Oven mitts from williams sonoma

About a month ago, I started training Annabelle,  "if Papa asks you, 'what should we get mama for Christmas', this is what I want you to say: 'oven mitts from Williams Sonoma.' Let's practice it right now, ok?  I'll be Papa.  'Annabelle, what should we get Mama for Christmas?'"  Annabelle hesitated and said, "oven mitts from..mama I can't remember."  "Williams Sonoma," I corrected.

She got it right the second time and every other day or so, I would quiz her.  When I went to a Church party,  she had her chance to shine, because I knew he would ask her, and I was right.  She told me when I tucked her in that night.  "Mama, papa asked me what to get you for Christmas and I told him, oven mitts from Wee-lee-ams So-no-ma."  "Atta girl," I told her.

To be on the safe side, I also dropped some hints.  Like, " Hey Babe, if you take something out of the oven, be careful because this mitt has a hole in it and I don't want to you to burn yourself."  His reply?  A slight eyebrow lift and "oh, yeah, I just use a wet rag."  That's how I knew he knew and I knew I was screwed.

But that's ok. You see, I am the mother a four year old girl.  And so the other day she was in her room with some wrapping paper.  She came out and said coyly, "Mama, I just wrapped your preessseeeent."  She put it under the tree.  But I could see, out of the corner of her four-year-old wrapping job, that it was the toy red gingham oven mitts that she plays with all the time.

And I am loved, which is the best gift of all.  

Organizing ties

We had a cuddly night tonight.  The girls made a spot in front of the tree with blankets and we all sat down and ate peppermint patty brownies.  Then all the people in my family who have two functioning acl's danced to crazy Christmas songs and I cracked up at H's dancing--his special patented side kick dance move.  Some of the dancers had just taken a bath and were butt-ass naked.  Then to calm everyone down, I put on Mahalia Jackson and headed upstairs to put Tallulah to sleep.

I came back downstairs to find Annabelle and her father listening to Christmas carols and organizing his bow ties.

Once, when I was in court, an attorney walked in wearing a bow tie and someone, I think it was Harvard, commented," it takes a special sort to wear a bow tie."

Special.  Very special.  Especially special for someone to have so many.

Annabelle had them organized in piles:  "Polka dots, flowers, stripes, mermaids ,animals, squares, art, missing half--because it is not as long as the other ones, and beautiful.

Yes, you read correctly.  There is a mermaid pile.

Jingle bells, diaper smells, grandma really stinks

The other day we were driving home and Annabelle was singing to herself, as she does, and it sounded like this: "jingle bells jingle bells,"  etc. and was very sweet and lovely. Then she was quiet for a minute and said  "stinky smells"  and burst into laughter and that might have been it, except some moron piped in "Actually Annabelle, it goes like this: Jingle bells, batman smells, robin laid an egg."  Another adult in the car may have given the moron a quizzical look out of the corner of his eye, a look that said "what the hell are you doing?"

But looks rarely can stop stupid.  Because we now have many versions, including poo-poo smells, stinky stinky stink.  And my personal favorite-- grandma really stinks, which Lulu sings too.  Sometimes she just says "ga-ma, casto-hill... stinks!"  and cracks up laughing.

Regrets?  I have a few....

"tahnta"

Well, this went as expected.  All dressed up and excited to see Santa, and even says "hiiii tahnta."  But then, as the college girls who were manning the joint texted each other, it started to set in " I'm gonna have to sit on this guys lap.  This is no bueno.  Yep, I feel it coming on, I am going to scream in three, two..."

Meanwhile, Annabelle was making small talk.  I like the sparkles in your beard.  I like your furry boots.  This is my teddy.  I love her.  I put this top on her, see?  I want a dreamlite pillow pet and a barbie and some barbie clothes and a pippy book.  My sister wants a puppy.

Tallulah, upon hearing this stops crying and chimes in, "baby too."  Then it was lap time, and well, you see how that went.

Looks like one of my kids is going to be real disappointed this year.    

Christmas tree farm with a Stevens twist

A couple of weeks ago we went to a Christmas tree farm with my parents to get their tree and this is what it  looked like....

There was a pump station and if you pumped really hard the water would move the ducks down a trough, and this was fascinating to Annabelle because we are reading Farmer Boy, and fascinating to Tallulah because there were "quack quacks, momma."

 Of course, everyone had their own idea about which tree we should pick, but in the end, Grandpa cut down the one mom told him to cut we all agreed on, and we went home happy, with a couple of tiny daisies in our pockets.

"ga-ma, look fwoweh! see!"

We put  lights on it that night and a couple of ornaments and my mom finished decorating it after we came back home to Houston.

But, because we are the Stevens family, I get a call this week, and it goes a little something like this:

Mom:  mija, I have to tell you something and I don't want you to be upset.

Me: what?

Mom:  I think I am going to have to take down the tree

Me(bemused at the fact she still thinks I am Annabelle's age)  Really, why?

Mom:  because it stinks.  (when my mom says stinks it kind of sounds like steeinks).  It smells like rotten wood.  Like a stinky tree.

Then my dad chimes in because they always talk to me on speaker so they can both hear..

Dad:  it's either that or the refrigerator, we can't tell.

Me(trying real hard not to laugh): what?

Dad:  you open that thing and you want to pass out it stinks so bad.

Mom:  but that smells like rotten meat, and so I threw out all the meat.  I threw out the good eggrolls that your mother gave me, because I thought it might be them, but it wasn't.  But that is not the tree stink, the tree just stinks if you get near it.  Plus, I woke up with a rash, so its gotta go.  And the only thing I did different was drink some orange juice from those orange-things that are growing on B_____'s tree.  But I think I am going to try to keep it up until friday, because we are having people come over.  But we can't turn it on, unless I want new curtains, because it will catch fire.  I don't think your father watered that tree at all.

Dad (indignant): toni, I did so!  I'll do it right now

Mom:  oh, siguele, yes, that water will do it good now.  In another day it will be a skeleton tree.  If you get near it all the needles come off.  Besides (changes to her guilt trip tone), you are not coming for Christmas anyway, so the girls won't see it , so who cares?

Later on, I got a call about the fridge.  It was the cranberry sauce from Thanksgiving that smelled.  "But that shouldn't stink, unless your sister put meat in it.  It was a meat smell."

Or it could be a hello, my name is cranberry sauce and I've been here since thanksgiving and am ready to meet the garbage disposal smell.  It could be that.

The tree is still up, as far as I know.  She's got to impress the guests with her beautiful, stinky tree.

seriously, how did we ever hook up?

1.  Tonight, H comes home with some champagne, for no reason, 'cause he's cool like that, and we are sitting down to watch what is left of Saturday Night live (what's left, because I never ever watch tv anymore because it is nothing but trash and naked people, and it is never on until he turns it on) and we see right before the commercial, Sir Paul sitting at the piano, to which H says :

H: "oh gag."

Me: seriously, how are you and I married?

H:  Paul McCartney is a moron.

Yes.  He said it.  He said that Paul McCartney was a moron.

2.  Then a few minutes later...

H: I don't think we should put all the ornaments on the tree this year.

Me: admit it, you just don't want to make a mess.

H:  admit what? I said it it.  I don't want to make mess and it makes a mess.

Me:  is that the only reason?

H:  that's one of them?

Me:  what is the other?

H:  it makes a mess

3.  And then this while watching a commercial...

H:  they made a remake of Total Recall?  Why?  Cool.  I could go for a hamburger right now, do you want one?


Uhhh, no.  No, I don't want a hamburger at 11:15 at night.  I don't give a shit about total recall, either the first one or the remake and the mess from Christmas ornaments is temporary, unlike my love for Paul McCartney, which is permanent.  

how we love our kids

A while back, when Tallulah was a newborn, my sister-in-law said something I didn't quite get.  She said that God makes our kids different so we will love them, because if they were the same, we would love them less.  Or something to that effect.  I didn't understand because the baby was an uninteresting blob, and I didn't see how it was possible to love or want anything different than Annabelle.

Enter Tallulah.  She won't ever make a grand entrance, because that is not her style, but she will smile and win you over in a thousand little ways.

Case in point, the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special.  There is a scene in the show where Snoopy is battling a lawn chair.  When Annabelle first saw it, she was screaming with hysterical laughter.  She laughed so hard, it made us laugh and get out the video camera, which is something we never, ever do.  Now, 3 years later is is Lulu's turn to see it for the first time.  It was sort of old hat to Annabelle and she was just chuckling at it, but Tallulah was very concerned.  She had a little frown on her face and looked to her sister for reassurance.  I could tell she didn't like that the chair was getting the best of Snoopy, but if Annabelle was laughing, it must be ok, but still.....

Fast forward to the Texans spanking from the Patriots.  After the second touchdown, I stopped watching, but not because the Texans didn't show up--I stopped watching because the game was upsetting Tallulah.  She wasn't yelling "ker-plonk" every time there was a tackle like another little two year old girl I used to know did.  She said,  "No!  No!  Football hurt.  Football hurt me." and pointed to her body and then the tv.  I asked her if she wanted to go to bed.  "Hmm-hmmm" was her response and she pointed toward the stairs.  I obliged and held her in my arms for a few minutes while her peaceful little soul fell asleep.

But in case you think she is Mother Theresa, think again.  She walked up to Annabelle this afternoon and pulled out a handful of her hair for no reason.  And then did it two more times and laughed. Not quite as hysterically as Annabelle did when she first saw snoopy and the lawn chair, because that is not her style, but with an equal amount of merriment.  

a shocking announcement

Today I went to the Y to exercise me knee.  I was able to get on the bike and ride it for the first time since my surgery, which was great.  Over the holiday, the Y got new cardio equipment.  They have touch screens, where you can program your workout.  You can also plug in your ipod or kindle and tablet to them.  You can surf the internet from the machine, and of course watch tv.  I was marveling at all of this and figuring it out, when one of the staff came to aid a little old lady next to me.  They were showing this little old lady how to do all of this stuff, and she was listening and asking pertinent questions.

And that is when I came to this startling conclusion: technology is here to stay.

And I am going to embrace technology.

That is all.  You may proceed about your business.

there had never been such a christmas

Today is the much celebrated Black Friday.  The one that began on Thursday.  Thursday was the day formally known as Thanksgiving.

In our house, today was the day we unpacked and went to the grocery store, did laundry, and visited our friends for leftovers.  Today was the day I spoke to my mom on the phone about how I could better arrange Annabelle's room to accommodate all the toys she never plays with.

Today is also the day we reached "Mr. Edwards Meets Santa Claus" in Little House on the Prairie, and in case you don't remember, or perhaps didn't read it, I want to share this passage with you:

"They had never even thought of such a thing, as having a penny.  Think of having a whole penny for your very own.  Think of having a cup, and a cake, and a stick of candy and a penny.  There had never been such a Christmas"

There had never been such a Christmas.

kick-off to the holiday season

In castroville while bathing tallulah,

Mom:  I am having to keep an eye on your dad--he is starting to forget stuff.

Me: really?  Like what?

Mom: I don't know, whatever I told him earlier.

two is...

No more baby.  A real, live, two year old girl.  It was a nice party.  Both sets of grandparents came and I feel today like my children are the most loved, luckiest girls on earth.  In my entire life I never had both sets of grandparents in the same place, and in H's entire childhood, he never had grandparents.  So we are blessed.

But onto less sappy stuff....

We had a puppy-themed party for Tallulah.  So I searched pinterest for some puppy ideas and found some, along with a seriously deranged woman.  I would post the pics of her puppy party, but she's crazy, see?  And I am scared she will hunt me down and  hot glue my hands together.  She had this crazy party complete with real pound puppies, fake pound puppies, making dog house crafts, sewn banners everywhere, crazy food in the shape of bones and then to top it off, the kids ate off the floor in dog bowls "doggie style."  So what does one do when one sees something that is out of the social norm?  One calls one's sister of course, what else would one do?  She was checking out the woman's blog, and her comments were as follows:  "I hate this bitch.  She clearly does not know what doggie style is."  And that is why I love my sister, although she is crazy too.

In getting ready for this doggie style party, I went to central market to get a cake.  I was wearing my new t-shirt from the gap.  I got out of the van and stood in the parking spot for a minute, letting my knee settle, when a lady walked by and said "you have a big heart on."  

Except, that's not what I heard.  I heard something else.  And I was puzzled.  I was trying to figure out why a stranger would say that to me, and so I did what one does when one hears that one has a big heart on (except that is not what I heard).  I glanced down at my crotch.  Yeah, I said crotch.  And then she said, "you thought I said something else."  And then we both burst into a fit of hysterical laughter and I am still cracking up about it.  I am going to file that under awesomeness.

don't touch "my cupcake, my"

In case you are wondering, two is two sisters making a wish....

Little things

1.Mid fall's night dream

Late yesterday afternoon the girls were playing outside right before supper and I was resting my leg.  Annabelle was taking the creeping fig off the fence and then she fashioned them into the crown.  The crown has been all over the house today--ending up as a necklace on my grandmother's goose, which I think makes her smile from heaven.

blurry because I hate flash photos

2. almost two year old OCD

When Tallulah goes to sleep, things need to be a certain way, and that way evolved when my mom was here.  I couldn't go up the stairs until recently, but as soon as I was able, I did and here is how things stand-- she tells you how things need to be in her crib, and if they aren't that way, she fusses the way her dad does when he comes home and there are crumbs under the table, like last night, for instance:

TRN: barbie go heeerrree, baby go heeere, baby go heeere.  No mama, baby go heeeerrre.  Teddy go here.

Me: I love you, good night

TRN: No!  blanket fall down (this is what she says when things aren't where she wants them--that they fell down)

I get everything where it needs to be and then I hear here saying softly to herself the things my mom would say to her when she put her to sleep-- "quack quack go sleep, papa, go sleep, ann-bell go sleep, bell go sleep."

Someone misses her grandma.

perra afrentosa

If there is one thing that unites my mom and I throughout this whole ordeal--we hate the dog.  My mom spends a portion of her day cursing out the dog, in both English and Spanish.  She also says things like, "your house would be so much cleaner if you didn't have this monstrous beast."  Today, the dog got into the Halloween candy.  I was outside with the kids when it happened, but I could here my mom yelling, "ay, perra disgraciada."  She came outside, "your stupid dog ate the candy.  Ay, I hate that dog.  I just want to drop her off on the freeway."  This upsets the kids, until the she eats something out of their hands and then they scream and cry.  Then they get it.

She was just barking like she does when she wants to come in at night, banging on the window with her claws.  "Ay, I am an old lady, and your stupid husband won't get up to let her in.  Shut up dog"

After letting her in, she sat down and said, "so when are you going to walk?"

Now we are watching some novela on univision, and I don't think I have standing to ask for a channel change.

when you turn 70, you get to go to a pumpkin patch and eat a hotdog

So my mom turned 70 yesterday.  We were going to have a surprise party for her.  She and my dad were going to spend the weekend at the beach and when they came home we were going to have her sisters and friends at the house.  But then I tore my acl and she spent her birthday mucking out our chicken coop and taking Annabelle to ballet.  And of course, we argue a lot, because that is what we do and, quite frankly, it sucks.

But today, today, we went to a pumpkin patch, and then we went where she wanted to go for lunch, which was to get a hotdog.

One day, we'll both look at the camera at the same time, but today is not that day....

hot doggin' it

look who just discovered delaware punch.  I never got the cup back.

Now, the kids are in bed and we are eating popcorn and watching bluebloods on the dvr.  Annabelle and I decided we are going to do something birthday-ish every day, because it was so much fun.

to bryan cushing, with love

My thoughts on your upcoming ACL surgery--

While the initial ACL tear does not hurt that much and you get rehab and can walk pretty normally, post op is a bitch.  It is a raving screaming lunatic bitch.

1.   Take your meds--don't think, oh, I am Bryan Cushing, I'm a tough guy, I've had two babies, I can do this with tylenol.  You will scream like a little girl, take your meds.  And then eat some apples.  And lettuce and drink some metamucil, and water because taking your meds causes another problem.  Which, you can wait out--you could think, hey, no biggie, I am a tough guy, when it happens, it will happen and I don't want to poop on the couch, because you won't be able to get up in time because...

1a.  accept that you are an invalid.  You will, I am sure, be pampered, and won't have to wait until 10:00 for your morning pee, but you still can't do much for yourself.  So maybe a fanny pack?  To put your pain meds in and the remote and your glasses.

2.  Spring for the ice machine.  I mean, I am sure for you, it will be no biggie, but bags of ice are heavy and that weight will hurt your knee, so buy for the 200.00 machine.  And ice feels like heaven angels rejoicing on fluttery wings on your knee.

3.  If your mom is coming to take care of you, make sure she doesn't have a bad back and can lift up your leg.  I am not sure what shape she is in, hopefully pretty good, but try to make it easy on her, even when she drops your legs or twists it.

4.  Invite H over to cook your meals.  But not to bath your whiny kids, because he has less patience for that, and his insensitivity and fatigue may cause him to be short, which will cause them to cry harder.

Get well soon and try not to bitch too much.  There are people depending on you, for pete's sake and they can't see you cry like a baby, because that is stressful and makes them have nightmares that you are going to hurt yourself again and wish that you had "never played that game."

you know the old lady who sits in the corner of the nursing home?

Not the one who stays sullenly in her room, biding her time until she can the shower head on her "wardens", but the one who sits in the corner, filthy, waiting for them to notice her and give her a bath?  That's me, right now.  I can't move my leg, I can't go to the bathroom by myself, and there are all these kids and old ladies and demanding asians in this house and their needs get met first.  So I didn't get to go to the bathroom this morning until 9 and when I mentioned a shower my mom told me maybe tomorrow.  She also refused to scratch my head because "by now there are people living in it."

But that's ok.  This is just temporary for me.  She is the one who is turning 70 in a few short days.  It's just around the corner for her.

Not that she would sit in any corner and wait for anything.

my mom's day in castroville vs. my mom's day in houston

All typos in this post represent my current meidcated state and are not due to my usual carelessness

In castroville:
My mom wakes up at about 9, when I call her.  Usually my dad is just bringing her her coffee and paper.  They read the paper together for about an hour and then they get ready for the day.  My mom takes about an hour and a half to shower, put on her makeup and poop twice.  She cannot go anywhere until she does this (poop) and she will not go anywhere, not even out to work in the garden without full hair and makeup.  Because she lives in a small town and grew up in a small town, and you never know who you might see.

At about 11, they go--either yard work or to San Antonio to work out at the Lackland airforce base gym.  If they "go into town," then they generally eat lunch there, usually at Pete's taco house, but sometimes at Jims. They stop off at the HEB on Potranco road (or po-trrranco, as my mother says, because all words are Spanish in origin and must be pronounced correctly).  Thdy get some things for supper, and usually a little rosemary cheese and olives or some other--i can't think of the word right now but it is that meat stuff that is on the appetizer menu at fancy places. charcuterie?  who cares.

They come home and my dad fixes dinner, then they water plants and enjoy their neighbors.  If they don't go to town, they spend the entire day in the yard, woodshop or sewing, and have a late lunch and snacks for dinner.

Then they watch their shows, which include, but are not limited to : NCIS, the new version of the closer, Grey's Anatomy, that show with tom selleck in it, modern family, and any sporting event involving the spurs or the cowboys or ut, tam, or tech football.  Btw- they get mad and the cowboys, and  my dad calls them bumbling boobs.

Then they play on the computer and finish their sudukos and go to bed.

In Houston:

She get up at 6, gets ready, gets annabelle ready,  takes her to school, comes home takes tallulah to school, gets her coffee at "starbach's"  helps me go to the bathroom, steps on my foot and gets yelled at, cleans tallulah's room, deals with the dog, gets me ready for physical therapy by helping me put on underwear and pants, looking for my, err, feminine products (which she calls kotexes), gets me in and out of the car, takes my to physical therapy, corrects my pronunciation of san felipe (street not saint) picks up the girls, deals with after school tantrums, cleans out the chicken coop and gives them food and water, makes dinner (roast chicken), brings me sodas, medicine, and toast, and now she is about to leave to pick up my vegetables from the food co-op.

It's 4:30 .  Do you know where your mother is?

ANd if you think she does this with grace and charm and without complaining that she didn't sign up to take care of chickens and without saying "chingaleras!" every 5 mintues--well I have to say one thing to you....Welcome to my blog.  Please consider becoming a follower.

will this be the year we have a normal christmas card?

it's fall ya'll

it is a lovely october day in texas which means--









but because it is texas, its 90 degrees out, so we can still run through the sprinkler...





quit taking my picture

just the way you are

One of the hard things about loving someone, is accepting them and loving them the way they are, not the way you want them to be.

Case in point: Annabelle's room.

Annabelle's room is a pigsty. There. I said it. I am not proud of it. I am not sure if this is a bad thing or a good thing, but as people are fond of saying, it is what it is.

She plays with gusto and with heart. She has a big imagination and plays and plays and plays. And her play involves lots of things that have little pieces. It involves scissors that cut off barbie hair and my little pony hair. It involves water, markers, legos, string, ropes, hair bows and play necklaces. All at the same time.

This is not how I played. I played with lots of imagination, but no toys. We had a play room, which was a bit of a mess, but my bedroom was actually very clean. And I never cut the hair off my barbies, only Audrey's Brooke Shields Barbie doll, but that was just to piss her off. I was actually careful with my toys. If someone gave me a pack of stickers, I would put them in a special box I had, and ration them out only for special occasions. I would not stick them all over my body the second I opened the package.

And if I was careful, well you can just imagine how Hyphen played. He actually claims to not have played. His toys are all still in boxes somewhere in the shrine that is his room. Seems about right to me.

So when we walk into her room, we try, very hard not to have a breakdown. We (me) have tried cleaning at the end of the day, mini cleaning breaks throughout the day, and of course, the old tried and true "I am getting out the trash bag" and even letting it get really, really dirty. Nothing seems to motivate her into keeping it clean.

I don't like to correct her play. I don't like to say, "okay, no, you can't wash your teddy bear. This is how you play with a teddy bear you hold it, you don't get it wet," because I really don't believe in stifling my kids' imagination or telling them that what they are doing is wrong, unless of course it really is.

Enter grandma. Now, grandma in her day was a hell raiser, but that was all outside when she was a kid. Inside, as a mom and grandma, you have to color in the lines or she will bite your head off. And now she is here, getting mad at Annabelle for washing her brand new bear in the bathroom sink and at me for letting her and I am realizing that a lot of the ways we parent is in reaction to something our parents did.

I let Annabelle do whatever the hell she pleases, because I never could.

And now I am paying the price.

But I am my mother's daughter. And after spending a good chunk of my day yesterday sewing a Pippi Longstocking costume (from scratch no pattern, I might add) with my torn acl, I was not in the mood to learn that when my mom gave it to Annabelle to hang so it would't get wrinkled, she decided to stuff it in a small box and hide it behind the curtains in the living room.

I don't want to micromanage. I don't want to control. I want her to be herself and to know that that self is loved, adored and welcomed in this house, just the way she is.

But we are tired of stepping on legos. Just the way we are.

down and out and down and up

I tore my acl. Playing volleyball. Me. Volleyball. A sport I have not actively participated in since the 8th grade. It was for a tournament for Annabelle's school. Fellowship, fun, volleyball, torn acl. All those good things rolled into one. We showed up in the morning and with H and I our team had seven people. The other team had uniforms and cheerleaders. When I went down, H had to sub in, so we would have enough people. Unbelievably, we won the game--and then ended up winning the entire tournament so that is a silver lining.

I knew it was something bad when I went down, because I couldn't stand. But on Monday, when I saw the doctor, he said it didn't seem like I tore anyhting, just that my kneecap came out of place. But on Friday, we got the mri results back. Torn acl and we have to go back on monday to see what lies ahead, which the nurse hinted was surgery.

So now, my mom is here. Helping out, but mostly we are just bickering. Tallulah says "knee hurt mama?" whenever she sees my brace. Annabelle says she hope my knee gets better tomorrow and H says that you can't expect two toothpicks to hold up a cinder block. One day I am going to hurl that cinder block at his head.

Camping trip, seaworld, hot air balloon fest, round top, all that fun stuff I wanted to do in October is out.

But, as my dear friend R_________ pointed out, it can be fixed and there are much worse things, and God is in control.

So down and out. A little down. But getting higher. No where to go but up.

sticky fingers

Today, I was upstairs, cleaning the tiny, windowless room that I call a guest room, but my sister calls the torture chamber. Anyway, while I was dusting, I found a plastic watering can under the bed. I put it in the take-downstairs pile and I heard a kind of tinkling sound in it. Inside was a barbie shoe, and my locket necklace that I thought was lost in the dry-cleaning debacle of last winter (don't ask).

Inside the lockets? 5 hershey kiss wrappers.

things that are special to me

Today is the day that a boy gave Annabelle an acorn at school. Kind of like Peter Pan and Wendy. She told me about it after it fell out of the small pocket in her middy blouse while she was cartwheeling. She carefully put it back, gave it a pat, and said:

"R_____ gave me this. I put it in my pocket because it is special to me and I want to keep it safe."

I know what she means, but my pockets aren't big enough.

holding on to summer

It's raining today and that means we couldn't play outside.

Normally, when September 1st rolls around I am breaking out the fall wreath and trying to restrain myself when I see pumpkins at Kroger's. I move stuff around on my mantel and put out my cranberry colored bedspread. I start to think about chili and meatloaf and homemade bread. Because September 1st means that it is almost over, the unbearable humidity, humidity that you can only imagine if you live in the tropics, the heat that bites and the mosquitoes that drain (and kill)--all of these things are about to end and I break out the corduroy and rejoice.

But not this year. This year, despite its many meteorological pitfalls, I have loved summer. Well, not loved, but really enjoyed. Maybe it's because the last true two weeks before Annabelle's school began were eaten up with a sick baby, or maybe it's because I am getting older and appreciate every season more--it doesn't matter. We have about 9 days left and we are trying to savor it.



this is something they have invented called the spitting game, where the drink water and then, well, spit it at each other



monkey do



all wet

what catholic school substitute teachers think when they can't find their students

School has started and that means that everyone's favorite substitute teacher is back...


Sub: well, the class was being real quiet and that didn't make sense, because of J____ (castroville version of turd kid) and I was thinking where the shit is he?

There you have it folks, integral formation of the entire Christian youth, mind, body and spirit.

mistakes were made

So, it was my 20 year reunion and I was thinking of a haircut...

H: what are you doing?

Me: wondering what I would look like with zooey deshanel bangs

H: like zooey deshanel, of course.


I chickened out and opted for red nails.


But based on this conversation, I decided to get bangs. Despite the fact that I saw some really bad ones at the reunion.

Now I have bangs. And I have this hair issue where my hair is getting unrulier with age. And so they do not lie flat, they do not swoop to the side and when I try to wear them like Zooey deshanel, they make my forehead hot. The reason her eyes pop out so much is because she is thinking "shit my head is hot. why do I have these stupid bangs?"

There is no picture to accompany this post because they look terrible. I look like I didn't stop believing, and held on to that feeling... of having high school bangs.

use of the word aye as the affirmative in the language development of the non-scottish 22 month old

Rule number one of parenting siblings: you are not supposed to compare your kids, because they are two different people and it isn't healthy and fair and makes for sibling rivalry and all that bad stuff that makes people need therapy as adults.

Umm, ok, I am not sure what idiot made up that rule, but since I know no other kids I do it all the time.

When Annabelle was this age, she was talking up a storm and I remember specifically one cute thing she said at almost the same age"I scared of da bug mama" referring to a fake scorpion she saw at my sister's house (cat toy, of course, my sister and her husband are those people with all the cats).

So first person, emotion, preposition, noun. Lots of cool stuff.

Tallulah? Not so much. She says something like, "bee, bee mama!" no bee, no bite my."

Our doctor, at her 18 month check up, basically told me that as long as she could say 12 words, she was normal and in his opinion, she was ahead of the curve, and "annabelle talking that much at that age, that wasn't normal. Tallulah is fine."

We are catching up (not to annabelle, of course, because I am not comparing them, just to some imaginary child out there that talked a lot), slowly. Go, see papa? Papa, go pool. where quack-quacks mama? My turn.

But one thing she still can't say, is yes.

She says aye instead.

As in yes, "Tallulah, do you want some milk?"

"Aye"

Or for all right, "Tallulah, let's get you out of this high chair and go change your poops."

"Aye"

And sometimes, when she is really content, drinking her milk, a deep throaty, "Ayyyee" after a couple of swigs.

Thankfully, all of the time I have spent reading the Outlander series and ignoring my kids has paid off in my understanding of its different meanings.

We have; however, mastered no. It was, in fact one of our first words, right after mine.

I want to remember this conversation

The goodnights in our house are somewhat prolonged by our little chats...

ALN: you know why I love fruit loops?

Me: no, why?

ALN: 1st thing, they are kind of candy-ish

Me: hmm..

ALN: and second thing, they are rainbow-ish.

Me: true

ALN: third thing, I love candy.

Me: me too.

ALN: what come next

Me: 4th

ALN: 4th thing, I love rainbows. Second thing..

Me: 5th, actually

ALN: 5th, I love candies and rainbows,

Me: you know when I first had fruitloops?

ALN: no

Me: well, you know how grandma loves to give you sweets and candy?

ALN: and ice cream too,

Me: yes, well, I have no idea who that lady is, because the lady I grew up with, never gave me any sweets.

ALN: who was that?

Me: grandma.

ALN: my grandma?

ME: yes, well, one day we went to see my grandma, and she gave me a bowl of fruitloops. And I had never had them before because grandma only gave me cheerios, and some moms would put sugar on them, but not mine, and so I had these fruitloops and I loved them, because they were kind of candy-ish and rainbow-ish. And I could tell that my mom didn't like it that my grandma gave me those to eat.

ALN: did she yell at her?

Me: no

ALN: why?

Me (feeling slightly guilty): well, because my grandma was really nice and no one ever yelled at her.

ALN: was that the pink lady?(what we call my grandmother stevens, because she liked pink and red)

Me: no, that was the brown lady (what we call my grandma, to annoy my mom)

Me: the pink lady never had cereal. She always made me the same thing for breakfast and it was the most delicious thing and my favorite thing to eat, and do you know what that was?

ALN: what

Me: a piece of homemade bread with melted butter on it and she would toast it in her toaster oven. With some fresh squeezed orange juice.

ALN: did she make you candy too?

Me: oh yes, peanut brittle and it was delicious, but you don't like peanuts.

ALN(sad, like she's missing out): yeah... but did she make you something else? (hopeful)

Me: oh yes, apple pie.

Then Annabelle informed me that if it ever snowed we needed to have hot cocoa and marshmellows and we decided it was best to get some supplies for the cocoa so in case it did snow, we would be ready.
We said our goodnights and now she may be sleeping and hopefully dreaming of coca and fruit loops.

Far

The school year is going well for Annabelle. Each day I pick her up and her response to my inquiry about her day is "great!" I gather bits and pieces of what they do from watching her play and from the things she says from time to time. She is always on "green" for conduct. If there is a fire, you get in line and do what the teacher says. There are songs, there is art, they are making letters and learning how to say hi in Spanish.

It is kindergarten, lite.

Let me repeat that, it is kindergarten, lite. So I am getting a taste of what is to come next year. Except it won't be three days a week. It will be 5. And there will be, homework, worksheets, sight words and expectations. There won't be time for a "show" after dinner. There won't be one more story. There won't be a blanket clubhouse, yard tennis, and watching football in her papa's lap. It will be Annabelle, lite.

And so more and more, I want to go, far. I want to get an rv, get my children and my favorite chicken, and husband, if he is so inclined, and go where there are no errands, no target, no chick fila, no starbucks. No hurry. No traffic. No school, no ballet, no soccer. Just sky and air. Kids and me. Henny and H, if he is so inclined.

Far.

my thoughts on stuart little

After we finished Pippi, we moved on to Stuart Little. Stuart is impossibly foppish and quite possibly a closeted homosexual. The story seems to be about nothing and I think he is quite horrible to running away from his poor mother, who loved him so. But the thing I cannot forgive him for is his treatment of Harriet Ames. So what if the date didn't go as planned? Just readjust, deal with it, be a good sport. But no, he had a terrible tantrum. And Harriet? She just walked away, like and sensible woman does after a bad date, even 2 inch tall ones.

We are off to Willy Wonka next week.

Things we learn at school and things we figure out on our own

Things we learn at school

Annabelle(incredulous): "mama, did you know that when boys play with each other they hit each other?

Me: I have noticed that

Annabelle: and when the y hit each other, they do it and it is called a punch. Do you know what a punch is? It is when you hit someone with a closed fist. (makes fist)

Me(thinking she needs to be hired by a certain T____ B______ to write some complaints and informations) Really?

Annabelle: yes. that is what they do. Isn't that strange?

Me: yes, truly. And that is why I do not have boys.

Things we figure out on our own

Annabelle: mama, did you know there are 4 types of cows?

Me: no

Annabelle: yes. There are the cows we chop up and get steak from. There are the cows that give us milk. Then there are the cows that give us chocolate milk. And then there are the black and white cows. And they give us--you know

Me: what?

Annabelle: cookies and cream.

call me stella, chicken wrangler

Today, henny penny decided to go and get herself lost. T and I were looking for her all over the yard and Tallulah kept saying "mama, quack quack hiding. are you quack quack?

I had almost given up hope when I decided to do what I do when I lose something. I called my mom and asked her to ask St. Anthony (san antonio, as we call him) to intercede on my behalf. I am not sure if God really cares about something as small as my chickens, especially when he is dealing with Israel and Iran, but soon enough, I hear some scratching.

Turns out, she likes to be under the deck. By now I am dripping in sweat and have dirt all over my jeans.

Because she has a bird brain, she couldn't quite understand that I was trying to get her to come out. And because she is a chicken, she was enjoying digging and scratching under the deck, and didn't seem to care.

Because I am who I am, I kept at it with seeds in my hand until she came out. I am slightly concerned that there is an egg under my deck.

After all of this, I have coined an new Texas colloquialism. I am sure you have heard "sweating like a whore in church." Now, here is mine "sweating like a yuppie chasing chickens."

meet the biddies

This is Henny Penny. She is mine. She rules the roost, so to speak, but she is friendly and affectionate. She follows you around like a dog and eats out of our hands



This is quack quack. She belongs to Tootles. She is second in command and has an inferiority complex which manifests itself in the extreme pecking of Annabelle's hen



This is Fiesta Rose Diddle Diddle Dumpling. She is shy. She likes to chase bugs. She does not come when she is called. The others don't like her. Annabelle thinks it is because she is different and has spent some time trying to teach Henny and Quack-Quack that you can't be mean to someone just because they are different.



This is not tooth decay, it is the remnants of an ice cream sandwich



This is a girl that calls chickens quack quacks. As in "where quack quack, mama?"



Guess what?

Two eggs, so far.

Dear Old Golden Rule Days

After much grinding and gnashing of teeth about where to go, and some gentle persuasion (or arm twisting, depending on how you look at it)on my part, we sent Annabelle off into the world of preK 4 today.

The gnashing of teeth is what the yuppie moms do about school. They agonize over where to send their kids, what will be the best fit, etc. Like it really matters, its preschool, who cares? But you want the good teacher ratios and for your kid to test into Vanguard, so....gnash away.

The gentle persuasion was of the principal. Our Catholic school is a full time program, and I wanted Annabelle to go three consecutive days, not 5. She needs a taste of kindergarten, not the full lunch box. The principal finally agreed like this "I was a stay at home mom for 10 years and it was the best job I ever had--let's do it!"

Speaking of lunchboxes, we chose a Hello Kitty one, but at the last minute a surrogate grandma bought Annabelle a lunch box and thermos--much to the chagrin of the real one..."oh so you let Mrs. Carrabbas buy her one, but not me. She can buy her anything she wants, but I have to ask..." I believe she learned how to dole out guilt trips at Catholic school, but I am hoping they don't teach that anymore.



Did you think I was going to take a normal picture?



Eat your heart out grandma!



sister love

Dan

So Annabelle has this little friend named Dan. He comes over a lot to play. They play in her room and do all sorts of stuff together. Dan is a pretty accomplished kid. He is 9 years old. He is in the second grade. He is a doctor. And in his spare time he is an amateur paleontologist. Sometimes, though, I think Dan is an asshole. Like when he was going to get mad at Annabelle because the cake she made him didn't taste good. What kind of asshole complains about food that someone has made them with love...oh, wait... never mind.

Dan works late sometimes. He is often stuck at the hospital. Sometimes, Annabelle and Dan go places, with me and my friend Stan, who likes what I cook no matter what it is and never gets mad at me.

Tonight, though, we had a situation and I almost had to kick him out. Because I am crazy, which is fine. You see, Dan was under the covers with Annabelle and Annabelle told me that she wanted to be alone with Dan. I found this disturbing and was wondering what they up to and if I was going to have to take her door off of its hinges. But before I went off the deep end, I asked what they were playing. Turns out, Dan was in the hospital. Not at the hospital, but in the hospital. Hmmm.

I am still suspicious of him, though, and Stan and I have decided not to double with them anymore.

15

There is a remarkable lack of courtesy these days and it saddens me. Driving today, I really saw it--when did we stop letting people over when they were signaling? Why don't we smile and wave at people and just let them in? It doesn't make you get where you are going any slower, so why not just let people in? I blame cell phones. We are all so busy with our phones, with texting with ignoring the people in front of us that we simply do not cherish anyone any more.

We are so busy with ourselves that we ignore our children. You see it on the playground, kids falling and hurting themselves and their parents don't even notice it--they are talking. Forget about not just watching them play and having joy in the play, they don't even notice when they are in trouble. The phone controls us--hell, even I have fallen victim to it and I hate my cell phone. When my phone rings poor Tallulah say "phone, phone," like it is something important that I cannot ignore, like it is more important than she is.

The world is too much with us--and in all of this hustle and bustle, in all of this noise, we try to distinguish ourselves in obscene ways. Like tattoos, for instance? Remember when not so long ago the only people who had tattoos were marines and people in motor bike gangs? And then everyone needed to be cool, everyone needed to be different and so everyone got a tattoo. Don't believe me? Just go to Seaworld--where everyone walks around in their swimsuits proudly baring pictures and names that cover large swaths of their bodies. I could see Annabelle staring at them and I didn't know how to explain why she can't have one--why I don't have one, other than to put a judgment on it, which I try not to do.

But why? Why is it ok to not let people over and to have a tattoo of someone's face on your back? Because you can? Because you are free? Because this is the U.S. and we are individuals, and we worship the individuals?

So where does that leave me? Somewhat courteous non-tattooed redhead seeks extremely courteous non-tattooed asian for as long as they both shall live? And in this ordinary, boring way, boring in the way of 23 year olds getting married before they've seen or done anything,and living a dull, ordinary life, did we make what was the old normal, the new unusual?

The tattoo of my life would be a tapestry woven and worn, colorful in some places and bare in others, but always, always, woven, entangled with his name.

Happy 15.

Recent events have me at Texas children's hospital

I am writing this on a borrowed iPad, any typos may be blamed on that instead of my usual carelessness.

Tallulah got sick. And then she got sicker. And then she was a little better and then worse and then the doctors sent us here. That is the short story. She has, depending on which 28 year old resident you talk to, brochiolitis, pneumonia and some lung collapse that is typical of these conditions. She has been poked and probed and deep suctioned. I have been thrown up on--a lot. here are my thoughts:

1. The nurses at Texas children's are special people , especially Candace and Mary. And they will go directly to heaven.

2. The system which allows a different,smart 28 year old without children of their own, to assess my baby's condition is duplicative, tedious and amusing. I have literally had 2 different residents tell me she looked good and terrible within 3 hours of each other. I have also had one ask me if she drank anything while she was sleeping...

3. The medical student from weslaco Texas is the real deal.

4. My real pediatricians are wonderful people and I learned that two of them considered the priesthood, which shows you the patient and caring nature of doctors.

5. Doctors are patient--they take a wait and see approach. Lawyers are not patient and want things done immediately. Stay at home moms are somewhere in between these two extremes, with this one trending toward the lawyer approach. LET'S DO ANOTHER CHEST X-RAY NOW ASSHOLES!

6. When tallulah was born we got a special present from one of her aunts--a hand-knitted blanket. That has gotten her through this whole ordeal, and everyone from the food techs on down to the lowly residents now know this--don't mess with the blanket. It is also covered with vomit, but we don't care.

7. I sleep well here, despite everything that goes on in the evening, which should really illustrate to you, gentle reader, how loud hyphen snores.

8. Hyphen is a great dad. My mom is an awesome mom. Annabelle is a phenomenal big sister and tallulah's godmother was a godsend, she brought me this iPad.

9. Guess what I want for Christmas, besides healthy children?

10. Pray. Pray unceasingly and constantly with fervor in your heart for my child, for your child, for al our children.

recent events have me going to wabash feed and seed to get some opringtons

My father in law came to town. Guess what that means? He and H spent the entire day (like until 11:30p.m.) finishing my chicken coop. To quote H "the only break I took all day was to go to the hardware store to buy more shit to finish the damn thing" Did I mention the feels like temp yesterday was in the 100s and the mosquitoes were in the thousands?

I had actually decided I didn't want chickens any more after I ran into this elderly lady who had given her daughter-in-law some eggs who in turn gave some to me. As I thanked her, she said "oh your welcome sugar, but we just don't keep chickens any more. They are filthy creatures and its so cheap to buy eggs." She kind of echoed the sentiment of my mom who said something like "you want chickens, are you stupid or is it just real hot in here?"

But that's cool. I'll get some chickens.


This is a happy man, building a chicken coop.



This is a man who is building a chicken coop instead of wathcing someone build one on the diy network.





Here they are together.

I wrote a poem today and I think it is almost as good as the LoveSong of J. Alfred Prufrock

And it goes like this:

I know a little girl named Tallulah
who hails from the south texas town of Cotulla
she's a finnicky eater
but if you want to please her
just bring her big bowls of tabbouluh

Notice, I did not say as good as The Wasteland.

Like I couldn't see this response from a mile away...

Me: I saw the most good looking Asian man I have ever seen in my life, at cosco, of all places

H: What? I wasn't there.

God, sometimes I just pitch him some real softballs, don't I???

Pippilotta Delicatessa Windowshade Mackrelmint Ephraim's Daughter Longstocking

We've been reading Pippi Longstocking every night. And we love it so much (Annabelle sometimes screams with laughter at her antics) that we went on to the second book and are coming to the end of it and will probably start the third one on Friday.

I never read Pippi as a child, I just knew she had red hair, because I heard ( from people who think all red heads look alike--and there are lots of these hairist out there) that I looked like Pippi when I was a kid.

Pippi is wild. She has no parents (well, her dad is a cannibal king somewhere in the South Seas) and is completely unsupervised. She lives with a monkey named Mr. Nilsson and her pet horse and has two best friends named Tommy and Annika She is "as rich as a troll" and spanks herself when she is naughty. She is the strongest person in the world and can lift her horse with three men and six kids on top of it. She doesn't go to school because she doesn't see the need to learn "plufitication tables" and has already been to Lisbon and sees no reason to know that it is the capital of Portugal. She is also kind-hearted and makes sure her friends have a little bit of magic in their lives every day.

We love Pippi.

On another note, today, after a crazy playdate, I went outside to clean up sand that had been dumped out from the sandbox (the suspects are varied in this case and include the dog). I could hear that Tallulah was waking up from her nap, but I needed to get this done before I got her up because the mosquitoes were bad and it was thundering and once she wakes up, she generally likes a long cuddle and doesn't want to do things like clean up the backyard.

When I came back inside, though, she and Annabelle were downstairs. Tallulah was eating a lollipop and Annabelle was wearing her dress backwards, dancing and singing a song about how she could lift her baby sister out of the crib now. Her face was covered in chocolate.

We are Pippi.

In Case you are wondering what a small town parade looks like

O beautiful



for heroes proved



In liberating strife



who more than self, their country loved



and mercy more than life



America!

America!



May God Thy Gold define



Till all success be nobleness


And every gain divine





not on the parade route, but back by the river on a hammock Annabelle said, "i never want to leave here."