Park Politics

I have a friend who thinks that everyone has one work nemesis. Well, I have three stay-at-home mom nemesises. Now, I know what you are thinking, technically you can only have one nemesis, if you have more than one, you probably just have mere enemies, but I am a big enough bad ass that I have three nemesises, or is it nemesi???? Also, one of them is only 4. But he is a real turd of a kid, which is an unkind way to describe a 4 year old , but like my sister has so eloquently put it "sometimes kids are turds."

I have debated about being really descriptive about them in my blog, because what if I am being harsh and judgmental and they or I were just having bad days? What if we later become friends and my blog gets this super huge following and then they know I initially did not like them? But after today, I feel the need to expound on them. Also, in my experience I have never befriended one of my prior work nemesises/ nemesi and my sister assures me I don't have to worry about a super-huge fan base, so here it goes.....

One, I have mentioned before, the one who gives her kid cheeto puffs as a snack. Annoying, loud mouth, over -disiplines (yells at kid all the time), cheeto-puffs-- the whole package. I instantly disliked her.

The other day I met the 4 year old and his mom who are a tag team nemesis. I was at the park and the 4 year old brought some kind of bike contraption that you could pedal or be pushed on. He left it on the park sidewalk and was playing when Curious Annabelle happened upon it. Now, at the Spark Park in Garden Oaks, most toys that kids bring are shared. In fact most toys are brought to the park with the specific intent that other children play on them. So Annabelle is getting on this contraption when the kid, who is on top of the jungle gym sees her and comes running from afar to stop her.

Turd-kid: "hey that's mine."

Me: "it is yours and it is really nice and the baby thinks it's neat. She likes big kid toys because she thinks big kids are cool. She's just a baby, she's not a big kid like you and she can't really ride it because she is too little."

Turd-kid: "Tell her to get off. It's mine."

Now, at this point I was expecting a little back up from his mom who was standing right there. Most moms in the situation would say something like "no, no, little Turdy, we share, you are going to share with the baby. That is a good boy." But she stood there and did nothing. So at this point, I busted out with my best imitation of a Toni Stevens guilt trip and said:

Me: "get off that bike baby Annabelle, that big boy doesn't want to share with you. He wants to play with his toy because it is his and he plays with it all of the time so it is special to him and you can't play with it. I hope you can understand."

Later me and all of the cool moms were chatting when the Turd-kid's mom came to join us. We found out that she thinks the local schools, including my church school. are crap, that she is from South America and was building a big beautiful house (read:ugly Mcmansion made out of brown brick that eats up the entire lot and totally doesn't fit in my 1940s neighborhood) in the neighborhood and was in medical school. Now, my stay-at-home mom friends are very nice people so they just nodded politely about the school comments and told her that her house was nice. I was thinking "why don't you just move to West-U or Bellaire and leave us the hell alone?"

Shortly after this conversation I was sitting on the slide, minding my own business, and turd-kid approached me and said:

Turd-kid: "are you leaving soon?"

Me: "I don't know, maybe, do you want me to leave?"

Turd-kid: "yes, are you leaving soon? I am going to live over there."

Me: "yes, I know, your sweet mommy was telling me and I am going to leave when I am good and ready."

Why do I tell you all of this? Well, gentle reader, I was at the park today and Cheeto-Puff and Turd kid and his mom were there. And as it turns out Cheeto-Puff and Turd -kid's mom are friends. Totally. Makes complete sense. Turd kid sees me, remembers me, and continues to antagonize me:

Turd-kid: "hey, I didn't bring my bike today. I brought cookies. Three kinds, pink, white and chocolate. Is that wagon yours?"

Me: "that's cool, I like cookies. This wagon belongs to *!? (cheeto-puff) Annabelle is just playing on it."

He later came by to show me his pink cookie. It looked good, but I didn't dare ask for one, since he is one of my nemesises/nemesi and I am pretty sure that sharing cookies with one's nemesis is not in the nemesis play book. And he doesn't share anyways. They were those pink wafer kind of cookies. They have them at Fiesta. I can get some later.

florida

Annabelle is such a little trooper. Her schedule was shot to hell, an 11 hour drive with just 2 diaper changes, no snacks, late naps, bedtime at 11:00 p.m. (just once, don't call CPS), not to mention we had her in a swim suit playing in the sand when it was so cold outside I was huddled in a beach chair under two towels. But she was just happy as a proverbial clam, only requesting one thing the entire time : bubbles. Yes, that's right, the new word that we shall not say out loud lest she repeat it again and again while chasing you down with the bubble container in hand is bubbles. At home we have bubble time every evening before supper. In Florida it was pretty much any time some poor unsuspecting soul fell for the cute "bubble? bubble?" I considered it my vacation from bubbles, because the thing is, once you start, she wants to help by dunking the wand in and "blowing" while holding the dripping wet bubble wand over you. But everyone we went with was all too happy to oblige her - suckers!

After this trip, I think the world may be split into two camps. It is not an intentional split and some people in each camp want to be in the other one, because for some people the campfire is always warmer on the other side, - no it is not stay-at-home vs. working mom, it is those with kids and those without. I know a few people who are actively trying to get pregnant and when they spend time around me they always say something like "how do you do it, it is so much work, you need so much patience," etc.--and I have Annabelle who is a total cinch. I used to think like this before I has kids. How do you ever have time for yourself. How can you live with a schedule? How can you function or get anything done when your life is dictated by some little person who poops their pants and needs a nap? The answer, of course, is that you just do. You get patience, jump on board the schedule train and you love the little dictator and spend every minute that he/she is awake trying to form them into kind, loving souls. Then they go to sleep, and you blog/shop/read/sleep -whatever. But you cannot fathom that you can be a parent and wipe and spank a butt until you are in the thick of it. Just one of the beauties of life, I guess.

Hyphen thinks I should not curse on MY BLOG. He thinks I curse too much. We had a curse off this weekend. His score was 5. Mine was 4. Our childless friend had over 40. I totally won. And one of mine was a well placed "asshole" that was NOT directed at Hyphen.

Sorry, I couldn't figure out how to rotate that pic, but it was cute

things that are bow

Once when I was showing Annabelle some flowers I noticed she said "bow" (pronounced like something you wear in your hair) over and over again. Then when I showed a bright pink azalea she said "boooowwww" with a kind of reverence that I just can't describe. The sound track, if there was one, would sound kind of like right before Indy gets the little gold statue in Raiders, but not quite as serious. Anyway, she also says it right when we go to the grocery store and she sees Mylar balloons. Annabelle digs balloons, especially mylar ones, and she wants you to wheel her to them and pull them down one at a time so she can look at them. Not all of them are bow though, just the really colorful ones. She was in heaven Mother's Day weekend because there were balloons everywhere and most of them were bow.(For mother's day I got a pat on the back and a lamb chop which was infinitely better than last year's blackberry which was sold on ebay) So I think bow means beautiful, but I am not sure, because I don't speak baby and I don't know anyone who really does, except for this one real smart kid, but it was mostly conjecture on his part.

Anyway, tonight we went to the hospital to see one of our world's newest people, little No-Name-Baby-Girl Spyhard, who to me looks like an Olive so that's what I will call her in this post. Olive has a long oval face that matches her long, lovely nose and soft, thick beautiful brown hair. And she is a doll. Before we went to the hospital Annabelle and I had a little talk about the baby and gentle touches, because, let's face it-- she's a biter, and I am pretty sure you get banned from birthing at Texas Women's if your child bites a newborn baby.

She watched me hold little Olive and I said "what do you think Annabelle?"

"Boowww"

Not as bow as an azalea, but more bow than a Mother's Day balloon.

We are leaving for Florida tomorrow. Me, Hyphen and our sweet big baby girl who makes my world very bow.

oh dios mio!

When we were kids and company was about to come over my mom always got in this super pissy mood because she thought the house was dirty and got all stressed out about cleaning it. Once, my sister was supposed to be cleaning something, but instead went into my parents room and composed the following song which she wrote on purple A-shaped post-it notes: (to be sung to the tune of o sole mio)

oh dios mio
it's mommy feo
she is a grouchy-o
because we have company-o

When she performed it, she had me sing "um-pa-pa, um-pa pa" in the background while she did this weird dance where she kicked her knees up like a German dancer wearing leiderhosen. My dad and I thought it was hilarious and awesome, a genius feat of songwriting worthy of Lennon/Mcartney- like ovations. My mom said "you mean all of this time you were writing this stupid song when you could have been cleaning??????????????"

Why do I tell you this now? Well gentle reader, we are about to go to Florida and oh dios mio. It's Hieu feo. He is a grouchy-o because he thinks the house is dirty-o even though it is really clean-o and he is crazy-o. One of the things that is causing him great consternation are the five or so toys that are in the backyard. Keep in mind that Hyphen doesn't like to go outside due to dirt and mosquitoes and the fine layer of dust that can accumulate on his body after he's been outside. I am not sure how he even knows they are out there but apparently he wants me to pick them up. And I said "where do you want me to put this stuff, inside?" He said that every night I should pick up the outside toys, clean them and put them inside. Then the following morning I should put them back outside. Umm, okay, I'll get right on that.

Being an adult at the baby gap

So today, as I was playing with Annabelle, I noticed that most of her toys were fabric covered blocks that squeak or rattle. I also noticed that she had a tractor in her hands and was wheeling it around the floor and saying "vroom, vroom." I am not sure where she learned vroom vroom, but it was totally cool and cute. So I decided to go to this toy store and get her some more age appropriate stuff to play with. (for you english majors our there-- I know I should have said "with which to play"--go read The Riverside Shakespeare and leave me alone) Now this toy store just happened to be next to The Gap and the Gap Body, a den of iniquity for me in my paycheck days. Of course, I went in to check them out, because I figured I can have freakish willpower when need be. Also I needed a bra. Surely just one bra wouldn't hurt anything and would probably even save me money later since everyone knows that a properly fitted bra is important to the chi-chis, whereby preventing me from having cosmetic surgery to put them back where they used to be before I gave birth and our house turned into a show on the national geographic channel, you know the one, where the natives walk around shirtless with a hungry baby on one teet while they are weave a colorful garment and swat away flies. (yes people I know that was a run on sentence, but you can't even be finished with the introduction to Riverside yet)

Anyway, I go into what was once the Gap Body only to find that it turned into a Baby Gap. Crap. There goes the willpower. So I am looking around at all the cutie-pie clothes and Annabelle runs off. I dash over to get her and find her at one of the display tables messing with stuff. Then she is at the sock stand taking socks off, then she is at another display table and this time she takes a pair of pants and throws them on the floor. Now I really didn't plan on having one of those horrible little monster kids that does that sort of thing, but apparently I do. I said "No Annabelle!" and gave her one my best "eat shit and die" looks which according to Hyphen and my sister, are real scary. She was unfazed and laughed hysterically and went to the next table and grabbed an entire stack of shirts and flung them on the floor with what can only be described as unrepentant glee. And honestly, it looked like so much fun. I wanted to laugh so hard. And then I wanted to grab another pile of shirts and fling them on the floor too. And then I wanted us to go around the store grabbing stuff from every table and throwing it everywhere screaming and laughing until they kicked us out. But I couldn't, because I was an adult at the Baby Gap.

Now, I also didn't really plan on being a mom that would have to spank my kid in public, because let's face it, Annabelle is half Asian and half me, and I just assumed she would never misbehave. But I did. It wasn't out of anger that I spanked her--I wasn't mad--it's just that as a society, we have decided that the shirts in the Gap must remain folded. I could feel the dirty looks of some of the other shoppers, but they can go read the Riverside Shakespeare too.

Oh yeah, in case you were wondering, two tops and a dress.

Galveston oh Galveston!

Today Hyphen called me and said he was on his way home early. When he got home he suggested we go to Galveston for the last part of the afternoon. This was at 2:00. I, of course was game. We packed up some stuff and left about 20 minutes later. You can do this when you don't work. Your kids may not go to college, but they will always remember when you went to Galveston on the fly. Well, maybe, I mean, she is only 14 months. We got to the seawall, put out our towel and headed into the surf. Annabelle was promptly knocked down by a wave. She cried, but then forgot about it when she saw some sea foam bubbles. Annabelle loves bubbles of any form and sometimes even thinks that balls are bubbles ( okay, maybe she's not college bound anyway). But, mostly she gets it right and says "bubble bubble" whenever she sees them.

Now, Hyphen is a person who is plagued by things. He suffers from (including but not limited to) allergies, motion sickness, ocd, seasonal depression, heartburn, high cholesterol and bugs, which like to bite him. We hadn't been in the sand and water for 5 minutes when he was complaining that something bit him. He managed to catch the little bugger and showed it to me. Sure enough, some tiny white bug bit him on the butt. I wouldn't have believed it, because I just don't see how anyone can be so tormented by things, but I saw the bug, and I am a believer. But blessed are those who believe him without seeing. I am not sure who those people are, but bless their little hearts. Later he told me "My butt itches, not the anus, just the ass." Thanks for the clarification.

Once in 1996 we tried to take a little spur of the moment trip to Hamilton Pool. This event is noted in our relationship lexicon as the "Hamilton Pool incident". It took Hyphen so long just to make the sandwiches, that by the time we got there, it was closed. Today, he came home to an almost completely clean house (go on with my bad-ass June Cleaver self!) and was able to suggest that we throw some stuff in a bag and leave.

Sometimes I think our love has been a long, tortuous, equal -opportunity version of Taming of the Shrew.

Castroville Texas, pop. 3674

My mom and dad retired to Castroville, a town that is about 20 miles West of San Antonio. Because they are super friendly, well my dad is super friendly, my mom is friendly in a feisty way, they have made some really great friends in their next door neighbors. They did this with beer. My dad and Gerry are big beer drinkers and they spend a good chunk of their day drinking beer under an oak tree that they have dubbed the beer garden. While they do this, they plot against my mom and Brenda (I am not sure if they plot as much as make fun of, but my mom assures me that they are plotting).

This weekend we went to Castroville to participate in the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life. Brenda organized the whole thing and our team was Toni's tigers. It would be hard for me to summarize Castroville in one post, but here goes it:

My mom was telling me about a bank robbery that happened where the robbers get-away car was a model-t. The scoundrels crashed it into a semi. The commotion caused the two cops who work for CPD (not to be confused with the cracker-jack Conroe PD) who were eating at the taqueria to run out the door at the same time. They were so fat their asses got stuck in the door so they had to radio the constable. But he drives a little camero and already had someone in the car so he had to call the dog catcher. She told me this story along with Brenda who was correcting her on the parts she got confused. When she got to the dog catcher part I said "really?" and she said "No, of course not, but that is what everyone is saying." Apparently one of the main forms of entertainment in Castroville is going to the coffee shop and telling yarns about how stupid and fat the cops are and these yarns get woven all across town.

The other form of entertainment/oral history is the hatred of anyone from Hondo, a town about 20 miles west of Castroville.

Brenda: "this relay is the only time people from Castroville, Hondo and Divine get along."

Me: "really, because of football?"

Brenda: "well, that and because Castroville used to be the county seat, but the people from Hondo came and stole it."

Me: "but didn't that happen like 100 years ago?"

Brenda: "yeah, we're still mad about it."

These pictures are of our relay team and the senile old lady who PASSED MY MOM on the survivor's lap. She thought I was cheering her on. And I was, I totally was.