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.

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.

1985 ford tempo

I used to neck with my boyfriend in a 1985 ford tempo. It was gray with a maroon interior. It had a faded theodoore roosevelt high school parking sticker on it and some little teddy bear thing hung around the rear view mirror. It was scrupulously clean. He spent a lot of time washing it. Hours at a time. He had lots of special sponges and rags to clean the car and lots of dedicated cleaning products. I found this very interesting because at our house we would just fill a bucket with Palmolive and wash the dirt off. But not this guy. He would armour-all the dash and even had this special spray he would put on the tires that made them shiny. I didn't realize you needed to wash the tires of a car, but that is because I drive a "trash can on wheels" as Hyphen likes to put it.

Anyway, I used to go over to his house and help him wash his car (this was in the early 90s, when people still washed their own cars). I am a very "when in rome" type of person, and so I figured as long as I was dating this guy, I might as well help him wash his car, even though my 1986 La Baron was full of drink cups, general filth and said "wash me" on the back. Sometimes he would wash my La Baron, which was nice of him. Then he would always say something like "try to keep it clean this time." Afterwards, we would drive over to the Diamond Shamrock on Austin Highway. He said that out of all the nearby gas stations, this one was the cheapest and he would gas up his car for 95 cents a gallon and then get a big gulp like drink. He would ask me if I wanted one and I would say no, because it was really too much soda for me and I didn't want to be rude and ask for something of someone who drove out of his way to find the cheapest gas he could to fill up his car. (I was somewhat spoiled, having a gas card that my parents paid for.) So I would always say to him "no, I'll just have a little sip of yours." He would laugh and smile in way that I knew he found me endearing and would always finish the "little sip of yours" part of the sentence with me.

That was a long time ago. I am thinking of that car now, tonight, to help me get through this night of mom ping-pong. It is a new game being played at our house, where one child needs me and then the other child needs me and before I finish with one properly and meet her needs the other starts to cry and then the cry turns into a scream and I leave the child I am trying to make comfortable and happy to tend to the one that is making noise. And just when I calm the noisy one down, the first one who was almost calm before I left her, starts to cry again. Ping Pong, get it? It is weird though--God has given me some kind of freakish mom endorphins that are getting me through the game calmly and serenely, and in the end, the ball wins the match with two peaceful, sleeping children as her trohpies.

My husband is sitting on his chair watching the game. He says he needs to rest and cannot help. I am really not sure who he is right now. I asked him for a sip of his drink and he said not to touch it. My van, though, is uncharacteristically clean, and I have tried to keep it clean, this time, for a few days now.

the story of the lucky 13

Today we celebrate our 13th anniversary. The three of us marked the occasion with tulips, candles, wine, pasta puttanesca eaten on dishes from our wedding, and by digging out old wedding photos. I always get sentimental around this time, especially now, in my delicate condition. I tried to explain to Annabelle why this was a special day, but she cannot conceive of the thought that there was an us before there was an us. And when she sees picutres of us from long ago she asks "where was I?" and anwers herself "I was at grandma's house and I was sad because I wasn't there."

The other night at dinner, I put on a Frank Sinatra CD (yes some people still listen to CDs). Annabelle said, "what is this music?" I said "this is Frank Sinatra, this is some of the music mama and pap fell in love to."

Annabelle: "and then what happened?"

Me: "well, then we went on lots of dates, and hugged and kissed each other a lot and had lots of fun."

Annabelle: " and then what happened?"

Me: " then we decided to get married"

Annabelle: "and then what happened?"

Me: "then we got married and mama was the most beautiful bride ever and we had the most wonderful wedding ever and mama and Martha Stewart took 10 years off of Grandpa's life."

Annabelle: "and then what happened?"

Me: "then we moved to Houston and had lots of fun and lived in apartments and in another house and we went out to eat lots and saw movies at 10:00 at night and got dogs and furniture and went on vacations in Mexico."

Annabelle: "and then what happened?"

Me: "then one night we had margaritas and crawfish and then you were in my tummy."

Annabelle: "and then what happened?"

Me: "and then my water broke and papa said 'I have one more week' and I said, 'no you don't,' and then papa got in trouble with the doctor and then you were here and we were the happiest- happiest and you were the best baby ever."

Annabelle: "and then what happened?"

Me: "then we took good care of you and then we went to the library and HEB and then you took a nap and then we made dinner and then we were eating and you askd what kind of music this was."

Annabelle: "and then what happened?"

Me: "I am not sure yet, but I am sure it will be good."

Happy anniversary and thank you to all the people who have loved and supported us over the years.

allergies

As a parent, you learn to ignore things, such as "Mama, I want to look it at that book," especially when it is repeated 100 times at bedtime. This is a learned parental defense mechanism in order to keep you sane. Now, you'll snap out of ignore mode immediately if it changes to "Mama I need to go poo-poo."

I didn't have too much trouble adapting to this behavior becasue I have been living with Hyphen and his various health complaints, both real and imagined for 13 years. One day I actually decided to pay attention to his complaints and I wrote them all down. They included, but were not limited to: chapped ass, weird mosquito bite on ass, ear pressure, toe nail pain, teeth hurt, vomit in mouth while brushing teeth, eyes hurt (feel hot). The next day they included: coughing/ lougees, glue eye, red eye, weak urine stream, "dirty farts," constricted layrnx, constipation, various mental issue, throat killing him and the feeling of a fine layer of dust on his entire body.

See how you could tune this stuff out after a while? The fine layer of dust has been a complaint that he has had over the years. For a while I started to file that under the various mental issues category. Until I ate some bad shrimp, that made me break out into horrible hives that subsequently sent me to the allergist. They made me fill out a 10 page long survey that had all sorts of questions on it, and while none of the questions dealt with the issue of dirty farts, they did address things like "do you wake in the morning and need to cough," and "do you sneeze at night." As I was filling this out and answering no to every question, I started to think that Hyphen would answer yes to every question. I came home and told him about the survey. And one year and several really bad sinus infections later, he went to see the allergist. Actually it was thirteen years later, because right after we got married I recall how every night he would start to sneeze and would sneeze literally 50 times in a row. I also seem to recall vacations we would take with friends where they would hear him coughing and hacking--while they were downstairs and we were upstairs. I also recall being in the bedroom, talking on the phone with my sister and her saying "Is that H in the bathroom hocking up lougees--good lord how do you live with that?" But the point is, he went.

And guess what? He is allergic to 29 things, including pecan trees, dust mites and cockroaches.

And also guess what? His allergist said for people with dust mite allergies, feeling like there is a layer of dust on their body is a very common complaint.

Now, do I feel bad for making fun of him all these years? No. Because if I ever sneezed 50 times in a row, I would immediately call the doctor and tell them, "hey doc, I just sneezed 50 times, what gives?"

So the allergy msytery is solved. Now onto the really important matters, like cholesterol.

And, in case you are wondering, for me, it was just some bad shrimp.

trials and tribulations

Yesterday, after a horrible night of sleep on Annabelle's part and consequently on my part, Annabelle was in rare form. Clingy and naughty all in one. She woke up geared to go to her friends birthday party, which was still a day away. This was explained to her and disappointment ensued. We went to get said friend a present. When kids are under 5, I generally get them clothes for birthdays, because clothes are like a present for the mom and kids have way too many toys anyway. So we went to Gymboree to get clothes. First we had to get dressed. Small battle over what to wear, huge battle over hairstyle. Annabelle's hair is long enough where we need to start putting it in barrettes or pig tails, but she resists completely, pulling them out shortly after they are installed. She likes to feel the wind in her hair, I guess. Then we made a pitstop at Alma Latina, with Hyphen, who took the day off, for a dose of chorizo. She had to sit in my lap the whole breakfast. Then a trip to Target, which got this response "No, No Target. I don't want to go to target, I want to get Andrew a present at Gymboree." Once we were inside, she insisted on walking, not riding in the cart. (in case you are wondering why I haven't smacked her yet, it is because she is two and is asserting her independence and I am trying to help her make "good choices" now, so she won't drink and do drugs in high school--or some other such nonsense I am currently reading in a parenting book entitled Love and Logic.) While at Target, looking at maternity clothes, she told me she was going to hide from me and hid in numerous clothes racks, squealing with laughter when I found her. Finally, I decided she was making bad choices and deposited her in the cart. Smallish tantrum.

Finally we arrived at Gymborre, which she enjoys because there is a tv. There was no one in the store save me and the salesladies. I felt free to shop without watching Annabelle too closely and I peeked over where the tv was to check on her only to discover Annabelle, naked as a jay bird, just finishing the removal of her panties, watching tv. Annabelle likes to be naked for reasons I have not completely discerned. (Note: when I told my mom this instead of laughing, she got quiet and she called me the next day and scolded me saying she could have gotten molested--I was impressed by the restraint on her part, she waited an entire day)

We got home and got ready for her first private swim lesson, which I had been talking up all week. I went to the kitchen, to talk to H and when I went back to her room, she had managed to get a bottle of baby powder and shake its contents all over her floor. She wanted to continue to shake it and I said she could do so outside. (Note: this is not the parenting book, this is me, remembering what it was like to be a kid, and how some messes were just irresistible.)

Swimming lesson? Disaster. Cried to entire time. Mind you, the teacher wasn't super great at getting acquanted with a toddler, she just got her in the pool and said, "let's see you kick."

We got home and I went to talk to H again, who was making lunch and when I went to her room, she found the sunblock and had squirted it all over the floor. This was at the point where I officially lost it and yelled (I am not a yeller mom) "What are you doin????????!!!!!!" And then I did the only thing that was humanly and lovingly and logically possible.

I called in the big guns. I got her father.

In our house, Papa rarely disciplines. If mama rarely yells, papa certainly does not. This is kind of an "apple of his eye house," where the Apple is loved and adored tremendously by her papa/pops/poppi.

I got the paper towels to clean up the mess and was about to walk in the room. H saw me and shooed me away. I could hear him gving her a quiet talk about being naughty and how "some things are toys and others are not and it is okay to play with your toys, but you have to ask mama and papa to play with the things that are not toys." Then I heard "do you understand me? Look at me Annabelle, look me in the eyes. Do you understand me." Then a quivering "yes. I sorry papa. I sorry I squirted this sunscreen." I walked in and scooped her in my arms and cuddled her and said "it's okay." To which papa replied and rightly so, "Actually, it's not okay, but we forgive you."

He went back to the kitchen and we cleaned up the mess.

After I was fnished, I followed him to the kitchen, and slapped him on the butt, pro-athelete style. "You are awesome. That was awesome back there. You are the best dad. Way to go." And he is the best dad, I challenge you, gentle reader, to find a better one....

Today? She is a cherub. A delight, a model citizen, that when in high school will carry packages for old ladies crossing the street and rescue little birds that have fallen from their nests, etc.

Tomorrow? Quien sabe?

another ridiculous conversation that I am forced to have

Hyphen: should we just go out to eat tonight?

Me: No, I am making puttanesca, why do you want to go out?

H: because you are going to make a mess in the kitchen.

Me: so? I'll clean it up.

H: No you won't. Seriously, you are the messiest cook I have ever seen. You should start a cooking show called "the messy cook"

Me: "I think I will. The start up money for the show will be from the insurance proceeds from my husband's freakish, sudden and mysterious death. And I will call it "The Happy, Messy Widow Cook. And I will have lots of fans."

Living with Hyphen, is like "Sleeping with the Enemy", but without the violence.

Father's Day

My dad was born in the Texas Panhandle, on a farm near Petersburg. It was long, long ago-- there were no tvs, no i-phone, no i-phone 3.0, no facebook, let alone microwaves, home depot and HEB Central Market. They lived out on the South Plains in a little farmhouse where my granddaddy (in Texas this is pronounced grandaddy, just one d) grew cotton and my grandmother was a housewife, which meant she did everything else. Because childhood back then was not filled with play dates and baby einstein, my dad worked on the farm. He worked in the fields and drove the tractor and doctored the cows. Because families were not in this constant mad rush we all deal with filled with electronic baby sitters and televisions in every room and twitter, etc., he actually did stuff with his family. My granddaddy was a baseball nut (which he followed on the radio) and erected a backboard in his pasture. They had a farm team--other kids from nearby farms were team members, even the lone black family was recruited into the effort. When they played the team from Abernathy they were intimidated by their fancy town kid uniforms--farm kids played in their overalls-- and, unlike a tv movie, they got whipped. They had ice cream making parties with their relatives, where everyone took a turn cranking. His father was in a gospel quartet for which his mother played the piano. They were Baptist so there was no drinking and no dancing. The preacher would come over for Sunday dinner and once said the following prayer over my grandmother's delicious ham "God bless the food, pass the ham."

Because a lot of time there is nothing "fun" to do on a farm, my dad became pretty well rounded in the field of sports and, like his daddy, learned to play tennis, golf, box, basketball and of course, like every good Texan, football. He was the high school quarterback. He did all kinds of crazy stunts in high school and once told me "Our school was so small, we were all the good kids and the bad kids." He won the award for best all around athlete in school. It is a beautiful gold trophy cup. He has always told Audrey and I that if one of us could ever beat him swimming, we could have his trophy. It currently sits in his bookcase.

He grew up "farting around with tractors" so he learned to fix stuff. And because of working on those tractors he is really hard of hearing.

He grew up calling his parents "mother 'n daddy" and does so to this day.

He went to West Texas State University and then joined the Air Force and was transferred to Brooks Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas. Growing up in the South plains, everyone looked pretty much like him, blond hair and blue eyes, and when he moved to San Antonio he noticed that he stuck out and people seemed to stare at him. He met my mom at the apartment complex they both lived at and after six months they were married. He didn't invite his parents to their wedding and my mom's dad refused to come, he was so angry that she married an anglo. Thirty years later my dad was his favorite son-in-law, the only one who could give him his shots and the only one who was allowed to touch his tools.

So what is he like? He is as big and sunny as the West Texas sky and his optimism and joy for life are just as endless. His mottoes are "if you can't fix it, get a bigger hammer." And if faced with trouble, well, "ain't no hill for a stepper"

When he worked at Brooks, he once saw two black men, back from Vietnam, missing some limbs and he thought to himself "you know, those men lost their arms fighting for my country." He told me that that sight cured just about any prejudice that he had ever considered having to begin with.

It was a world away from this life, during a war, in Vietnam,where my husband was born. A ten pound baby. The village freak because of his size and white skin. When Saigon fell, my father-in-law told my mother-in-law that they were having a practice drill and that they needed to get on the American's tanker. It was a lie, of course. There was no drill, but he knew if he told her the truth she would never leave. Hyphen, true to form almost died on the trip to the US (motion sickness even as a baby).

Hyphen grew up between two places. He has a nostalgic longing for a place he's only heard about and at the same time a love for Cowboys and Indians, the VFW and the Rotary club, and the family who has the preacher over for Sunday dinner. Neither of these places quite fits him.

I like to watch people and I've watched Hyphen grow up. I watched his face for clues when we played Spades in high school when our teacher was out sick, and I watched his face as our child came out of my body. I will never forget how he looked at Annabelle when they were cleaning her up, no matter what happens to me, to us, to anything, I will never forget that.

Although I make fun of Hyphen, because he is crazy, he is also a good man. People always tell me that because his goodness seeps out of him, despite his outward curmudgeon. He's the type of person that will hold the door open for a homeless person or give the clothes off of his back (he actually did this) to an employee who needed a dress shirt.

These are the men in my life. And it has been a great honor to be a part of theirs.

Happy Father's Day.

vinaigrette?

So the other day I am outside puttering around, as I am want to do. I see a big huge wasp fly onto my windowsill and crawl into my bedroom and I think "hmmm, cool, how'd he do that?" And I go about watering my plants. We get home from vacation today and Annabelle and I run a few errands and I come home and find Hyphen perched on the couch, watching tv and tells me the following:

Hyphen: "Dude, don't go in the bedroom there is a big, huge wasp in there. It was huge, seriously. I shut the door. Seriously, don't open the door, I don't want Annabelle to get stung"

Now, genius that I am, I think to myself "ruh-roh, there is something rotten in Denmark, and it ain't all that cheese." So of course, I go into the bedroom pull up the blind and see that there are two of the little critters building a wasps' nest. Here is where marital teamwork comes into play. The last time I was stung by something I was in Matagorda State Park with my sister. We were dancing on the gazebo trying to imitate Leezel and her loser nazi boyfriend's routine in the sound of Music, you know, "I am sixteen going on 17, and yoouuu arre a Nazzziii." That one. Anyway, we were clowning around and somehow knocked loose a yellow jacket nest, who were living quite peacefully in the gazebo and did not enjoy our little dance blitzkrieg. I had one sting and my arm was so swollen it looked like my grandma's. Actually, it probably just looked the way it does now since it was 18 years and 40 pounds ago. So I have a self-diagnosed allergy to stings. Hyphen knows this, since at the time we were friends and he saw my arm. So he goes in with some wasp killing spray and gets the job done. When he come out he tells me that he killed two wasps, but they were not the wasps he saw because that was the big one. The Moby Dick of wasps. Again he closes the door and tells me not to go in. Now, I have to tell you, my husband is not closing the door because he is scared that I, the mother of his child, might go into anaphylatic shock. He is closing the door because he is scared of bugs, pure and simple. I am not scared of bugs, so back in I go, and sure enough, there was our great white whale-- buzzing about the window. I call for Hyphen who runs in with the spray tells me to get out and harpoons that son-of-a-gun. (mother-f-er would have been better there, but i am trying to curse less, see?) We are a lean-mean wasp killing machine. I find 'em, he kills 'em.

Oil and water make vinaigrette, who knew?

oh dios mio!

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

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

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

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