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.