with music nostalgia, I'd really just like that.

So, I've thought of a few songs that mark different stages in my life.
My first year of college I decided to research Neil Diamond, my sister had always loved him and I wanted to see what all the fuss was. I discovered quickly. That sexy low-voice of Sweet Caroline fame won me over almost immediately. It was a double bonus that he sang my favorite UB40 song, long before they did. Who knew? I went to the library the last few weeks of my freshman year and brought home like 7 Neil Diamond CDs and listened to them all in one day. To this day, any Neil Diamond song takes me back to that ranch house basement apartment that helped create so many fond memories. I also listened to Air Supply Makin' Love outta nothin' at all like 72 thousand times in a period of a month. I still love that song. I often sound like Ben when I try to sing along cuz some of those words just don't make sense. Freshman year of college is where I met one of my dearest friends and so those songs take me back to a happy place where a cherished friendship began. She wasn't necessarily involved in all this marathon music listening, but the two are inextricably connected in my mind.

I first heard Celine Dion's Because You Loved Me on my mission. For some reason, that song moved me. We weren't supposed to listen to the radio, but one naughty day driving around in a minivan someone turned it on and that song was on. I begged to leave it playing. I was unaware of the new technology of putting radio controls in the back of vans and the girls in the back had a blast at my expense. My Aussie friend started messing with the tuner and the volume, and after switching it back 2 or 3 times I wondered aloud what was wrong with the radio. Analiese suggested it was a sign from God and I couldn't explain it, so I fell for it and turned it off. She kept a straight face for quite some time; but lost it when I became visibly distressed by this sign that God didn't want me listening to Celine on my mission. That song can still take me back to those days of strict discipline and pining for a "forbidden" song, and how much fun we could have with just the simplest thing.

James Taylor---reminds me of my brother Jonathan
DMX Up In Here---reminds me of my roommate Fanua, she said I brought whole new meaning to that song when I sang it. I only know the refrain.
Belinda Carlisle brings back all my teen angst.
Nobody by Sylvia reminds me of my sister Sara because 20 years later, we can still belt it word for word on command. Nobody ever actually commands it though. Your loss folks.
Any 2000-2003 good country song reminds me of my friend Dawn. I don't know why Dawn, they just do. We used to decipher strange lyrics for each other. I was once completely stumped by Kenny Chesney's "In our rock and roll t-shirts and our tipping at the bat at the youth" Dawn kindly informed it was "In our rock and roll t-shirts and our typically bad attitudes". That's what friends are for.
And the song that still melts my heart and just makes me feel everything is as it should be, no matter where I am in life, Shawn Colvin's "Never Saw Blue Like That".
The first time Jay reached over and took my hand, the words of that song flooded my mind. If there were ever a movie about me and Julianne Moore is me and Noah Wyle is Jay and they play this scene at a church fireside and both our moms are just a few seats away and he subtly, gently, and naturally takes my hand in his, we'll hear....And it feels like now, And it feels always, And it feels like coming home...
It still does.

Memories and A Photo Shoot

2006-05-09T09:12:00.000-07:00

I have until the last chorus of Barney's "I Love You" song to blog. About two strains into Jay Jay, where we buckle up tight for a magical flight, Avery gets bored and wanders off for bigger and better things. I am both bigger, and better. If I type very quietly, maybe she won't find me. I come from a family of loud typists though, so that's probably not going to happen. Today's post was intended to be about a conversation I had with Ben yesterday. I took a reenacted picture of it this morning for purposes of captivating my audience and...well then it just turned into this adorable little episode of Avery posing for the camera and then a not so adorable pushing fight of who got to have their picture taken next. And yes it was a fight; Avery was pushing just as much. She was the first pusher.

Anyway, here goes. Yesterday I was standing at the bathroom sink brushing or flossing or applying or plucking and Ben came and stood next to me with a small pillow on top of his head. Not unusual, by any means.
See, it wasn't a contrived reenactment, totally appropriate.

He then begins an entire recount of something that I can't figure out, but is VERY detailed and specific. It goes something like this. "Remember when Daddy wore this hat and a black shirt and orange at the station in his red car upstairs?" He repeated several of those details; and based on past experience with this kid's insanely accurate and elephant-like memory, I was going way back in my mind to recall what he was talking about. Jay was nearby and I asked him if he knew what Ben was talking about. He did not. Ben kept repeating these details, with my encouragement because I was determined to make MY good memory work. He puts me to shame. I even started thinking of things Jay wore or did BEFORE Ben was born. Maybe he was looking down from heaven and recalling that. I'm not kidding, I was that desperate to recall and not be memory-upped by this little pachyderm brain. THEN he said something that suddenly brought it to my mind. I can't even remember what he said, but I suddenly realized the pillow "hat" on his head was Jay's black mortarboard, his "black shirt" was his black gown, and the "orange" was his golden tassel tassle hanging from his cap. The station was the building his graduation was held in, which he did drive himself to in his red car, and after walking down the aisle, he went up about 5 stairs onto a stage to receive his diploma. This was 13 months ago, when Benjamin was not quite 2. And not really talking either. Yeah, the kid's memory amazes me. My sister said, "Oh, I'm glad he's yours not mine!" and I said, "Whatever, I'm capitalizing on this for sure!" I'm not joking. We can teach him some obscure and meaningless lists of things to memorize and Letterman, HERE WE COME.

So, as I'm taking Ben's photo for this, Avery comes along and shoves him out of the way and starts chirping orders at me, complete with hand gestures. I'm sure she intended to be barking the orders, but she just has this tiny girly voice. I obliged.
Tell me this child isn't intended for the spotlight.

I remind you, she's THIRTEEN MONTHS OLD.

Yesterday Jay plunked Avery on top of my big ol' exercise ball. She loved it and hung out there for nearly half an hour before she got plucked off to go to bed. I put her back on this morning to snap a shot of it, while Ben not so securely, held the ball still.

The wobbling and almost falling off made her laugh hysterically. I only wish that with this picture you could hear her shrieks of laughter that resembled a 1980 Chevy Citation trying to start in the dead of winter. Even Ben noted, "That sounds funny how she laughs."

Ben has started to back-talk a little. I ask him to do something and he says, "No. You do it!" He did it a few times last night and then again this morning. I said to him, "Ben, that's back-talking, and I don't like it..." He looked at me with his face all screwed up, because the face needs to do that to try and straighten out the screwed up statement that just went through his ears, and he says in a you-don't-make-no-sense-t'all tone of voice, "It's bag tacos ?" Yes Ben, I'm the one with the speech impediment.

We are sick sick people around here

2006-05-07T15:29:00.000-07:00

First it was Ben with the spots, then Avery with the whining, then spots, now cough, and now it's Jay, with the whining, oh wait, I mean, he's just sick. He's really sick. Usually when he's sick, I forget he is because he just acts normal. When I'M sick, everyone within a 10 mile radius knows, and many many others who are further but can be reached by phone. So, when Jay mentions more than once he doesn't feel right, I'm imagining all sorts of horrible things being wrong. He says it's only the flu. It just looks different on me.

Really all it means is I have to clean up the dinner mess all by myself. I would leave it for when Jay is feeling better, but he's going out of town again tomorrow.

At dinner Ben said, very vegetarianistically "I don't like meat." I said, "since when?" and he said, "In five minutes."

I spilled all our leftovers as I was putting them away in the fridge.

I sent a couple of pieces of roast over to my neighbor's house (before I dropped it all on the floor) with Ben and found him 10 minutes later stomping through the mud, clinging to a kickball, and barely still holding the ziplock of roast. You can't trust a 2 year old to run your errands like you used to.

I stepped outside my back door a couple of days ago, when Avery was in the throes of not feeling well and this is what I found:

Avery is so my child. She found the first willing participant and flopped herself back to be held and coddled. I don't get to do much flopping these days, but I do dream.
Did I mention I spilled all the leftovers from dinner as I was putting them into the fridge?

I'm looking into paid vacation benefits for stay-at-home-moms. Do you know how long you have to work at this job before you get any?

This Evening

2006-05-04T17:00:00.000-07:00

I came home to three Mexicans in my bathroom. Betcha never had that happen to you! Apparently my AC is broken, and if you're ever asked, it takes 3 to fix it. Here's the breakdown: One to do the work and two to keep him company.
While they worked and chatted in rhythmic spanish, I enjoyed a most delicious bowl of Vietnamese soup. It was a virtual melting pot in my little home. When I first came home and saw three of them in the little bathroom, talking and laughing, I thought I was funny when I asked them if they were having a fiesta in my bano. They didn't laugh as much as me, but maybe's it's because they didn't understand me. Or maybe I said siesta not fiesta...
Later while I was eating my most delicious soup, Jay called. I jumped up from the table and said, "I'll get it" and laughed quite heartily at myself. Again, they didn't laugh. Oh hum, at least I'm being entertained.

Kinko's, How Careful Art Thine Hiring Process

2006-05-04T10:34:00.000-07:00

Today I took my kids to Kinko's. To laminate some papers. And trim them. What was I thinking? They were actually very well behaved, all things considered. The "worst" thing Avery did was walk circles around the copy machines with her screech of glee erupting every 7 seconds or so. Probably not what the other patrons of the copy center had counted on while they collated and copied. Ben's biggest offense was talking very loudly (which he does all the time) and taking Mother's Day cards off the display and "reading" them. Loudly. First I had to stand at the counter for 10 minutes while I watched 7, I repeat SEVEN employees mill around the inner sanctum of the counter, ignoring me. At least 4 of them were not actively involved in a task. It was a woman from the back, returning from a break, who finally helped me.

When I made my way over to the laminating machine, a nice older gentlemen who was there making copies, quickly relieved me of my bundle of papers and freed up my arms to plop Avery in front of the lego table right next to me. He then enticed Benjamin with the green copy button and let Ben "help" him make copies. It was so sweet and Ben felt like the quintessential helper when they were done.

Laminating took a little longer than I thought and while my kids remained very well behaved, I did have to intercept Avery from one of her screeching loops of joy, and this was the conversation Ben was having with his lego men. "How are you today!? It's very nice to meet you. I have to doe wead a blog. Do you want to wead a blog? Okay, I'm donna doe wead a blog!" Must ALL my business be broadcast loudly wherever we go, just because my son can talk now? I actually couldn't believe he was saying blog, and wasn't even sure until he repeated it the third time.

Another elderly gentlemen sitting just a few feet from the paper cutter I had moved on to, got pretty upset about something. He was taking it out on the one Kinko employee who had been helpful to me. He dropped a couple of certain lettered bombs, and spoke of male cow excriment in response to anything the Kinko employee said. He had a naughty mouth. I didn't know old people talked like that. I quickly scurried away with my kids for an interlude at the collating and binding area. Mostly because of Ben's habit of talking loudly and repeating everything he hears.

Ben remembered the gelato shop next to Kinko's from the one time we went there TWO MONTHS ago after Fedexing something to Jay. I had naively gone in there with Ben because I feel it important to explore all the cultural delicacies. Particularly those of the ice cream variety. So the last 10 minutes, Avery was making me hold her while I slid the large paper cutter down the board, Ben was loudly trying to make me "amember" the ice cream store so we could go again, the laminating machine had made me sweat, I was jumpy about the swearing senior returning before I was done, and I had to return to the Counter of Unhelpfulness. This time after only a 5 minute wait (I think Ben's loud reading of cards and Avery's discontent yells attracted attention faster) a man came to help me. We'll call him Jim. Because that's what his nametag said. He too was an older man. I think I may have been interrupting his smoke break. All I wanted was my pages bound together. Having done it myself a million times in college, I knew the process took about 3 minutes tops. He asked me when I wanted it done by. That question kind of caught me off guard because, surely he wasn't expecting me to say, "Well, it's 11:53, how does 11:56 sound to you?" So in hopes of encouraging a response like, "Let me go give this to 1 of the 6 people behind me who aren't doing anything and you can leave with it and not have to drag both your kids back in 2 or 3 hours for a 3 minutes job" I said, "As soon as possible please." And then folks, I kid you not, I got attitude from him. Right now, it's hilarious to me. In the moment, words like shocked, taken aback, dumbfounded more aptly described the moment. He did that shrug, combined with sort of thrusting your upper body forward that says, "Well WHAT!?" I am happy to state that I did not say, "Dude, YOU are the employee, I am the customer, YOU know how long a job like this will take, YOU know what time 'as soon as possible' means on the type of schedule you all keep around here, since you are clearly not going to make any effort to be efficient and do it as soon as what SHOULD be possible, then I'm gonna have to wait for you to tell ME what time 'as soon as possible is'." No siree, I politely said, "How about you tell me when that would be, and I'll come pick it up then."

He said 2 pm. But it's 4:05 and I haven't gone in yet. I'll show them.

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery

2006-05-02T08:02:00.000-07:00

And Benjamin sincerely loves the maintenance men. He has been imitating cleaning since before he could walk. When I'd wipe his face down with a cloth, after eating--he would snatch the cloth from me and begin an intense ritual of wiping down his highchair. For one brief period of a few days, at about 16 months we watched him use a paper towel to wipe down our dressers in our room, intermittent with "blowing" his nose into the paper towel. Not sure who or what he was imitating there, but it was funny to watch.

This morning at breakfast Ben bolted from the table upon hearing the lawn mower outside our window. Before I could even realize what he was doing, he was out in the yard, following behind the maintenance guy, with his little plastic mower. I didn't stop him because it was so darn adorable, and because I wasn't wearing anything "outside appropriate". Upon his return to his bowl of cheerios he informed me that next time we go to the "stoh" we need to get a blower.

I have been trying to imitate a real adult. I'm not sure yet if it's for me. But I decided that since Avery was bee-lining to the computer when she first woke up, and knows how to maneuver a mouse well enough to open 57 windows of Mozilla and can rearrange our entire desktop in one click, maybe I should spend less time at the computer. I am trying to imitate those skinny women with boundless energy who say seemingly insane things like, "Oh, I just need a good 7 mile run, that'll make everything better" or "No thanks, I don't want that hot, gooey, triple chocolate brownie, I had some wheat germ souffle before I came here."

In addition to maintenance men, Ben is imitating a leper. He got a high fever over the weekend with what appeared to be no other symptoms. I always forget that Benjamin is not a complainer. Never has been. Avery makes up for that in complaining about things like which hand I use to open a door (true story). Anyway, he could have had a headache or sore throat, but he never said as much. Then yesterday he broke out in spots, or "fots" all over his face and then in strange places on his body. His spirits have remained high, but he has to be quarantined for a few days since it's a highly contagious virus (sorry Avery, your next). When I told him he couldn't go to his friend's house he said, "I'm not sick, I went to the doctor!" On Sunday when I told him he couldn't have candy because he was sick and needed healthy food he said, "I'm not sick, I took medicine." The kid's a believer, you gotta give him that!
Here's Ben's rash:

And granted, Avery was only 4 months old, but look at the difference in expressions when she had a rash:

As long as my kids are learning, they will be imitating. The interesting thing about them imitating, is that I'm learning a lot too. I have learned that I say some pretty sweet things to my kids, even without realizing it. Ben greets Avery in her crib after waking from a nap, "Hello love, you look beautiful and I'm so happy to see you!" I've learned that I'm a computer-aholic. See above. I've learned that my husband says random things to Ben on PURPOSE, because of this imitation thing. The other night while changing Ben into his pajamas, Ben tried to dress without putting on underwear first. Jay's response was, "Wait Ben, you have to put on your underwear first, everyone wears underwear under their pajamas. Except for maybe Mongolians." Of course, the topic of Mongolians and underwear IS going to come up sometime in the future. I just hope he's with Jay when it does.
I apologize if I have offended any Mongolians with this story.

What Am I Thinking!?

2006-04-28T12:48:00.000-07:00

Not posting for so many days!? It's been a crazy week, but I also haven't felt very blogose.
However, I have some great news. We are now officially only buying one size of diapers. Ben just suddenly decided it was time. I kept being hesitant in believing he was trained, but I think the true proof is in when he stops to go to the bathroom while playing outside, and at restuarants, and in the play area at the mall. Or when he says to a van full of older kids and adults, "Everybody here goes poop and pee in the toilet now!" Or when he pushes the trashcan in the bathroom at McDonalds over to the sink so he can wash his hands, because his mom is busy chatting and doesn't even realize he's left the play structure to go to the bathroom. Yeah, I think it's safe to say he's trained.

I watched my friend's little 16 month old daughter all day Tuesday. We went over there since I vainly thought my kids would sleep anywhere, and better to keep the little girl in her element and let my kids adjust. Avery spent the entire attempted hour of nap singing, crying, with intermittent yelling that I am certain she was calling me names, and was undoubtedly saying, "are you kidding me lady? This is NOT my bed, NOT my dark closet, and you will NOT be bragging about my sleeping versitility to anyone." Break for song. What I was interested to learn was that my precious little peanut is not only michevious, but a little bit of an antagonizer. Sweet little, twice her size, 16 month old Reagan tolerated Avery's tyranting, then decided she need to let others know about it, and then finally started to hold her own with my little princess bully. I don't think Avery is innately a bully, I think she's just learned certain behaviors from Ben. Or so I will tell myself.

In the meantime, I am grateful to not have stairs in my house. I could not keep her off the stairs and she booked up them in record time, as though to get as much stair climbing under her belt as possible, before I snatched her away to "safety". Inititally I had a lot of patience with her fascination with the stairs. That was until I saw her dart off from the play area to the stairs, stop just in front of them and look back to see if I was coming after her. I didn't let her see me watching her, and she just waited, peeking her head around the bend to see if I was coming. After watching her peer around the corner at me for a minute or so, taunting me with her little dimpled legs set to zip off at moment's notice, I got up. Then and only then, did she dart up the stairs. I imagine she had some thought process like this, "Okay, okay, Oprah's on, the kids are playing loudly, mom's definitely not going to notice, on 3 I'm making a break for it. One...twooooo......THREE! Run Avery, run, you can do it! Fyoosh, I made it without her saying anything. Okay, now I'm here, let's see, I wonder how far up these stairs I could get before she grabs me. Hmm, I think I'll make this interesting, I'll even wait until she sees me and then I'll dash---that will be the real challenge. Just propelling my 27 inch body up these stairs at lightening speed for kicks is getting boring. Oh! Here she comes.... AHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!!!!"

Jay has been home all week, but will resume his rigorous schedule of traveling next week. He's actually been working from home for the last two days and I'm one of those people you give an inch, I'll take the entire distance of Texas. "Hey Jay, the baby is sleeping, would it be okay if I just take Ben and run to the bank, I'll be back in five minutes?" An hour and a half later, I call from Target, "Could you debone and skin the chicken on the counter, cut up some potatos and season them with that marinade, the recipe for the marinade is in the recipe box and you'll have to actually churn the butter for the marinade because it's just better that way. Oh yeah, and there are two half finished thank-you notes on the counter, could you finish writing them and walk them to the mailbox? Make sure Avery's diaper is changed and she's had 2 servings of veggies and 1 protein and at least 3 oz of water. I'll be home soon, kiss kiss!"
Maybe Jay LIKES traveling.

I got an exercise ball and a video called "Core Secrets" and did it the other day. I was on the gigantic exercise ball and Ben did the exercises right alongside me on his oversized purple ball from Wal-mart. I loved exercising with Ben. For the first time in all the times I have worked out with someone, I was the more coordinated one. Anyway, it was an awesome workout. Relatively easy, as far as manuevering, but quite a work-out, muscularly. I think Jay secretly rolled his eyes (in his head) when I said how sore I was the next day, because he saw me doing parts of the workout, and it LOOKS really easy. He did it TWO days ago and guess who can hardly haul his hind end off the computer chair without loud groans of "agony"? Yep. Love that validation.

What do you think?

2006-04-24T13:10:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when I sit down to write, I don't have anything in mind. Other times, when I'm just going about my business, driving, shopping, bathing the kids, I have a million blogging thoughts going through my mind and I can't seem to get to the computer fast enough. I'm gonna let you guess what type of blog this is...

So anyway, not much going on here.

Just kidding.

We had a great weekend of rest and relaxation. I got a total of 5 hours worth of naps in over the weekend. It was a good thing too because I caught a little bit of a bug and I think it really helped to sleep it off. And because I love to sleep.

We went to some people's home on Sunday night for dessert with a few other families. Since we are the newbies around here, the hosts asked us to share the story of how we met. Jay deferred to me (because I can embellish seamlessly and because last time he told it was the first time he told it and I told him never to tell it again) so I told the story. They were curious about Jay's version of the story. Let me just outline my story, and then Jay's. You'll see why he's banned to silence on the subject.

Jay and I met in the summer of 2000, when I had graduated from college and detoured through Independence on my way to grad school in St. Louis. Jay was home for the summer.
We became fast friends and spent a lot of time together that summer. We were only friends. He went back to school, I moved to St. Louis. We kept in touch with emails and IM messaging (on late Friday nights when Jay was secretly pining for me and I was pining for a law school snob with whom I shouldn't have even bothered).

Jay moved back to Independence to help his dad with a business and I would see him when I'd come back home for visits. He came to St. Louis to go to Les Miserables with me (to prove I wasn't in love with him yet, he wasn't my first choice and when my first choice fell through, my friend suggested, "what about that Jay guy---isn't he around?" and I thought, "Hey, that's a great idea, why didn't I think of that, thanks Jen!"). That was the day I fell for him. Okay, this is turning out not to be an outline. But I'm just better at telling my version, I'll outline Jay's version. So, that day I told Jay I liked the name Jackson for one of my sons. He responded with, "Hmm, Jackson Bryner, sounds good." There are several very funny things about that. First of all, if a girl was ever even SUSPECTED of doing such a thing in the presence of a guy, she'd be blackballed. Fo' sho! Second of all, Jay wasn't making a statement, he wasn't "flirting", sending a message, testing the waters---nothing. He was simply talking aloud. One of the many things I love about my husband today. For every calculating, manipulative way I can be, he hasn't an ounce in him. I laughed right out loud at his innocent boldness. We had an amazing day together. Oh yeah, since I'm not sticking to my outline idea---I'll go to borderline too much information---I got REALLY REALLY sick two days prior to his arrival for Les Mis. I don't get sick like that. Ever. I couldn't move, I went to a dr, which I also never do, he gave me good drugs, and I didn't move from my bed for 2 days. I wasn't about to pass up Les Mis so I pulled it together for Jay's arrival. Aside from weakness, I was pretty much okay. What I wasn't okay for was my first meal in 3 days being Mexican. Yes, I spent the better half of our dinner date in El Maguey's cuarto de bano, much to my chagrin.

Something clicked that day, and it was the day I fell for Jay. I continued to fall, and I'm still falling. It seems so cliche to say you love someone more each day. But when you do, you do. He's so much more amazing than I ever even realized when I said I'd marry him. Oh yeah, and he wrote a nice blog about me the other day too. Can't say his motives were all that pure, but still, it made my day! The next year of dating was filled with lots of good times and some heart in my throat times, and frustration, and absolute joy to know I had finally met someone I wanted to be with forever. I just had to convince Jay that I was really as cool as I seemed and not secretly a nutcase, waiting for a wedding to let it all loose. My friend Anita gave me some amazing advice one day when I was particularly frustrated with Jay's commitment fears. She said something along the lines of: If you know he is who you'll marry and you know it will eventually happen, then you can spend the time patiently and graciously letting him figure things out or you can whine and throw fits and be bratty, and the end result will be the same---what do you want him to look back and remember? When Jay told me he wanted to marry me, he even said, "You have been nothing but patient and good to me from the beginning." Isn't that sweet? And isn't that great advice? And isn't it just like a girl to remember all that?

Well, after 1 year and 3 break-ups we got engaged. Funny story about the last break-up. I was 26. Jay and I had been dating for about 9 months (less a week or two for break-ups). I didn't want to waste anymore time on a ship that wasn't gonna sail, so I had to end it. It devastated me. But, I knew I had to---so the day after Christmas, I did it. I had to tell him not to call or write or email, or visit because I had to get him out of my system before we could attempt to be friends again, if we ever did. He was semi-respectful of that request. The reason I tell you this is because, my mom expressed her awe at me being so strong, knowing how much I loved Jay and how I had never felt that for anyone I had dated. One day she was visiting me in St. Louis and said, "Oh, oh, I have a quote that I heard that made me think of you, I even wrote it down for you." She rummaged through her purse but never found it so she tried to recreate it. She said, "It went something like this, 'when you have to wait the longest, and no options for marriage anymore, God will take care of you'." Interesting. The best part was when she found the post-it and it ACTUALLY said, "God saves the best for those who wait for him to make the choice." I put that post-it on my mirror to see everyday because everyday I was reminded of my mom's secret belief of my situation and it made me laugh very hard, and everyday it reminded me that I was in God's hands and if Jay wasn't it, then He had someone else in mind.

Well, Jay was it. And I couldn't be happier. He figured it out in February. Yay.
He was worth every second of agonizing indecision I had to wait out with him. He is a more incredible father, husband, provider, support, and friend than I ever dreamed of having. And I had big dreams!
Nice story, right?

Here's Jay's version:
So, I moved back to Independence to help my dad with a business. Independence basically sucks the very marrow from my bones and I hated it. I had just come from BYU, the land of milk and honey. Angela was the coolest person I knew within 500 miles and I finally just decided she'd be a good person to marry and I needed to get married. Good thing she was around or I'd have had to wait until some high school sophomores came of age.
Okay, I made the last sentence up.
But that's it. Isn't that atrocious? See why he's banned from recounting it?
He needs to throw in a few more "stunning redheads" and "never really breathed before..." and ix-nay on the 'there was no one else around-ay.' Sheesh.

Okay, if you hadn't figured it out yet, this was a "nothing to write" blog. Hope you made it through to the answer.

Here's a conversation I belive I just shouldn't have to have:

"We need to wipe our bums, every time we go poo-poo."
"But why?"

By the way, why do we feel compelled as parents or caregivers to include ourselves in some very basic behavior reminders when WE don't have a problem with it in the first place.
For example, I don't hit my friends, pick my nose, play with my food, pee on the floor, throw gigantic exercise balls at my sister's tiny head, or dump out brand new bottles of shampoo to see all the bubbles it will make---and yet I've said ALL of the above as though I have.

"Benjamin! We don't throw gigantic balls at Avery and dislocate her shoulder joint."
One day he'll say, "Clearly YOU don't mom, but I do."
I take that back---it's Avery who will say that. It's more her style.

Things That Made Me Laugh Out Loud Today

2006-04-20T20:34:00.000-07:00

One of the loneliest feelings in the world to me is laughing alone. I don't feel loneliness very much, if ever. I was raised the 8th of 9 children and now a stay-at-home with an incessant talker and an almost-incessant screecher. I cherish alone time. However, laughing alone feels very lonely. That's why I don't like watching funny movies alone. But I did the other day and while I squirmed around guffawing heartily (I am a full-body laugher) at a movie (Prime, by the way) I wished so desperately that my husband was there to laugh with me. Or at me, I don't care---just need the mutual laughter.

But I've gotten used to laughing kind of alone, a lot. These are the things I laughed at today.

Ben announced, "I don't want to go to dance with MuhCindy (Here in Texas everyone is "Miss So-and-So, cuz we're in the south and they do things proper-like here, but Ben is pretty much a Yankee and doesn't know what people are doing adding "Miss" to a name, so he thinks Miss Cindy's name is MaCindy) today, I just want to stay here and not wear pants and watch Caillou and Cookie Monster." Okay, first of all, going pantless---brilliant. It took me 25 years to discover the joys of that. Ha! And second of all, is it normal for a 2 year old to choose to be a slobby couch potato, or is that learned behavior? And third of all, I LOVE LOVE LOVE alliteration, and he came upon it naturally and accidentally. It was beautiful. And I laughed out loud.

Next: Avery shakes her head "no", for "yes". By the way, completely off topic, but, I've wondered often---if you say "shakes head" doesn't that automatically imply "no" and "nodding head" automatically implies "yes". Right? Nod? I don't know if that's a rule I came up with on my own in my younger years of reading, or if it's a known fact. There are some writers out there who shake things up and get me all confused with their own interpretations of shaking and nodding. Anyone?

So, with Avery's mixed up head signals, it provides some very entertaining conversation. Ben pushed Avery and Avery yelled. I sat down on the floor with her and said, "Did Ben hurt you?" She shook her head. Ben laughed. "Yes I did," he corrects her. I said, "Does that make you want to hurt Ben?" kind of just making up questions that her shaking would be funny to. She shakes her head again and then reaches out and does a rapid fire of swats on Ben's head. I'm not promoting sibling abuse here, I really didn't think she'd take it as a suggestion. Ben squawked and I said I was sorry, I didn't want her hitting him and Ben said, "You're sorry mom betuz I taught her to hit and I'm sorry." That scenario alone got two hearty guffaws out of me.

Driving home from "Curious George" at the dollar theater, in which Ben remained curious for only half the length of the movie, I wondered if Ben knew my first name. I know he knows Jay's because, well, because that's all he calls him. So I started with, "Ben, what's Daddy's name?" He immediately responds, "Pookie---ah hahahahahahaha!"
Boy did I laugh.

Tonight as I was finishing clearing off Avery's tray (don't get excited, my house only stayed clean for 31 hours after that stupid blog.) both kids were hovering nearby. I set the tray down and said aloud, "Okey dokey, let's get this train a-moving" to which Avery responded with a mad scramble to get away from me. When her escape was thwarted by "slippery" tile, too long pants, and undeveloped equilibrium, she simply tucked her arms under her body and surrendered like a sunbathing seal. I told you I like alliteration. I have no idea why she got the idea to run, or why she actually thought she could, but it REALLY made me laugh, that and her defeat stance.

Then, as I was changing Avery's diaper I told Ben to pick out his books to read before bedtime. Usually we do anywhere from 2-5, and he's aware of that. I had my back to him and glanced back once to see a small stack of about 5 books. On top of the stack, his latest selection, was the user's manual to his booster seat, we purchased about a month ago. That TOTALLY made me laugh. Then I turned my back to him and finished with Avery and took her back to her bed. When I returned, about 2 minutes after having seen the manual, this is what I return to:

While I was laughing, I took a picture. Note, empty top shelf.

Okay, these are all Ben and Avery stories, but that's because I had NO OTHER face to face contact with anyone, unless you count the nice Indian man at Wal-mart who not only bagged my groceries, but also loaded them into my cart. But there were two other things that made me laugh today.

This in an email from my mom in response to my blog: "You won't have much to confess at the judgement gate." If I didn't know any better I would think that was a backhanded compliment. But that's not how my mom is, so while I'm certain it wasn't backhanded, I'm not certain on what it means. But it certainly made me laugh.

And this: http://today.reuters.com/news/articlenews.aspx?type=oddlyEnoughNews&storyid=2006-04-20T155023Z_01_N4K350677_RTRUKOC_0_US-BREASTS.xml

As I post this link, I feel a little guilty because I can hear my mom saying, "Angela, it's not nice to make fun at other's expense" or any number of things that are true, but honestly, I CANNOT HELP MYSELF. Go read it, go ahead, I'll wait. I couldn't believe it and it's SO funny and if you just imagine yourself answering the door to this solicitation. What would you do? I would fall on my butt and literally laugh it off.

Wednesday

2006-04-19T07:49:00.000-07:00

I have no self-discipline. Not a lick. Okay, that’s not fair to say, I have some, where it REALLY matters. I don't play in toilet water or go outside nekkid. But when it comes to things like dieting, or implementing positive daily or weekly habits I last about 2 hours. I want to change this about myself and I've been pondering a lot on what it takes to become the kind of person who persists in the face of laziness or discouragement. Lumped in with this is keeping my house clean. I'm not talking museum-clean, there's something just as wrong with those people as there is with me. I have been to homes where my liquid refreshment was swiped from my hand as it was being raised to my parched lips. All in the name of tidiness. Not me, fo’ sho! I'm talking about, taking the dirty diaper immediately to the trash and not getting distracted by the videos sprawled on the floor, or a book nearby, or the computer...

My self-worth is not wrapped up in how clean my house is nor do I estimate other's worth based on that. But there is a wonderful feeling that comes with walking into a clean room. I have really been thinking about this a lot and things I can do to help my transition into being a neat person. I don't think there's ever a danger of me becoming compulsive, but I wouldn't mind borderline compulsiveness. These are the things I think will help, and I'd like any ideas or input anyone else has.
1) Delayed gratification. Clean for 10 or 15 minutes or do a workout video before I use the computer or go to bed or read a book or watch tv. I'm all about the here and now since I became an adult and get to choose that if I want.
2) Take care of it as soon as I'm done. Pull Avery out of the highchair, set her down (even though she loves after-meal kisses) and clean off her highchair tray. This sounds SO SIMPLE. But it's not for me. I am the queen of distraction. While I was pulling Avery from her high chair and indulging in some of her affection, I caught a whiff of Ben's newest addition to his Bob the Builder underwear and Thomas swim shoes ensemble.
"Ben, did you poop?"
"Yes mom. (with a dramatic sadness for effect) I pooped on Bob mom, I did."
"Oh Ben (with non-dramatic sadness, for I will be doing the cleaning), why did that happen?"
"Betuz...betuz, change me mom!"

So I go change him, forget about the highchair, and now I'm blogging about it.

3) Make my word mean something to myself. Say it aloud, and stick with it. This is my own made up technique of something I can do and become successful at and later write a self-help book on how to conquer the world, one positive affirmation at a time. If I say I'll do something to other people, I do it. Except with Jay. I often tell him I'll sit and listen to the latest breakthrough of world oil discovery changing the face of peak oil futures indefinitely---I tell him I will, but I won't. And I don't even know if the preceding sentence makes sense. But it's words I hear him say and I can make an educated guess at how to string them together. So, with that exception of Jay and various topics, my resolve and commitment to myself should mean just as much as my commitments to other people.

Today my house is clean. Jay left me with a very clean kitchen before going to New Jersey and I've managed to maintain. I cleaned before I went to bed last night and when Ben got up this morning he asked, "Who is toming over mom?" Who taught that kid to talk!? In addition to my house, my kids are fed and clean. I'm not. Should that be on my list of accomplishments? Baby steps Angela, baby steps.

Okay before I go, I have an anecdote or two that need to be included. Along with my yet unachievable goals of being a slender, super-nutritious, well-read, tidy person being documented, I'd also like to remember the little things my kids do everyday that just make me laugh.

Last night in a late-night foraging I found some candy-filled Easter Eggs in the cupboard that didn't make it to the baskets. I removed the plastic wrap that had SpongeBob on it and tried one of the egg treasures. It was Dora candy and it was horrible. I replaced all the eggs; put the wrapper in a bag of trash by the door to take out this morning. What I forgot, is that Ben is a dumpster diver in training. When he got up, he did some foraging of his own. He found the SpongeBob wrapper in the trash. He immediately brings it to me and the interrogating ensues. "What was in this? What did you eat in this? Who eated this? Where's the rest of it?" I TRIED to blow him off with a vague half-truth like, "It was a yucky snack that's gone now." 2 minutes later he returns to me and says, "Where is the Dora candy you had yesterday?" I spin around looking for the mommy-cam hidden in one of his toys. I try to figure out if he realizes what he's asking or is just hoping to be right. Turns out he recognized the SpongeBob wrapping from when I brought it home 5 days ago with about 12 other bags of groceries. "Yesterday" is any day in the past for Ben.

Avery had a doctor's appointment yesterday and it's almost like she knew the appointment was just for her. She talked almost nonstop (seriously, one of the cutest things ever---she really goes for it and has some consistent words but they aren’t words I've heard from any sober, English speakers) and when the doctor dared to "include" Benjamin, Avery screeched at him and would smack his hand away from Ben. I can't get mad; she learned the behavior from Ben. She also learned to hit back and I can't say it isn’t funny. She reciprocated one of Ben's impulsive shoves with a rapid fire of slaps from her eency, weency little hand. Even Ben laughed.

HOTTER'N ME ON A FRIDAY NIGHT...

2006-04-17T12:27:00.000-07:00

wearing my Clinique Peach Goddess lip gloss. That's how hot it is in Texas. And believe me, THAT'S HOT. A group of us went to the park this morning at 11:00 am. By noon Avery had melted down to the 19 and a half inches she was born at, and basically the same color red. Ben was a blob of sweat and sunscreen and smelled so much like boy I almost made him walk home alongside the car. It's APRIL 16TH!! What is up with that!? Well, whatever, I have the next 5 months of our lives scheduled. It will be the swimming pool, slathered in sunscreen or just a full body suit, or the library, and I don't care if you're supposed to be quiet in the library. The problem with being so fair skinned, and marrying the only other person on this planet as white as me, is that when I take my kids outside, I can't say, "oops, I forgot the sunscreen." Because that is tantamount to saying, "oops, I just poured scalding water over my child and now he/she is red and covered in blisters and probably going to die of skin cancer by 12". I love using words like tantamount. I can never pull it off verbally, but in writting, I can do ANYTHING. So, added to the oh-so-easy process of getting out the door, is now the sunscreen ~~dance~~ ~~routine~~ fight.

Shortly after I got back home into our cool abode, Jay called for us to meet him for lunch. I loaded the kids back up and headed off to Best Buffet. An exceptionally creative name for a yummy chinese buffet. When I loaded Avery into the car after our feast of potstickers and egg-drop soup, she fell asleep WHILE I was buckling her. That never, ever happens. I don't have kids that fall asleep in their high-chairs, or while watching a movie, or even while laying in bed sometimes. On the way home, Ben asked why we had to go home and aside from the bustling Chinese waiter who clearly wanted the space cleared for more chicken and broccolli lovers, I told him he had to take a nap. He didn't like that answer. And as a solution to that, he started his own version of a game we like to play while we are driving. There is a restuarant here called Taco Bueno and one of the commercials they say, "I say 'TACO', you say 'BUENO'!" I just had that running through my head one day and said it aloud in the car, and thus the game was born. A few days later, Ben needed variety and suggested I say "pocksabo" (popsicle) and he say peanut butter. So we've had lots of fun variations on that game. Well, on the way home, Ben decided on this new version, "Okay mom, I say, 'Do I need to take a nap mom?' and YOU say, 'NO!' Okay, here I go, 'Do I need to take a nap mom?" I knew, as wily as this little boy was with his new games and whatnot, if I said "No" even once, I'd be held to it until he is 30. So I didn't give in. Despite his persistence. But I did laugh very hard, every time he tried. I cannot tell a lie, the boy got his manipulative attributes from me. I just didn't know it could be inherited.

Of Parks and good parenting, and Britney, and Carpets, and Police, and Excessive Use of Quotation Marks

2006-04-14T09:33:00.000-07:00

Does it ever end? When you're a little kid it's inane assertions like, "my dad's bigger than your dad!" like THAT makes you any better than another 7-year-old. It was true in my case and all that has done for me is make me big-boned and hopelessly pursuing the smaller figure of my petite-fathered counterparts. Then when you're in high school it's "I have more stylish clothes" or a car, or a life. In college, it's "I go on more dates than you" or "I have a higher GPA". And NOW, I'm a 30 year old, educated, friendly girl who's day consists of diapers, cut up sandwiches, The Little Engine That Could--and WHY, philosophical discussions on WHAT pooped in our backyard and WHY, and an eternal, endless, circular relationship with the dishwasher and washing machine...do I really need to be one-upped when I take my kids to the park?

Today at the park, after following Avery over the play structure as she precariously wobbles near the high edges in her bold statements of independence and watching Ben chase older, uninterested kids, and play with other children's toys for 45 MINUTES I say, "Ben it's time to go, Avery has to nap now." Ben objects, of course---but it's acceptable objections and I'm able to reason with him. But not so quickly that I don't hear the other mother nearby with her two children say, "We're going to go soon too, we've been here over an hour." Well throw me in the bad parent jail. I'm sure I'll sleep better there and I won't have to feed anyone.

It actually kind of made me laugh when it happened. I'm not insecure about myself, so I don't really care about that kind of stuff---but seriously now. If that kind of thing were to bother me, I would have been bothered long before when her brilliant 4-year-old sounded out and then spelled my sons name in the rocks while my brilliant 2-year-old yelled "No, it says SIX, not E!" and my genius 1-year-old wiped her cookie on the bottom of her shoe, intermittent with licking the shoe itself. I happen to know for a fact---that particular behavior is on the MENSA checklist.

My real friends say, "You took your kids to the park? You're a good mom."

So, yesterday I was at the park with my kids, DANG I'm a good mom. And Avery, was cruising along the play structure. I hadn't thought to just get on it with her, and was just standing alongside it to catch her should she need. So she fell off the other side. About 3 feet. Bumped her head twice on the way down. Her cries were more from being scared and a little of "You're a lousy mom, mom"--and not so much pain, so I felt a little better. Also while I was comforting her she climbed over me to get back on the structure. When she's a little older, we're going to have to teach her the whole, "When you fall off the horse, you gotta get right back on" approach to life.

I thought about how the night before on CNN Headline news was Britney Spears getting a visit from DFS and a police officer after her 6 month old fell out of his high chair. I thought how much that stinks for her to have that on national news when my children swallow bottles of allergy pills and fall off play structures and NOBODY knows until I blog about it. That's not the only difference between Britney and me.

So later, while I was online checking prices for airline tickets, Ben decided to redecorate our living room. With permanent marker. On our carpet. Over about a 2 square foot area. Yeah, so I pretty much felt like throwing up when I saw it. I felt sick that I had let it happen, sick for how mad I knew it would make Jay, and sick for how much I'd miss Ben when Jay saw what he'd done. Ben even said later, in his defense, "The cahwpet didn't look pwetty so I made it pwetty." Nice Ben, nice. It's there-goes-your-deposit-and-any-hopes-of-having-guests-over-without-feeling-like-a-slob beautiful. I was surprisingly well-put together in the disciplining of this. In fact, afterwards I thought, "shouldn't there have been more smacking and respective screaming involved for that to have been effective?" I lectured him, Jay made him sit in his room, he didn't get dessert (I NEVER make dessert, and we had it last night), I think he got the message.

Ben was sent to bed for the 20 minutes before dinner was ready, and came out just as it was ready. As we sat down to eat, two police cars pulled up in "front" of our house.

It's actually our back door, but it's out our dining and living room windows, so it feels like the front. I was carrying the noodles from the sink to the table and stopped cold in my tracks. For a second I thought I was Britney Spears. Did I beat Ben? Did I leave any marks? Did I sufficiently comfort Avery when she fell 3 feet in front of my nose and anyone could have seen? I'm not kidding, I ACTUALLY THOUGHT I WAS BRITNEY SPEARS. Turns out there was some problem across the street and the police were a little lost.

Well, our carpet is still orange and green. My friend Amy came over with her super-cleaner and plunked herself on the floor and worked away at it. I have good friends---I'm not sure I am that good of a friend. I would probably come by for the after-cleaning celebration of cheesecake. It's definitely lighter, but still quite evident. If he'd used more earthy tones it would blend better with the chex mix and dried milk. We can't have it all though, can we?

Low Expectations

2006-04-12T07:43:00.000-07:00

I have decided that this will have to be my approach in what I accomplish in a day. Yesterday I had moderate expectations and felt VERY frustrated by the end of the day. Those of you who know me well, know that I am not overly ambitious in what I feel needs to be accomplished in a day. I'm okay with a full shower being my greatest accomplishment in a day. Or clean kids. Or a clean house. Rarely all in one day. Unless I have company coming. Anyway---yesterday I had big dreams of getting up, getting all parties I'm responsible for clothed and fed, and going on a nice morning walk with my two angels. Well, by 9 am I was just getting myself dressed finally and taking gulps of a smoothie in between and Avery started her "I'm tired" routine. It consists of trailing me around the house (at an alarmingly high speed) wailing and screeching and persistently grabbing my legs to corner me with her body. So I give in on my hopes of a walk and put her to bed. She sleeps from 9:40 to 12:51. So Ben and I putter around all morning coloring, cleaning, eating, and reading. Ben starts showing tired signs at 12:30 and is asleep by 12:50. For that one minute my children are asleep at the same time, I flop on my bed (after an exhausting morning) and fantasize that I will get to read a chapter, or maybe two while curled up on my oh-so-heavenly-not-napped-on-nearly-enough bed. Avery's gleeful babbles from her crib immediately dispel any fantasy of any sort. I go get her and revel in her first few minutes of cuddliness---she's always so appreciative of being retrieved from her crib.

I tried to do an exercise tape. Anyone who's tried to do that with a 1 year old in the room knows what a joke that is. Avery sees my stretching as an invitation to treat me like a jungle gym. Warm up jog become a staggering and clutching of the entertainment center while Avery hopes for a free ride, clinging to my leg. I put Avery back down at 3 and Ben woke up at 3:10. Avery only took a cat nap so at 3:40 I got diapers changed, bathroom trips, shoes on, and headed out with the kids for a walk. It ended up being a leisurely tour of the grounds as dictated by Benjamin and when we headed back to the trail for a walk, I saw that it was time to start dinner and that Jay was home. I went home, dumped the kids on him for a trip to the park and started dinner.
It was a good dinner. By 6 PM, that was the only verifiable accomplishment I had to my name for that day. My kids were rested and neither were malnourished, or had rashes---but really, that's more like preventative maintenance than accomplishments.

When I was 21, turning 22 I was on my mission at Temple Square. My mom sent me a letter a few weeks before my birthday giving the advice of keeping my expectations low and I won't be disappointed. This is really sound advice in some situations. Not so sound in other situations such as, let's say, choosing a spouse, or medical care, or personal hygiene. But in this situation, it was great advice. I thought my mom probably gave it so not to have to feel bad when "all" she sent me for my birthday was a brand new outfit and a silky Victoria's Secret nightie (I'm not kidding, it was in my color, so I got it---on my mission, from my mother). Well, I kept my expectations low and it was truly one of the best birthdays of my life. We had a rehearsal for the songs we were going to sing for the ground breaking of the new Conference Center. So at 7 am I arrived at the tabernacle where over 100 sister missionaries were already seated and broke into an impromptu, but heavenly rendition of Happy Birthday--- as I walked up to my seat. Now really, how many people do you know have gotten to experience something like that? Later my friends surprised me with a pre-breakfast party with chocolate cupcakes. So low were my expectations going into this party, that when I opened the cupboard the day before and saw an entire plate of chocolate cupcakes hidden inside---I only suspected my roommate who was "dieting" with me, had found her weakness and was hiding it. She totally thought I was just acting dumb and knew it was for my birthday, but it wasn't until she pulled them out, frosted, for the party, that I put two and two together. My love of asian food had somehow made its way around the mission and about 5 different Asian missionaries made me their country's version of fried rice. SOOOOOOOOO yummy. Laotian was my favorite.

Another birthday I had that I didn't follow my mom's advice---was shortly after I was married. Jay and I got married ON Jay's birthday. So, he had a pretty sweet birthday. Mine was 3 weeks later. I had all kinds of hopes and dreams of being spoiled and overwhelmed with gifts and tokens of Jay's affection and adoration. To his credit, he DID make me a cake (but it wasn't chocolate--how little he knew then) and he DID make me dinner---but I had expectations and they were not met. When I wept, "just one little gift, you couldn't get me just one little gift?" Jay's eyes bugged and he turned around in our tiny studio apartment, his arms sweeping about and gesturing to basically every corner of our house, laden with gifts from our wedding. "Our entire house is FULL of gifts Angela, what more could you possibly want?" Yeah, that didn't go over so well. The fact of the matter was, I was married to a wonderful man, and really had no needs or wants---but I went into the situation with expectations and was disappointed.

So today, my expectations are low. And so far, Avery needing a nap hasn't made me want to swear, and if I don't get a walk in the morning, there's always this afternoon, when the sun is blazing and the bugs are swarming.

On a completely different note, Ben has started using his hands to gesture and enhance his WHY'S. He shrugs up his shoulders and puts his little hands out palm up, somewhere up by his ribs. Seriously, it's adorable. Do kids go to some secret cuteness school to learn these things?
Yesterday I DID get to go on a walk with Ben after dinner and while we were on it, some rollerbladers passed by. Benjamin informed me that Jacob had told him he couldn't ride on those skates until he was bigger. He then did the cute gesture with his hands out and said, "But I AM bigger mom, why Jacobs says that?" I told him when he knew how to properly conjugate 'say' he'd be big enough.

RANDOM

2006-04-11T08:09:00.000-07:00

I told Jay Sunday night I was going to exercise everyday this week. I would walk with the kids or go to the weight room/gym each day. Monday: I get up with the kids and got hit by a mac truck so I went back to bed. I have no idea what happened, but at 11 AM I couldn't keep my eyes open, and Avery had the same problem. She got to go into a dark room with a binky and soft blanket and sleep all her problems away. Oh wait, she didn't sleep them away, I dealt with them. I tried at noon to get Ben to take a nap with me but he was too busy building the tower of Piza with his new library books. He's actually got quite an architectual knack...
I actually fell asleep for 50 minutes while Ben was wandering around the house. I have never done that before. Ben was really good, so I'm going to pencil myself in for a 2 hour nap today while he holds down the fort.

I'm less inclined to blog when Jay's around. It's not so much that he's oppressive as it is he's a good listener.

We're getting ready for summer here, and I think all my rave reviews about Texas are going to go the way of all good things that aren't what they appear to be. I said to some Texas veterans about some summer clothes I bought for Avery "It's a little big because I didn't think she'd need something that cool until July or so." They responded with hearty guffaws and mutterings about poor stupid importee. Meanwhile, it's really hot here---already.

We're on Day Two of potty training Big Ben. He had one accident yesterday that appeared to surpise him as much as me. We started a sticker chart with fun Thomas stickers and the promise of a prize at the end of 14 stickers. I showed him the prize bag so his mind would be filled with all things wonderful and thus compell him to use the toilet. It sort of worked. Our conversations all day revolved around the prizes.

Ben will you pick up your crayons so they don't get lost or broken?
Yes and then I can have a prize?!
No, you get a prize after you fill up that whole row with stickers from going potty.

Ben immediately runs to the toilet, even if he was just there 5 minutes before. He earned 4 of his 5 stickers before noon.

Well, Ben is yelling/sobbing from his bed, "I'm not tired, I'm not tired" in a rhythmic chant that is putting me to sleep. Too bad Avery is going to be awake in like 10 minutes. Grrrrrrrr.

WHY?

2006-04-06T09:14:00.000-07:00

For some reason I thought I had another year or so before it hit. I thought for sure I had at least 6-9 months to get my bearings and learn every possible response. I thought I could cling to the tiny threads of sanity remaining for just a season longer. I was wrong. The WHY train has hit.

Why did Callou's tar bweak?
Well, something in the engine broke and they had to get it fixed.
Why?
So that they could drive their car again and because that's what people do when their cars break down.
Why?
Well, cars get old and sometimes need repairs so they have mechanics to do that.
Why?
You know how daddy goes on airplanes and works at an office; other daddies are mechanics and work on cars. (I'm not so PC that I even felt remotely guilty about saying daddies do it and not mommies)
Why?
Because cars break down sometimes.
Why?
Didn't we already have this conversation? Ben, tell me what you really want to talk about because I don't want to do this why thing anymore.
Why?
Because I'm so tired of it.
Ohhhhhhh. (sympathetic pause) Are you sick mama?

That is a miniscule, eency, weency glimpse into the scintillating conversation that makes up my day. I read about 6 months ago that children ask why because they don't know proper conversation skills but they do want to converse. I seriously thought this insight would help me when my kids hit the WHY stage. But the second the front engine of the WHY train hits, I start racking my brain for the real thing he wants to talk about, or a real conversation we could have but, I always come up empty. Personally, I think he just does it to have the upper hand, rob me of even the slightest delusion of sanity.

Well, I need to vent, I have a WHY of my own. I got our first electric bill two months ago at the beginning of February. It was for nearly $200. While I was surprised at how high it was, I had nothing to compare it to and didn't really take the time to study it as a smart consumer would. I made mention of it to Jay and suggested we be a little more conservative with our energy usage. I would cease doing laundry, he could in turn take only luke-warm or cold showers. A little sacrificing for both of us.

Well, bill #2 came and it was almost $30 higher. First of all, we never turned the heat on once---I wanted to see if it would make a difference. We were also ALL out of town for an entire week out of February. I was having breakfast with Oprah. Okay, so I had breakfast NEAR Oprah, but whatever. That left about 24 days of electric usage. So, I get concerned and ask to see my friend's bill who has two children and the exact same apartment as us. Her bill was about $96 less than mine. I see red. Then I see that she has the same Kwh usage as me, actually, a bit less. Still perplexing. It says we both used over 1600 Kwh. Then I see that she is paying nearly 5 CENTS LESS THAN ME. I'm paying about 13.5. So I call to see what the problem is. I get told there's nothing they can do about, I called the wrong number to sign up and my neighbors are under a deal that the energy company has with our complex. Tough luck, I called the wrong number, they won't switch it over and won't fix my past bills. I ask for a manager. I explain I have the number my complex gave me to call, it is the right number, I got transferred, and screwed. In that order. So then she says she'll "review the tapes" of my conversations and do some research and get back to me in about 48 hours. ONE WEEK later she calls and tells me this. And I'm not making it up. 'Your apartment management has an agreement with Direct Energy and the residents get a lower rate than the residential rate. However, your management did not renew the agreement with us until January 17th and because you signed up before that, you didn't get the reduced rate.' Are you KIDDING ME? I signed up on January 9th. So because of 8 days, it's not their problem, and nothing can be done about it. She even tells me, "I can't do anything about this, I know you are frustrated, you need to talk to your management office and see why they didn't sign an agreement earlier". And that would accomplish what sympathically futile Direct Energy employee? I asked her what she thought that would accomplish besides waste more of my time. She says, "I can't really tell you anymore than this, and we can't talk to your management office about it either." So, here's a summary of her weeks worth of "research". Even though we know you fall under our apartment agreement and see your address when you sign up, it's not our fault because you called the wrong number and decided to get heat and light for your family at just a bad time, I can't tell you anymore than that and this won't be discussed at all with your management, but if you want to be dumb and believe what's coming out of my mouth (but didn't originate there) then go ahead, and I'm so sorry, I can understand your frustration of having to deal with incompetent people who are sucking the very life out of your body with the energy bill." Or something thereabouts.

I off-handedly mention it to my office management about a week later, as in, "Can you believe they actually tried to pass that junk off on me?" And the management lady took up my cause and called her connection with Direct Energy who told her the agreement was signed January 4th. Well that just ticked me off. Don't know why, it's not like I thought Miss Maribel was telling the truth in the first place.

So I call again and ask to speak with someone over Maribel. I get a nice lady who puts me on hold after I explain all the junk Maribel made up in an effort to continue robbing us...She comes back with this. Rates are just higher in December and January when you signed up, you get the rate that is offered at the time you sign up. Nevermind that your neighbors could be paying half that---you get what you get, and we decide what that is. So sorry lady, you should have moved here 5 months earlier like your friends. I stopped our account with them. They should be selling poop instead of energy, they are much better at that.

I thought it was done.
We got a bill yesterday. HALF, I repeat HALF the amount of last month's bill, less than HALF the usage, and 1 cent per kwh HIGHER than the last month. Not only do I get a higher rate than my neighbors, who's bill never changes, mine can change to go higher. What in the heck happened? For all you people out there that are math challenged like me, there's a golden opportunity of employment waiting for you at Direct Energy. Probably even management. You need to be able to make up outrageous explanations for why you can't do math though, so maybe just bad math won't cut it.

Probably the most frustrating thing about all of this is when I ask WHY---not one single person will respond with even the slightest effort of an accurate answer.But I got a lot of "sympathy." I might try that method sometime. Sucker punch someone in the face and then stand around telling them how sorry I am for their pain and blood loss.

I gotta go rescue Avery from her self-made booby trap between the couch and side table.

FACTS FROM THIS MORNING THAT JUST NEED TO BE PUT OUT THERE

2006-04-02T10:28:00.000-07:00

Avery ate: a handful of Honey Nut Chex, a handful of Apple Jacks, 5 oz of milk, about 3 ounces of water, and 3 ENTIRE eggs.
Avery weighs 18 pounds (What Ben weighed at about 8 months)
Ben ate: 3 and a half Apple Jacks and 1 and a half whites of hard boiled eggs.
Ben weighs more than our 4 year old neighbor.

Breakfast conversation:
Ben: bootie, bootie. boooootie!
Mom: Ben don't say bootie
Ben: You say bootie?
Mom: No, I don't say bootie and I don't want you to say it either.
Ben: "B" (neighbor kid) says bootie?
Mom: He might say bootie, but we don't say it in this house.
Ben: Then I can say it at B's house?

Um, excuse me? Shouldn't I be having these conversations in like....12 years!?!

Yellow

2006-04-01T20:35:00.000-08:00

So, I got this in an email from my mom: "I tried to 'educate' myself and looked up 'blog' in the dictionary.....not there" and " I didn't know what a 'blog' was......I've read one now, but, could you also clarify where they go, and what it means, etc". You're never too old to get good advice from your mom, right? Well, for all you 70-year-old, internet savvy people out there who don't know what a blog is....it is a "web-log". I knew the gist of what blogs contained but learned the origins of the word from my husband after casually flinging "blog this, blog that" about in conversation with a friend. She said, "What does blog mean?" and I responded with a blank stare. Jay said, "Web-log" and if he wasn't as mature as he is, I'm sure he would have added, "duh". I just reread the quoted line of my mom's email---she asked me to clarify "where they go". I am laughing so hard right now, I must have missed that. I guess that depends on just how you feel about me or what I've written. For you mom, straight to the heart. I am using this venue of a WEB LOG as a sort of update on our comings and goings---as they are noteworthy, Benjamin and Avery's growth and anecdotes, and my own contemplations.

Jay started a blog, and you all probably thought I was joking about the peak oil stuff---I wasn't. Check it out if you'd like. http://peakoilmusings.blogspot.com/

So, are you wondering about my title? It's not my favorite color, it's not how I feel when Jay's out of town and I'm alone at night, it's not even my second favorite color. Jay has been out of town for 6 days. As I was driving Ben to Chuck E. Cheese (just a side-note, until today I thought it was Chucky Cheese) this morning for a birthday party, and getting him all psyched up for it, he squealed when we pulled into the parking lot, "Will daddy be at the party?!" Even with the helicopter ride, tunnels to climb through, twisty-slide, unlimited ski-ball, pizza and soda, and the $15 roll of Smarties we "earned" with our tickets, I am certain, being with daddy instead would have been an even better morning for Ben. Ben is doing so well with his absence, Avery not as well, and me the worst. I hesitate to admit stuff like that because I really should be better at this than I am, and second, I don't want to make Jay feel bad about doing what he does to bring home the jr bacon cheeseburgers (we've decided we like those better than just plain bacon). But it is what it is, I love being with Jay and love getting breaks from the kids almost as much.

When I was about 11 or 12 I used to tune in regularly to the Saturday night country music request lines on the radio. It was around that time that I got turned onto the song, "The Yellow Rose of Texas". My mom had taught it to us when we were younger (her version was definitely based on the traditional version, not the country one referring to "doing hard time"). I was probably just astounded when I heard it being sang with twang on the radio. What I didn't know was that I might have been the only listener within about 500 miles (we were about that far from Texas) that wanted to hear it more than once every six months. One Sunday afternoon was an all request day and my younger brother and I spent the entire afternoon trying to call in to make our request. We got in and made our request and sat by the radio waiting anxiously. 15 minutes would pass and NOTHING. They'd play 3-4 songs and go to commercial. So we called in again. The man said he'd play it. 30 minutes passed, and still nothing. We were very busy 11 and 12 year old children, we didn't have time to wait for every other request to be made. So we called in again. I remember very clearly, being certain that it wouldn't matter if we kept calling in---surely in the large listening area we were calling from, there were other people calling in to hear Yellow Rose of Texas. It never, ever occurred to me that might not be the case. And it certainly never occurred to me that I sounded 12! So, when we called in the 3rd time, feeling incognito through the phone lines, the request-taker/DJ yelled, "You STOP calling me, I got it the first time, I'm not going to play it at all if you don't stop calling here!" We were stunned. How did he know it was us? I don't think he ever played the song---but it might not have mattered---I think we spent the rest of the afternoon trying to figure out how he knew it was us every time.

When I was in junior high I decided that yellow roses were my favorite flowers. I decided pretty early on, and made it a well-known fact among my circles of friends. I believed in covering my bases because if my oh-so-romantic, would-be boyfriend ever wanted to surprise me on the 3-week anniversary of the first time we ever stood in front of our lockers holding hands and were late for class, he'd just have to ask one of my friends and they could say without having to think, "She loves yellow roses". I also loved the roses my dad grew in our yard, particularly the yellows, touched with orange. And I read somewhere that yellow rose was the flower of friendship and I loved that idea.

When I was on my mission, I served with a senior couple that I absolutely adored. They had a daughter named Angela and they nicknamed me their "Yellow Angela". I loved it. It was a tender nickname referring to me being an out-going "yellow" as described by the color code personality test. Yellows are fun-loving, out-going, crave attention, social, forgetful, obnoxious, and irresponsible. I'm only about half of those...
It was a loving nickname, but I would often think, "I'm not really a yellow though, I just seem like it." when I took the test at about 20---I was equal parts yellow, blue, and white, and not ONE IOTA RED. Yep, that's me. A red-less redhead. I believe those results. If I had red in me, I wouldn't have a huge pile of laundry sitting behind me in the hallway, having been there for two weeks, as I happily blog. I'd be going to bed on clean sheets. My kids would have been bathed before going to bed tonight. The presents I took to the two birthday parties today would have been taped with scotch tape and not shipping tape. I would have clipped the stems when I changed the water of the bouquet of flowers I have because the directions told me to. There are so many things I would be or would have done, if I just had the slightest bit of red in me. But that which is upon my head, and the v-neck sunburn on my chest are all I can truly claim.

Well, tonight as I was driving home from birthday party number two (Build-a-Bear with twelve 3-year-olds, aka Hell on a Saturday Night) and sitting in traffic (Because North Dallas has the most amazing shopping malls but not so amazing roads leading to them), "The Yellow Rose of Texas" came on the radio. My mind flooded with memories and I blared it. Yes, there were two children in the backseat, one bellowing along and the other yelling, "Softly mom, softly". I had the windows down and for a second I thought to be sheepish--blaring old country, shamelessly like that, but then I realized I'M IN TEXAS. This is they're language! I am among friends! This realization only escalated the emotions of the moment. I sang along at the top of my lungs for every Texan within a 10 car radius of Preston and 121 to hear, "She's the diamond of the desert, She's the golden flower of spring, She's the yellow rose of Texas, She can make a man a king!" Oh yeah, that was a more than beautiful end to a helatious two hours at the mall with two babies on a crowded Saturday night.

And that's it folks. My experiences with yellow, and The Yellow Rose of Texas and personality tests, and nicknames, and not-so-friendly DJs, and imaginary boyfriends, have brought me to this moment. I have decided to be the Yellow Rose of Texas. I won't go so far as to demand you address me as such, but you will be acknowledged more readily if you do. I am a golden flower of spring, particularly with my new highlights, and I don't need to make a man a king, I'd just like the one I have home in our palace.

2006-03-29T09:03:00.000-08:00

Ben Dresses Himself

So Much Pressure To Be Amazing

2006-03-28T21:09:00.000-08:00

One of Jay's favorite movie lines to quote is from the little neighbor boy in "The Incredibles" when Bob sort of snarls at him gawking in the driveway "Well, what are you waiting for!?" and the boy replies, "I dunno, something amazing I guess!"

I've been waiting for something amazing. I've wanted to start blogging for some time, but just felt so much pressure to have a perfect Blog name-er-title-er...whatever the proper blogging vernacular is. It's not amazing, but I'm ready, and it's real.

I wanted to start with telling how I came up with Angels In My Rearview. It's not a country song. Although, it should be. And, maybe it is---I've been out of the country music loop since Barney and Raffi entered the scene.

Like I said, I wanted something perfect. I really wanted it to be clever or meaningful, or both. I was wracking my brain, and to no avail. I finally just stopped thinking about it and one day as I was putting the DVDs back on the DVD shelf for the 317th time that day--it literally just popped into my head. And it sort of made my heart skip a beat. So I started thinking about what it meant to me. What it means to me is this: I don't deny the presence of God in my life, and how he truly guides me everyday. What I do neglect to acknowledge and remember, particularly in the thick of it, is how very closely he is guiding me and protecting and providing. And then, 2 weeks down the road, 2 months, sometimes 2 years, I look back (as though in my rearview mirror of life---see where this is going!?) and see the angels that were literally surrounding me, and really are all the time. I have very specific examples in my life that aren't profound or earth-shattering, but truly made my life so much more amazing and meaningful.

One of them was my first job out of college. I was so insecure on paper. I didn't feel like my resume with all my odd, short-term college jobs, would ever get me in the door. If they could just MEET me they'd know I was stellar. But faxing and mailing my resume into the unknown world of potential employer scrutiny was very hard on me. I clearly had too much self-confidence in my presence making the difference because after a personal interview for Southwest Airlines (yes, it was my greatest aspiration to work for barely over minimum wage after earning a Bachelor's degree---JUST so I could fly free) I never got a call back. I was about 8 hours from having nowhere to sleep, driving a little pickup truck my brother loaned me, with all my earthly possessions in it, no money for gas, and panty hose with runs in them---when I faxed a resume in response to a small ad I saw in the paper. I wasn't even going to do it, but my cousin reminded me I had nothing to lose. I couldn't breathe when they called me back because the resume had passed the initial scrutiny---if they were calling, they either didn't care about resumes and I was in---or they liked my resume, and I was SURE my personality could outshine it. Well, turns out that Dawn (who called me to set up the interview) basically decided the job was mine, even before meeting me. She was describing the dress code and how to dress for the interview and said "business casual." She threw out a couple of disclaimers like, "it's not really dressy, but we don't wear jeans" and "don't worry too much, we're mostly casual here." For some unknown reason, I took that as my verbal cue to try and be funny and I said, "So, basically, I just need to shower, and I'll be okay?" I don't remember her laughing. In fact, I remember a loud silence. But apparently she thought it was very funny. That job became my lifeline in every possible way. They were my family, they were my critics, and they were my support, my challenge, my life. I'm not being dramatic either. They got me out of the slums in which I naively found my first apartment. Not so much "got me out" as it was "nagged me relentlessly until I found another place that passed their specifications." They made fun of my white legs, took me to mass, made fun of me being mormon, smelled my lunch food, invited me to family functions, and took care of me in so many countless ways. I worked there until I had my first baby and they gave me everything I needed for his arrival.
Now, you tell me, how a lil' ol' lame-resume-bearing, middle-of-nowhere-coming-from, bachelors-in-psychology-earning girl lands a job at a law firm, with people like that? Please refer to blog title. I saw it myself, about a year after I started working there.

Okay, I really didn't mean to go on like that, but evidently this is very close to my heart. The OTHER aspect of this title came to me the next morning, around 5 am while I was laying in bed, waiting to see if the baby's squawks were real or if she was just yelling at Ben in her sleep. I thought about one of my favorite views---looking in my rearview mirror and seeing those precious little eyes looking back at me. Or lately, looking back and seeing Avery facing the back, and Ben facing forward, holding each other's hands. They truly are Angels in my Rearview, and I don't need hindsight to recognize it.