we are on the third floor

I went for a check up today and as I was heading from the parking garage to the main entrance of the building, I walked by an elderly lady sitting on a bench talking on a cell phone. I heard her say the following in that accent that life long Houstonians have: "we had to park on the third floor because he wouldn't valet. I liked to died getting over here." I paid her no mind and took my time getting to the elevator. My doctor is on the second floor and I chatted with the receptionist about the girls and then took my time finding magazines. I sat down and started reading, when the lady and her husband came to the seats across from me. The following is their conversation, which I began writing down on my phone's notebook. I don't know their names, but we will call her Gladys and him Herman.

Gladys in a very loud voice because Herman is obviously hard of hearing: we are on the third floor. We are on the third floor. Did you hear me? We are on the third floor.

Random lady in another seat: actually ma'am, we are on the second floor right now.

Gladys: oh, I know that honey but I am telling him where he parked. (to herman) We are on the third floor. I am gonna write that down in case I pass out and they have to come and get us. I am writing it down right here (gesturing to a scrap of paper), because I think I am going to pass out, in case ems has to come and get us. We should have used the valet. We are on the third floor. Do you hear me?

Now, all this time Herman has been reading the paper. But he chooses this time to chime in: ein, zwei, drei, uno dos tres, one two three...

Gladys(yelling): stop that (of course that has two syllables when she says it)

Herman: third floor.

Gladys(glancing down at her orthopedic sandals and bright orange pedicure): oh my lord I did not put my stockings on. it is cold in here. I am puttin' this ticket in my purse with my phone. You need it to leave. We are on the third floor.

Then she read her section of the paper and he continued reading his.

Later, I packed up the kids and drove to my parents house for a little pre-Christmas visit. I sat and watched as my dad was lying on the floor getting instructions from my mom on how to straighten the Christmas tree and then told him to get up and come and look at it. He declined in a somewhat grumpy manner. Then she asked me what I thought.

We are on the third floor.

did i mention that relapse is part of recovery?

Well, it is. At least that is what my judge used to say to defendants when I was trying to revoke their probations. And why would I want to argue with the incomparable Suzanne? Well, I would want to, but I wouldn't prevail. So I made it 40 hours, which is good. I am going to hop right back on tomorrow. This is a great improvement, because I was up to 2+ a day. And I only had one because we got some bad news about the house we were trying to buy and I was about to eat some steak and potatoes which goes perfectly with one of those little dublin dr. peppers.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of my life. Tomorrow.

Hello Stella

hello my name is stella and I am addicted to sugar.

Caveat #1:
I don't really think there is anything wrong with sugar. I love sugar. Nothing makes me happier than eating a big piece of birthday cake made with buttercream icing, unless it is drinking a sweet tea from chik-fil-a or eating an oreo.

So what? I am an addict and I love my addiction. You can drink your diet cokes and munch on 5 almonds when you are hungry--go right ahead, give my a dr. pepper and reese's peanut butter cup and eat your heart out.

But I don't like what I look like right now. I am very soft in the middle. Today Annabelle said my tummy was like a pillow. And I think sugar is responsible--that and sugar's best friend, butter, but let's focus on one issue at a time.

I started during pregnancy. I used to be somewhat disicplined and just have a couple of cokes a week. Then I got knocked up and was sleepy during lunch so I ordered a coke every day at work. But since we only had an hour and a half for lunch and since I am a slow drinker I would just take a couple of sips and be done. No real harm. Then, as I may have mentioned before, I quit my job in a steaming fit of rage when a somewhat douchey person became my new boss. When I started to stay home, I still had the dp habit, despite the fact I was 14 months past my due date. But even though I was still a slow drinker, there was no one there to throw away my coke after lunch and clear the table, so I would sip on it for the rest of the day. We would also have pancakes every day for breakfast, but again one issue at a time.

Then, knocked up II, the sequel wherein there was never a pizza crust I didn't touch.

And now here we are--me and my buhdda belly (and butt and thighs)

The thing is, I would never let my kids touch a coke. I view myself as a steward of their health and teaching them how to be healthy. Annabelle thinks they are "spicy" and stays away form them. She also is starting to get that they are bad for you and told me not to drink too many. So why can't I be a steward for my own body?

Oh, yeah, because I am an addict.

Then I got a text this weekend from my former Boss M______ S________ (my f-bm for short) bragging about how he can run 10 miles at a 9 and a half pace and he is 44 and has ms. I could not even run one mile right now. FBM made me think of what a certain rapscallion, who imparted upon me two very important pieces of wisdom:always have your client testify in a DWI case and never drink your calories.

So I have made a decision. And I am announcing it on this blog so I will have to be honest about it.

I will not have another sweet drink until Christmas day. Please note: I do not believe in saying ever again, because that would be ridiculous and a lie. But if I could just get back to drinking one once a week, I would be in good shape.

Which brings me to caveat number 2: To celebrate my decision, I am finishing off my sweet tea from Rudys. One last hurrah.

But let me keep my butter--or else just put a gun to my head and shoot me, because a life without butter is just clabber.

dinner at pf changs

Earlier tonight, I was thinking about the best fried rice I have ever had. It was this year, when we were camping. H had brought some old take out rice with us. He cooked it on a cast iron skillet with bacon instead of chinese sausage. He put in it some carrots and whatever other vegetables we had taken from home, in the hopes that we would use them while we were camping. My mom would call this a mingongo. Anyway, he fried this up in a cast iron skillet over a butane burner on top of the old chuckbox that we took camping when I was a little girl. Annabelle was riding her bike nearby and Tootles was sleeping in a her pack-N-play under an oak tree. We ate it out of styrofoam whataburger cups because the people who were bringing the paper plates weren't there yet. And it was delightful.

I was thinking this as we were at PF Chang's tonight. We have never been there as a couple. I have, of course, being somewhat white, I can go into those places without feeling like a total banana (yellow on the outside....). When we go out to eat, it is usually in real hole in the wall places or somewhere in Chinatown. But tonight we had a Christmas errand to run and we had to go do it near PF Changs. It is one of those loud, trendy type places where young people sit at the same table and text each other and old people eat lemon chicken.

It was near Tallulah's bed time, but there was no pack-play and no oak tree. Just chop sticks for her to throw on the floor and then scream in delight when Annabelle would run and pick them up for her. They did this about 50 times and it was keeping them relatively happy.

The food was alright. Solid. I have had worse--I've had worse in Chinatown.

It was Friday, date night. When I am 100 years old and an inmate in some facility somewhere, I will still want to go out to eat. And hopefully, Herman, my nursing home boyfriend, will walk me to the cafeteria to get some jello (H will have stroked out sometime before--bacon, get it???). Maybe I will remember two hyper girls gobbling down fried rice at a busy restaurant.

But I know I will always remember that frio river fried rice.

walk watch update

Pay up bitches!

4 steps on Monday night. But, I thought I give everyone a break and not call it. But them each day it has been more and more, until today, 20 steps at our garage sale.

I prefer cash money, but will take a personal check from some of you...

511 5th street

If you sweep a house, and tend its fires and fill its stove, and there is love in you all the years you are doing this, then you and that house are married, that house is yours.”
― Truman Capote


If I had spent a few decades of my life on a windswept prairie, in a small farmhouse that got so dusty that it had to be dusted twice a day, I would have thought I hit the big time when I moved into town.

Especially if I had survived the depression and a war and 4 teenagers and farm life.

I am not sure, that I would, after living in a small house with my husband for all that time, want to have matching his and hers wood-hobby shops, but some husbands have a better temperament than mine and I could probably be convinced if there was a dog run with a porch swing between them.

I would have wanted a pink bathroom of my own. With creamy formica coutertops with little gold specs in them. I am not sure if my bathroom cabinets would have been as neat, but I would definitely have pink floral towels and a dixie cup holder. Got to have the dixie cup holder. I would probably have one in my husband's bathroom too, and it would be a good idea to have that by the back door, in case he came home from the filling station and was dirty, or what have you.

And don't you know I would have a green house. I'd have to have a place for my fiddle leaf fig. And my geraniums--more people kill geraniums by loving them to death, just leave those plants alone.

Not sure about the red shag carpeting. But what we think of red shag carpeting is what people will some day think of stainless steel appliances. Why anyone would want one of those cold things in their home is beyond me. E-gad.

I would have a guest room, but also fold out sofas and a murphy bed. I was invited to stay somewhere once where they didn't have a bed for me and, well, that just ain't cricket, folks. So I would have lots of places to sit and be comfortable.

And a little table for the grandkids to sit at and make paper dolls. And a little blue bear.

Now, after having spent years in the kitchen cooking and never getting to be part of the fun, I would probably have what they call nowadays "great rooms" I'd just call it good sense. I would keep little depression glass goblets on the windowsill too, because when the sun shines on them, it makes them ever prettier.

Yes, not many people are lucky enough to get to build their dreamhouse. Especially after so long on the farm. Some people start out with a nice house--but where is the fun in that? I probably would think about it a lot while I was on the farm. Especially that summer my son and I accidentally shared a toothbrush in that 'ol durn bathroom.

And even when I was in it, I would always be tinkering with it, because a house is never done, not really.

Of course, 20 years is a long time to live in it all alone. A mighty long time. But I think I would fight like hell to keep it. Because it was our dream house.

And because I am stubborn and somewhat impractical. And I can't respect anyone that can't hold a grudge.

tallulah is one year old

Tallulah is a delicate child. That is what people say, although I can't tell how they can see it. My Aunts noticed it first, "que delicada, que hermosa." But strangers comment on how petite she is, how sweet she seems. I can't really argue with it. She is sweet, she is content, and if she isn't content, all she needs is a pair of arms to make things right. When Annabelle was her age, if she fell or knocked her head, or any of those small baby calamities that occur in the first year of life, she would just keep on going. Not Tallulah, she cries and scrunches up her little nose and pouches out her little lips. She is scared of big animals, of all animals, really, except the idiot dog, and if you are at the zoo and hold her up to a giraffe, she will clutch onto you in terror, which is so unlike the other child that would reach for them. The comment strangers would make about Annabelle was how feisty she seemed, but with Tallulah, it is her sweetness that is noticed. She is a delicate, sweet child, but how a stranger can tell is beyond me.

But for all her fragility, she is equally tenacious. If she wants something, she will get it. If you try to change her mind, she will literally bulldoze her way to the coveted object, and if you divert her attention for a few minutes until you think she has forgotten, well, she doesn't forget. She goes right back to the remote, cell phone, poisonous object, etc.

Tallulah is freakishly smart. At four months she was craning her neck when she was on the changing table, and calling "annbel, annbel" but it is one of those things that you just assume can't mean what it sounds like, because she was just 4 months old and I was sleep deprived. But I heard it often, when Annabelle was in the other room and Annabelle would say "I'm coming Tallulah," so I know she heard it too. She would also say mama, ama (when around my mom) and "dog bark." Once at the doctor's office, she pushed his hand away while he was examining her and said "no." The doctor looked at me incredulously and said, "did she just say no?" And then he tried to examine her again and she told him no again. She can also say "no dog," and pushes the dog's sniffing nose away-- but this should be no surprise, given how often she hears that phrase. She is a little parrot and can repeat things she hears a lot, like "thank you" and "lemonade" She can figure out toys that took Annabelle weeks to master in 5 minutes. And runs her fingers up and down her ribs when she wants my dad to tickle her, to the amazement and delight of her grandpa.

Tallulah's sister has a keen understanding of her needs and is very protective of her. "Don't do that to my sister's nose! She doesn't like that, you are making her cry and I am mad at you." We heard that tonight when we were bulb siringing the little snotty thing. The other night Tallulah, was banging her head on the high chair and we were perplexed as to why. "She wants a drink," Annabelle said. "you think so?" I said and fixed her one. As soon as she had it, she stopped banging her head and began happily slurping on her sippy cup.

Tallulah loves her papa. When he walks through the door she comes alive with smiles and thrusts her body over to him for him to hold her. She is a daddy's girl and while I think it took him a little bit to really appreciate her, he puts her to bed every night, without fail.

Tallulah is one year old today. Happy birthday, mija.

As I write this post, I swat a mosquito

I first moved to Houston in August of 1996 after college. I had never spent much time here, and I definitely felt like the country mouse visiting the big city. Skyscrapers, awful traffic, fancy shops, and all kinds of people. One of the things I noticed was how every afternoon at about 3:00, it rained. Without fail, thunderstorms at three o'clock, you could almost set your watch by it, very different from the central Texas Augusts to which I was accustomed.

It rained a lot actually. The streets would flood about once a month and it was always a major news story. Sadly, someone would always misjudge an underpass and drown. I learned how we were on a vast coastal prairie that was covered with concrete and that concrete was preventing the land from soaking up all that rain, like the sponge that it was. I say "we" because after a few years of living here I began to notice that despite the concrete, Houston was actually very beautiful. And very green. I would go home to San Antonio or to visit my grandmother in Lubbock or grandpa in Uvalde and notice that Houston was actually kind of like a tropical paradise. Lush green landscapes, a place where one house could have gorgeous tropicals and the next door neighbor could have a cottage style garden, all living in botanical tranquility.

Then in 2001, there was tropical storm Allison. I was heading to SA for a friend's wedding. I barely made it out. Hyphen didn't. He slept in his car on I-10 and when the water finally receded, he and a band of other unlucky motorists had to walk to some store that was open on the access road (in Houston they call access roads feeders) to let their families (some of whom were hysterical) know they were okay--this was bcp (before cell phones). Wow, that was a lot of parenthesis.

At the time, we lived in the Sunset Heights. It was an old neighborhood, and we didn't have proper drainage, just these huge culverts in front of our lots. After something like 35 inches of rain, they were really, really full. Actually the whole city was horribly flooded and we were very grateful that the Heights lived up to its name, our house was safe. The medical center basements were so badly flooded that the lab rats drowned and years of research was lost. Tragically, downtown, people were drowning in parking garage elevators, the symphony lost valuable sheet music and rare instruments and most importantly, something like 30,000 homes were flooded. But it didn't happen in New York, so most people never knew about it.

But back to our culverts. Afterwards, there were crazy mosquitoes. They would swarm you when you got out of your car and you had to run in the house. My dogs snouts were always covered with the the little vermin. Everyone was miserable. The 500 year flood, they said.

Fast forward to 2011. The driest year in recorded history. If you look at the tree rings, it is possibly the driest year in 300 years. Memorial Park? A wasteland of dead trees. Good ole Anise Parker, so fiscally responsible that she let them all die rather than water them. All the plants that are so used to getting so much water have not had a significant rainfall since sometime in 2010. Only people who are willing to pay the increased water rates are watering their grass and even in posh river oaks, there are brown yards. Coyotes are roaming the streets looking for food. I didn't even know we had coyotes. And the other night, I smelled a skunk. I felt like a city mouse visiting a place where there were skunks. Except the "place" was under my house, somewhere in the vicinity of the hall closet. Then about two weeks ago, it rained three inches.

Now we are fortunate enough to live in a neighborhood without culverts. But the post rain mosquitoes? Worse than tropical storm Allison mosquitoes. H calls them assassin mosquitoes. I call them rabid vampires mosquitoes on crack cocaine. But I can't run to the car, see? I've got kids. Two of them. And they take forever to get into the car. They swarm the car and we spend the first ten minutes of every drive killing them. My three year old, who loves all animals, knows how to swat them. My baby is so covered with bites she looks like she has some type of pox. My dashboard is littered with their tiny corpses--my own little hall of horns.

But there are people (dad) who read this blog who say climate change is just a bunch of hogwash. A 500 year flood. Two hurricanes. A drought to end all droughts, and for the past two winters we had weeks in the 20s. I may not be a scientist, but this little mouse smells a rat, and it not just the winds bringing in the Pasadena smell.

what I do all day

The following represents a true and accurate account of the messes I have cleaned up this far this morning:

1. peed upon sheets and bedding
2. spilled milk sippy cup
3. spilled container of rice
4. two poop butts
5. spilled juice box, which was blamed on Tallulah-- convenient since her vocabulary is limited to "no dog" and our respective names and ranks and cannot defend herself-- but seeing how I had given the box to Annabelle and she was standing in a puddle of juice and spreading it around with her feet when I asked how it happened, I feel that both the direct and circumstantial evidence will be in Tallulah's favor

6. Blueberry muffin crumbs

It is 10 after 10 and Annabelle just asked me how to open her crayon rock box. I think we will be heading out for the rest of the day to prevent further destruction from occurring.

velmas and thelmas

1. Velmas

Annabelle: Mom, I want to be named Velma now.

Me: okay. For today, or forever.

Annabelle: forever.

Me: that's a long time to be named Velma.

Annabelle: there's going to be some more changes too. I am in kindergarten now and my teacher's name is Miss Luciegiada.

Me: Miss Luciegiada?

Annabelle (slightly annoyed at my mispronunciation): no, Miss Lucie gi-A-da.

2. Thelmas:

Welcome follower number 9, Miss Thelma Duncan. Miss Thelma hails from the bustling metropolis of Bronte Texas where she is currently in a two way tie for the title of sexiest senior Coke County, female division.

tallulah walk watch 2011

So here is how it is:

Back in June, Tallulah began to crawl and pull up at the same time. The pulling up caused some speculation on when she would walk. And as usual with my family, we decided to make it a little interesting. Price is Right Rules applied (which again I will explain to my dad, closest without going over). Annabelle got August 13th. Audrey chose September 1, Mom got September 10th. Dale chose October 10th, I picked October 13th.

Walking was defined as 4 steps in a row without any aid.

In the very beginning of August, she stood up on her own, which is the last hurdle Annabelle conquered a few days before she took off. So it was looking good for Annabelle. But, no dice. It looked really good for Audrey, but no.

Mom's date came and went despite the fact that when she visited she tried to get her to practice by returning the walking toy Audrey's twins had borrowed. Dad's came and went. And then it was me and Dale. The crucial reason I picked her 11th month marker was because while she was a great crawler and a great puller upper, she was not a cruiser (walking while holding onto something). Annabelle crawled, pulled up and cruised all at the same time. Tallulah doesn't. If she wants to go somewhere and is standing, she sits back down and crawls, even if there is a perfectly good coffee table available for her to cruise with.

Dale chose it by pure logic. Asian babies walk late according to some book he read.

Today is October 13th. She is 11 months old. She has until midnight tonight for me to win the kitty. Okay, until 7:00 when she goes to bed.

So, we are going to reset tomorrow. She is starting to cruise. But still prefers to crawl. She can stand on her own for a really long time and is very solid when she does.

Entry fee is ten dollars. I am choosing December 13th.

Ante up!

little boobies, saggy boobs and a catholic fish fry

The day started with us wathcing the today show. Some voluptuous woman was being interviewed by Matt Lauer, and H said "where are Matt's eyes right now?" "Where are your
eyes right now?" I asked. To which H replied "you know where my eyes are." Sigh.

Then the girls and I went to the zoo and I wore this cute jersey sundress with a ruffle down the front. It is perfect, except that the ruffle drags it down a little in the boob area and so I have to wear a sweater over it, for modesty's sake--I mean, I don't want everyone seeing those things, just one person, and preferably in the dark while wearing a supportive foundation garment. After the zoo, we came home and made an apple pie for the fish fry at my church tonight. H came home and made individual fruit cups for the soccer game tomorrow --we are in charge of refreshments and goldfish crackers were not an option for the Nguyen family. Baby Tallulah was napping and Annabelle and I went outside to water the trees and play. Play evolved into "tickle me!" and I finally succeeded in tickling her so hard that she peed in her pants. Score! So we went inside and I had to get her changed for the fish fry. I convinced her to wear this pink dress that grandma got her. After a while I noticed that it sunk a little low, revealing her chi-chis. So I was trying to figure out how to fix this and H remarked "don't' worry about it, she's three, no one will care." My reply was something like this: "we are going to a fish fry at the church and I don't want her boobies to show, and btw-are you really going to wear that Buccees t-shirt?"

Then I changed my sweater, which in the course of the zoo trip and yard play had gotten a little dirty and put on a long sleeve cheetah print cardigan, and we headed out the door to eat some men's club cat fish.

We arrived at the parish hall, settled in with our plates of catfish, hushpuppies coleslaw and curly fries. I had Tallulah in my lap and she immediately latched on to a hush puppy, which took her about thirty minutes to eat. After a few minutes Annabelle wanted to sit in my lap too, which is pretty standard at our house--everyone wants mama at dinner time--you would think I would be thinner from always attending to other people's culinary/emotional needs, but somehow it doesn't work out that way.

Everyone finished eating. Annabelle and her friend went out to play with her friends dad. H went over to talk to someone and it was just me, Miss S________ (Annabelle's friend's mom) and baby Tallulah and baby Tallulah's sippy cup which she kept dropping. She dropped it again and a man who was sharing our table picked it up for us. I said "thank you" and he said "your welcome" and then I noticed where his eyes were.

You see, when you hold a squirming child they pull on stuff, and my sweater had somehow come out of place and my dress was pulled down and my entire left boob (encased in a bra) was completely exposed--for God knows how long--at the same Catholic fish fry at which I didn't want Annabelle's little flat chest showing.

Miss S_________ said not to worry, I probably made someone's day. Either that or made them toss their hushpuppies.

the problem with facebook

the problem with facebook is that for a while, I was addicted.

Our History
I loved it. Facebook sent me an email a few years ago, letting me know that my old friend K______ B______ had joined, and wouldn't I like to join too? I didn't know how fb got my email, or how it knew that K______ B_____ and I had been friends who lost touch, but I joined just to see what she was up to. And then a few days later, facebook let me know that double stuff oreo wanted to be my friend, would I accept? Hell yeah! And then fb put me in touch with a few other people and I was really happy to see how they were doing. Funny,even now, the people that I am the most interested in are the people I was first "friends" with. And then it finally found my old friend J______ W_______ who I really had really missed over the years and was so happy to hear from.

the inevitable downward spiral
200+ friends later, I was spending too much time on fb. When you are a stay at home mom, you can't screw around at work when you boss isn't looking, so after I finally got the kids into bed I used my precious me-time to spy on people on fb, sometimes for more than an hour. And it always leads to other gratuitous Internet surfing, and I was going to bed after midnight, and then having to wake up at all hours to take care of various children and couldn't fall back to sleep due to Hyphen's constant and horrendous snoring. And then wondering why I felt so terrible.

rock bottom
Facebook then decided that it knew me better than I do. And it decided that I actually wanted to hear about someone who we will call Perosn X (real creative, I know) Person X is actually an amalgam of several dysfunctional people who are proud of their dysfunction and like to share it. Person X is going through a horrible divorce/break up. Person X hates their ex. Person X is now back together with their X. Person X just went shopping. Person X has the best boyfriend in the world. Person X just went hunting. Person X just got a mani/pedi. Etc.

In short, person X was taking up all my newsfeed, despite my best efforts to change it. Because all person X ever does is spend time on facebook. I would log on and see all the posts and realize that I didn't care and would rather scrub my floor than vote on whether person X should get a tattoo.

realization
And then the Jackie O interview book came out. And I started to think about privacy. And mystique. How some things should remain private. How in a tell all society, where we keep up with the Kardashians, fb is our own reality show. And I got really grossed out.

So I decided to limit my time to fb to twice a week. We'll see if I can do it.

By the way, if you are reading this blog and wondering whether you are person X, the answer is, yes, you are. We are all person X.

suegra and son in law

So my mom is the type of person who will save any bit of food that she doesn't eat at a restaurant. Her theory is that she can eat it later, and she does, usually wrapped in a tortilla, no matter what the food is. She does this when she visits at our house, and fills our refrigerator up with to go containers, much to Hyphen's chagrin, because a cleanly refrigerator is next to a godly refrigerator. Then, generally, she forgets to take the containers back home with her and calls on the way to Castroville and says something like this "I forgot my piece of hamburger, be sure to eat it, don't throw it away." Ummm, okay. Her last visit, she saved something from a restaurant and later told me she did it just to annoy Hyphen when he looked in the fridge. This time when she left, she remembered the half a piece of lasagna and put it in a Tupperware. Then she left a note in the Styrofoam that said "gotcha!" When hyphen cleaned out the refrigerator on Monday night, he saw it and the revenge plotting began.

My suggestion? A well placed phone call during the season premiere of NCIS. Did I mention I suggested that she leave the empty container????

So today, at about 8:05, Hyphen got Annabelle to call grandma.

Granddaughter or NCIS--her "babies" as she calls them. Who do you think won???

I didn't want Annabelle to feel totally rejected so I directed her attention elsewhere before it became completely obvious whom she preferred.

you better run, fatboy.....

Lately, when I put Annabelle to bed, she request a story from when I was little. And it is hard for me to think of a specific story when put on the spot. And she really wants a story, not a description--when I give her a description of what life was like in the 80s, she invariably says, "mama, that is not a story"

Tonight, she asked me to tell her the "funniest, funniest story that ever happened." And for once, I wasn't stumped. And I launched into the funniest thing that has ever, ever happened to the Stevens family.

Well, one summer, we played spades every night. Me, Auntie, Grandma and Grandpa. And Grandpa and I were always on the same team and we always won. Grandma and Auntie were always on the same team and they never won. Auntie was always silly, and liked to talk and take snack breaks, and when she got good cards she would stop and do a silly dance, and when she got bad cards she would pout and have a tantrum. She would always accuse me of looking at her cards when they were being dealt to her and would slap her hand over them as they were being dealt and carefully draw them up from the table. It was summer and I remember she was just wearing underwear and a t-shirt. And she always liked to wear underwear that covered her bellybutton and since it was about 1989 and she was in the 7th grade or so, it was getting harder to find so she wore these underwear that were covered in holes because they were so old and the reason this was important is because she would stick straws in the upper corner of her drawers, like a gun holster, and had even taped a little make shift pocket for them, so she would always have straws at the ready, because she was obsessed with straws, and needed them for the numerous coke breaks that required numerous straws in each glass. And grandpa would give her this disgusted look and grandma and I would laugh because she was so silly.

At this point I got a "why mama?"

Because she was weird, that was why and she still is weird and is still obsessed and has them everywhere, even in her glove box. Anyway, she was being silly and it was annoying grandpa, because when grandpa plays spades, he doesn't like table talking and plays very formally with proper card etiquette, which grandma and auntie never followed and sometimes would cheat by asking each other to play a certain card, and that would really make him mad. And this night Auntie kept saying, "has anyone played the ace of hearts, has anyone played the ace of hearts?" And she kept saying that, even after her coke break and it was her go but she wouldn't throw down a card until someone answered her question.

Finally grandpa got really frustrated and said "Shit fire! No, Audrey, now play your king."

Audrey threw down her king triumphantly ready to catch her trick (mom had led a low heart and I had followed suit). And then daddy threw down the ace of hearts.

Audrey looked at him and said "you better run, fatboy"

And he got up and ran. And she chased him. And grandma and I were laughing the kind of laugh where you hurt the next day, where you run out of breath, where you lose bladder control. And she managed to grab him and give him a wedgie (okay, so my whole family is weird not just Audrey) And to this day, all we have to say is "you better run fatboy" and we die laughing.

Then annabelle asked "what is a wedge?"

And I realized that this whole story probably made no sense to her,because I was laughing so hard while I was telling it.

Our family game night. Before iphone, computers and wii. No "let me send this text right quick and then we can play." Just the four of us gathered round a table with a deck of cards.

I hope Annabelle and Toot-a-loo get to tell some stories like this to their kids someday.

take the ribbon from my hair...

You know that guy you've had a crush on since the second grade? You know the one--the cute blonde one with the impish smile? But for whatever reason, you never got together, not even for a date. Who knows why. Maybe his family moved away for a few years. Maybe each of you was always dating someone else. And over the years, you might talk from time to time, you would exchange emails, meet up if he was in town for a drink, see him at the reunion-- but you never quite were at the same place at the same time.

And then one day, you are at Kroger's, and you turn the corner, and there he is. And your feet are frozen, your heart pounds , your mouth is dry. There he is. In the background you can hear a twangy voice singing "i don't care what's right or wrong, I don't try to understand..." And you think, I don't care, let the devil take tomorrow. And you run to him, you run to him and let the fire of your memory, of your youth, ravage and burn as you devour him.

This exact scenario happened to me today. But it wasn't with my childhood crush.

Double stuff oreo--where have you been all my life????

welcome aboard tonnie whitney

People! We have an 8th follower!!!! Welcome aboard Tonnie Whitney! You are an amazing woman, despite the fact that you don't like jalapeno kolaches.

the new tv

Normally I would not post twice in one night, but this really warrants a mention.

Today, I decided to help prop up the economy by using my Colorado vacation money to buy a tv and tv stand. We have had our current TV for well over 10 years, so we thought it would be time and since Tallulah is a very sensitive sleeper and can only really sleep comfortably in her own crib, Hyphen nixed our Colorado trip because he didn't like it when I cursed under my breathe in the middle of the night when she woke up every single night while we were in Florida.

So the plan was, we'd clean up dinner, I would bathe baby T and put her to bed while H and his little helper put together the stand and set up the tv.

This is what happened.

Tallulah fell asleep. I came down and found the stand progressing. Annabelle had her tools and hard hat out and everything was great. I blogged while they worked and just when I was about to bathe Annabelle, Tallulah woke up crying. Did I mention she is a light sleeper? So I went upstairs to calm her. (I have tried to let her cry it out. She just cries and cries and cries and after 45 minutes I yell calf rope and go to her, so I don't let her cry it out anymore) She fell back alseep and then I put her down in the crib. Then she woke up. I picked her up again and she fell asleep. I went downstairs. She started to cry. I went back upstairs and calmed her down again. Phone rang and it was my doctor. I talked to her while the baby screamed. All the while Annabelle and H's progress has seemed to slow down. Back upstairs. Calm. Downstairs. Cry. I notice there are shredded bits of foam everywhere. The likely suspect is Annabelle. H looks cross. Upstairs. Calm baby then I hear a thud and a muffled groan. I come downstairs and H has a bloody lip. I bathe Annabelle in the hope that T will tire herself out and fall asleep. After her bath T is still screaming. Upstairs. Calm. Asleep. The minute I take my hand off of her, she sits up and cries. I get pissed and go downstairs. Then H has this to announce: "mama, Annabelle really likes this foam. And she said she wanted to crumble some more on the floor of her room. I told her not to. And she didn't. She did what I said. She crumbled it in her bed instead and she is "so, so sorry."" Now I stifle a laugh, not of amusement, but of insanity. Annabelle's bed looks like snow/ a greek salad with lots of feta. H goes upstairs to try his luck with the baby. I vacuum. Annabelle cries because she was going to save the foam for "crafts" and because she "really really likes it." H gets the baby to sleep by putting a pillow on her back. I come out to the living room after Annabelle falls asleep and H tells me the following:

"okay--I get it. It is not you that makes the house dirty. It is Annabelle."

Me: "duh. that is what I try to tell you and the destruction happens so quickly. It is tornadic."

But we are now watching the food network in HD. (Of course, Hyphen thinks the picture is a little fuzzy)

double stumper

Here is how it has been in our house for about two weeks now. We tell Annabelle "no" about something and her response is "Double Stumper!" And for some reason it sounds to us like she really means to say "Mother Jumper," except not so much jumper as f@#$er. The first time she did it we all got quiet. "Where did you learn that Annabelle?" I asked. "I just learned it up." she said, which means she made it up. Hmmm. The thing is, if there is one thing we have been really good about with her, it is not cursing. So she says things rats and fiddlesticks quite often.

But now there is the big daddy-o. Double stumper. She says it appropriately and with verve. And I'll give her a 10 for creativity. Hell, we are saying now.

Once, when I was a kid, I was reading Little House on the Prairie and noticed that Ma was chiding Pa for exclaiming something like "oh merciful heavens." I asked my dad about this and he said it was because it used to be that any exclamation at all, like drat or rats used to be considered cursing. Wow.

So here I am, stuck in a post-Little-House era with a child that invents her own curse words. Double Stumper indeed.

the kind of hot it is

it is hotter than a fresh f@#$%ed fox in a forest fire--duane corley

It is hot.

It is causing me to go crazy--I am trapped in the house with a three year old, because it is so hot.

The three year old has not worn pajamas in weeks, and only wears clothes when in polite society because it is hot.

The thermometer in my car broke, because it is so hot.

After 6 generations of continuous texas living, this texas girl is dreaming of montana, because it is so hot.

I want to go outside. I need to go outside, my children need to let off steam, but after a few minutes we head back in because it is so hot.

So we go runs errands to get out of the house, but the car only cools down after thirty minutes of air on full blast, because it is so hot.

My husband and I take turns standing in front of the air vent in our room, because it is so hot.

Any polite conversation begins with a mandatory 5 minutes of complaining about the heat before moving on to other matters, because it is so hot.

My prim and proper sister wants to strip down naked for her commute home and shave her head, because it is so hot.

It is not normal, it is not fair, it is not right, it is miserably, terribly, dust bowl hot, freakish and horrible, depressing and interminable. It is that kind of hot.


It is hotter than a billy goat with two peckers--ibid

the state of our union

So last week I celebrated my 14 year anniversary. And here's the thing--I could write some long post extolling my husbands virtues and proclaiming how in love I am and what a wonderful husband and father he is and how lucky I am to have landed him. And that would all be true--some of the time. And all of you would think, "ahh how sweet." But secretly, you would be gagging, just a little bit, in the back of your mouth.

So, instead I have decided to write a practical post about how to stay married for 14 years.

Practical, you say? Well you see, sometimes, marriage is rainbows and butterflies on a cotton candy cloud with a chocolate milk water fountain. And sometimes, you look at your husband as he is eating chips out of the bag, on the sofa, munching and crunching so loud it is a miracle he doesn't wake the kids, and then you think, how the f____ did this happen to me??? I hate this douche bag. It is for these moments that I write this post.

1. Pretend you live in a world, in a place where divorce is not an option. If you live in this place, then you can't get divorced. If you can't get divorced, then you just need to make the best of a bad situation, for your own sanity. It is kind of like an arranged marriage, or living with a roommate. In which case, you would not say, "hey, douche, quit eating those chips like a pig." Instead you would get up and quietly go into another room.

2. Understand that you cannot control any one's behaviour, except for you own. In reality, there is nothing wrong with eating chips out of a bag, on the sofa. People do it and it is okay (for them not for me). Your reaction to it, is what you need to work on. Examine why this makes you mad. Is it because he didn't put them in a bowl, like a civilized person? Is it because he is eating in the living room? is it because it is after 8 and you just finished cleaning up a nice dinner that he barely ate? Then ask yourself, is it really a big deal? The answer will almost always be "no."

3. Put yourself in his shoes. Maybe he didn't like your dinner. Maybe now that the kids are in bed he wants to kick back and relax with a bag full of junk food. Maybe he just likes to munch while watching tv. And he wants to do it without a lecture about how gross he is. You surely wouldn't want to hear how disgusting you were for doing something you found totally innocuous, so don't give him one. Do unto others, if you will.

4. Practice an attitude of gratitude. Think of all the wonderful things that your husband does. Like bathe the kids, play with the kids, cook dinner, work hard so you can stay at home with the kids, encourage you to do what you want, etc. This mental list of wonderful things, will put a lot of things in perspective and start to bring on some cotton-candy-cloud-like thoughts.

5. While thinking those warms and fuzzy thoughts, get it on. Well, maybe not right then and there, because he is having a lay with frito lay at the moment and not you. But at some point, you need to have the sex. Now, some of you are thinking, no. I am tired, no way I am going to have the sex with dorito boy, and I hear you. But as my girlfriend once put it "sex is like an astros game in the middle of the week. No one in their right mind wants to go to an astros game in the middle of the week. But when you do, you get into it. You wear the jersey, eat the nachos and buy a foam finger and have a great time and think--"hell, I should always go to an astros game. I should go to one every night!!!!"" Men are nicer after you have had sex with them. Just the truth. And you are probably nicer too. Keep the fires burning and they will smolder for at least 14 years

6. When in doubt, just take some advice from the Beatles. Let it Be. Just let it be. Don't rehash. Don't hash. Just don't get into it, unless you really really need to. And if you can consistently do that, and follow my other tips, you will learn not to argue over a bag of chips.

That is how to stay married for 14 years. I can't promise I'll get you to 15. But you will make it to 14. 50 percent guaranteed.

where the heart is

I used to work at a place where we discussed each other's bowel movements. Not just amongst the girls, but the guys too. I knew when my boss M________ S________ left with the paper, what he was going to do, he would wave and say he'd be back in 20. And I couldn't wait to get up in the morning and see my crazy friend who loathed all forms of condiments. His office mate was someone who stock piled food and gold bullion for when we all got the bird flu. There was Harvard, the know it all, who really hated it if you called him Harvard. At a seminar, he once woke up in bed with another M__________ S____________, not my boss M__________ S_______________, but someone whose poop habits I knew as well (MS2 preferred the bathroom in the 5th floor of the courthouse). "Very Peculiar", was all he said after M__________ S___________ yelled, "what are you doing in my bed????"

There was crazy F________ who thought she had anthrax after 9/11 when she opened a mysterious letter from Africa. There was the dirty old man who had a cull list of about three people. In case you are wondering what a cull list is, it is a list of people you wouldn't sleep with. At seminars, he liked to give everyone a peep show at bars when he was really hammered.

Seminars were where really crazy things happened. The first time I was drunk in my life I was at a seminar with Harvard and Bird Flu and one of my girlfriends, who made out with a stranger. I was drunk on some tequila drink that Harvard got me, went down like honey. It was a good thing, too, because if we had been at the other bar where my other girlfriend was licking shaving cream off a man's chest while she was 5 months pregnant, I would have seen the dirty old man's junk, and even in my inebriated state, I would have been horrified. He was there with the other functioning alcoholic/ brilliant legal mind, who always ordered drinks at lunch like this "hon, when you can, coffee, black, and a glass of water."

There was the hottie volunteer fireman, who collects WW2 era spotlights and got me in a heap of trouble by helping me give indian names to people--two words: Chattering Squirrel. And there was also the only other person in Conroe, besides me, who had been to Idalou.

And there were my girlfriends. My beautiful, wonderful girlfriends who still, till this day, teach me about life. And how if you eat 3 dried apricots a night you would definitely poop the next day.

And this whole glorious crew, that I could never do justice to in a mere blog post, was headed up by batman and robin. Mike McDougal, the only D.A. in the state of texas who was a former rodeo cowboy and who had been known to wear a marijuana leaf t-shirt to work. He dressed up like an elf at christmas and threw presents of argyle socks at everyone and headed up a st. patricks day parade/march around the courthouse on st. pattys day, where the defense attorneys would stand out by their offices and hand out little shots of whiskey. He wore tye dye t-shirts most days he wasn't in court and 70s era elton john suits on the days he was. And Robin? D_________ B__________ his temperamental jewish straight man, best friend and racquetball partner. The man who comforted me when I came back to work the first day after maternity leave (it's always hard on the mamas") and carried up my breast milk refrigerator to my office.

Well, hell no wonder he didn't get re-elected.

For 9 years of my life these people were my family. Every single one of them. Even M_________. Even the person who stole the dr. peppers out of my office, whoever you are. And when I think about what we had it makes me so happy and grateful that I got to work in a place with family. A real family. They were my home.

And it makes me mad as hell that such a colorless, under-handed, douche bag beat him.

mama toad

Because he is super cool, H took the girls to the grocery store this weekend, so I could have some time to clean the house. It was the first time he ever had both girls all by himself. Okay, maybe he is not so super cool.

He was asking me how I manage with both girls, and I was telling him what I generally do (make annabelle walk and listen to her complain about walking). Then, I thought I would throw this one in:

Me: oh babe, here is another tip. when I put them back in the van, I leave the van door open until I am safely in the seat with the van turned on and my seatbelt on, because what if I trip and fall and bump my head and pass out or what if a serial killer slits my throat, and then my daughters are cooked alive in the broiling hot car?

Then H gave me a look. The look said "you are a complete whack job and I am seriously worried about the amount of time you spend with my children. however, you are cheaper than a nanny, so I must keep you"

But I didn't care. I am like the mama toad who lays her eggs in a sandbox that is always left open to collect rainwater and mosquito larvae, in a yard with a dog that barks at birds that come near the sand box. I'm just looking after my tadpoles.

if not a meteorologist then are you a pediatrician?

Toot-a loo was real sick today. Throw up sick. Limp like a rag doll sick. And in the middle of the vomits, subsequent baths, three year old stressing about her sister being sick, and calling the doctor, canceling our photo appointment, packing the diaper bag to go to the doctor and cleaning up the vomit, I called my mom. I told her what happened. She woke up from her nap and was like a newborn who couldn't hold up her head and then she threw up twice. Then my mom said the following (and I wish I was making this up): "Quick Stella, take off her diaper and check her all over for ticks. What if a tick bit her in her crib?"

Sigh. My reply? "What are you talking about? what ticks? there are no ticks."

Mom: "but something could have bitten her."

Me: "but how would that make her vomit?"

Then I realized this was headed toward her telling me about some dread disease that she heard about in some chain email and so I hung up the phone.

A very alert pediatrician diagnosed her with a uti. "Most doctors would think this is a stomach virus and send you home, and would say I worry too much, but this just doesn't seem like a stomach virus to me. And I always worry about the babies and the uti's" A blood test and a catheterization to get a urine sample proved his suspicion correct. Which is why he is a super doctor. Literally, he is on the list.

But he did not think ticks or any other arachnids were involved.

getting schooled in meteorology

true phone conversation:

Me: I am so excited, I think we are going to get some rain on Friday

Mom (with certainty): no, you are not. I just saw it in the paper.

Me (worried): what?? I just saw it on the news, we are getting some rain from don.

Mom: no, you're not. We are getting it, I saw the map. It is coming here.

Me(relieved): well, yeah, that is where it is making landfall, but we will still get some rain from it.

Mom (totally annoyed and superior): No. You. Won't. There is a map and it show this shape, like a cone....

Me: (pissy and teenagerish) : yes mom, I know. It is the cone of uncertainty. I have lived through two hurricanes. That is where the storm will make landfall, but we will still get rain.

Mom (defensive and huffy): well, all I know is what the paper says, and it says that it is coming here and you are not on the orange map

Me(raised voice): yes, I know we are not on the map. All I know is what I just saw on the news, told to me by Frank Billingsly, who is a certified meteorologist. Are you a certified meteorologist?

Mom: no, are you?

Touche.

heart shaped world

the first words out of my mouth when Tallulah was born were "what is that on her face?" They had handed me this baby covered in blood and grey goup and there was this black mark on her eye. I kept asking about it when they washed her off and no none knew, but someone said, "it might be birth trauma, or it could be a birth mark." The next morning, it appeared to still be there and hadn't faded and everyone was calling it a birthmark. And some people (mom) were already worried that kids were going to make fun of her in school and told me to get it removed. That night, as I was nursing her and she was sleeping, I noticed that it look just like a heart. The room was quiet for the first time that day and I was holding this peaceful girl in my arms, and she had a heart on her face and I thought it was beautiful and I hoped it never ever faded away.

The next day the room was noisy again. The entire family, parents, in-laws, sister and husband were in there when Dr. C______ came in to check on Tallulah. He said he had never seen a birthmark like that in all his years of practice and that it was very unusual, being both under her eye lid and on top if her eye lid. He answered my mom's numerous questions about its removal as best he could and patiently listened to how everyone in my family has a birthmark, but not like that one. The I told him I thought it was kind of cute. He said he was happy to hear that, and the nurses told him how I seemed upset by it, and I told him "well I was, but it looks like..." "a heart," he finished," I think it means she will have a lot of love in her life." And that was where we left it.

The about a month later I ventured out to the grocery store with just Tallulah and the questions began. They usually go like this: "what a beautiful baby... what happened to her eye?" or, "what is wrong with her face?" And I always say, "It is a birthmark. The doctor has never seen one like it and if her eye is closed it looks like a heart." I say it proudly or lovingly and hope to make them see the beauty in it, and sometimes they do. Sometimes, they say nothing.

Until one day, I was at a nail salon. T was asleep. And the lady doing my nails peeked at her and said "what a beautiful birthmark! It looks like a heart." "yes, it does," I said, "thank you."

I have since learned from a lady in the TJ Max check out line that in Spanish, they are called a "lunar." As in "ay mira que lunar hermosita!"

Several African American ladies knew immediately what it was and thought it was beautiful.

My bikini wax lady at the La Paz day spa knew what it was.

And the South African lady security guard at Toy R Us loved it too.

I guess what I am trying to say is that ethnic people always see it as a birthmark. White people think she has a black eye. I am not sure why. Could be that ethnic people have more birthmarks than white folks and recognize it for what it is. Could be that white people view beauty differently than other people and see it as something wrong with her face. Could just be a coincidence. I am not sure, and I don't care, but it is so consistently identified as a birthmark by non-white people that it has got to be something that some anthropologist has an explanation for. Just not this one.

What I will tell Tallulah is that we live in a big, beautiful heart shaped world that is filled with love and all she has to do is find it.

i spent my afternoon combing through gorilla poop, or how you can tell when imaginary play has gone too far

I was putting the finishing touches on my puttanesca sauce when I was summoned by Nurse Nora to come to the Busyland hospital to treat a patient. I went into the triage unit, which looked kind of like Annabelle's bed, and found a bunny who was wrapped in a blanket. I asked the Nurse what his symptoms were and she told me she didn't know, he just wasn't feeling well. I diagnosed him with fatigue and general malaise and discharged him, making a note in the chart about possible hypochondria. The next patient was a gorilla. Nurse Nora told me that he had swallowed something of his mama's. Now, here is where I went wrong. A normal mom would have said something like "ohh, sorry you feel bad, take this shot" and gone on her merry way. Actually a mom of today would probably be text messaging and not even be playing with her kid, but that is an anti-technology rant for another post. Instead, I said "hmm.... well, two spoons of Castor oil and his mom needs to sift through his poop for the next two days to make sure it passes." Then I went on my merry way, back to my sauce.

Five minutes later, nurse Nora came out with a doctor kit, two plastic cups and two spoons. "Okay. He pooped it out. It was humongous. Now we need to look through it. It is in here." (gesturing to the doctor kit)

Now, I thought about playing my "i am a doctor and this is a nurse's job" card but I knew I would not have street cred with the nurses union if I did this so I did what anyone else would have done in this situation--rolled up my sleeves and started digging.

Turns out, he ate a penny, a ring and a diamond, which goes to show you that apes will eat anything.

so it stands to reason he sees you when you are double fisting cupcakes....

After a bike ride home from the park this morning, I took Tallulah upstairs to put her down for a nap (prospects of sleep being dubious at best) and to give her a bottle. I told Annabelle to stay downstairs while I was trying to put Tallulah down and then I would come downstairs and fix us lunch.

ALN (teasing): "okaaaaaay, but I am going to get into miiiischief."

Me: "what kind of mischief?

ALN: "oh, I'll just spill milk on the floor."

Me: well, I would rather you didn't. Girls who get into mischief frequently get into trouble."

I went upstairs, fed Tallulah, realized a nap was out of the question, due to her giggly smile, and we came downstairs. I could see Annabelle was underneath the dining room table.

Me: well, did you get into mischief?

ALN: no, I am just underneath the table.

Me: what are you doing?

ALN: eating two cupcakes.

Definitely not mischief.

does he see you when you're angry too?

ALN: can I have this cupcake papa?

H: no

Huffy silence.

H: are you pouting, silly goose?

ALN: no santa claus doesn't like it when you do that. I'm just angry.

H: oh, okay. carry on.

there are miles and miles of gulfcoast states

You know that norman rockwell picture where they are going on vacation and on the way over there they are all chipper and happy and on the way back they look deflated and glum? That's us right now. 12 hours and 8 stops later, we are home. It broke down like this and should all be read to the tune of Jenny Dreamed of a Train by John Denver since that is Annabelle's favorite song and what we listened to for at least 6 of the 12 hours:

stop 1: gas in Florida
stop 2: Whataburger in Florida
stop 3: Crackerbarrel in Gulfport where we met some of my friends who were heading where we were coming from for lunch. (this took 2 hours due to bad service, gossiping about my crazy old job and browsing at the cracker barrel store)
stop 4: somewhere in LA to switch drivers. H was falling asleep so we took the first exit we could find. I immediately had a sense of dread, like we were going to get lost in some strange wilderness, live on a pontoon boat and eat crawdads for the rest of our lives and only be sighted once in a while like the ivory billed woodpecker, so this was a quick stop.
stop 5: gas in somewhere in LA large enough to have a starbucks
stop 6: starbucks across the street
stop 7: in LA at a place called Diesels to pee for Annabelle and to feed and change Tallulah. They had alligator heads here that Annabelle was fascinated by, but would not touch and a cookbook called "who's your mama, are you catholic and can you make a roux," which I regret not buying.
stop 8: in Vinton to pee for Annabelle again. Never, under any circumstances, stop at the Chevron in Vinton to pee. I'd rather pee in the Memorial Park port-o-john in the middle of August than at the Chevron in Vinton.

When we crossed the Texas border we were greeted by a sign that said "drive friendly, it's the Texas way" and then another informing us that El Paso was 857 miles away. Then Hyphen's allergies kicked in and he started to sneeze. Despite the sneeze attack, we still played all the Texas songs on our ipod, with lots of begging to return to Jenny.

I'm gonna live here till I die.

ready or not, here we come

1. dog kennelled?......check

2. house clean?........ check

3. van packed?......... check

4. baby cutting a tooth?...check

5. 3 year old with a 101 temperature?.....check

6. tired mama?.............. double check

florida or bust!!!!

one of the problems with a 1940s house

One of the problems with a 1940s house is that there is only one bathroom. Well, we have two, technically, but the other is a tiny add on with a shower stall only, no tub. So, because he is an inherently complicated person, hyphen splits his three s's between the two. showering and... er, his business in one, and shaving in the little one. He also styles his hair in there and irrigates his nose and hocs his numerous lougees. So to Annabelle, the little one is his and it is "disguusssting." I rarely clean the ittle one, because it is hyphen and therefore should be immaculate, but apparently, bathroom tidiness is not on his list of anal retentive qualities, so it is kind of gross. Annabelle is very protective of "our" bathroom and frequently points out to him when he leaves his nose irrigator in it, "papa, you left your nose boogie thing in our bathroom. that's disguuusssting." Guess where she learned the word disgusting--as in "this house is disgusting"??? And she says it with such disgust that it is amusing. Anyway, this lead me to tonight's little spat.

ALN (wandering around the house, calling): "chaaarrming, chaaarrrming, where are you?

Me (in the kitchen trying to clean the floors while a tiny danger mouse baby climbs on me): who are you looking for babes?

ALN: I am looking for my prince. Chaarmming, chaaarrrming, where aaaaarrrreeee you???

H(calling from the bathroom): Baarrrbbie, baaarrbie, I am in here!!!!!

ALN (knocking on the door and indignantly scolding) Charming what are you doing in there??? You better not be making big stinky poops in our bathroom."

Hmm. Our night in the unFairhope Hampton Inn should be interesting.

mobile to the extent she is a danger to herself or others

Tallulah can crawl. At a mere 7 months.

She had been thinking about it for a month. Rocking on all fours and scooting backwards. She was even doing this weird little thing I called knuckle walking, where she was standing up but with her hands touching the ground and trying to move around. Then after weeks of anticipation she began to crawl. Of course, we missed it. We were at Niko Nikos with some old friends. But my mom (who stayed with us for a week as part of the 3 post partum weeks she owes me now that her ankle is somewhat healed) called to fill us in on the magical details.

The next day we tried to coax her into it again, but as is the way that is baby-- no dice. So we didn't see it for a few more days. When we did see it, I would notice that she herself looked amazed, kind of like "wow, check it out!"

And then came the monolith moment of realization: crawling can get me where I want to go. Cue the music from 2001 space odessey.

Shortly followed by the mom moment of realization as she crawled over to me and pulled up on my pants leg: "oh shit. Crawling can get her where she wants to go."

Cue some kind of music that conveys dread at the thought of having to keep all the little choking hazards off the floor.

fairhope alabama, the city of child haters

So we are leaving to go to florida on saturday for a week long stay. And we thought it might be fun to leave a day early, stop in fairhope alabama and see the sights and take the scenic drive on in to destin. I began to call the bed and breakfast establishments in the area and found out that while the economy is teetering on the brink in most of the country, it is apparently going like gangbusters in alabama. In fact, it is going so well, that while most of the bed and breakfast places have vacancies, they can and do refuse service to people with children. So while it is illegal to refuse lodging to people based on their religious or ethnic background, there is no compelling state interest that overrides cracker-ass B&B's their individual rights to protect their dusty civil war era relics from the grubby hands of children under 10.

Southern hospitality, my ass.

when will I be healed?

As some of you may know, before I was in charge of wiping butts and filling sippy cups, I had another employer. I was an assistant district attorney. It was a really great job, actually. I made some wonderful friends and we always had fun going to lunch and going out for drinks after work. And I would get to work late. That is at least H's perception of my job, because that is all I told him about. It never seemed right to tell him about interviewing a girl in my office first thing in the morning who had been anally raped by some sex offender her mom picked up on a bar, or about the autopsy photos of a murdered two year old I had to see before lunch, or about the douche bag who quote "really [doesn't] get all that enhancement stuff" who beat my boss in his re-election bid. It's just not good dinner conversation and so instead I just told him about something fun my friend Sheri said at lunch or something annoying that my boss M____ S_____ had done.

And I never ever told him about my most disturbing case ever, my first felony trial, which was more gruesome to me that any murder, and that is the guy who had 9000 pictures of child porn on his computer. There are things that the brain is never supposed to see. And if it does see them, it becomes damaged. Like you've been shot. My brain was shot by this loser defendant whose computer password was pussy. There was one picture in particular of a little girl about Annabelle's age. I'll spare you the details. But it was sickening.

When you have a gun shot wound or a broken bone or amputation, it heals. Slowly. But when it rains or is cold out, you still feel that twinge of pain, phantom limb syndrome, whatever. And so here I have been, in Stepford for 2 years now. And the first summer, I went to traffic court, and had a perfectly lovely conversation with a guy about his open felony warrants and he and I chatted for some time before I realized that people were staring at us, me the white girl in the suit and him the black dude with the open felony warrants. Fast forward to the fall, when my neighbor was murdered by his grandson. Decapitated. We found out about it on our walk back from the park. My girlfriend was so horrified she almost vomited. I just wondered aloud if the defendant was a juvenile or an adult. Then the following summer, when all the moms in my moms club adopted a homeless family and were trying to get the dad a job, until they found out that he had been to prison. They were all shocked and the mom who was the head do-gooder was so apologetic about it and I thought, "well of course he's an ex-con" and wondered why we weren't going to help him any more.

Annabelle doesn't know about my wound. As far as she knows, mama's job has always been to take care of her and papa and talullah and keep the house clean. Most days, I am fine with that

Fast forward to this spring when I read the Steig Larsson girl with the dragon tattoo books. I had lunch with a girlfriend and we were discussing them. She told me that she had a very hard time reading them because she found the subject matter so disturbing. I had to think for a moment. What was disturbing in those books. Finally I remembered it, "you mean the anal rape?" She said "well that, and the incest. The father and the brother." I nodded, and pretended to think it was disturbing too.

And now I wonder, when will I be healed?

it's going to be that kind of summer

I had just finished putting Tallulah to bed. Annabelle and Hyphen had been outside mowing the backyard. (she has her own little mower that she follows him with)I was in the kitchen washing some bottles and H came in for a beer break. "Annabelle just peed under a tree, and now she is lying in the grass." he said. I shrugged. She does that a lot. Pee under a tree and lie in the grass. I went outside and Annabelle invited me to come lie in the grass. H left out the part about how she was naked. We layed down in the grass and she said as I started to say something, "just lie down mama. Look at the branches. Look at the birds."

Think I just might.

the problem with those cute matching outfits from gymboree

The problem with those cute matching outfits from gymboree is that they match. Exactly. And so theoretically, you could grab a green and white frog swimsuit and actually glance at it to make sure it looked big enough for a rather petite three year old, because you know there is a small one floating around in your house. And then theoretically you could venture to the Y in 100 degree heat with kids in tow. There could be a tantrum on the way. The child watch could be closed until four, and it could be 3:15. So you could drive home. And then you could go back at 4 because you are going to have fun, dammit. And then you could drop off a baby who hasn't taken a nap all day in the competent arms of a 19 year old child watch worker named Josh. You could say something like, "josh you look about 12. what experience do you have taking care of babies, especially tired ones who refuse to go to sleep." And josh could say, "well my little brother is one and all my cousins are two and under. " and you could say "okay, good enough for me! you get stuck with this fussy baby. see ya!" Then you could go to the bathroom to dress out your 3 year old and then notice that her little suit is tight. Really tight. Which is a testament to the petiteness of the half asian frame and to how big 6-12 month swimsuits from gymboree run. And then you have a decision to make. Do you drag everyone home, or tell your three year old who is whining "it's too tight, it's too tight," "Wow you are getting big, look how fast you are growing, the water will stretch that out when we get in, let's go have some fun!"

should i tell her about it? what should i do?
well....
what would you do if gymboree screwed you?

I remember that ol' frio river...

It's that time of year again folks--the time where seemingly educated, successful people decide that despite the fact there is a state wide drought and despite the fact there is a burn ban which means no campfires, and despite the fact that the river is the lowest it has been in years--a real butt bumper, we are going camping.

So that leaves us with the inevitable camping wind-up, a trip to the grocery store and packing the van. And cleaning the house. Lord knows what would happen if we left for vacation and the house was messy. Anyway, H came home early and suggested that we all go to the grocery store. So we went. All four of us. And it was a pretty typical trip. You start out with two contented children, both in the cart. Then one gets fussy and wants out because we went right around the time she likes a nice, 8 ounce bottle. And the other kid, seeing that the first one is all cuddled up in her mother's arms in lieu of the bottle, wants out of the cart. This causes the other kid to want to show us everything that is marketed for kids. "papa, I neeeeeed to show you something...." This causes her father to start to get grumpy and mutter under his breath that he should have gone by himself. This causes me to remind him that this family grocery trip was his idea. Couple of tantrums ensue when papa opts not to see the disney merchandised product. Mama heads over to check it out and finds out it is a "fruit snack" which contains no fruit, and yet magically has vitamins. But because we are going camping, and because H got beer for himself, I tell her she can have the "fruit snack" because I am cool like that. We need deli meat and we get the older guy with the W.C. Fields nose who goes super slow, during which Annabelle's shoes laces (re: curling ribbon which she has attached to her non-shoe lace shoes to make them "pretty") come untied and she comes unglued because it is supper time, she has been at school all day and now she is at the Bunker Hill HEB instead of watching the wonder pets at home while I fix dinner. We go and get the produce and H walks around to get some tomatoes while I get cilantro and Annabelle announces she needs to go to the potty really bad, and it is an emergency. I ask if she can wait until Papa comes back so he can hold Tallulah and she says no, she is going to pee in her pants. So the three of us run to the bathroom. Of course she stops to get a balloon. And then she trips on her "shoe laces" and has a minor crying fit, which is totally understandable. And then she wants to return the balloon, but it is still a potty emergency. We are successful in our bathroom endeavors and head out into the store only to find H checking out. "I can't take it anymore. I don't care if we are missing stuff. This is too much for me. This is what you do, this is your job, but I can't take it anymore." And that is when I realize, he has never been to the grocery store with both girls. He usually goes by himself, because he doesn't like how I dawdle. And I start to laugh. I laugh and laugh and laugh some more. The check out lady and bag boys are laughing with us. I laugh as I go to get a coke from the deli, I laugh as we head out to the car. I laugh as we load the groceries and laugh as we drive home.

Just a typical grocery store trip. For me anyway, not for him.

I am currently smiling.

mother's day vignettes

1. Taking care of an almost 6 month old.

I have never taken care of an almost 6 month old. When Annabelle was just 3 months old, my maternity leave ended and she went to daycare. She was there every day from 7 in the morning until 6 at night. Miss Mary and Miss Gloria took care of Annabelle. We picked her up played with her for a bit, ate dinner and put her to bed. We saw her for about 3 hours a day. On the weekend, we would run errands and play and take care of her together. So, I didn't realize how much work babies are, especially after they get over their sleepy newborn stage and are in the "let's play" phase. It is all day long. Eat, change diapers, play, nap, play with other kid during nap, cook, clean. Scurry around after everyone is in bed and try to put the house in order. Repeat. I also didn't realize how fast it goes by. We went on a walk the other night, and I saw a mom walking with a newborn strapped to her, and I realized, I could no longer strap Tallulah to my body like that anymore, she is too big, and I was so tremendously sad. And it happened so quickly. She can sit up now. One day she couldn't sit. The next day she sat for a few minutes and then would plop forward. By the afternoon she knew to push herself up with her arms. I got to see it happen. With Annabelle, we would just notice over the weekend "oh wow, she is sitting up," or "wow look at that, she is crawling" and we would tell Miss Mary and Miss Gloria on Monday, "she can sit up now!" or "she can crawl, it is so cute" and they would just smile, and I would realize that they were waiting for her to do it in front of us--they had already seen it. But not this time, this time I am watching it happen, and I am amazed all over again.

2. Getting grandmothered at the home depot

My conversation with the check out elderly lady at the home depot:

old lady: oh what a cute baby, how old is she, should she be sitting up in the cart like that?

Me: Actually she is almost 6 months old

Old lady: she is tiny! (looks at me with concern) she is so small!

Me: well, my mother-in-law is about this tall (gesture to my waist), so we make small babies.

Old lady: well she is cute. Now, what is that on her eye?

me: that is her birthmark.

Old lady(astounded): really? I have never seen one like that.

Me: yeah, it is on her top lid too, and when her eyes are closed it looks like a heart.

Old lady(bossy): is it going to fade or are you going to get it removed?

Me: well, it has faded a bit because it used to be almost black, but it seems to have slowed down a bit.

Old lady in baby talk voice to Tallulah: But she is cute just the same. Yes she is. She is so pretty.

Old lady in serious voice to me: there is something in her a eye. A little piece of something. (I glance down and attempt to wipe one of her eyes) No, it's in her other eye...

I realize she is talking about the chunk of sleep that had been in her eye the entire morning and I began to wonder what it is about old ladies and their kleenex/boogie wiping obsession and was wondering if my mom had somehow body swapped with this lady for a brief second, when she handed me my receipt and said with a smile, "Happy mother's day." And I said "happy mother's day to you too," because it was obvious--she is someone's mom.

3. Heartache

Annabelle has a little friend at school. Her name is E_______. When I pick her up from school and ask her who she plays with She says "with E______" and I say "did you play with anyone else?" And she says "no, just with E_______" The teacher told me that they love each other and from the minute Annabelle arrives they find each other and play and gab all day and there is no room for anyone else in their little world. What do they play, you ask? "We play SHARKS!!!!! The other kids are sharks and E______ is the captain. I am the lookout and we [shot] them down!!!!!" But this Thursday when I picked her up she said, "I am sad. E______ doesn't want to be my best friend anymore." I made some more inquiries and found out that Annabelle tried to play with E______ but she just walked away and played with another girl. And Annabelle played by herself. I felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. I considered calling the school and finding out what happened, I considered calling E_______'s mom and demanding to know what the hell was wrong with her daughter, I was frantic for a minute. My happy daughter, who can make friends with a block, who doesn't know a stranger and who loves E______, was shunned. And then I called my mom. She listened for a bit. And then she said quietly, "yes, your children will break your heart many times. This won't be the last time." Then she proceeded to tell me some long and boring story about how I missed out on gifted and talented by just one point, "I mean, I know they have to have cut-offs, but it was just one point and that awful red-headed Lori Walters made it...." and I stopped listening.

3. my mother's day blessing to you

Happy mother's day to all the moms out there. May your diaper bag always have wipes for the blow outs, bandaids for the boo-boo's, and stale goldfish in a zippie bag for the snack emergencies. May your refrigerator always be covered with magnets and artwork and have a Popsicles in the freezer. May your minivan be filled with dirty sippy cups and spilled milkshakes and glitter. May your bed always have room enough in the middle of the night for a little one and may you have patience enough the next morning to cuddle up and watch dinosaur train. May your children's hands always be sticky, may they always smell like sunshine, may they dance through the sprinkler in their underwear and oh, that you can enjoy it all, though you may be tired, though you may be weary, may you enjoy it all. May you always get sweet coos and smiles, and may you always be given the last Ariel bandaid to cover your boo-boo. May you be loved and adored by the people you love and adore the most.

Happy Mother's Day.

what I want for mother's day

Me (to Hyphen when he is making dinner): Dude, you know what I want for Mother's day?

H: what?

Me: I want for us to go to cozumel for a long weekend with no kids and drink pina coldadas, eat guacamole and, you know..., but if that is not possible, we can take the kids.

H: too expensive.

Me: well, if that is not possible, then I just want to spend the night at the Houstonian by myself, but if that is not possible, how about a day of beauty at a spa? and if that is not possible, how about just a massage? and if that is not possible, how about just take the kids to the zoo for a few hours so I can clean the house in peace--that would be like a present for everyone.

H: how about you clean the house while you watch the kids? I think I can arrange that one.

Go Lions!

checking out my muscles spinning not paying attention you gotta look good to play good

I watched a soccer game yesterday, a real soccer game, where kids were running around the field and kicking the ball. It only took 7 weeks, but they were really playing a game. That's right, we put Annabelle in soccer this spring.

My dad says 3 is too young for kids to enjoy organized sports, and that may be true, but 3 is not too young for me to enjoy kids in organized sports. Here is what I took away from the whole experience:

1. Annabelle is really good at listening to her coach.

2. Annabelle is really good at soccer, and can kick the ball in the air and dribble and make goals.

But despite facts 1 and 2, Annabelle saves the good stuff for home, at practice and games she stays away from the fray, especially after she ended up at the bottom of a pile of three year olds. After that she told us soccer was "too loud" and that she "would rather sit on Papa's lap."

3. During three-year-old soccer, the "game" will stop if a train goes by, or a plane flies overhead.

4. People who ref three-year-old soccer have to be patient and flexible and go with the flo, especially when the "game" leaves one field and moves onto another one. They also have a special spot in Heaven.

5. People who coach three-year-old soccer sometimes have to pick up the goalie and carry them back to the goal when the goalie forgets that he is goalie and starts picking flowers.

6. Our head coach had a super great attitude and whenever we would lose, she would say we really won because we "had the most fun."

7. Somtimes three-year-olds score goals for the other team, but we cheer anyway. Sometimes three-year-olds almost make goals, and I like to call these "goals in my heart." We cheer for those too.

8. There will be much wailing and gnashing of teeth during three-year-old soccer.

9. Although, most parents are nice, there will be one jerky parent during three-year-old soccer, who gets mad when we lose, despite the fact that his kid was one of the kids who scored a goal for the other team.

10. At the tender age of three, parents of little boys are much harder on their sons and expect them to play and get after them when they don't, whereas parents of little girls, especially their daddies, hold them in their laps if they don't want to get out and mix it up (this was not an Annabelle specific phenomenon--one little girl sat in her dad's lap for the entire season--every practice, every game.) For some reason, this difference made me feel sad for our sons.

In the end, we had a great game. Annabelle actually played and got in the fray and ran around the field and was in the mix when her little friend scored the goal. When he scored the goal, we were all cheering so loudly that he came off the field and got high 5's from all the parents. We ended up winning 2-0. I was so excited it was like I was watching the last game of the '99 Spurs/Knicks championship series and 2006 Rosebowl at the same time. Annabelle ran up to us after the game and said "That was fun!" All the parents made a victory tunnel and the kids from both teams ran through it mutliple times.

We ended the season 1-6. Those goals were the only ones we scored for our team the entire season. But we definitely had the most fun.

my day

What started it all was the day before, when Annabelle coughed all day long which caused me to make a doctor's appointment for 10:20 this morning. She also broke her new jelly shoe, which needed to be returned at the gap near the doctor's office

7:00a.m. H tells me we need toilet paper and dog food and I decide that if I leave by 9:00, I can go to Target and get said sundries and still make it to the doctor in time.

8:30 H calls and says he forgot his phone and I say no problem, I'll drop it off on my way to the doctor. Still have plenty of time
if I leave by 9:00.

9:05 we leave the house.

9:15we arrive at Target and get a front row joe parking spot. Everything is going according to plan.

? during the 9 hour we get in a check out line. There is a guy checking out, a guy in front of me with big items and then me. They open a line next to me and there is only one lady in it so I head for that line. Turns out the lady had a million small things in her cart. Like stickers and party favors and they were all slightly different and needed to be scanned indivually. Then they had to change cashiers and I got the slow check out lady.


10:00we leave target and I drop things on the way out of the store, break open the toilet paper by accident and have to pick up the rolls that have fallen out by my front row joe car. Then I drive off with my trunk open, like wide open. Then I get behind two 18 wheelers that are making wide right turns. Annabelle asks me if I am having a hard time and offers to kiss me. However, theoretically we can still get to the doctor on time

10:15Annabelle starts to scream that she is thirsty, I am minutes away from the restaurant. Quick phone call to H who meets us outside with a milk and I give him his phone.

10:25we arrive at the doctor

10:35 we are in the exam room

11:45the doctor graces us with her presence (she is actually awesome, but still...)

11:50I leave with a screaming hungry baby in tow. I make it to the car and nurse, not caring who sees what.

12:00 find a parking spot near the gap. Browse and find some colorful boxers for H. We get to the front of the line and Annabelle announces she needs to go to the bathroom really, really bad.

12:20in line again and Tallulah loses it because she is tired. A kind soul lets us go first. Lord, bless that lady.

12:30 in line at Jason's deli. Tallulah falls asleep, Annabelle and I enjoy lunch and leave.

1:15As we leave tallulah wakes up, sounds hungry and I decide to feed her at Starbucks. A lady calls me regarding music lesson and talks my ear off. A stranger with a black bushy beard (starbucks worker) gives Annabelle a cakeball lollipop. I let Annabelle eat it. The lady is still talking to me. Tallulah poops. Annabelle announces that she needs to go to the bathroom. I change the baby on the floor using the gap bag as a changing mat. Annabelle has a huge poop.

2:00we return the sandals at the gap and browse

2:30 we leave. H calls from home wondering where we are.

2:35I figure that in for a penny, in for a pound and go and finish my easter shopping.

3:30I arrive home with 2 sleeping children

4:45 I drop Annabelle off at her friends house down the street for movie night. We talk for a bit. I carefully back out of her driveway, because 43rd is a busy street and she lives on a curve. I think about how tricky it is and wait until there are no more cars coming from either direction. So does her across the street neighbor.

5:30We finish talking to the constable, the insurance people and filling out the accident report.

5:45get mustache waxed, which is why I drove rather than walked down the street in the first place.

6:30dinner for Tallulah and H and I, clean up, bath tallulah, nurse tallulah,put tallulah to bed

waiting on Annabelle to come home.....or the other shoe to drop, whichever comes first.

audrey-not-at-home

from time to time, Audrey has to travel for her job. She reads magazines on the plane, stays in nice hotels, eats out, meets people who wear turqoise cuffs, and goes to bed without having to put anyone to bed. She is sad becasue she misses the girls. Yeah, I'd be sad too. For about 10 seconds. Tonight she called me. Recap:

Aud: OOOhhh, these sheets feel like silk. And I am wearing my cahsmere pajamas. I am wrapped in a cocoon of silk and cashmere.

Me: are you having fun??? how is the hotel?

Aud: it is old and there is no wi-fi, what kind of hotel doesn't have free wi-fi? And I miss the girls.

Me: How was dinner with K______? (audrey's old friend who lives in dallas)

Aud: It was fun, I ate way too much.... I had quail wrapped in bacon with sweet potato grits and collared greens. And we had cranberry toasts with blue cheese and fried green tomatoes as an appetizer. And bread pudding for dessert. And then we went to a chocolatier and tried some different chocolates.

Me: bitch! I went to see the three year old soccer version of the bad news bears practice where they were all wandering around playing and having tantrums and had a double dave's pizza and now I am swiffing the guestroom for mom's visit. I hate you right now. How clean does this room need to be so she won't bitch about the house?

Aud: I don't know, you are stressing me out. I don't want to be stressed out when I am in my cocoon of silk and cashmere.

I know what she means. Later tonight, after I finish the guestroom and sterilize the bottles and take out the trash, I will crawl into the bed that has the faint odor of baby spit up and hear the sounds of a paunchy asian snoring, I will be blissed out to the max too.

the privileges of being a grown up, according to Annabelle Leigh Nguyen

for every ridiculous conversartion I have with my sopouse there is an equally sweet one I have with my daughter, to wit:

ALN: next week, I am going to be 4

Me: well, next year, but yes.

ALN: and then pretty soon, I am going to be a TEENAGER!!!!!

Me: yes, that is also true.

ALN: and then I am going to be a GROWNUP!!!!!

Me: yes.

ALN: and when I am a grownup, I can watch the news with you!!!!! And then I can go to be with you in your bed!!!!! But--I will bring my own pillows, so I can be comfortable.

Me: as long as we have that straight, that's fine by me. what boy are you going to marry??

ALN: no boy. I am going to stay with you and papa.

Me: sounds good to me.

Sounds really good to me.

another ridiculous conversation

Me: the problem with this diaper bag is that there is no obvious place to put your wallet.

H: I don't think it was designed for a wallet.

Me: but clearly I don't want to carry a purse and a diaper bag.

H: why don't you just use a fanny pack???

Me (insulted and gesturing): just because my hair looks like this, and my face looks like this, and my mustache looks like this, and my nails look like this, and my bikini line looks like this and my toenails look like this does not mean I want to wear a fanny pack!!!

H(non-plussed): It was just a suggestion.

paragraphs

for some reason, where I could once put in paragraphs on this stupid blog, I now cannot. I just noticed this the other day. And I feel like all the time and attention I have devoted to the effort of writing is somewhat wasted, and so if you read silly little blog and were thinking where are the paragraphs? well , they are somewhere in cyber-space. here, this should be a new paragraph. and when I try to figure it out by asking for help, they just talk in computer jargon, which I cannot understand. new paragraph. I used to have paragraphs and I don't know what happened. new p. My sister has told me to stop obsessing, but I can't. Once I start, I just can't.