I have been in San Antonio these last few days visisting everyone and I finally got to meet my mom's oncologist, who was younger and cuter than his pictures on the South Texas Onconolgy Website show him to be. I also got to meet her drug study nurse (my mom is being super cool and donating her body to science--while she is alive!!!). Annabelle got completely shy when introduced to Dr. Smith and he understood why immediately. "She is probably not to keen on doctors," he observed, "let me try to find cookie or a piece of candy or something." I surreptitiously handed him the emergency lollipop I keep in my purse for just such occasions. He gave it to her and left to go do doctor stuff. So we were left with the study nurse and Annabelle relaxed and was her normal chatty self. Then we went into the waiting room and as we were walking out Annabelle said "Nice doctor?" Which I think translates into "that was a nice doctor and he didn't stick stuff in my ears and I still got a lollipop--who knew???"
I left to go to Houston and then my parents had to meet with the nurse again. When they did, she told them that Annabelle seemed advanced for her age.
Obviously she wasn't at the house earlier in the day.
I was trying to get her ready to go meet the oncologist and she really didn't want to change out of her play clothes. I had managed to get her top off when she tried to stall by saying "pee-pee, potty?" So I took her. When Annabelle pees, she cannot have her pants on, so I took them off. She didn't pee, of course. Then she wanted to wash her hands with the "baby soap" (little soaps my sister made 7 years ago that my mom still uses--waste not, want not). Then she wanted to brush her teeth with a toothbrush Hyphen left at my parents' house. I knew he would be super-keen on that and I knew that would occupy her for a while, so I let her. She was standing on a terry cloth covered vanity bench my mom has in the guest bathroom. I proceeded to finish my makeup and pack and make the bed. While I was fluffing the pillows the mom-ping went off in my head. The mom-ping is the silent noise every mom hears when her kids are up to no good. I went in the bathroom to check on her and she was still brushing her teeth but there were two, man-sized pieces of poop on my mom's terry cloth bench. The third piece was still emerging. I burst into laughter, did a super quick cost-benefit-analysis and ran to get my mom because I knew the consternation this would cause her would make the inevitable tongue lashing I would receive on my bad parenting habits totally worth it.
I rushed to my parents room and then opened their closed bathroom door.
Guess who else likes to brush their teeth buck-ass nekkid?
That's right, my dad.
The sight of his rear-end didn't even phase me as I was on a mission to hear my mom speak Spanish in exasperated tones.
Me: "Sorry dad, mom come quick and see what Annabelle is doing."
My mom runs out, expecting something cute, and then: "Ay dios mio, Annabelle!!!! What are you doing? Stella???? Do you theenk thees is funny? Cabrona. Where is her diaper? Why is she naked? Ay chihuahua. Why didn't you clean this??? Ay, Annabelle don't move...." Etc. etc. etc.
Of course I am laughing hysterically and Annabelle just looks perplexed.
When the fallout was over, I saw my dad and said "Hey sweet cheeks."
Dad: "you are the one who is going to have to live with that image, not me."
When we were kids, Audrey used to answer the phone and say "Looney bin" instead of "Stevens residence." It was so good to be home.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Santa baby
Some things seem like a good idea, like getting bangs or wearing a sweater dress, but in actuality they are not. That's what Annabelle and I learned about our trip to see Santa today. You see, Annabelle loves Santa. We have a Norman Rockwell's Deck the Halls out from the library that has a picture of him on it and she loves it. "La-la book, La-la book," she says every night. Whenever she seems him in someone's yard she says "San-ta Claus" and gets really excited. Sometimes she gets it a little confused and thinks he is Jesus, which is understandable because they both love you and have beards.
So I thought it would be a good idea to put her in a little Christmas dress and take her to have her picture taken. Problem number one was the dress. I had the perfect little cutesy dress picked out that I got on sale a few weeks ago. So this morning, I asked, rhetorically, I might add, "what should we wear to see Santa?" Her response? "Penguin shirt." You see, when I bought the cutesy little dress, Annabelle found a red t-shit with a penguin on it, took it off the rack and went running around the store with it saying, "Penguin, cute, Penguin, cute." So I got it for her. That is what she wanted to wear to see Santa, and you know what? She was right. Santa can see through artifice and I think if she came in a cutesy little dress, he would have said something like "Annabelle, is that you?" She was keeping it real, and he appreciates that and so does her Mama, even if from time to time she wants to put her in frilly little dresses with bows in her hair.
So we head off to the galleria, get there, park, only to find Santa is on the other side of the mall from where he was last year. Problem number 2. Oh well, gives me an excuse to browse. So we get there and are the second in line. She is transfixed and there is a look of joy on her face that I can't describe. You see, Santa from afar is just, well, a ripe jolly old elf. Up close is another matter. We made our approach. He was a great Santa, a real beard and everything. He even had ruddy cheeks, from being so cold at the North pole, I guess. Although they might be from drinking too many Busch Lights--I mean, hot toddies, to keep warm. As I am making this observation, Annabelle starts to get cold feet. Problem number three. Santa, in his infinite wisdom sees this and says to his helper taking the picture, "make this one quick." Annabelle says "Hi" to him and then when he puts her in his lap, she starts to scream. I am torn between sympathy for my daughter sitting on a bearded, creepy old stranger's lap and trying really hard not to laugh. The picture was short and as we were paying, I heard the next customer blame her child's shyness on Annabelle, saying "it probably didn't help that the other kid was screaming at the top of her lungs." Ho Ho Ho to you lady.
You know what? Santa, the real Santa, knows that you are not supposed to sit on strange people's laps without protesing and he marked that in the nice column for Annabelle which is a good thing because we are close to C-day and every little thing counts.
So I thought it would be a good idea to put her in a little Christmas dress and take her to have her picture taken. Problem number one was the dress. I had the perfect little cutesy dress picked out that I got on sale a few weeks ago. So this morning, I asked, rhetorically, I might add, "what should we wear to see Santa?" Her response? "Penguin shirt." You see, when I bought the cutesy little dress, Annabelle found a red t-shit with a penguin on it, took it off the rack and went running around the store with it saying, "Penguin, cute, Penguin, cute." So I got it for her. That is what she wanted to wear to see Santa, and you know what? She was right. Santa can see through artifice and I think if she came in a cutesy little dress, he would have said something like "Annabelle, is that you?" She was keeping it real, and he appreciates that and so does her Mama, even if from time to time she wants to put her in frilly little dresses with bows in her hair.
So we head off to the galleria, get there, park, only to find Santa is on the other side of the mall from where he was last year. Problem number 2. Oh well, gives me an excuse to browse. So we get there and are the second in line. She is transfixed and there is a look of joy on her face that I can't describe. You see, Santa from afar is just, well, a ripe jolly old elf. Up close is another matter. We made our approach. He was a great Santa, a real beard and everything. He even had ruddy cheeks, from being so cold at the North pole, I guess. Although they might be from drinking too many Busch Lights--I mean, hot toddies, to keep warm. As I am making this observation, Annabelle starts to get cold feet. Problem number three. Santa, in his infinite wisdom sees this and says to his helper taking the picture, "make this one quick." Annabelle says "Hi" to him and then when he puts her in his lap, she starts to scream. I am torn between sympathy for my daughter sitting on a bearded, creepy old stranger's lap and trying really hard not to laugh. The picture was short and as we were paying, I heard the next customer blame her child's shyness on Annabelle, saying "it probably didn't help that the other kid was screaming at the top of her lungs." Ho Ho Ho to you lady.
You know what? Santa, the real Santa, knows that you are not supposed to sit on strange people's laps without protesing and he marked that in the nice column for Annabelle which is a good thing because we are close to C-day and every little thing counts.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
the songs of Christmas
When we were kids back in the early eighties(the best time ever to be a kid, as far as I am concerned--more on that later), we would listen to records as we decorated the tree. My parents had two Christmas records, and they were, and still are, the best compilation of Christmas music in the world. There was one song I dreaded though--the most mournful song you'll ever hear--"No Room in the Inn, " as sung by Mahalia Jackson. It begins very slowly, "When Mary and Joseph went out on their journey..." and proceeds to go on about how weary they were and how the Innkeepers told them there was no room in Inn and how Jesus was born in a manger. And when I was little, I wanted to cry every time I heard it, and because I was and am a freak, I hated crying--still do--so I had to fight back those tears. I knew where on the record the song was and got such tremendous anxiety as we got closer to the song. How could anyone tell Mary and Joseph that there was no room for them? Just thinking about it now brings tears. After experiencing pregnancy I feel even more in awe of Our Blessed Mother. Of course, there are lots of times in our lives when we have no room for Jesus, probably lots of times throughout a day. Sigh. But we try to make room.
The song I loved and looked forward to was the Jim Neighbors version of "Go Tell it on a Mountain". "If No Room in the In" is the suffering, fatigue, and fear of those days, "Go Tell it on a Mountain" is the joy. Advent vs. Christmas. You hear it and you want to just dance like crazy and sing from the top of your lungs. I love it toward the end of the song when he belts out "Tell it on a Mountaaaiiiinnnnnn!"
And although the ipod has replaced the record player, we listened to each of those tonight as we trimmed the tree. And "Last Christmas," as sung by George Michael, because, as I have said, we are children of the eighties.
Our tree is beautiful. The coverage on the bottom is excellent. Annabelle is of the school "more is more" and likes to put all of the ornaments on the same branches. Looks really good actually and it takes the guess work out of where to put each one. I am going to finish the top that way.
The song I loved and looked forward to was the Jim Neighbors version of "Go Tell it on a Mountain". "If No Room in the In" is the suffering, fatigue, and fear of those days, "Go Tell it on a Mountain" is the joy. Advent vs. Christmas. You hear it and you want to just dance like crazy and sing from the top of your lungs. I love it toward the end of the song when he belts out "Tell it on a Mountaaaiiiinnnnnn!"
And although the ipod has replaced the record player, we listened to each of those tonight as we trimmed the tree. And "Last Christmas," as sung by George Michael, because, as I have said, we are children of the eighties.
Our tree is beautiful. The coverage on the bottom is excellent. Annabelle is of the school "more is more" and likes to put all of the ornaments on the same branches. Looks really good actually and it takes the guess work out of where to put each one. I am going to finish the top that way.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
what I have been doing
These last few days have kept me very busy and I haven't written much and so to my two followers who actually follow my blog, I am sorry, but seriously, mom and dad, I call you, like, a million times a day. I have been writing in my head for years now and now that I do this, it is almost constant, but getting on the computer is such a hassle, you know, turning it on and all, I just hate doing it sometimes. Here is what has been going on:
1. Christmas is upon us, well technically it is advent now and it won't be Christmas until Christmas day, but who cares about technicalities when you have Christmas lights to put up. That's right, we put up lights this year. One of the things I think pre-marriage counseling should ferret out is if you are a Christmas light person. If you are and your spouse is not, well proceed with caution. If you are and you spouse is not, but likes to give "constructive criticism" about how you wrap the trees, turn the hell around and find a new one, or content yourself to a life of spinsterhood. One year I was out putting lights up by myself when my next door neighbor felt so sorry for me he came out to help-- even though he is aged, uses a walker and was caring for his dying wife. He somehow guilted Hyphen into helping and so every year since then we either have complete bitching while helping or total nonparticipation. I am really not sure which is worse, because nothing kills the Christmas spirit like putting up lights by yourself. Of course, this was before we had Annabelle. I knew Annabelle would like Christmas lights because she is cool like that. She has enthusiasm which is one of the best qualities anyone can have. So her papa, who loves and adores her, headed up the charge to go to Big Lots to buy stuff to decorate the front of the house. I would have just been happy with just some icicle lights, but now our house looks like a tasteful gingerbread house, and I love it. And, once again, our marriage survived the hanging of the lights, which is a Christmas Miracle. Of course, we have no tree yet, which is another battle entirely, so it might be a short lived miracle.
2. I told my sister I would make her crib stuff. The bumper pads and skirt and sheet that she wanted was $600 for just one!!! And I figured it couldn't be that hard, which it isn't, but I have been spending every night working on it instead of spying on people on facebook, like I normally do. I wanted to have the bumpers and crib skirts ready by her shower, and I am almost done, just one more skirt to go, and that is pretty cinchy, actually, so I think I am going to make it.
3. Christmas card design took up some time. I just want to go back to the days where you sent a card with no photo, but I am afraid those days are gone. I have some rules for what I consider a successful card. 1. Cardstock. 2. Must say Merry Christmas, not Happy Holidays. 3. Must contain family picture, not just one of Annabelle. There was where the problem is, we only had one of us and we were at the beach, looking, well, like white trash. So we tried to create a moment of us lighting our advent wreath, which we do every night, it worked for a bit until Annabelle grabbed a candle and Hyphen almost burnt his hand. In the end, I went with some pictures throughout the year. If you get one, please note how Hyphen is carving the pumpkin with RUBBER GLOVES because he didn't want to get his hands dirty. Sigh.
4. Situation: a few years ago, in a very blond moment, my sister taught my dog (who is so stupid she would not have figured this out on her own) how to jump up on the sofa. For the past two weeks she is on it every night. Surprisingly, I am the only one who cares about this. Can't get pumpkin juice on his hands, but the dog on the sofa is okay.
5. Altar guild: I joined the Altar Guild at my Church, or as I used to call it, the old lady club. I had been meaning to join a few years ago, when they had Altar Guild Sunday and they all came marching down the aisle with canes and walkers and then the priest asked us to thank them for keeping the Church clean, but I never got around to it. Now that I am a SAHM I figured try it out. There are 13 young ladies in our sub-guild and when I say young I mean mid 30s and a couple of 20s. I went to my first meeting this week which just happened to be their Christmas luncheon. We spent the first few minutes praying for all the ladies who had fallen and had strokes. I kid you not. Looks like we joined just in time, but I do think they are going to haze us. At the end of the meeting we took a quiz testing our Christmas movie and carol knowledge. The last question was "what do you call small inexpensive gifts." The answer, of course, was stocking stuffer. The lady next to me said ( a little loudly I might add) "I call them cheap."
Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
1. Christmas is upon us, well technically it is advent now and it won't be Christmas until Christmas day, but who cares about technicalities when you have Christmas lights to put up. That's right, we put up lights this year. One of the things I think pre-marriage counseling should ferret out is if you are a Christmas light person. If you are and your spouse is not, well proceed with caution. If you are and you spouse is not, but likes to give "constructive criticism" about how you wrap the trees, turn the hell around and find a new one, or content yourself to a life of spinsterhood. One year I was out putting lights up by myself when my next door neighbor felt so sorry for me he came out to help-- even though he is aged, uses a walker and was caring for his dying wife. He somehow guilted Hyphen into helping and so every year since then we either have complete bitching while helping or total nonparticipation. I am really not sure which is worse, because nothing kills the Christmas spirit like putting up lights by yourself. Of course, this was before we had Annabelle. I knew Annabelle would like Christmas lights because she is cool like that. She has enthusiasm which is one of the best qualities anyone can have. So her papa, who loves and adores her, headed up the charge to go to Big Lots to buy stuff to decorate the front of the house. I would have just been happy with just some icicle lights, but now our house looks like a tasteful gingerbread house, and I love it. And, once again, our marriage survived the hanging of the lights, which is a Christmas Miracle. Of course, we have no tree yet, which is another battle entirely, so it might be a short lived miracle.
2. I told my sister I would make her crib stuff. The bumper pads and skirt and sheet that she wanted was $600 for just one!!! And I figured it couldn't be that hard, which it isn't, but I have been spending every night working on it instead of spying on people on facebook, like I normally do. I wanted to have the bumpers and crib skirts ready by her shower, and I am almost done, just one more skirt to go, and that is pretty cinchy, actually, so I think I am going to make it.
3. Christmas card design took up some time. I just want to go back to the days where you sent a card with no photo, but I am afraid those days are gone. I have some rules for what I consider a successful card. 1. Cardstock. 2. Must say Merry Christmas, not Happy Holidays. 3. Must contain family picture, not just one of Annabelle. There was where the problem is, we only had one of us and we were at the beach, looking, well, like white trash. So we tried to create a moment of us lighting our advent wreath, which we do every night, it worked for a bit until Annabelle grabbed a candle and Hyphen almost burnt his hand. In the end, I went with some pictures throughout the year. If you get one, please note how Hyphen is carving the pumpkin with RUBBER GLOVES because he didn't want to get his hands dirty. Sigh.
4. Situation: a few years ago, in a very blond moment, my sister taught my dog (who is so stupid she would not have figured this out on her own) how to jump up on the sofa. For the past two weeks she is on it every night. Surprisingly, I am the only one who cares about this. Can't get pumpkin juice on his hands, but the dog on the sofa is okay.
5. Altar guild: I joined the Altar Guild at my Church, or as I used to call it, the old lady club. I had been meaning to join a few years ago, when they had Altar Guild Sunday and they all came marching down the aisle with canes and walkers and then the priest asked us to thank them for keeping the Church clean, but I never got around to it. Now that I am a SAHM I figured try it out. There are 13 young ladies in our sub-guild and when I say young I mean mid 30s and a couple of 20s. I went to my first meeting this week which just happened to be their Christmas luncheon. We spent the first few minutes praying for all the ladies who had fallen and had strokes. I kid you not. Looks like we joined just in time, but I do think they are going to haze us. At the end of the meeting we took a quiz testing our Christmas movie and carol knowledge. The last question was "what do you call small inexpensive gifts." The answer, of course, was stocking stuffer. The lady next to me said ( a little loudly I might add) "I call them cheap."
Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
Monday, November 30, 2009
November
November is my most favorite month. And because of that, it always seems way too short, much shorter than the shortest February. Sandwiched in between the length and obscenity of October and the frenzy that is December, she is a grand old Dame forgotten by almost everyone-- except for us. We tried to make her last, we had a Thanksgiving playdate and we went to Castroville and made turkey and leaf cookies to celebrate autumn, but our last few days were eaten up with sickness, and we couldn't even enjoy Thanksgiving properly. No popcorn in the evening while watching the UT game, no Friday trip downtown to listen to music in front of the Alamo and watch them turn on the Christmas lights (even in the glory of Thanksgiving, she is still overshadowed by Black Friday and Christmas, yet she graciously acquiesces).
Today is the very last day. To celebrate, Annabelle, baby Annabelle, and I bundled up went on a walk to look for colorful trees and we gathered up some of the prettiest leaves to give to Papa.
He had just got home from work when we came home and we all had a cup hot chocolate and Chili that had been simmering on the stove all afternoon.
Farewell fond friend. I will see you next year, si dios quiere.
Today is the very last day. To celebrate, Annabelle, baby Annabelle, and I bundled up went on a walk to look for colorful trees and we gathered up some of the prettiest leaves to give to Papa.
He had just got home from work when we came home and we all had a cup hot chocolate and Chili that had been simmering on the stove all afternoon.
Farewell fond friend. I will see you next year, si dios quiere.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
thanksgiving apologies
This year i am sorry about the following things
1. Annabelle, I am sorry I told you that Santa wouldn't bring you any toys if you didn't take your medicine. I was frustrated and worried and I had already tried to force it in you and trick you with it, all to no avail. But the good news is, I never have to worry about anyone poisoning you by slipping you a mickey in your milk, juice, ice cream or by injecting something into a mini Reese's peanut butter cup. I am also sorry that I took you to the doctor so they could give you an antibiotic shot. I am thankful; however, you are getting better.
2. Mom and Dad: I am sorry I almost ruined your Thanksgiving by bringing my dog home. I am sorry that she is the most horrible dog in the world. I am sorry that there is one thing wrong with her: she's a dog. I am sorry I was unable to find a kennel while I was taking care of my infant daughter who had pneumonia. I should try to manage my time more wisely. But on the bright side, she was entertaining to the kids who came, so that's good, and she pooped at my in-laws house and not at yours, so that is good too.
3. To Hyphen: I am sorry I am the worst driver you have ever seen. I am sorry that after 5 years of living in our house, I still hit the curb every time I back out of the driveway. I am sorry that I almost killed us so many times on the way to San Antonio that you made me pull over so you could drive the rest of the way while I looked at my Instyle magazine.
Cue The Sting music now.
1. Annabelle, I am sorry I told you that Santa wouldn't bring you any toys if you didn't take your medicine. I was frustrated and worried and I had already tried to force it in you and trick you with it, all to no avail. But the good news is, I never have to worry about anyone poisoning you by slipping you a mickey in your milk, juice, ice cream or by injecting something into a mini Reese's peanut butter cup. I am also sorry that I took you to the doctor so they could give you an antibiotic shot. I am thankful; however, you are getting better.
2. Mom and Dad: I am sorry I almost ruined your Thanksgiving by bringing my dog home. I am sorry that she is the most horrible dog in the world. I am sorry that there is one thing wrong with her: she's a dog. I am sorry I was unable to find a kennel while I was taking care of my infant daughter who had pneumonia. I should try to manage my time more wisely. But on the bright side, she was entertaining to the kids who came, so that's good, and she pooped at my in-laws house and not at yours, so that is good too.
3. To Hyphen: I am sorry I am the worst driver you have ever seen. I am sorry that after 5 years of living in our house, I still hit the curb every time I back out of the driveway. I am sorry that I almost killed us so many times on the way to San Antonio that you made me pull over so you could drive the rest of the way while I looked at my Instyle magazine.
Cue The Sting music now.
Monday, November 23, 2009
where I am right now
I am in Cabo, sitting by an infinity pool overlooking the violent Pacific waves crashing on the slick, black rocks. I am under an umbrella, eating guacamole, having a pina colada, reading a gossip magazine and wondering if Robert Pattison and Kristen Stewart are really an item. I am slightly buzzed and just about to get a sunburn. In a minute I'll start Bell Canto again, so I won't waste my entire vacation on celebrity gossip.
Don't be jealous.
Don't be jealous, because I am only there in my mind. In reality, I am in day 3, or 9 depending on how you look at it, of sick kid hell. I certain I have cleaned up more than my share of vomit than was allotted to me by the motherhood gods and I am beyond feeling sorry for my daughter, now I just feel sorry for me.
Annabelle got sick last weekend. Feverish, puny. Then she got better--sort of. Then I got sick and then Hyphen (true to form) got sicker. All the while, she had a cough, and would cough so hard she would vomit up everything she ever thought about eating that day. Then on Saturday, she broke out into a fever very suddenly. I got concerned because I secretly, well not so secretly, thought we had the swine flu and a relapse is v.v. bad. So I called the after hours nurse line and they told me to give her some warm apple juice and honey to help with her cough. Okay, that sounds great. While I am at it, I will also get in my time machine and transport myself back into the middle ages to get some leaches, because I think bleeding her will help get rid of the evil spirits that are giving her the fever. Ugh. I want some decongestants bitches! Seriously, why can't we give them to our babies? So annoying.
On Sunday, I had a pitiful child and made a quick trip to the fancy medicaid-less ER, where I rationally explained out situation and the doctor who was wearing Prada glasses and who my grandmother would describe as a foreigner sent me home with a Popsicle and a dose of Motrin and told me she had a virus and it would pass.
The thing is, I know my baby. And I am not an idiot. I hold an advanced degree that gives me the ability to sue a doctor. I know the difference between a cold and something more. So this morning, when she doesn't even want to drink her milk, I take her to my real doctor. Who takes the time, even though he is a man, to listen to her chest. And she has pneumonia. PNEUMONIA. Now, I didn't go to medical school, but I am pretty sure apple juice and Popsicles don't fix that.
Sometimes, lawyers are the heroes of the story. Like when I called that quack shack and used the phrase "gross deviation from the standard of care" and demanded my money back.
Their director of medicine is going to call me.
Don't be jealous.
Don't be jealous, because I am only there in my mind. In reality, I am in day 3, or 9 depending on how you look at it, of sick kid hell. I certain I have cleaned up more than my share of vomit than was allotted to me by the motherhood gods and I am beyond feeling sorry for my daughter, now I just feel sorry for me.
Annabelle got sick last weekend. Feverish, puny. Then she got better--sort of. Then I got sick and then Hyphen (true to form) got sicker. All the while, she had a cough, and would cough so hard she would vomit up everything she ever thought about eating that day. Then on Saturday, she broke out into a fever very suddenly. I got concerned because I secretly, well not so secretly, thought we had the swine flu and a relapse is v.v. bad. So I called the after hours nurse line and they told me to give her some warm apple juice and honey to help with her cough. Okay, that sounds great. While I am at it, I will also get in my time machine and transport myself back into the middle ages to get some leaches, because I think bleeding her will help get rid of the evil spirits that are giving her the fever. Ugh. I want some decongestants bitches! Seriously, why can't we give them to our babies? So annoying.
On Sunday, I had a pitiful child and made a quick trip to the fancy medicaid-less ER, where I rationally explained out situation and the doctor who was wearing Prada glasses and who my grandmother would describe as a foreigner sent me home with a Popsicle and a dose of Motrin and told me she had a virus and it would pass.
The thing is, I know my baby. And I am not an idiot. I hold an advanced degree that gives me the ability to sue a doctor. I know the difference between a cold and something more. So this morning, when she doesn't even want to drink her milk, I take her to my real doctor. Who takes the time, even though he is a man, to listen to her chest. And she has pneumonia. PNEUMONIA. Now, I didn't go to medical school, but I am pretty sure apple juice and Popsicles don't fix that.
Sometimes, lawyers are the heroes of the story. Like when I called that quack shack and used the phrase "gross deviation from the standard of care" and demanded my money back.
Their director of medicine is going to call me.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
LuLu and Baby Ann-belle
I was cleaning out Annabelle's toy bins last week trying to prepare myself for the inevitable onslaught of the Christmas season when I uncovered a Cabbage Patch doll. Now my Aunt gave this to Annabelle last Christmas. She was way too little to appreciate it. And as the box lay unattended and unloved by last year's tree, my sister and I silently fumed. Well, not really silently. In our list of parental grievances, not having a Cabbage Patch doll is in the top ten. Perhaps the top 5, closely behind not having jelly shoes("junk shoes made of plastic"). Cabbage Patch dolls were too expensive and too ugly. Instead we got some homemade crap doll that was fat with a fat ugly face. Of course mine had stupid red hair, brown eyes, ridiculous freckles and was wearing a dreadful orange dress, and Audrey's had slightly less stupid blond hair, blue eyes and had a blue dress.
Audrey: "A cabbage Patch doll! She's not even one! What's in the other box? Hmm? Jellies???"
I am not sure how mature it is for 30 year olds to begrudge their niece/daughter a doll, but whatever.
So Annabelle has taken an interest in her. She also has taken an interest in the doll my other Aunt got her. Her name is Lulu, and is third in a long line of Lulu's, dating back from one given to my mom when she was little, one to me when I was little and now one to Annabelle, all from my Aunt Belia.
Lulu was pretty low maintenance and only required an occasional diaper change. But this Cabbage Patch doll is something else. Her shoes come off and so does her hat. Annabelle doesn't like it when that happens and has a tiny fit until the situation is resolved. She likes to have snacks. She likes grapes especially. She likes to sit with Annabelle on her high chair while she is eating these snacks. She also needs to pee pee in the potty, but sometimes has to be changed. She drinks a bottle and a sippy cup, but her mouth doesn't open, and that is a cause for concern. She goes with us places and lost a shoelace at our friends' house. Annabelle notices this from time to time and then we have to spend some time looking for it.
Annabelle is a loving mom, and makes sure her children are provided for, but doesn't always tend to them herself. I can now add "Doll nanny" to my CV.
In short, I have two new babies.
And the Cabbage Patch doll's name? Why it's "Baby Ann-belle" of course.
Audrey: "A cabbage Patch doll! She's not even one! What's in the other box? Hmm? Jellies???"
I am not sure how mature it is for 30 year olds to begrudge their niece/daughter a doll, but whatever.
So Annabelle has taken an interest in her. She also has taken an interest in the doll my other Aunt got her. Her name is Lulu, and is third in a long line of Lulu's, dating back from one given to my mom when she was little, one to me when I was little and now one to Annabelle, all from my Aunt Belia.
Lulu was pretty low maintenance and only required an occasional diaper change. But this Cabbage Patch doll is something else. Her shoes come off and so does her hat. Annabelle doesn't like it when that happens and has a tiny fit until the situation is resolved. She likes to have snacks. She likes grapes especially. She likes to sit with Annabelle on her high chair while she is eating these snacks. She also needs to pee pee in the potty, but sometimes has to be changed. She drinks a bottle and a sippy cup, but her mouth doesn't open, and that is a cause for concern. She goes with us places and lost a shoelace at our friends' house. Annabelle notices this from time to time and then we have to spend some time looking for it.
Annabelle is a loving mom, and makes sure her children are provided for, but doesn't always tend to them herself. I can now add "Doll nanny" to my CV.
In short, I have two new babies.
And the Cabbage Patch doll's name? Why it's "Baby Ann-belle" of course.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
turd kid update
After a period of relative peace and tranquility, Turd Kid has raised his ugly, wrinkly, head.
We were at the park where there is now a kids' tennis court. Of course, kids rarely play tennis on it, but the toddlers love to get on it and run like the wild demon maniacs they are. Chief among the wild rumpus starters is sweet little Annabelle. She has a peculiar way of running-she keeps her arms bent at angles at her chest, like she is a line-backer, and throws them back and forth, like she is going to knock some people down. It is a joy to watch her run. So we've been at the park for a while, had our tea party, played on the big abacus that Annabelle loves and thinks is "mine" (that's the Asian in her) and finally the family playing badminton on the court leaves. So Annabelle and some other maniacs head over to the court and start to run around.
And then I feel a disturbance in my force. I look up and see turd kid approaching with his sister, mom, and two tennis rackets. Figures. What 5 year old plays tennis????? Annabelle had been patiently waiting to get on the court, which is a hard thing to do for a 20 month old, and then this punk shows up. I was trying to figure out how to explain to her that she would have to leave, when my basest, ugliest, self kicked in.
Turd kid: "we are going to play tennis now."
Crazy me who argues with children: "Oh yeah? Well, we are running around."
Turd kid: "but we are going to play tennis now."
Me (silently praying no other adult was listening): "well, we were here first, so that's too bad."
Turd kid gave me this stunned look and I gave him my look that says "bring it" and scares my family.
Then some real adults approached, to check on their maniacs and our exchange was over. But I stood my ground. In the end, the court proved big enough for a crappy five year old tennis player and a fabulous 20 month old line backer to co-exist.
And you know what? I have no regrets about my behavior. That kid is a real turd, and I am not going to put up with that. Try to kick my baby girl off the tennis court? I don't think so.
We were at the park where there is now a kids' tennis court. Of course, kids rarely play tennis on it, but the toddlers love to get on it and run like the wild demon maniacs they are. Chief among the wild rumpus starters is sweet little Annabelle. She has a peculiar way of running-she keeps her arms bent at angles at her chest, like she is a line-backer, and throws them back and forth, like she is going to knock some people down. It is a joy to watch her run. So we've been at the park for a while, had our tea party, played on the big abacus that Annabelle loves and thinks is "mine" (that's the Asian in her) and finally the family playing badminton on the court leaves. So Annabelle and some other maniacs head over to the court and start to run around.
And then I feel a disturbance in my force. I look up and see turd kid approaching with his sister, mom, and two tennis rackets. Figures. What 5 year old plays tennis????? Annabelle had been patiently waiting to get on the court, which is a hard thing to do for a 20 month old, and then this punk shows up. I was trying to figure out how to explain to her that she would have to leave, when my basest, ugliest, self kicked in.
Turd kid: "we are going to play tennis now."
Crazy me who argues with children: "Oh yeah? Well, we are running around."
Turd kid: "but we are going to play tennis now."
Me (silently praying no other adult was listening): "well, we were here first, so that's too bad."
Turd kid gave me this stunned look and I gave him my look that says "bring it" and scares my family.
Then some real adults approached, to check on their maniacs and our exchange was over. But I stood my ground. In the end, the court proved big enough for a crappy five year old tennis player and a fabulous 20 month old line backer to co-exist.
And you know what? I have no regrets about my behavior. That kid is a real turd, and I am not going to put up with that. Try to kick my baby girl off the tennis court? I don't think so.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
if you want to see a bunch of grown women look like idiots, come and take zumba
I had it on good authority that zumba was a super fun aerobics class. So I decided to take it now that they offer it at my new and improved Y. I dropped Annabelle off at "school" and headed for the class, which is basically latin line dancing.
A few observations:
1. There were 15 women of varying ages and when I say varying, I mean I was one of the youngest.
2. There was one old man who was dreadfully out of place.
3. All but one were latin.
4. All were shaking their bom-boms.
5. All were completely uncoordinated
6. Our teacher (I am not a lesbian) was a total hottie with a perfect butt.
7. Saggy boobs come in handy when one does the shimmy shake.
So as the class gets going, I start to notice how dorky everyone is looking, including myself and I get to thinking--when I have the best moves in a dance class, there is a serious problem. Either I am in a class for geriatrics or lots of geriatrics are taking a class that is too young for them. Except, other than the one really old blue hair(who was doing hip thrusts with the rest of us) these ladies were not that old, and not to stereotype, but they should have rhythm. Then the mariachi/tejano song came on and suddenly everyone relaxed and could do the moves and it dawned on me, we just can't cumbia or salsa because that is not our culture. We are tex-mex dammit! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-hiiiii!
A few observations:
1. There were 15 women of varying ages and when I say varying, I mean I was one of the youngest.
2. There was one old man who was dreadfully out of place.
3. All but one were latin.
4. All were shaking their bom-boms.
5. All were completely uncoordinated
6. Our teacher (I am not a lesbian) was a total hottie with a perfect butt.
7. Saggy boobs come in handy when one does the shimmy shake.
So as the class gets going, I start to notice how dorky everyone is looking, including myself and I get to thinking--when I have the best moves in a dance class, there is a serious problem. Either I am in a class for geriatrics or lots of geriatrics are taking a class that is too young for them. Except, other than the one really old blue hair(who was doing hip thrusts with the rest of us) these ladies were not that old, and not to stereotype, but they should have rhythm. Then the mariachi/tejano song came on and suddenly everyone relaxed and could do the moves and it dawned on me, we just can't cumbia or salsa because that is not our culture. We are tex-mex dammit! Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-hiiiii!
Monday, November 2, 2009
my first client
My first client was someone, who due to confidentiality reasons, I will refer to as X. I heart X. :) X got a ticket in San Antonio which is pretty shocking, because X has an encyclopedic knowledge of the streets of San Antonio--like you can be on E.Grayson in some weird skank ass neighborhood that they are trying to make into some fancy thing called the "Pearl Brewery Complex" and she will say something like "you better change lanes because there is a pothole coming up." Of course, X is right, she is always right, at least when it comes to the streets of San Antonio, not regarding child rearing or the finer aspects of my life. Anyway, I was surprised to hear that she got one. Of course, X totally pulled the I-am-an-old-lady-recovering-from-a-devastating-disease card on the cop, but he didn't care. I could have told her that, my cop didn't care when I was 9 months pregnant--they put ink on you no matter what your physical condition is. (I can say cop now because I am no longer a prosecutor)
So she called me to ask what to do, and for the first time ever, I was able to help someone. See, I was such a nerd and took my job so seriously that when my family or friends needed help with tickets or had some other clash with polite society, I always said I couldn't give them any legal advice, because my client was the state and I couldn't work against her.
So I made a call to find out who I needed to call, and took care of her ticket over the phone. I hope I got her a good deal. And it felt great to actually be able to help someone.
My second client was myself. I had a trial today and I totally got screwed by my attorney who was just being lazy and didn't want to stay in court all day to try my ticket, and talked me into taking the deferred. Should I grieve myself?
So she called me to ask what to do, and for the first time ever, I was able to help someone. See, I was such a nerd and took my job so seriously that when my family or friends needed help with tickets or had some other clash with polite society, I always said I couldn't give them any legal advice, because my client was the state and I couldn't work against her.
So I made a call to find out who I needed to call, and took care of her ticket over the phone. I hope I got her a good deal. And it felt great to actually be able to help someone.
My second client was myself. I had a trial today and I totally got screwed by my attorney who was just being lazy and didn't want to stay in court all day to try my ticket, and talked me into taking the deferred. Should I grieve myself?
Sunday, November 1, 2009
why I should be a heavy drinker, but through the grace of God, I am not
Hyphen. I could write an entire blog, and probably so could some psychotherapist about what a whack job he is. Today, he had the unmitigated temerity to tell me that he was not "high maintenance." It was actually my sister who said he was. You see, she called me, while I was in the check out line at Target. And we were chatting. But I had to hang up because Hyphen was annoyed that I was talking to her instead of concentrating on putting the toilet paper in the trunk of the van. When we were driving home I called her back. It was then that Hyphen said he hated going shopping with me because my priorities were out of line. Audrey called him high maintenance and he denied it. Then I felt the need to delve why he hated going to Target with me. Hyphen likes to give what he calls "constructive criticism." Most other people call it "being an asshole."
Me:"What do you mean my priorities are out of line?"
Hyphen:"Because your priorities are getting popcorn and a slurpee and talking on the phone."
Me: "Look, I wanted to have a pleasurable shopping experience and that's why I got the popcorn and slurpee and I was only on the phone during the check out line. You could have stayed home with Annabelle, but you didn't want to go outside with her and that's what she needed to do." (sometimes Annabelle wakes up fussy and the only cure is to go outside and sit with the dog)
Hyphen: "there were too many mosquitoes."
Me: "you could have put on repellent."
Hyphen:"but I don't like the way it makes my skin feel."
Me: "you mean the feeling of not getting bitten? Then you have to suffer through Target."
High maintenance. That's my constructive criticism.
Me:"What do you mean my priorities are out of line?"
Hyphen:"Because your priorities are getting popcorn and a slurpee and talking on the phone."
Me: "Look, I wanted to have a pleasurable shopping experience and that's why I got the popcorn and slurpee and I was only on the phone during the check out line. You could have stayed home with Annabelle, but you didn't want to go outside with her and that's what she needed to do." (sometimes Annabelle wakes up fussy and the only cure is to go outside and sit with the dog)
Hyphen: "there were too many mosquitoes."
Me: "you could have put on repellent."
Hyphen:"but I don't like the way it makes my skin feel."
Me: "you mean the feeling of not getting bitten? Then you have to suffer through Target."
High maintenance. That's my constructive criticism.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
happy halloween
Halloween is over. Thank God, but at the same time, boo. When we were kids, you put on your costume, went trick or treating, inspected your loot for razor blades, threw out the candy corn and then Halloween was over. I was excited about it, sure, and I loved going to Fabric World with my mom and picking a pattern out for my costume, but Halloween was confined to a single day. Now, there is this huge lead up involving festivals, zoo-boo, costume play dates--one neighborhood here even trick or treats the night before. Everyone's yard has been full of ghosts and mummies and monsters for weeks and in one particularly disturbing case, since mid-September. It's insanity.
I had a rule. No trick or treating until you can say trick or treat. You might say I am a Halloween Grinch. In years past, I was the one who would inwardly groan when invited to a costume party. I never decorate--just some mums, which promptly die. But a couple of weeks ago, Annabelle started to notice jack-o-lanterns in people's yards, which she calls "spookies." She seemed to really like the scary houses and was always craning her neck to look for the "spookies." So my rule totally went out the window. Plus, being able to say spooky is as impressive as saying trick or treat, in my opinion, at least. I was still annoyed with all of the festivities, but of course caved to the mom pressure of participating in the neighborhood Halloween play date/party.
So I was at the play date hanging out with one of my favorite moms, a totally laid back lady, really positive and fun to be around, and she has great kids. Her daughter asked her if she could have a cookie and my friend said "You know what honey? It's Halloween, so you can have as many cookies as you want." I was watched her daughter try to comprehend this information-- the look on her face was of utter shock and joy. And that moment made my little grinchy pumpkin heart grow and grow until it blossomed into the Great Pumpkin of pumpkin hearts. It made me remember how fun Halloween is-and I for a second had that feeling of frenzied excitement I used to get when I was a kid because it dawned on me "it's Halloween, we can eat ghost cookies with sparkles on them, we can eat candy, Annabelle is going to dress up, we can make a jack-o-lantern, we can go to a carnival, and trick or treating!!!!!!!!"
And so we did all of those things. And tonight I was a sexy mama witch in orange and black tights and a black dress--a perfect compliment to Strawberry Shortcake. Even Hyphen got into the spirit by wearing an orange shirt and black sweater. I told him he was a sexy warlock, but really he was just Hyphen getting bitten by mosquitoes as we were walking down the street.
Happy Halloween!
I had a rule. No trick or treating until you can say trick or treat. You might say I am a Halloween Grinch. In years past, I was the one who would inwardly groan when invited to a costume party. I never decorate--just some mums, which promptly die. But a couple of weeks ago, Annabelle started to notice jack-o-lanterns in people's yards, which she calls "spookies." She seemed to really like the scary houses and was always craning her neck to look for the "spookies." So my rule totally went out the window. Plus, being able to say spooky is as impressive as saying trick or treat, in my opinion, at least. I was still annoyed with all of the festivities, but of course caved to the mom pressure of participating in the neighborhood Halloween play date/party.
So I was at the play date hanging out with one of my favorite moms, a totally laid back lady, really positive and fun to be around, and she has great kids. Her daughter asked her if she could have a cookie and my friend said "You know what honey? It's Halloween, so you can have as many cookies as you want." I was watched her daughter try to comprehend this information-- the look on her face was of utter shock and joy. And that moment made my little grinchy pumpkin heart grow and grow until it blossomed into the Great Pumpkin of pumpkin hearts. It made me remember how fun Halloween is-and I for a second had that feeling of frenzied excitement I used to get when I was a kid because it dawned on me "it's Halloween, we can eat ghost cookies with sparkles on them, we can eat candy, Annabelle is going to dress up, we can make a jack-o-lantern, we can go to a carnival, and trick or treating!!!!!!!!"
And so we did all of those things. And tonight I was a sexy mama witch in orange and black tights and a black dress--a perfect compliment to Strawberry Shortcake. Even Hyphen got into the spirit by wearing an orange shirt and black sweater. I told him he was a sexy warlock, but really he was just Hyphen getting bitten by mosquitoes as we were walking down the street.
Happy Halloween!
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
moo cow
Quick visit to granny and ba-pa's. Annabelle and I got there on Sunday and left today (Wednesday). Annabelle loves cows, they are second only to fish in her love of animals and "moo" was one of first words and so on Sunday, we decided to take her to their neighbor's pasture to look at cows. While there, we did the following things that we really bad:
1. We rode in a pickup without a carseat
2. We rode in the bed of said pickup
3. Annabelle sat in my dad's lap, while he was driving, and messed with every knob she could get her hands on.
4. We stared death in the eyes and lived, and when I say death, I mean a pregnant cow that got a little too close to the truck.
Items 1-3 are usually illegal, except that I think if you look deep in a code book somewhere you will find the affirmative defense called "we were on a dirt road so it don't count."
My dad has a special gift for calling cows and can moo in a really realistic manner and get them all stirred up and then they moo back and head over to where we are. I guess it comes from growing up on a farm. And although Annabelle has spent her infancy in Houston, which is the exact opposite of a farm, she appears ready to pick up on ba-pa's talent yelling moo at those cows, and being delighted when the moo-ed back.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
When you bring your boss over to dinner, you don't talk about hermaphrodites and undescended testes
My sister is in town. She is attending some architecture conference. So is her boss. I picked her up from the conference and brought her home to a clean house and a semi-prepared dinner of butternut squash lasagna rolls and arugula salad with figs(can you tell today is mother's day out?). While we were waiting for Hyphen to come home, her boss texted her and asked if she had any plans for dinner. I told her to invite him to come over. So he agreed and he said he would be at our house in 30 minutes.
Now, I have never in my life seen my sister, or any pregnant woman, for that matter, move around so fast, scurrying around to tidy up my house. You would think her boss was coming to her house. She got positively mom and hyphen-like in her preparation for his arrival. Meanwhile, I laughed my ass off and made some brownies. I was looking forward to it, because I have met her boss (coincidentally he and Hyphen worked together on a project for hyphen's work) and he is totally hot and has curly hair and likes soccer.
Audrey is one of those weird people who have a work persona. Her work persona is very serious. She is very much like Hyphen in this way (why God am I surrounded by anal -retentive type freaks?) and she gave us a short lecture about not embarrassing her. What, us? Embarrass?
So he gets here, we start to chat and I open with something like this: "so you architects are real serious about this CLE stuff, not like attorneys who just check in and then go get drunk at the hotel bar."
We ate dinner, and then dessert, and talked and eventually Hyphen drove him home.
Then the list of grievances began:
Audrey: "This is a professional person that I have to work with and talk to every day. Talking about penises and hermaphrodites. I have never been so embarrassed in my enitre life."
Me: "it's midnight. He stayed until midnight, obviously he was having fun. And he was the one talking about hermaphrodites."
Audrey: "the English language rip-off school for third world countries? "Ha-vad"? Why did H____ have to bring that up? He just stayed because he was shocked. And now I know he likes weirdo music and goes to clubs. Argghhh. And why did you have to tell him you have a crush on pirates? And I am not a grumpy pregnant person."
In summary:
1. Audrey's boss is a hottie
2. He stayed at our house until midnight
3. Audrey is the grumpiest pregnant person of all time.
4. shiver me timbers
Now, I have never in my life seen my sister, or any pregnant woman, for that matter, move around so fast, scurrying around to tidy up my house. You would think her boss was coming to her house. She got positively mom and hyphen-like in her preparation for his arrival. Meanwhile, I laughed my ass off and made some brownies. I was looking forward to it, because I have met her boss (coincidentally he and Hyphen worked together on a project for hyphen's work) and he is totally hot and has curly hair and likes soccer.
Audrey is one of those weird people who have a work persona. Her work persona is very serious. She is very much like Hyphen in this way (why God am I surrounded by anal -retentive type freaks?) and she gave us a short lecture about not embarrassing her. What, us? Embarrass?
So he gets here, we start to chat and I open with something like this: "so you architects are real serious about this CLE stuff, not like attorneys who just check in and then go get drunk at the hotel bar."
We ate dinner, and then dessert, and talked and eventually Hyphen drove him home.
Then the list of grievances began:
Audrey: "This is a professional person that I have to work with and talk to every day. Talking about penises and hermaphrodites. I have never been so embarrassed in my enitre life."
Me: "it's midnight. He stayed until midnight, obviously he was having fun. And he was the one talking about hermaphrodites."
Audrey: "the English language rip-off school for third world countries? "Ha-vad"? Why did H____ have to bring that up? He just stayed because he was shocked. And now I know he likes weirdo music and goes to clubs. Argghhh. And why did you have to tell him you have a crush on pirates? And I am not a grumpy pregnant person."
In summary:
1. Audrey's boss is a hottie
2. He stayed at our house until midnight
3. Audrey is the grumpiest pregnant person of all time.
4. shiver me timbers
Monday, October 19, 2009
camping
I could say a lot about camping with a 19 month old child. There were highs and there were lows, but to bottom line it, I will say the following (which is just good advice for life):
when your kid pukes in the tent and the dog eats it up, it's time to go home.
when your kid pukes in the tent and the dog eats it up, it's time to go home.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
2 lovely things
So, I wasn't going to write until I got back from the frio, but I saw two things today that warmed my heart, and I had to share them with someone.
1. I was packing the van today (usually Hyphen does this and it involves lots of sweating and gnashing of teeth) and I saw a butterfly. I noticed that it was flapping its wings. It had caught a breeze, kind of like a surfer catches a wave and was just letting the wind take it where it blew. And I could tell that this butterfly, and it was one of those big huge black and yellow ones, was just having a good time. Like its hair was flowing in the breeze and it felt young and free and alive. And it made me feel young and free and alive. Don't you just love God's creatures?
2. My friend and I are at war with the sippy cup. They are disgusting things that stink and drip. But for Annabelle they are the last vestige of nursing. She likes to drink milk in the morning and after her nap from her sippy. And she likes for me to hold her and she likes to stroke my arm or my face while she is drinking her milk. In our house we call this and most other snuggly time "get cuddles." When Annabelle gets cuddles with her milk, she only wants mama. She really is vocal about her displeasure when papa tires to take my place. The only other people she has let hold her while she is drinking her milk are my mom and Hieu's mom. Even if we are on the go, like at Target, she will drink her milk and stroke my hand as I push the cart.
Today, as we were driving to Castroville, she asked for her milk. This was after her shoe meltdown, where she wanted her shoes on and then off for about 20 minutes and also after I saw wheels on the bus, row, row and where is thumbkin for about 30 minutes straight. She got quiet and Hyphen asked what she was doing. I looked back and saw her sucking on that damned sippy with one hand and stroking the dog's ear with the other one.
We chuckled about this and then I remembered the butterfly and said "thank you God for all the lovely things I got to see today."
On a distinctly un-lovely note, Hyphen, and I am not exaggerating about this, lasted one minute in the car before complaining about how I had packed it, in the heat, in the rain...uphill, both ways.
1. I was packing the van today (usually Hyphen does this and it involves lots of sweating and gnashing of teeth) and I saw a butterfly. I noticed that it was flapping its wings. It had caught a breeze, kind of like a surfer catches a wave and was just letting the wind take it where it blew. And I could tell that this butterfly, and it was one of those big huge black and yellow ones, was just having a good time. Like its hair was flowing in the breeze and it felt young and free and alive. And it made me feel young and free and alive. Don't you just love God's creatures?
2. My friend and I are at war with the sippy cup. They are disgusting things that stink and drip. But for Annabelle they are the last vestige of nursing. She likes to drink milk in the morning and after her nap from her sippy. And she likes for me to hold her and she likes to stroke my arm or my face while she is drinking her milk. In our house we call this and most other snuggly time "get cuddles." When Annabelle gets cuddles with her milk, she only wants mama. She really is vocal about her displeasure when papa tires to take my place. The only other people she has let hold her while she is drinking her milk are my mom and Hieu's mom. Even if we are on the go, like at Target, she will drink her milk and stroke my hand as I push the cart.
Today, as we were driving to Castroville, she asked for her milk. This was after her shoe meltdown, where she wanted her shoes on and then off for about 20 minutes and also after I saw wheels on the bus, row, row and where is thumbkin for about 30 minutes straight. She got quiet and Hyphen asked what she was doing. I looked back and saw her sucking on that damned sippy with one hand and stroking the dog's ear with the other one.
We chuckled about this and then I remembered the butterfly and said "thank you God for all the lovely things I got to see today."
On a distinctly un-lovely note, Hyphen, and I am not exaggerating about this, lasted one minute in the car before complaining about how I had packed it, in the heat, in the rain...uphill, both ways.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Do you see how kids f*!@ your life?
Today I had the pleasure of dining with an elder "gentleman," under whose tutelage I thankfully never was. We caught up on old times and he asked me if Annabelle was talking yet, to which I replied in the affirmative and then he asked me if she had said MotherFu*!@* yet. Do what? Apparently he remembered me as somewhat of a curser. I told him that I didn't curse any more, just an occasional outburst of "balls." His response: "Do you see how kids f*!@ your life?"
Now, to say that I was somewhat of a curser is like saying that the Mona Lisa is a little sketch housed in a small building in a dreary city. That made me wonder, do I miss cursing? Was that something that was so intrinsic to my personality that I am less because of it? Because let me tell you, there is nothing for blowing off steam like letting a string of the foulest obscenities you can think of, roll off your tongue like butter. I had one sequence I liked to use in particular that was so raunchy that I can't put it in this blog because it shocks my dad and he cringes when he hears "you girls" say foul words.
My mom says you go through stages in life. She calls them etapas. And when one is over, ya bastante--you move on. And you don't move on and forget, you look wistfully back, but you move on. For instance, before we had Annabelle, we once went out for drinks at one restaurant and then headed over to Cyclone Anayas for Margaritas. At some point, something disagreed with me and I ended up in the bathroom, vomiting profusely. I thought I had a stomach ache, but then Hyphen came into the bathroom and informed me that I would get arrested for PI if I didn't pull it together, it was only then that it occurred to me that I was drunk. We drove home and I was furious with him for being so unkind to me that it was only a small consolation that I puked in his beloved car.
The Cyclone Anaya time of our marriage is over. Ya, bastante. I am glad it happened. I look back on it fondly. But I can never go back. Does this make me sad?
I don't want my baby to say "I said no, god dammit!" as one of my friends' kids did. So I stopped cursing.
I was good at cursing. I loved cursing. I am glad I did it, it was wonderful while it happened, but I can never go back to that time, even if I wanted to. That was one thing about me and does not define me and did not make me who I am.
Somehow, I don't think I am talking about swear words anymore.
Oprah once gave some advice (shocker) "You will create new normal," she said. And you do that. You do that when you have kids, when you change jobs, when you leave a job you loved, even when you quit cursing.
My current etapa leads me to the frio river where I will be camping this weekend with family and friends. We are leaving tomorrow and so far Hyphen hasn't had his usual travel meltdown, but the night is young.
Now, to say that I was somewhat of a curser is like saying that the Mona Lisa is a little sketch housed in a small building in a dreary city. That made me wonder, do I miss cursing? Was that something that was so intrinsic to my personality that I am less because of it? Because let me tell you, there is nothing for blowing off steam like letting a string of the foulest obscenities you can think of, roll off your tongue like butter. I had one sequence I liked to use in particular that was so raunchy that I can't put it in this blog because it shocks my dad and he cringes when he hears "you girls" say foul words.
My mom says you go through stages in life. She calls them etapas. And when one is over, ya bastante--you move on. And you don't move on and forget, you look wistfully back, but you move on. For instance, before we had Annabelle, we once went out for drinks at one restaurant and then headed over to Cyclone Anayas for Margaritas. At some point, something disagreed with me and I ended up in the bathroom, vomiting profusely. I thought I had a stomach ache, but then Hyphen came into the bathroom and informed me that I would get arrested for PI if I didn't pull it together, it was only then that it occurred to me that I was drunk. We drove home and I was furious with him for being so unkind to me that it was only a small consolation that I puked in his beloved car.
The Cyclone Anaya time of our marriage is over. Ya, bastante. I am glad it happened. I look back on it fondly. But I can never go back. Does this make me sad?
I don't want my baby to say "I said no, god dammit!" as one of my friends' kids did. So I stopped cursing.
I was good at cursing. I loved cursing. I am glad I did it, it was wonderful while it happened, but I can never go back to that time, even if I wanted to. That was one thing about me and does not define me and did not make me who I am.
Somehow, I don't think I am talking about swear words anymore.
Oprah once gave some advice (shocker) "You will create new normal," she said. And you do that. You do that when you have kids, when you change jobs, when you leave a job you loved, even when you quit cursing.
My current etapa leads me to the frio river where I will be camping this weekend with family and friends. We are leaving tomorrow and so far Hyphen hasn't had his usual travel meltdown, but the night is young.
Friday, October 9, 2009
If you had not of fallen....
Phone call to Hyphen at about 4:30
Me: "oh, babe, can you and Annabelle spend the moring together tomorrow? I am feeling so frumpy, I need to get my nails done and my lip waxed, I just look so bedraggled."
H: "Yeah, I've been meaning to tell you that you're starting to look like Willie Nelson."
Me: "Red-headed stranger Willie Nelson or I-won't-even-carry-a-tune-to-the-songs-I-wrote Willie Nelson?"
H: "the latter."
Hmm. Either way, it's not good. I'd better stay away from bandanas, for now, anyway.
Me: "oh, babe, can you and Annabelle spend the moring together tomorrow? I am feeling so frumpy, I need to get my nails done and my lip waxed, I just look so bedraggled."
H: "Yeah, I've been meaning to tell you that you're starting to look like Willie Nelson."
Me: "Red-headed stranger Willie Nelson or I-won't-even-carry-a-tune-to-the-songs-I-wrote Willie Nelson?"
H: "the latter."
Hmm. Either way, it's not good. I'd better stay away from bandanas, for now, anyway.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
my kind of neighbors
Tuesday was Texas night out, moved form August to combat the heat--ha! We had an off the grid party at our house, off the grid, because it wasn't one of the official neighborhood ones. We invited some neighbors and had Kobe beef hot dogs, chips, cokes and beer. The party was rolling along, and I went to the garage to get some more lawn chairs. I came back and saw the po-po parked in front of our house, with lights flashing. I thought "oh crap, are we making a noise disturbance?" Then I realized it was National Night Out and they were probably just chauffeuring some local politico around and handing out McGruff T-shirts, which they were.
They left and then my feisty old lady neighbor and her husband came ambling up the driveway. She owns a flower shop, has a beehive hairdo and wears horn-rimmed glasses with rhinestones bedazzled onto them. She walked up with a barbie for Annabelle in one hand and a Miller Light in the other.
Fiesty: "we were coming earlier but I saw the cops and I thought I'd wait 'till they left."
Me: "Why? Because of your open warrant?"
Fiesty:"How'd you know about that?"
We shot the bull 'til way after dark.
They left and then my feisty old lady neighbor and her husband came ambling up the driveway. She owns a flower shop, has a beehive hairdo and wears horn-rimmed glasses with rhinestones bedazzled onto them. She walked up with a barbie for Annabelle in one hand and a Miller Light in the other.
Fiesty: "we were coming earlier but I saw the cops and I thought I'd wait 'till they left."
Me: "Why? Because of your open warrant?"
Fiesty:"How'd you know about that?"
We shot the bull 'til way after dark.
Monday, October 5, 2009
hi hooooooooooooooo silver, a-way!
So I have a cold. I feel like an alien has sucked all the nutrients out of my body. And when mama is sick, well, to be blunt, nobody really gives a shit. Well, that's not exactly true, Annabelle just doesn't get it, but she does say "Bless you," so that's nice. Needless to say, there was no baptist song camp, no story time--I didn't even make the bed. I just sat on the couch and read the same story to her about a 100 times, and I was happy to do it, because it meant I was sitting still. By dinner I was feeling a little better and I cleaned the kitchen while Hyphen mowed the lawn (on a side note, Hyphen has been mowing the lawn twice a week, which is a marked improvement from twice a year and thus far, no trips to the emergency room). I bathed Annabelle while he got cleaned up. After bath time, Annabelle frequently goes to find her dad in her birthday suit. Then he yells, "Naked baby!" and they laugh. Tonight was no exception and there was the added bonus of what was playing on the ipod, my favorite country song of all time: Elvira.
So there they were, an asian, a naked baby and my idiot turned country-ass dog, all dancing to Elvira. Sometimes, no matter how bad you feel, you got to join in and giddy up a-um-ba-pa-um-ba-pa-mow-mow.
So there they were, an asian, a naked baby and my idiot turned country-ass dog, all dancing to Elvira. Sometimes, no matter how bad you feel, you got to join in and giddy up a-um-ba-pa-um-ba-pa-mow-mow.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
my mom went home today, boo.
Having a house that was built in 1941, before there was a super-walmart, and therefore before there were super-walmart sized closets, causes you to be creative with storage. For instance, my rubbing alcohol is in my bathroom closet on the very top shelf behind my very heavy cleaning caddy. I put it, and all the other medicines, there because we don't (thankfully) need them very often. Last night, after our afternoon trip to the Y pool, my mom needed it for her ears. I groaned when she told me she needed it, because I knew where it was and I am lazy and tired and I didn't feel like digging out the step ladder from the behind the vacuum cleaner in the hall closet to get it. Right as I climbed onto the ladder my mom decided to thank me for my efforts by pantsing me for the second time that evening. I looked at her with the pj's around my ankles and used the insult I had been saving for such an occasion:
"your butt's so big, it unravels you underwear."
"your butt's so big, it unravels you underwear."
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Q:what is the difference between my house and the zoo?
Overheard at my house today:
My mom and the dog
on the dog front, my mom hates my dog, and is completely annoyed when she is inside.
a. "ay, this dog is no good, where's the broom?"
b. "Annabelle, stop giving Bella your food."
c. "princess, snowball, tu-- Bella, go away you stupid dog. leave me alone."
d. "ay, dog, don't lick her, it's a miracle she doesn't have microbios."
e. "go a-way dog, you are not part of our fun."
Hyphen and my mom
Hyphen and my mom always have an interesting repartee. Hyphen won't let me boss him around, but my mom is another story. They love to tease each other:
a. mom: "see H---, that's what you have to look forward to (gesturing to the prostate commercial), going and going and going.."
hyphen: "I would just strap on a diaper"
b. hyphen (eating a bowl of shrimp heads): "would you like a shrimp head?"
mom(disgusted): "No. What's the matter with you?"
c. Hyphen(politely asking, anticipating the answer to be no): "I am going to Kroger, do you need anything?"
mom: "yes, a cinnamon roll. But not from Kroger's, from Shipley's. Not a cinnamon roll, a bear claw. Not a bear claw a an apple fritter."
Hyphen: "what if they don't have an apple fritter?"
Mom: "then don't come back."
Meanwhile, Annabelle and Hyphen, or should I say Clouseau and Cato, where running around the house hiding and then scaring each other. Even Granny got in the act, telling Annabelle where he was hiding. The three of them were screaming with laughter. The dog didn't enjoy this one bit and came over to my seat and tried to hide from the hiding.
A: at the zoo the animals are in cages.
My mom and the dog
on the dog front, my mom hates my dog, and is completely annoyed when she is inside.
a. "ay, this dog is no good, where's the broom?"
b. "Annabelle, stop giving Bella your food."
c. "princess, snowball, tu-- Bella, go away you stupid dog. leave me alone."
d. "ay, dog, don't lick her, it's a miracle she doesn't have microbios."
e. "go a-way dog, you are not part of our fun."
Hyphen and my mom
Hyphen and my mom always have an interesting repartee. Hyphen won't let me boss him around, but my mom is another story. They love to tease each other:
a. mom: "see H---, that's what you have to look forward to (gesturing to the prostate commercial), going and going and going.."
hyphen: "I would just strap on a diaper"
b. hyphen (eating a bowl of shrimp heads): "would you like a shrimp head?"
mom(disgusted): "No. What's the matter with you?"
c. Hyphen(politely asking, anticipating the answer to be no): "I am going to Kroger, do you need anything?"
mom: "yes, a cinnamon roll. But not from Kroger's, from Shipley's. Not a cinnamon roll, a bear claw. Not a bear claw a an apple fritter."
Hyphen: "what if they don't have an apple fritter?"
Mom: "then don't come back."
Meanwhile, Annabelle and Hyphen, or should I say Clouseau and Cato, where running around the house hiding and then scaring each other. Even Granny got in the act, telling Annabelle where he was hiding. The three of them were screaming with laughter. The dog didn't enjoy this one bit and came over to my seat and tried to hide from the hiding.
A: at the zoo the animals are in cages.
Monday, September 28, 2009
can anyone tell me what channel the Closer and NCIS are on, in other words, my mom is here
So I am taking the family law boot camp tomorrow and some other seminar about child abuse on Wednesday. And my mom came to help out with Annabelle. My mom drove here by herself, which she has only done one other time. Usually she comes with my dad and complains the entire time about what a bad driver he is. Today, she called from the car and told me she could only stop at rest stops and not at restaurants because while she was on the road, she noticed that the seam on her pants was coming loose and that her butt was dangerously close to being exposed. She didn't feel she was decent enough to get out of the car. When she got here, I assessed the situation and didn't think it was that bad, I mean, she could have gone to the Whataburger in Columbus, but I've been known to leave the house with a stain or two--my mom, not so much.
While she was bemoaning the fact that she would have to return her pants and wondering if she should wash them first, she told me the following:
Mom: "you know that is the second thing that had a hole. I had a hole on my chones (underwear) too the other day. So I had to take them back to SOMA. And I also took another pair that was a year old. Well actually they were two years old but I told them a year.
Generally, when I when I used to do trials, I wouldn't listen to what the defendants were saying, until I heard one little interesting nugget, and all of a sudden my ears would perk up:
Me:"Wait, what? you returned underwear that was a year old?"
Mom: "Two. Well, it was unraveling, the same as in the new one. I told the lady, I wasn't going to drive all the way here for one pair. But when the second one happened, I returned them. And it shouldn't have unraveled after just one year."
Me: " So you wore it for a year, and then it unraveled and then you kept wearing it but decided to return it?"
Mom: "I've had these underwear (gestures to what she has on) from Victoria Secret for 7 years. I love these underwear, because they hold my tummy in and they are pretty and, look, no holes. This is how long they should last. Anyway, the lady returned one and but she could only give me $1.99 for the other one, because it was old and she said I got it on clearance. How did she know that? She scanned it, I guess. So I got some new ones, and they were 12.00, but minus 1.99, so just ten dollars. And then the free ones, so I just spent ten dollars...."
Me: "you returned clearance underwear that you had for two years"
Mom: "So???? They were unraveling. I could have fixed it, but why--I shouldn't have to do that."
Should be an interesting week.
While she was bemoaning the fact that she would have to return her pants and wondering if she should wash them first, she told me the following:
Mom: "you know that is the second thing that had a hole. I had a hole on my chones (underwear) too the other day. So I had to take them back to SOMA. And I also took another pair that was a year old. Well actually they were two years old but I told them a year.
Generally, when I when I used to do trials, I wouldn't listen to what the defendants were saying, until I heard one little interesting nugget, and all of a sudden my ears would perk up:
Me:"Wait, what? you returned underwear that was a year old?"
Mom: "Two. Well, it was unraveling, the same as in the new one. I told the lady, I wasn't going to drive all the way here for one pair. But when the second one happened, I returned them. And it shouldn't have unraveled after just one year."
Me: " So you wore it for a year, and then it unraveled and then you kept wearing it but decided to return it?"
Mom: "I've had these underwear (gestures to what she has on) from Victoria Secret for 7 years. I love these underwear, because they hold my tummy in and they are pretty and, look, no holes. This is how long they should last. Anyway, the lady returned one and but she could only give me $1.99 for the other one, because it was old and she said I got it on clearance. How did she know that? She scanned it, I guess. So I got some new ones, and they were 12.00, but minus 1.99, so just ten dollars. And then the free ones, so I just spent ten dollars...."
Me: "you returned clearance underwear that you had for two years"
Mom: "So???? They were unraveling. I could have fixed it, but why--I shouldn't have to do that."
Should be an interesting week.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
My idiot dog, paco
So my parents and sister and her husband went on a cruise 2 weeks ago. My mom called me every few days, which was probably expensive. She wasn't calling to check on me; however, she just missed Annabelle. When they got back they came over for the wisdom teeth removal and they brought Annabelle all of the cruise presents that they got her.
One of these presents was a stuffed dog. A build-a-bear style animal, except it wasn't pink and wearing a cheerleading costume. It is a hound dog. It wears blue jams and a surfer style shirt. It has black sunglasses. It barks and if you press its heart it says "Hello Annabelle my name is Paco, I like to bark and eat kibble. Your grandma loves you very very mu..." It is the ugliest thing I have ever seen. Annabelle loves it. It is the only stuffed animal that she is attached to. She calls for it: "Pa-co, Pa-co," and wants it in her crib.
The name Paco comes from my mom's favorite dog from my childhood. Paco was a cocker spaniel whose main interests lied on other people's shins. He also like to chase a toy apple around our porch and would do so for hours. He had absolutely no redeeming qualites except for his bad sense of direction. One day he got out of the yard (my dad has never been cleared of creating the loose fence board, which remains a source of marital discord) and never came back. Anyway, my mom claims to have never gotten over the loss.
She taught Annabelle to say Paco. Initailly she was saying Pa-o. But the Spanish teacher in my mother couldn't have that. "No, Annabelle, it's Pa-co"
Today when we were leaving the house I told her to say good bye to the dog (the real one). She waved her hand and said "Bye-Bye Pa-co." She called Bella Pa-co a few times today. I guess that's Bella's name now since that's what Annabelle thinks it is. Of course, if we played by that logic, Annabelle's name would be Hertzog, since that's what she thinks her name is.
One of these presents was a stuffed dog. A build-a-bear style animal, except it wasn't pink and wearing a cheerleading costume. It is a hound dog. It wears blue jams and a surfer style shirt. It has black sunglasses. It barks and if you press its heart it says "Hello Annabelle my name is Paco, I like to bark and eat kibble. Your grandma loves you very very mu..." It is the ugliest thing I have ever seen. Annabelle loves it. It is the only stuffed animal that she is attached to. She calls for it: "Pa-co, Pa-co," and wants it in her crib.
The name Paco comes from my mom's favorite dog from my childhood. Paco was a cocker spaniel whose main interests lied on other people's shins. He also like to chase a toy apple around our porch and would do so for hours. He had absolutely no redeeming qualites except for his bad sense of direction. One day he got out of the yard (my dad has never been cleared of creating the loose fence board, which remains a source of marital discord) and never came back. Anyway, my mom claims to have never gotten over the loss.
She taught Annabelle to say Paco. Initailly she was saying Pa-o. But the Spanish teacher in my mother couldn't have that. "No, Annabelle, it's Pa-co"
Today when we were leaving the house I told her to say good bye to the dog (the real one). She waved her hand and said "Bye-Bye Pa-co." She called Bella Pa-co a few times today. I guess that's Bella's name now since that's what Annabelle thinks it is. Of course, if we played by that logic, Annabelle's name would be Hertzog, since that's what she thinks her name is.
Monday, September 21, 2009
baptist song camp
So, today I went to a mommy and me singing activity that my friend told me about. She said it cost $10.00 and that it was at a baptist church. It sounded like fun, so I decided to give it a whirl. I glanced at the registration form and saw it was at some place called second baptist church. (catholic rant: what's the deal? What is the difference between the second baptists and the first baptists? and where do the southern baptists fit in? Do you see what happens when you don't have a pope, people!!!!!) Since it was the second baptist, I figured they weren't as good as the firsts and that it would be a small little church since it only cost 10.00 bucks. Wrong-o-dong-o. Turns out that Second means Second to none. The church was in Tanglewood, which is where President H.W. Bush lives. The church was humongous, and if it wasn't for the steeple and the Italian style dome, I would have thought it was a small university. My mom explained to me later, which I kind of knew, that baptists tithe and that's why it was 10.00, because they have tons of money. ""They aren't like catholics, "oh this month I don't have any money, oh well, " they give no matter what.""
So I get there and there are all of these tanglewood mommies in their $200.00 designer jeans and perfectly dyed and coiffed hair. Thankfully there was a small contingent of garden oaks moms to ghetto the place up in our Targey and Jacque Penngnet's outfits. The designer mommies give their kids designer names like Saylor and Michalyn. One little girl was wearing a tu-tu and some fancy top with her hair in a Pebbles-style pony tail. She walked right over to Annabelle and hit her in the face. I told Annabelle to let that one ride (what can you expect from a girl who wears a tu-tu on a Monday?) and she gave Tu-tu a real dirty look, kind of like "don't mess with me Barbie-face, I bite."
Since it was Baptist song camp, we started with a prayer. Our teacher was one of those really happy people who smiles all of the time, even when she is talking, which makes her voice sound weird. Then we sang lots of songs. They all required movement. That's the problem with all mommy and me classes, you can't just sit there and look at magazines, even when you have your period and are wearing a maxi-dress. And in Baptist song camp, you have to get up and march for the Lord and shake your hands and feet for the Lord and move your knees for the Lord and lots of other things that we don't do in Catholic Church, not even in vacation bible school. It was kind of a work out, actually and I didn't know a single one of the God songs. Of course, Annabelle loved it. She loved standing next to the teacher. And she really liked it when we broke out with the secular old Mcdonald and Wheels on the Bus. She was actually kind of mad that we didn't sing "bus, bus," (as she calls it) 10 times in a row, like we do at home sometimes. Most of all she loved her name tag, which she put on and off a million times before she finally put it on her leg and pretended it was a band-aid by pointing to it and saying "boo-boo." The class ended with bubbles being blown everywhere and all the kids running wild.
Sometimes I feel like I am a cultural anthropologist.
During supper, I told Hyhpen about it. He asked if I had the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart.
Hyphen used to be the hmfwic at Episcopalean song camp.
So I get there and there are all of these tanglewood mommies in their $200.00 designer jeans and perfectly dyed and coiffed hair. Thankfully there was a small contingent of garden oaks moms to ghetto the place up in our Targey and Jacque Penngnet's outfits. The designer mommies give their kids designer names like Saylor and Michalyn. One little girl was wearing a tu-tu and some fancy top with her hair in a Pebbles-style pony tail. She walked right over to Annabelle and hit her in the face. I told Annabelle to let that one ride (what can you expect from a girl who wears a tu-tu on a Monday?) and she gave Tu-tu a real dirty look, kind of like "don't mess with me Barbie-face, I bite."
Since it was Baptist song camp, we started with a prayer. Our teacher was one of those really happy people who smiles all of the time, even when she is talking, which makes her voice sound weird. Then we sang lots of songs. They all required movement. That's the problem with all mommy and me classes, you can't just sit there and look at magazines, even when you have your period and are wearing a maxi-dress. And in Baptist song camp, you have to get up and march for the Lord and shake your hands and feet for the Lord and move your knees for the Lord and lots of other things that we don't do in Catholic Church, not even in vacation bible school. It was kind of a work out, actually and I didn't know a single one of the God songs. Of course, Annabelle loved it. She loved standing next to the teacher. And she really liked it when we broke out with the secular old Mcdonald and Wheels on the Bus. She was actually kind of mad that we didn't sing "bus, bus," (as she calls it) 10 times in a row, like we do at home sometimes. Most of all she loved her name tag, which she put on and off a million times before she finally put it on her leg and pretended it was a band-aid by pointing to it and saying "boo-boo." The class ended with bubbles being blown everywhere and all the kids running wild.
Sometimes I feel like I am a cultural anthropologist.
During supper, I told Hyhpen about it. He asked if I had the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart.
Hyphen used to be the hmfwic at Episcopalean song camp.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
evening prayers
So, Hyphen got his wisdom teeth out today. My parents came to help out. Well, let's be real, they came to see Annabelle. Hyphen, thus far has taken it like a man, with little complaint. We'll see how long this lasts. Annabelle can tell that something is off and seems upset. So to keep things normal, we did our normal bed time routine: bath time, books and prayers and then Where the Wild Things Are. Granny helped out with the bath and then came in the nursery for the books and prayer. She got on the little daybed with us while I said our prayer and in the middle of it started to sniff around.
My prayer:
Me: God, thank you for this beautiful day. Thank you for getting granny and ba-pa here safely. Thank you for making daddy's teeth better. Thank you for om-noi and ba-noi and Aunt T and Uncle B and Aunt T and Uncle M and little A and little M. God bless Auntie and Uncle D and the little babies in Auntie's tummy, help them get big and strong. Thank you for the food we eat, we know not everyone gets to eat like we do and we thank you for providing....
Mom: (sniff sniff)something smells like shit
Me: thank you for colorful language Lord. And thank you for the grannies that use it. And thank you for balloons. In Jesus' name we pray. Amen
My prayer:
Me: God, thank you for this beautiful day. Thank you for getting granny and ba-pa here safely. Thank you for making daddy's teeth better. Thank you for om-noi and ba-noi and Aunt T and Uncle B and Aunt T and Uncle M and little A and little M. God bless Auntie and Uncle D and the little babies in Auntie's tummy, help them get big and strong. Thank you for the food we eat, we know not everyone gets to eat like we do and we thank you for providing....
Mom: (sniff sniff)something smells like shit
Me: thank you for colorful language Lord. And thank you for the grannies that use it. And thank you for balloons. In Jesus' name we pray. Amen
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
What I do during Mother's day out
Tuesday is mother's day out. I considered laying in bed for a couple of hours, because for some reason I am tired today. But I decided to go in a different direction. I decided to become the queen of all housewives. I washed, I folded (everything, even the napkins) I vacuumed, I dusted, I cleaned both bathrooms. I cleaned our house so clean that it passed the Hyphen muster.
I picked up Annabelle and we had a snack and then we went to the park. While there, I made her laugh so hard that I am fairly certain she peed her pants(this remains unconfirmed due to her ultra-absorbent diaper).
But I didn't stop there. I prepped ingredients, I cleaned as I went and I made a healthy halibut pot roast that Hyphen thought was delicious. We ate on place mats with cloth napkins and the nice dishes and utensils.
And I made a wreath. That's right Martha, you're not the only bitch with a glue gun.
I am the queen of all housewives. You may kiss my hand.
I picked up Annabelle and we had a snack and then we went to the park. While there, I made her laugh so hard that I am fairly certain she peed her pants(this remains unconfirmed due to her ultra-absorbent diaper).
But I didn't stop there. I prepped ingredients, I cleaned as I went and I made a healthy halibut pot roast that Hyphen thought was delicious. We ate on place mats with cloth napkins and the nice dishes and utensils.
And I made a wreath. That's right Martha, you're not the only bitch with a glue gun.
I am the queen of all housewives. You may kiss my hand.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Our visit to the big D
On Thursday I water-skied, bowled, golfed and boxed. Not in real life, of course, on the Wii at Annabelle's cousins' house. For those of you who call a blackberry a blueberry, (you know who you are mom) a Wii is a video game, which, through the miracle of modern technology and a really sensitive joystick, allows you to virtually play sports, kind of like in a star-trek movie I saw, where they put on the glasses and they are in another place, a world where I kick Hyphen's ass at boxing.
Annabelle and her cousins really enjoyed each other. I remember when my cousins used to come and visit. It was better than Christmas. Overheard during the visit:
Big Cousin: "Annabelle, don't touch my molecules." Big cousin is pretty brilliant. The molecules were a high school chemistry set. Remember any of this? Hydrogen bonds? Bromine, carbon, oxygen? The noble gases? 1s1,2p2, Avogadro's number? Ring a bell? Well, he plays with this and he is not yet 5. To Annabelle they looked like beautiful beads that she could lose and hide in places. Totally irresistible to her.
Little cousin: "Mama, Annabelle's being mean to me." That was absolutely true about 60 percent of the time.
Me to Hyphen during our boxing match: "take that! take that! take that!"
Uncle to Hyphen during same match: "you are boxing, not playing patty-cakes"
Did I mention that I pummeled Hyphen at boxing? Beat down. Spanking. It was pretty sad actually.
Annabelle and her cousins really enjoyed each other. I remember when my cousins used to come and visit. It was better than Christmas. Overheard during the visit:
Big Cousin: "Annabelle, don't touch my molecules." Big cousin is pretty brilliant. The molecules were a high school chemistry set. Remember any of this? Hydrogen bonds? Bromine, carbon, oxygen? The noble gases? 1s1,2p2, Avogadro's number? Ring a bell? Well, he plays with this and he is not yet 5. To Annabelle they looked like beautiful beads that she could lose and hide in places. Totally irresistible to her.
Little cousin: "Mama, Annabelle's being mean to me." That was absolutely true about 60 percent of the time.
Me to Hyphen during our boxing match: "take that! take that! take that!"
Uncle to Hyphen during same match: "you are boxing, not playing patty-cakes"
Did I mention that I pummeled Hyphen at boxing? Beat down. Spanking. It was pretty sad actually.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
at least she is good for something....
So, as some of you may know, my idiot dog has been barking every morning at 5 for about 6 months now. And as an added bonus, she added 3, and occasionally for the trifecta she'll throw in 1 too. This has put me in a terrible mood in the morning. Someone put it like this "it's like you have a newborn baby again." Not cool. Every morning for the past 6 months I wake up and beg Hyphen to give her away.
So I got a suggestion to buy her a bark collar. The person pointed out that it was a better solution than giving her away. Well, that's debatable, but okay. We got one. I put it on her neck. I told my mom about it and got my ass reamed for being inhumane. This from the woman who suggested dropping her off on I-10. As I washed dishes, she sat in the kitchen staring at me, with those caramel eyes. Needless to say, I pussed out. Took it off. My reward for human kindness? Like old faithful, at 5a.m. she was barking. But now I had no room to complain. I got up and let her out.
Then I found out about the dog park on TC Jester. We took her to it on Monday night. Met another wonderful lady who also owned a yellow lab. Of course, Bella was more interested in sitting by my feet. Correction: she was interested in my feet because they were near Annabelle. When Hyphen took Annabelle to the adjacent park for small dogs, Bella followed her and nearly had a heart attack when she went inside. She also ran around in a pack for a little bit. Which was inspiring to Annabelle, who wanted to get out of our laps and explore. Now, this was a problem because those dogs don't exactly look out for toddlers when exhibiting pack behavior. We tried to hold her and distract her with the water fountain, but she wanted to go crazy, and got loose.
Not to worry. Her trusty companion, her nursemaid, was on it. Like stink on sh*! as my dad would say. Always between Annabelle and any other dogs, keeping her safely corralled by the park benches. Earning her rent, which is good because she is on a month to month lease right now.
We got home, she plopped down on the living room carpet and slept until 7.a.m.
So I got a suggestion to buy her a bark collar. The person pointed out that it was a better solution than giving her away. Well, that's debatable, but okay. We got one. I put it on her neck. I told my mom about it and got my ass reamed for being inhumane. This from the woman who suggested dropping her off on I-10. As I washed dishes, she sat in the kitchen staring at me, with those caramel eyes. Needless to say, I pussed out. Took it off. My reward for human kindness? Like old faithful, at 5a.m. she was barking. But now I had no room to complain. I got up and let her out.
Then I found out about the dog park on TC Jester. We took her to it on Monday night. Met another wonderful lady who also owned a yellow lab. Of course, Bella was more interested in sitting by my feet. Correction: she was interested in my feet because they were near Annabelle. When Hyphen took Annabelle to the adjacent park for small dogs, Bella followed her and nearly had a heart attack when she went inside. She also ran around in a pack for a little bit. Which was inspiring to Annabelle, who wanted to get out of our laps and explore. Now, this was a problem because those dogs don't exactly look out for toddlers when exhibiting pack behavior. We tried to hold her and distract her with the water fountain, but she wanted to go crazy, and got loose.
Not to worry. Her trusty companion, her nursemaid, was on it. Like stink on sh*! as my dad would say. Always between Annabelle and any other dogs, keeping her safely corralled by the park benches. Earning her rent, which is good because she is on a month to month lease right now.
We got home, she plopped down on the living room carpet and slept until 7.a.m.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
my beautiful sister
My beautiful sister is the type of person that will pick a zit on someone's butt. She has done this at least twice that I know of (only one time was me and very close to my lower back). That just says it all. If you are willing to pick a zit on someone's butt, you are a kind person, and will help someone in need. You are a funny person because you have to be able to laugh at that situation. You are also a good friend and sister to do such a thing.
My beautiful sister has three hearts. What a lovely thing to have, even if it is for such a limited time. Everyone is telling her "it's gonna be a lot of work." Everyone is Hyphen in particular. But what I want her to know is that it is going to be even more joy.
Quicken has always been one of my favorite words. That and ephemeral. The definition of quicken is when the fetus begins to show signs of life. Funny that we call a baby a fetus in the definition of such a lovely word. Usually, quicken it is used to describe the first movement a mother feels in her womb. A quicken is by definition, ephemeral. Hell, life is ephemeral. Today my beautiful sister saw her little cha-cha dancers dance across her belly. First one and then the other. One of the most beautiful things in life happened to my beautiful sister today.
This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad!
My beautiful sister has three hearts. What a lovely thing to have, even if it is for such a limited time. Everyone is telling her "it's gonna be a lot of work." Everyone is Hyphen in particular. But what I want her to know is that it is going to be even more joy.
Quicken has always been one of my favorite words. That and ephemeral. The definition of quicken is when the fetus begins to show signs of life. Funny that we call a baby a fetus in the definition of such a lovely word. Usually, quicken it is used to describe the first movement a mother feels in her womb. A quicken is by definition, ephemeral. Hell, life is ephemeral. Today my beautiful sister saw her little cha-cha dancers dance across her belly. First one and then the other. One of the most beautiful things in life happened to my beautiful sister today.
This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
to my dear and loving husband
have you ever--
1. made out in a cemetery in an un-airconditioned 1985 tempo?
2. found a coke machine that was accidentally set to sell at a nickel so you filled up bags and bags of cokes that you bought with change that you had in said tempo?
3. had someone tell you not to get your panties in a wad--on your wedding day????
4. lived in an apartment with a window unit and an oven that burned everything so you decided to grill everything on the tiny balcony on a tiny grill?
5. sat out on the back porch of your first house eating hamburgers and watching pecan leaves fall?
6. ran a marathon with someone who was running with you --to keep you going-- and had everyone concerned that that someone was going to need the sag wagon before you needed it?
7. really enjoyed a hammock, I mean really enjoyed it?
8. convinced someone that even though you were out of toilet paper you could still make a good parent?
9. seen someone almost get kicked out of the delivery room by the ob for being too good of a cheerleader?
well, I have done all of this and more with Hyphen. Happy Birthday dude.
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
1. made out in a cemetery in an un-airconditioned 1985 tempo?
2. found a coke machine that was accidentally set to sell at a nickel so you filled up bags and bags of cokes that you bought with change that you had in said tempo?
3. had someone tell you not to get your panties in a wad--on your wedding day????
4. lived in an apartment with a window unit and an oven that burned everything so you decided to grill everything on the tiny balcony on a tiny grill?
5. sat out on the back porch of your first house eating hamburgers and watching pecan leaves fall?
6. ran a marathon with someone who was running with you --to keep you going-- and had everyone concerned that that someone was going to need the sag wagon before you needed it?
7. really enjoyed a hammock, I mean really enjoyed it?
8. convinced someone that even though you were out of toilet paper you could still make a good parent?
9. seen someone almost get kicked out of the delivery room by the ob for being too good of a cheerleader?
well, I have done all of this and more with Hyphen. Happy Birthday dude.
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
can you tell me how to get back to the 70s so I can watch the real sesame street?
So the other day someone asked me what Annabelle's favorite shows are, and I had no answer. Annabelle does not watch t.v. because to quote steel magnolias "there is nothing but trash and naked people on it." (ouiser was talking about movies, but same the sentiment is the same) Except we do watch the 7:30 hour of the today show, which at times is just as salacious as anything else, but I have a serious Matt Lauer addiction, so a little smut is okay. But my friend, who is the best mom ever, lets her little girl watch sesame street and since her little girl is super smart and sweet, I figured I'd give it a whirl.
The good thing about sesame street is that it keeps her entertained. I clean house for a bit while she watches it. And it can be fun to watch. Brian Williams was on the other day, acting ridiculous. He's no Matt Lauer, or even Tom Brokaw, but he's still kind of cute (I think I have a thing for serious journalists, and yes, Hyphen, you jealous jerk, Matt Lauer is a serious journalist) And some folk singer named Leslie Feist, who I now love.
The bad things about sesame street:
1. There is a chick with a nose ring. Umm, how am I supposed to tell my teenage, or 8 year old child that they can't get a nose ring when they can brilliantly counter "well So and So from Sesame Street (I am not sure of her name) has one!" Seriously, people have some consideration for the silent majority who don't want to ever have this conversation. Now, I know that this lady is Persian or Indian or something, and that the children's television workshop is trying to be inclusive, but can't we just go back to the time when Maria was the exotic one? Do we have to be so politically correct that we have nose rings on Sesame Street?
2. There is this segment where Elmo watches some video on a computer and it even has the little loading bar underneath the segment. Is this necessary? Why do kids, who soon enough are going to be glued to Internet (as I write my blog on it), have to pretend to watch YouTube on tv? Why can't they just be glued to tv? Which makes me wonder again, why am I even letting her watch this to begin with. She should be outside playing.
3. Murray had a little lamb. Cute segment, but it's Mary had a little lamb. And I hate the rap, see #4. "go murray, go, go, go murray." barf.
4. They changed the theme song to a rap version. Sacrilege. Seriously, I almost turned it off when I heard it. And there is no big happy dog running with kids. No harmonica. Ugh. It is enough to break your heart. Just another sign of the Apocalypse, as far as I am concerned.
Meanwhile, I am going to go to blockbuster to see if they have the Waltons on DVD.
Goodnight John-boy.
The good thing about sesame street is that it keeps her entertained. I clean house for a bit while she watches it. And it can be fun to watch. Brian Williams was on the other day, acting ridiculous. He's no Matt Lauer, or even Tom Brokaw, but he's still kind of cute (I think I have a thing for serious journalists, and yes, Hyphen, you jealous jerk, Matt Lauer is a serious journalist) And some folk singer named Leslie Feist, who I now love.
The bad things about sesame street:
1. There is a chick with a nose ring. Umm, how am I supposed to tell my teenage, or 8 year old child that they can't get a nose ring when they can brilliantly counter "well So and So from Sesame Street (I am not sure of her name) has one!" Seriously, people have some consideration for the silent majority who don't want to ever have this conversation. Now, I know that this lady is Persian or Indian or something, and that the children's television workshop is trying to be inclusive, but can't we just go back to the time when Maria was the exotic one? Do we have to be so politically correct that we have nose rings on Sesame Street?
2. There is this segment where Elmo watches some video on a computer and it even has the little loading bar underneath the segment. Is this necessary? Why do kids, who soon enough are going to be glued to Internet (as I write my blog on it), have to pretend to watch YouTube on tv? Why can't they just be glued to tv? Which makes me wonder again, why am I even letting her watch this to begin with. She should be outside playing.
3. Murray had a little lamb. Cute segment, but it's Mary had a little lamb. And I hate the rap, see #4. "go murray, go, go, go murray." barf.
4. They changed the theme song to a rap version. Sacrilege. Seriously, I almost turned it off when I heard it. And there is no big happy dog running with kids. No harmonica. Ugh. It is enough to break your heart. Just another sign of the Apocalypse, as far as I am concerned.
Meanwhile, I am going to go to blockbuster to see if they have the Waltons on DVD.
Goodnight John-boy.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
shaken auntie syndrome
My sister, who is pregnant with twins, Annabelle and I went to see the original and still fabulous Anna Belle Stevens (my grandmother) and the Bronte Bombshells (my aunts) this weekend. And we had a great time. Bronte is near San Angelo, which is about a 7 hour drive away.
Annabelle did great and had a wonderful time and was the perfect baby--except for last night. I want you to imagine the biggest mega atomic shit attack tantrum you can. Throw that out--that's kid's play. Now, I want you to imagine an asteroid, hitting the earth, and the earth exploding, and taking all of the planets with it, which in turn causes our solar system to rip apart, creating a cataclysmic black hole that eats up the entire univesrse. That is what we had last night. She went to sleep and then started coughing. So I made the mistake of checking on her which led to 3 hours of crying and playing alternatively--at one point she put her face next to mine and her finger to her mouth and said "shhhh, quiet." At the 2 and 1/2 hour point, I tried to hit the reset button and we read bedtime books and said prayers again and then I went back to the room where Auntie and I were staying, got in bed and listened to the scream "MAAAAMMMMAAAAA!!!!!!!!" for 20 minutes. Now, Auntie has three hearts right now, so the thought occurred to me that she might have and idea about what to do. She had been awake for some time--we were all awake, except my uncle who is deaf as a post. So I asked her "what do your developing mother instincts tell you I should do now?" She thought about it, and then said "hmmmm, shake the baby?"
I went back to the room and picked her up and cuddled her and eventually, she fell asleep, after crawling all over me and the bed and asking for her ba-pa and to go outside.
Someone remind me to have a CPS home study done on my sister in January, please?
[we joke, but never, ever shake a baby]
Annabelle did great and had a wonderful time and was the perfect baby--except for last night. I want you to imagine the biggest mega atomic shit attack tantrum you can. Throw that out--that's kid's play. Now, I want you to imagine an asteroid, hitting the earth, and the earth exploding, and taking all of the planets with it, which in turn causes our solar system to rip apart, creating a cataclysmic black hole that eats up the entire univesrse. That is what we had last night. She went to sleep and then started coughing. So I made the mistake of checking on her which led to 3 hours of crying and playing alternatively--at one point she put her face next to mine and her finger to her mouth and said "shhhh, quiet." At the 2 and 1/2 hour point, I tried to hit the reset button and we read bedtime books and said prayers again and then I went back to the room where Auntie and I were staying, got in bed and listened to the scream "MAAAAMMMMAAAAA!!!!!!!!" for 20 minutes. Now, Auntie has three hearts right now, so the thought occurred to me that she might have and idea about what to do. She had been awake for some time--we were all awake, except my uncle who is deaf as a post. So I asked her "what do your developing mother instincts tell you I should do now?" She thought about it, and then said "hmmmm, shake the baby?"
I went back to the room and picked her up and cuddled her and eventually, she fell asleep, after crawling all over me and the bed and asking for her ba-pa and to go outside.
Someone remind me to have a CPS home study done on my sister in January, please?
[we joke, but never, ever shake a baby]
Monday, August 17, 2009
the home I grew up in...
I talk to my parents on the phone a lot. Sometimes, our conversations are me listening to them bicker. Tonight, my dad was complaining about my mom getting after him. Apparently, he "let" some mosquitoes in the car. I then asked to talk to mom.
Mom: what are you doing?
Me: Listening to daddy complain about you.
Mom (to dad): were you complaining about me? Did you think she wouldn't tell me? Go get me a dairy queen, cabron!
Dad: Go get it yourself!
Mom: Stupid
When my mom says stupid, it sounds like "stoopid" and she says it with such contempt, that you just want to die laughinig. It is her ultimate insult. These are the people I love. Bless their little hearts.
Mom: what are you doing?
Me: Listening to daddy complain about you.
Mom (to dad): were you complaining about me? Did you think she wouldn't tell me? Go get me a dairy queen, cabron!
Dad: Go get it yourself!
Mom: Stupid
When my mom says stupid, it sounds like "stoopid" and she says it with such contempt, that you just want to die laughinig. It is her ultimate insult. These are the people I love. Bless their little hearts.
san antonio trip
match the statement with the grandparent:
a. granny b. ba-pa c. hieu' mom d. hieu's dad
1. ay, nombre! Enough mess annabelle!
2. Annabelle, what kind of jet are you going to fly? huh? an F-16?
3. Annabelle, you play like a boy, you are nothing like your daddy.
4. Lordy, that is a big dog (referring to Clifford, the big red dog)
a. granny b. ba-pa c. hieu' mom d. hieu's dad
1. ay, nombre! Enough mess annabelle!
2. Annabelle, what kind of jet are you going to fly? huh? an F-16?
3. Annabelle, you play like a boy, you are nothing like your daddy.
4. Lordy, that is a big dog (referring to Clifford, the big red dog)
Bonus: "Annabelle, give me that booger. If you give me that booger, you can have my phone" (at which point Annabelle leaned her head over for the removal)
On another note, at story time today, we learned the chicken dance. Annabelle stood there like a block for the first few rounds, and then she started to do it. It was hilarious. Now we just need to befriend a Polish or Mexican person and get invited to their wedding.
Monday, August 10, 2009
seriously, I cannot live with two of these people
Annabelle has developed an annoying habit. She is starting to clean things obsessively. The other night she was in the bathtub and there was some grime on the tub. Grime. Okay, I've put it out there, I have a grimey tub. Deal with it. The grime wasn't horrible, you couldn't scratch your name in it, but it was there. Annabelle got the washcloth and started to scrub it. She enjoys scrubbing the floors too (note: any mess on the floors is caused by Annabelle, so she should be cleaning it up, but seriously, I cannot live with two of these people). She has also learned to say mess, and she walks around from time to time saying "mess, mess" especially where there is one to clean up. Don't get me wrong, it's helpful and I am happy, but there can only be one hyphen in my life, that is all I can tolerate without substance abuse.
I am not a messy person. If I were married to Joe-Blow Ball Scratcher, he would think my housekeeping skills were amazing and would suggest I write a housekeeping blog. But I am not married to Joe. I am married to Hyphen. I bore his child. And now I am reaping what he sowed.
My friend said to be happy, because the only habits her son has picked up from her husband are burping and farting. Unfortunately, we are covered in this department as well.
I am not a messy person. If I were married to Joe-Blow Ball Scratcher, he would think my housekeeping skills were amazing and would suggest I write a housekeeping blog. But I am not married to Joe. I am married to Hyphen. I bore his child. And now I am reaping what he sowed.
My friend said to be happy, because the only habits her son has picked up from her husband are burping and farting. Unfortunately, we are covered in this department as well.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Cell Phone+ Grandma= Run
Annabelle is not allowed to play with our cell phones. One- they are not toys. Two-she is curious and destructive and that doesn't mix well with small electronic devices. But Granny and Ba-pa are here. Which means that anything goes in the Annabelle department because they have no rules or discipline, at least where their grandchild is concerned. So Annabelle and Ba-pa were playing with his phone and having a grand time , until she tried to hyper-extend it and that is when Ba-pa realized that maybe his dear old daughter was smart to prohibit this behaviour. So now, I was stuck with the task of getting this beloved toy out of her grimy little hands. So here is how it went:
Me: "okay my sweet love, we need to give that toy to Ba-pa. It is a super-fun phone and I know it is going to be hard for you, but the time to play with it is over."
Annabelle gave me a look (see below) and then walked into the corner.
Me: "give that phone to Ba-pa please. be a good girl."
Sulky face.
Me: "okay, I am going to count to 5 and then I am going to come and take it out of your hand. The time to play with it is over. One, two, three, four, five."
As I walked to get it my mother said:
Mom: "Run Annabelle."
That's right. She said "Run."
I gave my mom an eat shit and die look(see above), but not where Annabelle could see (because I am trying to teach her to be kind and respectful to her elders) and got the phone. Then I took her in my lap.
Me: "That was very hard for you. That is a wonderful phone. And I know you like to play with it. But it is not for little girls and you are being such a dear sweet girl to give it to mama without fussing."
Mom: "Annabelle, when I say run, you need to run."
Yes, she did say that. My mom was the type of kid that got beat. A lot. But apparently not enough.
Me: "okay my sweet love, we need to give that toy to Ba-pa. It is a super-fun phone and I know it is going to be hard for you, but the time to play with it is over."
Annabelle gave me a look (see below) and then walked into the corner.
Me: "give that phone to Ba-pa please. be a good girl."
Sulky face.
Me: "okay, I am going to count to 5 and then I am going to come and take it out of your hand. The time to play with it is over. One, two, three, four, five."
As I walked to get it my mother said:
Mom: "Run Annabelle."
That's right. She said "Run."
I gave my mom an eat shit and die look(see above), but not where Annabelle could see (because I am trying to teach her to be kind and respectful to her elders) and got the phone. Then I took her in my lap.
Me: "That was very hard for you. That is a wonderful phone. And I know you like to play with it. But it is not for little girls and you are being such a dear sweet girl to give it to mama without fussing."
Mom: "Annabelle, when I say run, you need to run."
Yes, she did say that. My mom was the type of kid that got beat. A lot. But apparently not enough.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Lazy hazy crazy days of summer
So to be blunt--it's as hot as balls. It is so hot, you are almost a prisoner in your own house. It is hard when you have an outside baby that you can't take outside, because after 5 minutes I am miserable and she looks like she is having heat exhaustion. I woke up today dreaming about moving to Montana and living off the land and being cold. And then I felt ungrateful. In a few months there will be a cold snap that will be cold and dreary and although I will love it, eventually I will crave the warmth of summer. So I decided to make a list of the things I love about summer.
1. I like to sit in my bath tub at night and listen to the crickets. There are no crickets chirping in January.
2. Doves. I like to lie in bed in the morning and listen to the world wake up, and in the summer the doves really coo in the morning and that is a lovely peaceful sound that you don't get on the cold days.
3. Bobby Mcgee/Janis Joplin- this is the song by mom always used to play when school let out and we would go crazy dancing around the house and the song doesn't sound the same to me when I am bundled up in a coat. It is totally a flip-flops and cut-offs song.
4. Cicadas. I like to sit outside in the evening and listen to them and you can't do that in the winter.
5. Every summer since I was in the 4th grade I have read To Kill a Mockingbird. I love it and I can't read it any other time of year.
6. You can't go off a rope swing in the winter. You could, I guess, but you would freeze your tush off and it wouldn't be any fun at all.
7. Tomatoes. I know there is a God because he made tomatoes. And if you grow them yourself and pluck them off the vine one minute and eat them drizzled with olive oil salt and pepper the next you'll be a believer too. And if you don't grow them, the ones in the super market just seem to taste better in the summer. We had some tonight, sauteed with olive oil and garlic, sprinkled with basil and poured on top of a grilled ribeye. You don't get a meal like that any other season.
8. The evenings are the nicest in the summer. If you sit outside on a glider or a porch swing with a glass of wine after 7, you won't care about the heat index.
9. Kids don't play in the sprinkler in the fall or winter.
10. Flavor-pops. Annabelle had her first one today. We were on the deck sharing one--she would suck out all of the juice out of a chunk I handed her and then give it back to me, in the form of a smaller chunk of ice. I would then give it to my idiot dog, who, because she is an idiot, would gobble it up without missing the sugar. That experiece alone has been worth every triple digit day this season.
1. I like to sit in my bath tub at night and listen to the crickets. There are no crickets chirping in January.
2. Doves. I like to lie in bed in the morning and listen to the world wake up, and in the summer the doves really coo in the morning and that is a lovely peaceful sound that you don't get on the cold days.
3. Bobby Mcgee/Janis Joplin- this is the song by mom always used to play when school let out and we would go crazy dancing around the house and the song doesn't sound the same to me when I am bundled up in a coat. It is totally a flip-flops and cut-offs song.
4. Cicadas. I like to sit outside in the evening and listen to them and you can't do that in the winter.
5. Every summer since I was in the 4th grade I have read To Kill a Mockingbird. I love it and I can't read it any other time of year.
6. You can't go off a rope swing in the winter. You could, I guess, but you would freeze your tush off and it wouldn't be any fun at all.
7. Tomatoes. I know there is a God because he made tomatoes. And if you grow them yourself and pluck them off the vine one minute and eat them drizzled with olive oil salt and pepper the next you'll be a believer too. And if you don't grow them, the ones in the super market just seem to taste better in the summer. We had some tonight, sauteed with olive oil and garlic, sprinkled with basil and poured on top of a grilled ribeye. You don't get a meal like that any other season.
8. The evenings are the nicest in the summer. If you sit outside on a glider or a porch swing with a glass of wine after 7, you won't care about the heat index.
9. Kids don't play in the sprinkler in the fall or winter.
10. Flavor-pops. Annabelle had her first one today. We were on the deck sharing one--she would suck out all of the juice out of a chunk I handed her and then give it back to me, in the form of a smaller chunk of ice. I would then give it to my idiot dog, who, because she is an idiot, would gobble it up without missing the sugar. That experiece alone has been worth every triple digit day this season.
Monday, August 3, 2009
do you know the doo-doo butt?
My cousins and I all had babies at the same time. So back in February we went to one of the birthday parties and everyone was talking about what their kids' nicknames were. Reece was Reeceroo. Beau is Beau-Beau. James is Juggernaut. When everyone was sharing I was dreading what was coming next.
Random Cousin: what is Annabelle's nickname?
Me and Hyphen: "Doo-doo butt."
Hyphen said it with glee. I said it a little more dourly.
Hyphen gave her the name doo-doo butt at the hospital. He has an entire song about it, that is sung to the tune of do you know the muffin man "do you know the doo-doo butt?" He would sing her this song when she was a little baby and she would smile and coo. Ugh. I felt like I was in a losing battle against the worst nickname in the world. My dad's nickname for me is Stella-Pooh, because I am his Pooh bear. Obviously, I do not like the doo-doo part. Or the butt part.
A little girl pointed out to him once that it is not nice to say the word butt. No sweetie, it's not.
But Hyphen is nothing if not egalitarian in his offensiveness. Tonight he sang her the following song as he was loading her up in the van after a quick Target trip:
I am your doo-doo daddy
I like to doo-doo too
When I am old and blind
You will change my dirty poo.
The tune was a cross between 50s broadway and a march. Kind of catchy actually. It had some other verses, but the mind is kind and I forgot them.
Random Cousin: what is Annabelle's nickname?
Me and Hyphen: "Doo-doo butt."
Hyphen said it with glee. I said it a little more dourly.
Hyphen gave her the name doo-doo butt at the hospital. He has an entire song about it, that is sung to the tune of do you know the muffin man "do you know the doo-doo butt?" He would sing her this song when she was a little baby and she would smile and coo. Ugh. I felt like I was in a losing battle against the worst nickname in the world. My dad's nickname for me is Stella-Pooh, because I am his Pooh bear. Obviously, I do not like the doo-doo part. Or the butt part.
A little girl pointed out to him once that it is not nice to say the word butt. No sweetie, it's not.
But Hyphen is nothing if not egalitarian in his offensiveness. Tonight he sang her the following song as he was loading her up in the van after a quick Target trip:
I am your doo-doo daddy
I like to doo-doo too
When I am old and blind
You will change my dirty poo.
The tune was a cross between 50s broadway and a march. Kind of catchy actually. It had some other verses, but the mind is kind and I forgot them.
Friday, July 31, 2009
it was bound to happen
With all of the gratuitous kibble and petting and squealing with hysterical glee when she sees her, it was bound to happen--my idiot dog now has a new mistress and her name is Annabelle.
It rained today, and so the wretched cur was inside. Bella is her name. Anyway, my idiot dog Bella and my sweet child and I were all in the nursery. Bella, then Annabelle and then me were all cuddly on a daybed I have in there. I was reading (with my current malady reading sounds like this: goo nigh womb, goo nigh moon, goo nigh cow jump ovah da moon) and the dog was pestering Annabelle. Licking her and bothering her. I am always worried that she will scratch Annabelle with her claws by accident, so I moved Annabelle to the other side of me, thinking that the dog just wanted to be closer to me. Wrong. She got up and went to the other side of me where I had put Annabelle and that's when I noticed she was licking her hand--and in idiot dog language this means "come on already! Pet me!!." She was also trying to snuggle up with her. Disloyal mongrel.
Of course, the new mistress has some behavioral problems to deal with. The dog was taking some of her toys and trying to eat them and Annabelle was following her around wagging her finger at her and saying "no, no, no, no dog."
Next week I will make the transfer of title official by teaching her how to scoop poop.
It rained today, and so the wretched cur was inside. Bella is her name. Anyway, my idiot dog Bella and my sweet child and I were all in the nursery. Bella, then Annabelle and then me were all cuddly on a daybed I have in there. I was reading (with my current malady reading sounds like this: goo nigh womb, goo nigh moon, goo nigh cow jump ovah da moon) and the dog was pestering Annabelle. Licking her and bothering her. I am always worried that she will scratch Annabelle with her claws by accident, so I moved Annabelle to the other side of me, thinking that the dog just wanted to be closer to me. Wrong. She got up and went to the other side of me where I had put Annabelle and that's when I noticed she was licking her hand--and in idiot dog language this means "come on already! Pet me!!." She was also trying to snuggle up with her. Disloyal mongrel.
Of course, the new mistress has some behavioral problems to deal with. The dog was taking some of her toys and trying to eat them and Annabelle was following her around wagging her finger at her and saying "no, no, no, no dog."
Next week I will make the transfer of title official by teaching her how to scoop poop.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
hand foot and mouth disease
So last week Annabelle was a little under the weather. She wasn't eating, she had a lot of drool, she seemed tired, but otherwise okay, so I didn't take her to see the doc. Oh, and my friend asked me "what's that rash on her face?" My response? "Hmm." Sometimes she has a little rash on her face, especially if I don't wipe it after eating. Turns out it was hand foot and mouth disease. And now I have it. The feet and hands are no big deal. It's the mouth that is killing me. Blisters the size of nickels--5 of them--under my tongue. The pain is unbearable. I am taking liquid lidocaine. I can't eat. I can't talk. I sound like Marlee Matlin. After careful consideration, I would choose childbirth over this. It would be over by now and I would have a baby to show for it. And after you have the baby they give you pancakes and if you live in Texas, people bring bar-b-que to the hospital. Instead I have a blister that if you look real carefully, you will see the profile of a Roman soldier--the kind with a helmet and a plume on it. Definitely not cute and cuddly. And forget about the bar-b-que.
Thankfully Hyphen is being cool about it. Helping out and not teasing me too much. He's only asked me if I am going to start washing my hands about 15 times. I do wash my hands. Just not compulsively like some people.
But on the bright side because I haven't felt like eating for a couple of days, I am now back down to the danger zone for my weight. I have the following scale: Acceptable (but still need to lose 15lbs.), Danger zone, fat zone, orca zone (a.k.a the splash zone) and then finally the Oprah zone. I was a card carrying member of the book club two weeks ago when I decided to stop drinking sweet drinks. I generally have one soda or several glasses of sweet tea a day. For me not having sweet drinks means only having them twice a week. I got down to the orca zone and now I am comfortably in the fat zone, but as soon as I can eat again I am going to get some chicken nuggets from Wendy's and put a lot of salt on them, so the danger zone might be a short lived phenomenon.
Thankfully Hyphen is being cool about it. Helping out and not teasing me too much. He's only asked me if I am going to start washing my hands about 15 times. I do wash my hands. Just not compulsively like some people.
But on the bright side because I haven't felt like eating for a couple of days, I am now back down to the danger zone for my weight. I have the following scale: Acceptable (but still need to lose 15lbs.), Danger zone, fat zone, orca zone (a.k.a the splash zone) and then finally the Oprah zone. I was a card carrying member of the book club two weeks ago when I decided to stop drinking sweet drinks. I generally have one soda or several glasses of sweet tea a day. For me not having sweet drinks means only having them twice a week. I got down to the orca zone and now I am comfortably in the fat zone, but as soon as I can eat again I am going to get some chicken nuggets from Wendy's and put a lot of salt on them, so the danger zone might be a short lived phenomenon.
Monday, July 27, 2009
In the sunshine, in the shadow
Stop what you are doing right now and go hug your babies. Go hug your babies and then go and hug someone else's baby. And if you don't have babies of your own, or if they are grown, hug three teenagers, even though they are difficult people, teenagers especially need hugs because they have acne, angst and puberty. And then give them a compliment, or even better brag about them to someone else, where they can hear it. I did that today. I was at the library at story time and a little girl climbed into my lap. It is summertime and that means story time is crazy full. There is a daycare that drops off all of these sweet little kids-- it is the kind of daycare where 12 year olds are in the same class with 2 year olds and this little girl was one of the littlest ones. "Mean," she said, as she pointed to another little girl.(thankfully not annabelle) "Was she mean to you?" I asked. She nodded. "Do you need a hug?" I asked. A second nod. So I gave her a little cuddle. And she sat in my lap until it was time for her to leave. "Do you need a hug for the road?" I asked. Another nod. Annabelle was totally non-plussed about the lap sharing. She was too busy playing with trucks.
Today I went to a funeral of a beautiful girl. A beautiful girl. A girl who I know got lots of hugs, but like the preacher said, lost the battle she had been fighting against herself. The preacher said not to look back, and he was right. Look forward, and do something. So I am going to hug on kids--tuck a little love in whenever I can. You might be the only adult that gives someone a cuddle that day and a good hug has some staying power and its memory can cheer you up when you are feeling blue. I have personal knowledge that this is true--my little friend's hug still felt warm and wonderful during the euology.
So turn off your computer and tuck some love in. Go hug those babies.
Today I went to a funeral of a beautiful girl. A beautiful girl. A girl who I know got lots of hugs, but like the preacher said, lost the battle she had been fighting against herself. The preacher said not to look back, and he was right. Look forward, and do something. So I am going to hug on kids--tuck a little love in whenever I can. You might be the only adult that gives someone a cuddle that day and a good hug has some staying power and its memory can cheer you up when you are feeling blue. I have personal knowledge that this is true--my little friend's hug still felt warm and wonderful during the euology.
So turn off your computer and tuck some love in. Go hug those babies.
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