suspicious minds

I was watching the Today Show this week and they were doing a story about the tragedy in Tuscon. They were interviewing the shooter's friend, and when they story was over, Annabelle said "who is Jared mama?" She was in the room with me waiting for 8:00 which, in our house, is when the cartoons come on. I tried to play dumb, "what? who is who? who is Jarrius? He is from the bible story we read last night." Annabelle: "no mama. who is jared. he is on t.v." Me: "oh. Jared is a man who did something very bad. And now he is in big trouble."

I forget that the today show is not rated G. I forget that the world isn't rated G.

Not that I am completely oblivious to things, despite my previous posts, I believe in calling the cops whenever you see suspicious behavior. But my version of suspicious and everyone else's is completely different.

My office at work was once filled with at least 50 cokes because in the hysteria after September 11th, I heard that the terrorists were poisoning all coca-cola products. So I did what any red-blooded American would do, I called the FBI. My conversation did not get off to a good start;

Me: "okay you are going to think I am crazy, because this sounds crazy, but I am not crazy, I am completely normal but my sister heard that a lady was at the grocery store.."

Fibbie: " and let me guess, loaned money to an Arab and he told her not to buy coke?

Me: "oh, thank God you know about it, see I am not crazy..."

Fibbie: Ma'am, I want to let you know whenever people start conversations by saying they are not crazy, I think they are crazy and you have mentioned the word crazy several times now and I do think you are crazy."

Me: "well I think you are rude. Are you investigating this or not? I mean, it doesn't affect me, because I only drink Dr. Pepper..."

Fibbie: "good bye ma'am."

So I have this history, see? Like the constables in my neighborhood know me, because I have their dispatch number on my speed dial, and I use it. Like when I saw a guy in a Kobe basketball Jersey pretend to get out of a yard man's truck and act like he was doing yards, when he was really casing houses. Everyone knows those Jerseys are expensive--no one is going to mow lawns in them. They thanked me for the tip at our National Night Out Party. Hyphen's comment to them, "So, I see you have met my wife, she likes to call the cops."

But I am a contradiction, because in some situations where most people would be completely afraid, I am not. Like when Audrey and I got lost on South Kirby. Not Upper Kirby, where the Bob Williams/Mitchell Gold store is, but on South Kirby, like near the Dome. We were looking for Pappasitos and I finally said "calf-rope" and stopped to ask some guys for directions. When I got back in the car Audrey assailed me with: "WHAT ARE YOU? CRAZY? YOU NEVER, EVER ASK A GUY WITH A DOO-RAG FOR DIRECTIONS, LET ALONE TWO OF THEM." Well they seemed perfectly nice to me, possibly just some state jail possession convictions, no biggie. And they did get us there.

But then yesterday in Gymboree, I saw a man. He was by himself. He was wiping the floor with his foot. walking around the store, and scuffing the floor with his foot. No kids. No other employees seemed to acknowledge him. And when he walked out of the door, I asked the sales lady "Did that man work here?" Her response : "who?" Me: the creepy guy who doesn't belong and is rubbing his foot on the floor??? Saleslady: "oh, him? Kind-of, he keeps the store clean. Me:"so , the answer is yes??" I mean, "kind-of" what? what do you mean, he keeps the store clean? Like he is a janitor, then why isn't he in a uniform. Why did he just walk out of the front door, like a customer? Is he an obsessive compulsive that walks in the store and wipes the floor down with his feet, and how is rubbing the floor with your feet keeping the store clean? And mostly, why did he give me the creeps like that?

I guess my point is.... if it gives you the creeps, ask questions, bring it to someone's attention, call the cops. Don't be afraid to make a fool of yourself and then no one will have to tell their two year old who Jared is.

talk to strangers

One of the great gifts of my life has been the fact that strangers walk up to me and strike up a conversation. I never have thought much about it, and I never even thought it was odd, until someone at work pointed it out to me after I told them about a weirdo I encountered in a gas station. They recounted a half a dozen conversations with different strangers I had told them about and pointed out that whenever someone asked our group for directions, they always addressed me. My co-worker theorized it was because my hair was wavy and it made me look approachable, this was her theory because we noticed a precipitous drop in "stranger-danger" as it came to be called, when I went through my chi phase.

My sister has another theory, and it goes something like this: "it's because you stare people down. Like when we drive on the freeway, you look at people in the next car and they look back. you stare them down in their eyes. quit doing that, it's why I hate driving with you"

Truth be told, except for one really rude homeless guy at the diamond shamrock on north shepherd, I don't mind it at all. And more truth, I occasionally initiate some of these conversations, like today...


After a week and a half of no mother's day out, last minute shopping, Santa Picture in the Galleria on December 23rd, Christmas, New Year, and a colicky baby, I decided to celebrate the return of Mother's Day out with a trip to Nordstrom. I was on the third floor, heading to the ladies room where there is a separate area set aside solely for nursing mothers, (another reason why even though I shouldn't, I shop there, or at least make a pit stop there on the way to the baby Gap) when I saw something you just don't see every day. A set of black, elderly ladies who looked exactly alike and were dressed exactly alike. Since I've become the Aunt of twins, I've taken a special interest in them, and it is really rare when you see older twins, like anyone over the age of 10, dressed alike. But there they were, in their matching coifs, track suits and Louis Vitton purses. Manna from heaven for an eye-starer-downer like myself.

Me: ladies, I just have to ask, are you twins?

ML: yes ma'am, and we are the real deal too, No pills, no hormones. We are the real deal. Our great grandmother had three sets of twins and then our grandmother didn't have any, and then our mom had us and her first cousin had twins too. We are the real deal.

Me: really! Oh my goodness, your poor great gradmother!

ML: She didn't have any hormones either. they were the real deal too! we live together too.

Me: oh how fun!.. And you still dress alike?

VD (the quiet one, there is always a quiet twin): well, that was our father.

ML: he wanted us to dress alike, and it got so that we just had the same taste in things and now we like to do it.

VD: but we don't have the same names.

ML: no, I am Mary Louise, after our two grandmothers and she is Velma Dunn after the obstetrician who delivered us.

Me: Mary Louise and Velma Dunn

ML: Velma Dunn, she was the first black obstetrician in Houston. Not only are we the real deal, we are native Houstonians too!

Me: oh, there aren't very many of those around any more, you ladies really are the real deal. I am so glad I met you. I hope you have a wonderful day.

ML: you too, oh, you got a little one there!

Me: yes ma'am, she is getting hungry too, Bye!

And they walked off, presumably to buy another matching outfit.

Another successful stranger-danger. I think God has sent me every single one, even the rude homeless guy at the Diamond Shamrock.

my trip to target

Today, I went to Target, as I am want to do. I went despite the pouring rain and my lack of raincoat, umbrella, galoshes, etc. and the fact that I had two babies in tow. I needed to use my four dollar coupon for the contact lense solution I like before it expired on Friday. (Coupon shopping being one of the requisite qualities of all SAHM's) So I explained to Annabelle as I parked the car that we needed to be "quick-sticks" and I grabbed her and Tallulah and headed inside.

After purchasing my contact lense solution and 150.00 worth of other stuff, (which is why I am pro heights- walmart, I would never buy cute swimsuits for Annabelle and other stuff at walmart, I would just get the hell out of there as soon as possible) we headed back out to the van-- the weather had not improved.

It was at this point I was approached by a man who offered to walk me to my car under the shelter of his over sized umbrella. I accepted, of course, and was happily trotting along with him when my brain kicked in and told me the following:

Uptight Audrey Brain: dude, are you crazy? this guy could be a serial killer who is going to rape-murder you. He will open the van door, whack you on the head, shove you inside, rape-murder you and/or sell your kids to the almost-white slave market, and the security cameras won't pick it up because of his big umbrella. God, you idiot, quit making small talk and start holding your keys in a menacing way and at least try to study his face so if he lets you live, and that is a big if, you can describe him to the cops.

Happy-go-lucky Stella Brain: okay. I will look at him and study him, but you are totally overreacting. okay, I am looking at his face. wow. look at that toupee. That is a really impressive one. The mother of all toupees. Wavy and long, it almost looks natural, but, as with all toups, the hair is just a little to thick, not thick like thick and sexy, but each individual piece of hair that comprises the toupee is too thick. I am surprised he is even wearing one, most people are just going bald these days, which is fine by me, I mean I love a guy with nice hair and all, but bald can be...

uptight audrey brain: QUIT THAT BLABBERING AND LOOK AT HIS FACE

happy go lucky: okay there is a small mole near his toupee, is that gel, does he put gel on that?

uptight audrey: ARRRGGHHHHH

By this time we reached the car, and he helped me put the car seat in, wished me a good day, and bid me adieu.

Who says chivalry is dead? There he was, my knight with shiny head armour, and me, a damsel with mental distress.

When and how we pray

When Annabelle was a baby, the worst time of day was the 2.a.m feeding. The house was lonely and creepy, no one was awake and I had those terrible Johnny Cash blues. I started to dread it every night at about 10p.m. One of those weird things that happens when you have a baby, I guess.

With Tallulah, I enjoy that feeding. Even though I am tired out of my mind, the house seems peaceful and quiet and content. I start by thanking God for all the people at rest in my house and I pray for the health of everyone in my family. And then I ask him for selfish things and for non selfish things.

I am in the habit of praying at all times of the day. For big things (please don't let my mom's cancer come back) and little things (make this light turn green right now before the baby notices the car is stopped and starts to scream again). I think you need to stay in constant contact.

I met a girl (when I say girl I mean someone who is slightly younger than me) once and I knew we would always be friends when she crossed herself as an ambulance went by. I asked what she was doing and she said she always says a little prayer for the person in the ambulance. I never knew anyone else did that besides me.

But nothing beats my mom. My mom is one of those people who every night before she goes to bed says the name of all of her family, sisters, brother, in-laws, neices, nephews, great neices and nephews, and all of her friends. She prays herself to sleep. Her prayers almost always get answered and when they don't, she assumes she is not sincere enough and is doing something wrong. After she broke her ankle, when she was foggy brained on pain meds, I called her and she told me she sent an email to God about her ankle. An email. And although it has become our joke, she continues to tell me that she is sending God an email about something or other. Today she told me how to do it.

Mom: do you want to know how to send and email to God? This is how you do it. You think--
to: God
from: Antoniamstevens@yahoo.com
re: tallulah sleeping though the night
CC: the blessed mother (you always cc the blessed mother on all emails you send to God)

Dear God,
please let Tallulah sleep at least 4 hours tonight. My daughter is tired and needs her rest and this would really help her.

(and then you always sign it like this)
your most humble servant,
antonia in castroville (you have to let him know where you are).

I am going to try it tonight. I will ask him for big things and little things, and I will thank him for all of you who read my blog and ask him to bless you with health and peace and a Merry Christmas.

growing pains

It is textbook behavior when a new baby is in the house. The neediness, always wanting my attention, constantly being underfoot--at times I literally trip on her. And it was no surprise, I expected the neediness. I know she loves the baby, that much is obvious, she is always by the bassinet while the baby is sleeping and loving on the baby in her own way, which is not always the most gentle, whenever Tallulah is awake.

But I did not expect a regression in her behavior, doing things that I thought we had grown out of long ago. That has been very frustrating--at times she has been down right destructive--and that causes me to lose my temper, and I yell and it upsets her, which causes more attention-seeking behavior.

I should have dropped her off at the pound years ago and then I wouldn't be dealing with this crap.

my sunday husband

About once every 6 weeks or so, Hyphen comes to church with us--and it is awesome. He gets all dressed up (raised Episcopalian, he is horrified by the amount of jeans in Catholic church.) and we go together, he kisses me during the sign of peace and holds our hand during the Our Father. He takes Annabelle to the cry room, if the need arises, and afterwards we talk to our friends and then go to Chinatown for lunch, and we feel like a real family. There is something about him coming that makes Sunday beautiful and special and takes away any trace of that Johnny Cash -i'm -so-lonely-and-I-smell-chicken-frying-and-want-to -blow-my-brains-out-because it-is-Sunday-and-I-miss-mama song out of your day.

But that is only once every six weeks. The rest of the time, I am in a relationship with another man. It started in the summer and continues through today, he is my church husband. He must have some weird kind of B.O, that everyone can smell but me, because there is never anyone sitting around him and since I am always running a couple of minutes late, no matter how early I start getting ready, I always end up sitting next to him. I can't really tell how old he is--he could be anywhere from 25-40. He always comes alone. He tolerates Annabelle's squirmy-ness with a detached good humor and during the height of my pregnancy would occasionally help me with the knealer. We don't kiss, but we do hold hands during the Our Father and he picks up the toys/sippys/necklaces that Annabelle drops and hands them to me. I don't know his name, but feel as though it must be Marco or Marcus or Mark. But most likely Marco. We have never spoken, except to say peace be with you, until today.

Today is the day Mexican people celebrate La Virgen of Guadalupe's appearance to Juan Diego, and the Hispanic Community from my Church was putting on a reenactment of this at the Church Gym (what Annabelle likes to call the "church where you can talk and we have a Halloween party") and we went. There he was, in a row behind us this time, but still all alone, with no one sitting around him. He gave me a warm, familiar smile that I took to mean "oh there you are, I was wondering where you were and figured you had the baby. She is so beautiful, how is our other one taking to being a big sister? I bet you are a good big sister. I missed your singing during Church, Annabelle. Anyway, I am so glad you are back, I'll see you next week."

We walked out together and he held the door open for us and today for the first time we said good bye to each other.

Me and my Sunday husband, Marco.

don't read this if you are especially sensitve to the plight of native americans

Phone conversation I had recently with my sister


Me: hey dude, what are you doing?


A: living the dream in palm springs, no kids, no husband, fancy hotel.


Me: oh, yeah, at a conference right? how is the hotel?


A: awesome. It is way better than the last one, except there was no airport shuttle, so I had to split a cab with some ladies who are also attending the conference, and then we all ate dinner together.


Me: oh, that was nice, where were they from?


A: south dakota


Me: what is you conference for?


A: native american health care


Me: What? why?


A: well in the new health care package there is a lot of money set aside to redo some of the Indian clinics...


Me: what???? there are like 10 Indians left, why do they get my money?



A (exasperated): I don't know, ask Obama, maybe to address the horrible diabetes and other health care problems they have been suffering since they adopted the white man's diet.


Me: He doesn't return my calls. maybe they need to eat more tuhtanka. Hey, while you are there, can you get me one of those turquoise cuff bracelets, like a real big one, like 4 inches- I'll pay you back


A(more exasperated) : it is not that kind of conference


Me: sure it is, I am sure they will have a table where they are hawking their wares. Do you think there is going to be anyone there with long hair, like wind-in-his-hair, and if there is, can you text me a picture of it? but only if it is a man, and only if he looks like wind-in-his-hair.


A: (really hacked) umm, sure.



A few days later....


Me: " how was the conference?


A: good


Me: did you get me a cuff?



A; I told you, it wasn't that kind of conference



Me: you mean to tell me that you saw no cuffs?


A: actually, I saw lots of people wearing the cuffs and other kinds of turquoise


Me: and you didn't say "here is this shiny cell phone I'll trade it to you for your cuff."


A:(really pissed) "NO!!!!! They don't barter, they are regular people. I did see a man with long hair, though and he had leather braided in it.


Me: and you didn't send me a picture??? Wait-- were those ladies you ate dinner with Indians--did they have cuffs on???



A (resigned sigh) Yes. they were. And yes they did.


Me: You couldn't simply ask them " hey that is a beautiful cuff, where did you get that? and then they could say "on the res, I know this guy, here is his business card...."


A: (yelling)I AM NOT GOING TO ASK SOMEONE THAT AT A PROFESSIONAL CONFERENCE!!!!! I am not like you. And I am not going to ask someone something just to hear them say on the res!!!!!!


Me: (resigned sigh) I am not sure what kind of sister knows that her sister wants an Indian cuff bracelet and then goes somewhere there are tons of people, including her new friends wearing them and then doesn't bother to ask anyone where they got them or trade her cell phone for one of them!!!!!!!!!!

A: the kind that is not going to do that.

Me: bye

A: bye