Today, I went to Target, as I am want to do. I went despite the pouring rain and my lack of raincoat, umbrella, galoshes, etc. and the fact that I had two babies in tow. I needed to use my four dollar coupon for the contact lense solution I like before it expired on Friday. (Coupon shopping being one of the requisite qualities of all SAHM's) So I explained to Annabelle as I parked the car that we needed to be "quick-sticks" and I grabbed her and Tallulah and headed inside.
After purchasing my contact lense solution and 150.00 worth of other stuff, (which is why I am pro heights- walmart, I would never buy cute swimsuits for Annabelle and other stuff at walmart, I would just get the hell out of there as soon as possible) we headed back out to the van-- the weather had not improved.
It was at this point I was approached by a man who offered to walk me to my car under the shelter of his over sized umbrella. I accepted, of course, and was happily trotting along with him when my brain kicked in and told me the following:
Uptight Audrey Brain: dude, are you crazy? this guy could be a serial killer who is going to rape-murder you. He will open the van door, whack you on the head, shove you inside, rape-murder you and/or sell your kids to the almost-white slave market, and the security cameras won't pick it up because of his big umbrella. God, you idiot, quit making small talk and start holding your keys in a menacing way and at least try to study his face so if he lets you live, and that is a big if, you can describe him to the cops.
Happy-go-lucky Stella Brain: okay. I will look at him and study him, but you are totally overreacting. okay, I am looking at his face. wow. look at that toupee. That is a really impressive one. The mother of all toupees. Wavy and long, it almost looks natural, but, as with all toups, the hair is just a little to thick, not thick like thick and sexy, but each individual piece of hair that comprises the toupee is too thick. I am surprised he is even wearing one, most people are just going bald these days, which is fine by me, I mean I love a guy with nice hair and all, but bald can be...
uptight audrey brain: QUIT THAT BLABBERING AND LOOK AT HIS FACE
happy go lucky: okay there is a small mole near his toupee, is that gel, does he put gel on that?
uptight audrey: ARRRGGHHHHH
By this time we reached the car, and he helped me put the car seat in, wished me a good day, and bid me adieu.
Who says chivalry is dead? There he was, my knight with shiny head armour, and me, a damsel with mental distress.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
When and how we pray
When Annabelle was a baby, the worst time of day was the 2.a.m feeding. The house was lonely and creepy, no one was awake and I had those terrible Johnny Cash blues. I started to dread it every night at about 10p.m. One of those weird things that happens when you have a baby, I guess.
With Tallulah, I enjoy that feeding. Even though I am tired out of my mind, the house seems peaceful and quiet and content. I start by thanking God for all the people at rest in my house and I pray for the health of everyone in my family. And then I ask him for selfish things and for non selfish things.
I am in the habit of praying at all times of the day. For big things (please don't let my mom's cancer come back) and little things (make this light turn green right now before the baby notices the car is stopped and starts to scream again). I think you need to stay in constant contact.
I met a girl (when I say girl I mean someone who is slightly younger than me) once and I knew we would always be friends when she crossed herself as an ambulance went by. I asked what she was doing and she said she always says a little prayer for the person in the ambulance. I never knew anyone else did that besides me.
But nothing beats my mom. My mom is one of those people who every night before she goes to bed says the name of all of her family, sisters, brother, in-laws, neices, nephews, great neices and nephews, and all of her friends. She prays herself to sleep. Her prayers almost always get answered and when they don't, she assumes she is not sincere enough and is doing something wrong. After she broke her ankle, when she was foggy brained on pain meds, I called her and she told me she sent an email to God about her ankle. An email. And although it has become our joke, she continues to tell me that she is sending God an email about something or other. Today she told me how to do it.
Mom: do you want to know how to send and email to God? This is how you do it. You think--
to: God
from: Antoniamstevens@yahoo.com
re: tallulah sleeping though the night
CC: the blessed mother (you always cc the blessed mother on all emails you send to God)
Dear God,
please let Tallulah sleep at least 4 hours tonight. My daughter is tired and needs her rest and this would really help her.
(and then you always sign it like this)
your most humble servant,
antonia in castroville (you have to let him know where you are).
I am going to try it tonight. I will ask him for big things and little things, and I will thank him for all of you who read my blog and ask him to bless you with health and peace and a Merry Christmas.
With Tallulah, I enjoy that feeding. Even though I am tired out of my mind, the house seems peaceful and quiet and content. I start by thanking God for all the people at rest in my house and I pray for the health of everyone in my family. And then I ask him for selfish things and for non selfish things.
I am in the habit of praying at all times of the day. For big things (please don't let my mom's cancer come back) and little things (make this light turn green right now before the baby notices the car is stopped and starts to scream again). I think you need to stay in constant contact.
I met a girl (when I say girl I mean someone who is slightly younger than me) once and I knew we would always be friends when she crossed herself as an ambulance went by. I asked what she was doing and she said she always says a little prayer for the person in the ambulance. I never knew anyone else did that besides me.
But nothing beats my mom. My mom is one of those people who every night before she goes to bed says the name of all of her family, sisters, brother, in-laws, neices, nephews, great neices and nephews, and all of her friends. She prays herself to sleep. Her prayers almost always get answered and when they don't, she assumes she is not sincere enough and is doing something wrong. After she broke her ankle, when she was foggy brained on pain meds, I called her and she told me she sent an email to God about her ankle. An email. And although it has become our joke, she continues to tell me that she is sending God an email about something or other. Today she told me how to do it.
Mom: do you want to know how to send and email to God? This is how you do it. You think--
to: God
from: Antoniamstevens@yahoo.com
re: tallulah sleeping though the night
CC: the blessed mother (you always cc the blessed mother on all emails you send to God)
Dear God,
please let Tallulah sleep at least 4 hours tonight. My daughter is tired and needs her rest and this would really help her.
(and then you always sign it like this)
your most humble servant,
antonia in castroville (you have to let him know where you are).
I am going to try it tonight. I will ask him for big things and little things, and I will thank him for all of you who read my blog and ask him to bless you with health and peace and a Merry Christmas.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
growing pains
It is textbook behavior when a new baby is in the house. The neediness, always wanting my attention, constantly being underfoot--at times I literally trip on her. And it was no surprise, I expected the neediness. I know she loves the baby, that much is obvious, she is always by the bassinet while the baby is sleeping and loving on the baby in her own way, which is not always the most gentle, whenever Tallulah is awake.
But I did not expect a regression in her behavior, doing things that I thought we had grown out of long ago. That has been very frustrating--at times she has been down right destructive--and that causes me to lose my temper, and I yell and it upsets her, which causes more attention-seeking behavior.
I should have dropped her off at the pound years ago and then I wouldn't be dealing with this crap.
But I did not expect a regression in her behavior, doing things that I thought we had grown out of long ago. That has been very frustrating--at times she has been down right destructive--and that causes me to lose my temper, and I yell and it upsets her, which causes more attention-seeking behavior.
I should have dropped her off at the pound years ago and then I wouldn't be dealing with this crap.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
my sunday husband
About once every 6 weeks or so, Hyphen comes to church with us--and it is awesome. He gets all dressed up (raised Episcopalian, he is horrified by the amount of jeans in Catholic church.) and we go together, he kisses me during the sign of peace and holds our hand during the Our Father. He takes Annabelle to the cry room, if the need arises, and afterwards we talk to our friends and then go to Chinatown for lunch, and we feel like a real family. There is something about him coming that makes Sunday beautiful and special and takes away any trace of that Johnny Cash -i'm -so-lonely-and-I-smell-chicken-frying-and-want-to -blow-my-brains-out-because it-is-Sunday-and-I-miss-mama song out of your day.
But that is only once every six weeks. The rest of the time, I am in a relationship with another man. It started in the summer and continues through today, he is my church husband. He must have some weird kind of B.O, that everyone can smell but me, because there is never anyone sitting around him and since I am always running a couple of minutes late, no matter how early I start getting ready, I always end up sitting next to him. I can't really tell how old he is--he could be anywhere from 25-40. He always comes alone. He tolerates Annabelle's squirmy-ness with a detached good humor and during the height of my pregnancy would occasionally help me with the knealer. We don't kiss, but we do hold hands during the Our Father and he picks up the toys/sippys/necklaces that Annabelle drops and hands them to me. I don't know his name, but feel as though it must be Marco or Marcus or Mark. But most likely Marco. We have never spoken, except to say peace be with you, until today.
Today is the day Mexican people celebrate La Virgen of Guadalupe's appearance to Juan Diego, and the Hispanic Community from my Church was putting on a reenactment of this at the Church Gym (what Annabelle likes to call the "church where you can talk and we have a Halloween party") and we went. There he was, in a row behind us this time, but still all alone, with no one sitting around him. He gave me a warm, familiar smile that I took to mean "oh there you are, I was wondering where you were and figured you had the baby. She is so beautiful, how is our other one taking to being a big sister? I bet you are a good big sister. I missed your singing during Church, Annabelle. Anyway, I am so glad you are back, I'll see you next week."
We walked out together and he held the door open for us and today for the first time we said good bye to each other.
Me and my Sunday husband, Marco.
But that is only once every six weeks. The rest of the time, I am in a relationship with another man. It started in the summer and continues through today, he is my church husband. He must have some weird kind of B.O, that everyone can smell but me, because there is never anyone sitting around him and since I am always running a couple of minutes late, no matter how early I start getting ready, I always end up sitting next to him. I can't really tell how old he is--he could be anywhere from 25-40. He always comes alone. He tolerates Annabelle's squirmy-ness with a detached good humor and during the height of my pregnancy would occasionally help me with the knealer. We don't kiss, but we do hold hands during the Our Father and he picks up the toys/sippys/necklaces that Annabelle drops and hands them to me. I don't know his name, but feel as though it must be Marco or Marcus or Mark. But most likely Marco. We have never spoken, except to say peace be with you, until today.
Today is the day Mexican people celebrate La Virgen of Guadalupe's appearance to Juan Diego, and the Hispanic Community from my Church was putting on a reenactment of this at the Church Gym (what Annabelle likes to call the "church where you can talk and we have a Halloween party") and we went. There he was, in a row behind us this time, but still all alone, with no one sitting around him. He gave me a warm, familiar smile that I took to mean "oh there you are, I was wondering where you were and figured you had the baby. She is so beautiful, how is our other one taking to being a big sister? I bet you are a good big sister. I missed your singing during Church, Annabelle. Anyway, I am so glad you are back, I'll see you next week."
We walked out together and he held the door open for us and today for the first time we said good bye to each other.
Me and my Sunday husband, Marco.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
don't read this if you are especially sensitve to the plight of native americans
Phone conversation I had recently with my sister
Me: hey dude, what are you doing?
A: living the dream in palm springs, no kids, no husband, fancy hotel.
Me: oh, yeah, at a conference right? how is the hotel?
A: awesome. It is way better than the last one, except there was no airport shuttle, so I had to split a cab with some ladies who are also attending the conference, and then we all ate dinner together.
Me: oh, that was nice, where were they from?
A: south dakota
Me: what is you conference for?
A: native american health care
Me: What? why?
A: well in the new health care package there is a lot of money set aside to redo some of the Indian clinics...
Me: what???? there are like 10 Indians left, why do they get my money?
A (exasperated): I don't know, ask Obama, maybe to address the horrible diabetes and other health care problems they have been suffering since they adopted the white man's diet.
Me: He doesn't return my calls. maybe they need to eat more tuhtanka. Hey, while you are there, can you get me one of those turquoise cuff bracelets, like a real big one, like 4 inches- I'll pay you back
A(more exasperated) : it is not that kind of conference
Me: sure it is, I am sure they will have a table where they are hawking their wares. Do you think there is going to be anyone there with long hair, like wind-in-his-hair, and if there is, can you text me a picture of it? but only if it is a man, and only if he looks like wind-in-his-hair.
A: (really hacked) umm, sure.
A few days later....
Me: " how was the conference?
A: good
Me: did you get me a cuff?
A; I told you, it wasn't that kind of conference
Me: you mean to tell me that you saw no cuffs?
A: actually, I saw lots of people wearing the cuffs and other kinds of turquoise
Me: and you didn't say "here is this shiny cell phone I'll trade it to you for your cuff."
A:(really pissed) "NO!!!!! They don't barter, they are regular people. I did see a man with long hair, though and he had leather braided in it.
Me: and you didn't send me a picture??? Wait-- were those ladies you ate dinner with Indians--did they have cuffs on???
A (resigned sigh) Yes. they were. And yes they did.
Me: You couldn't simply ask them " hey that is a beautiful cuff, where did you get that? and then they could say "on the res, I know this guy, here is his business card...."
A: (yelling)I AM NOT GOING TO ASK SOMEONE THAT AT A PROFESSIONAL CONFERENCE!!!!! I am not like you. And I am not going to ask someone something just to hear them say on the res!!!!!!
Me: (resigned sigh) I am not sure what kind of sister knows that her sister wants an Indian cuff bracelet and then goes somewhere there are tons of people, including her new friends wearing them and then doesn't bother to ask anyone where they got them or trade her cell phone for one of them!!!!!!!!!!
A: the kind that is not going to do that.
Me: bye
A: bye
Me: hey dude, what are you doing?
A: living the dream in palm springs, no kids, no husband, fancy hotel.
Me: oh, yeah, at a conference right? how is the hotel?
A: awesome. It is way better than the last one, except there was no airport shuttle, so I had to split a cab with some ladies who are also attending the conference, and then we all ate dinner together.
Me: oh, that was nice, where were they from?
A: south dakota
Me: what is you conference for?
A: native american health care
Me: What? why?
A: well in the new health care package there is a lot of money set aside to redo some of the Indian clinics...
Me: what???? there are like 10 Indians left, why do they get my money?
A (exasperated): I don't know, ask Obama, maybe to address the horrible diabetes and other health care problems they have been suffering since they adopted the white man's diet.
Me: He doesn't return my calls. maybe they need to eat more tuhtanka. Hey, while you are there, can you get me one of those turquoise cuff bracelets, like a real big one, like 4 inches- I'll pay you back
A(more exasperated) : it is not that kind of conference
Me: sure it is, I am sure they will have a table where they are hawking their wares. Do you think there is going to be anyone there with long hair, like wind-in-his-hair, and if there is, can you text me a picture of it? but only if it is a man, and only if he looks like wind-in-his-hair.
A: (really hacked) umm, sure.
A few days later....
Me: " how was the conference?
A: good
Me: did you get me a cuff?
A; I told you, it wasn't that kind of conference
Me: you mean to tell me that you saw no cuffs?
A: actually, I saw lots of people wearing the cuffs and other kinds of turquoise
Me: and you didn't say "here is this shiny cell phone I'll trade it to you for your cuff."
A:(really pissed) "NO!!!!! They don't barter, they are regular people. I did see a man with long hair, though and he had leather braided in it.
Me: and you didn't send me a picture??? Wait-- were those ladies you ate dinner with Indians--did they have cuffs on???
A (resigned sigh) Yes. they were. And yes they did.
Me: You couldn't simply ask them " hey that is a beautiful cuff, where did you get that? and then they could say "on the res, I know this guy, here is his business card...."
A: (yelling)I AM NOT GOING TO ASK SOMEONE THAT AT A PROFESSIONAL CONFERENCE!!!!! I am not like you. And I am not going to ask someone something just to hear them say on the res!!!!!!
Me: (resigned sigh) I am not sure what kind of sister knows that her sister wants an Indian cuff bracelet and then goes somewhere there are tons of people, including her new friends wearing them and then doesn't bother to ask anyone where they got them or trade her cell phone for one of them!!!!!!!!!!
A: the kind that is not going to do that.
Me: bye
A: bye
Thursday, December 2, 2010
1985 ford tempo
I used to neck with my boyfriend in a 1985 ford tempo. It was gray with a maroon interior. It had a faded theodoore roosevelt high school parking sticker on it and some little teddy bear thing hung around the rear view mirror. It was scrupulously clean. He spent a lot of time washing it. Hours at a time. He had lots of special sponges and rags to clean the car and lots of dedicated cleaning products. I found this very interesting because at our house we would just fill a bucket with Palmolive and wash the dirt off. But not this guy. He would armour-all the dash and even had this special spray he would put on the tires that made them shiny. I didn't realize you needed to wash the tires of a car, but that is because I drive a "trash can on wheels" as Hyphen likes to put it.
Anyway, I used to go over to his house and help him wash his car (this was in the early 90s, when people still washed their own cars). I am a very "when in rome" type of person, and so I figured as long as I was dating this guy, I might as well help him wash his car, even though my 1986 La Baron was full of drink cups, general filth and said "wash me" on the back. Sometimes he would wash my La Baron, which was nice of him. Then he would always say something like "try to keep it clean this time." Afterwards, we would drive over to the Diamond Shamrock on Austin Highway. He said that out of all the nearby gas stations, this one was the cheapest and he would gas up his car for 95 cents a gallon and then get a big gulp like drink. He would ask me if I wanted one and I would say no, because it was really too much soda for me and I didn't want to be rude and ask for something of someone who drove out of his way to find the cheapest gas he could to fill up his car. (I was somewhat spoiled, having a gas card that my parents paid for.) So I would always say to him "no, I'll just have a little sip of yours." He would laugh and smile in way that I knew he found me endearing and would always finish the "little sip of yours" part of the sentence with me.
That was a long time ago. I am thinking of that car now, tonight, to help me get through this night of mom ping-pong. It is a new game being played at our house, where one child needs me and then the other child needs me and before I finish with one properly and meet her needs the other starts to cry and then the cry turns into a scream and I leave the child I am trying to make comfortable and happy to tend to the one that is making noise. And just when I calm the noisy one down, the first one who was almost calm before I left her, starts to cry again. Ping Pong, get it? It is weird though--God has given me some kind of freakish mom endorphins that are getting me through the game calmly and serenely, and in the end, the ball wins the match with two peaceful, sleeping children as her trohpies.
My husband is sitting on his chair watching the game. He says he needs to rest and cannot help. I am really not sure who he is right now. I asked him for a sip of his drink and he said not to touch it. My van, though, is uncharacteristically clean, and I have tried to keep it clean, this time, for a few days now.
Anyway, I used to go over to his house and help him wash his car (this was in the early 90s, when people still washed their own cars). I am a very "when in rome" type of person, and so I figured as long as I was dating this guy, I might as well help him wash his car, even though my 1986 La Baron was full of drink cups, general filth and said "wash me" on the back. Sometimes he would wash my La Baron, which was nice of him. Then he would always say something like "try to keep it clean this time." Afterwards, we would drive over to the Diamond Shamrock on Austin Highway. He said that out of all the nearby gas stations, this one was the cheapest and he would gas up his car for 95 cents a gallon and then get a big gulp like drink. He would ask me if I wanted one and I would say no, because it was really too much soda for me and I didn't want to be rude and ask for something of someone who drove out of his way to find the cheapest gas he could to fill up his car. (I was somewhat spoiled, having a gas card that my parents paid for.) So I would always say to him "no, I'll just have a little sip of yours." He would laugh and smile in way that I knew he found me endearing and would always finish the "little sip of yours" part of the sentence with me.
That was a long time ago. I am thinking of that car now, tonight, to help me get through this night of mom ping-pong. It is a new game being played at our house, where one child needs me and then the other child needs me and before I finish with one properly and meet her needs the other starts to cry and then the cry turns into a scream and I leave the child I am trying to make comfortable and happy to tend to the one that is making noise. And just when I calm the noisy one down, the first one who was almost calm before I left her, starts to cry again. Ping Pong, get it? It is weird though--God has given me some kind of freakish mom endorphins that are getting me through the game calmly and serenely, and in the end, the ball wins the match with two peaceful, sleeping children as her trohpies.
My husband is sitting on his chair watching the game. He says he needs to rest and cannot help. I am really not sure who he is right now. I asked him for a sip of his drink and he said not to touch it. My van, though, is uncharacteristically clean, and I have tried to keep it clean, this time, for a few days now.
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