Dec 28, 2005

Christmas in a nutshell

This Christmas was...different. It was happy and sad--a little bit of both. Happy because I got to spend the morning with my chicks, and the afternoon/evening with an incredible man that is a gift in itself; and sad because we were both missing our kids. Even though I know I did what's best, it still sucks sometimes in the way things work. Plus, you know, the holidays---it's super-stressful for everybody, emotions are running high, you're all sentimental and stuff--I think I cried for 24 hours straight.

The chicks had a great Christmas--Jenna made out with a shit-kicking bike and a guitar, and Clairey racked up in the My Little Pony market. We seriously have so much My Little Pony paraphanelia, that we own stock in Hasbro. Judging by the gifts I received, people think I'm a lush. I got an awesome set of martini glasses, a set of vodka shot glasses, and the most lovely wine glasses ever (a set of white, and a set of red). Seriously, these wine glasses are so awesome, that I just want to hold them and lick them--especially the reds. Clairey was already kind enough to launch a sippy-cup of milk towards one and shatter it, but Christmas Eve + 3 bottles of wine + 2 sets of awesome wine glasses= 1 shattered glass?? That's amazing in itself. What's even MORE amazing, yet unrelated, is that I drunkenly chopped fresh parsely with a dull butcher knife and came out uninjured.

May the miracles of Christmas never cease.

Dec 22, 2005

Where are all my toys?


Conversations with Jenna

Driving home from the sitter's, we pass a company which has hung Christmas lights on their fence.

Jenna: "Mom, look at those lights! Aren't they lovely?"
Me: "Yep, just lovely."
Jenna: "There are no lights in the trees...that's strange."
Me: "Yes, quite strange."
Jenna: "Yes, very strange."

She's only four, but you'd think you were talking to your grandmother.

Dec 21, 2005

Conversations with Clairey

"Mommy, you preh-sis."
"I'm precious?"
"Yes, you preh-sis, Mommy."
"Thank you, baby..."
"I love you, preh-sis."
"I love you, too, baby."
"I love you so much, my preh-sis."

(This, moments before she hunkered down in a Gollum-like pose and started cackling. Just kidding.)

Dec 13, 2005

Dry Clean Only

Tag: Never leave unattended. 100% Mischevious. Pre-shrunk.

This is what happens when I leave to get the next load of clothes...

All is calm, all is bright...

Sitting here, bathed in the incandecense of the Christmas tree, I look into the living room and my eyes glisten with tears as I take in the sight of my beautiful babies sleeping on the couch. I think how lucky I am, how angelic they are, and how peaceful they're sleeping. I can smell the gingerbread candle, and the faint aroma of macaroni-and-cheese-puke mixed with a healthy dose of Febreze. It's definitely the holiday season.

Dec 12, 2005

So easy...

At the ages of 2 and 4, the chicks find the most complacent things to be entertaining. Take, for instance, the vocal exercises of our cat, Punkin. Punkin will 'meow,' and immediately, the girls get all excited:

"Punkin said 'meow'! Punkin said 'meow'!"

Indeed, she did. Now, if she'd say, "Get your hands away from my tail you evil little bitches!" I'd be a little more impressed. However, she only says, "meow."

Dec 9, 2005

Sibling stories--Christmas (part II)

We talked on and on about the stash. We only took a quick look--no time to memorize everything--so the three of us pooled our brains together to create the complete list of goods. The "big one" that year was the Nintendo. Yep, the original Nintendo--complete with "Mario Bros." Shawn had been salivating over a Nintendo for months now, and finally, FINALLY it was to be in his possession. We were incredibly excited. I mean, Christmas morning has its level of excitement, but finding the booty BEFORE Christmas?! Rock on.

Shawn's best friend, Wade, came over, and we all filled him in on the find. He, too, was super-excited about the Nintendo. I mean, who wouldn't be? They had the same power as Cabbage Patch Kids in the 80s and that stupid Elmo thing that everybody had to have in the late 90s. It was a NINTENDO, man! So anyways, we filled in Wade. He sat there, wide-eyed, just adoring us. He was a "good" kid. We were good kids on the outside, but secretly evil. Ask any of our friends. Wade was a really sweet kid. He was smaller than most his age, and because of Cerebal Palsy, walked with a limp. My sister and I loved him--he was adorable. He was a great friend to my brother. But that was before we killed him.

Mom and dad arrived home from work, exhausted and pretty much ready to crack the whip and make us take on our roles as slaves to them. It was a normal household. So anyways, Wade, getting a waft of the damning smell of chores (and whatever the hell it was mom was cooking), left. BUT...and here's the big he stood on the foyer, opening the front door, Wade says, "Man, that's so cool about your Nintendo!" then leaves. The door closed, and a hush froze over the house. The three of us stood on the foyer, looking at each other, scared to turn around and face the death that was sure to be lurking right at the top of the stairs.

It wasn't as bad as it could've been. I mean, all hell broke loose, there were spankings and groundings and things taken away, and threats of gypsies and having to find a new mom and dad. Not too bad. We had to stay in our rooms the rest of that evening, with no dinner. I had rationed my Halloween candy, so it wasn't too bad for me. I can survive on Smarties and jawbreakers any day. So there we are, in our rooms. The parents made us shut our bedroom doors, because the three of us (if doors were open), would lie near the doorframes and whisper to each other--no doubt concocting another evil plan. I don't know what Shawn and Shannon did, but I was thinking.

One of the threats Dad and made was that we were not getting those presents now. Nothing for Christmas. That sucked. So I did what any other kid my age would do--sat down, and wrote a 3-page, heart-wrenching poem about how sorry I was, and that I deserved everything that was coming to me. It was a work of art. I even illustrated it. I wish I had it--just to show ya. So anyways, I garnered permission to exit my bedroom, and walked into the living room. I stood in front of my parents, and executed the most divine poetry reading ever performed in front of a live audience. After I finished, my parents had their hands over their mouths--too stunned with the raw beauty of my talent to speak--their shoulders were slightly shaking--no doubt, holding back tears. Mom whispered, "Go back to your room." So I did. Forlornly. Leaving them with the illustrated copy.

Two days later, on Christmas, we awoke to a tree sitting amidst a barrage of gifts--Nintendo included. Seriously, it was my poem that did it. Either that, or my illustration of Baby Jesus. It WAS rather cute.

Dec 5, 2005

Sibling stories--Christmas (part I)

We were super-sleuths. The superest kind of super-sleuths. We knew all their tricks. We knew all the hiding places. We knew how to spring all the booby-traps. It was the week before Christmas, and we were going in.

"Where do you think they are?"
"In the closet."
"Yeah, bedroom closest. Top shelf."
"How do you know?"
"Mom wouldn't let me go in there to get her sweater the other day."

The three of us huddled in front of mom and dad's closet--scoping out the scene: No lock on the door, no scotch tape "barrier" at the top of the door, no noticeable string in the jamb. Dammit. They got sneaky this year.

We sat for a moment, staring at the door as if it were some kind of monolith.

"I'm going in."

I turned the doorknob slowly. Steadily. We all held our breath, listening for anything out of the ordinary. Open, open, open...and then we heard it. The soft thud of something hitting the carpet.

"What was that?! What was that?!"
"There was a thud! There was a thud!"
"Search! Search!"

The three of us frantically began to scan the carpeted floor. I believe Shannon found it: a penny. A 1984, tarnished, penny. She picked it up and held it in her hand. Abe was mocking us. That bastard. Oh, we were strong. No dead president was going to hold US down. No way. We pulled open the closet door, and began to eyeball the door jamb--looking for any type of indention, marking--anything that would let us know a penny had been nesting there. Hallelujah! There it was: a circular indentation. Shawn picked up the penny and held it to the dent--it matched. Excellent. Our plan was coming to fruition...

We walked into the closet, and looked up. Ding ding. Jackpot. The "Santa Stash" had been found. The top shelf of the closet was littered with gifts: Barbies, clothes boxes, and...a NINTENDO. We scoped out the booty from the floor--careful not to touch anything. After taking detailed mental notes, we reset the trap and returned to our conference room upstairs to discuss the treasures we had witnessed.

To be continued...

Nov 20, 2005

It's 9 o'clock. Do you know where your children are?

Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. The 4-year old is sleeping peacefully in her bed; and my 2-year old is lying her beside me, wide awake, saying, "You broke that, you broke that, you broke that..." over, and over, and over, for no apparent reason. However, she's hellbent on fixing it--whatever "it" may be. But the highlight, the HIGHLIGHT of my evening just happened mere minutes ago, when she said (spelled phonetically as a two-year old speaks), "Mom, stmell my fingerr..." as she shoved her tiny index finger up my nose.
"That smells like poop!" I yelled. "Do you have a poo-poo diaper?"
"No, my fingerr wass en mine buttt!"


Nov 19, 2005

I am crying, and I don't know why

I can tell you why she was crying: Because it was 630pm, she had woken up at 630am, and had forgone the daily nap. THAT'S why she was crying, people. Really, she's two--does there HAVE to be a reason? I think not. It could have been the missing nap, but then again, it could have been the fact that I changed her pee-pee laden diaper. I'm such a bitch. But then...OH, THEN...I took off her overalls and put on her pajamas! Oh.

Call CPS. I'm a horrible mother. Even after I got said pajamas on the tot, she chose to coerce me into pulling her jammie pants on and off no less than 10 times.

"NOOOoooooooo!!!! OOOOOooooooffffff!"
"Okay, I'll take them off."
"Okay, I'll put them on..."
"Okay, I'll put them....on?"
"Nooooooo!!! AAAhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!"

This conversation (or lack thereof) continued, whilst I wrestled Tigger pajama bottoms on and off a diapered ass for longer than I care to admit. She's so fricking persistant. Don't know where she gets that from.

Nov 18, 2005

Beauty Queen

We're all in deep shit with this one. She's already too cute.

Really, if there were a shirt that said, (front) "Seriously, now, you can't possibly think that your kid is cuter than this...this one that sprang from my loins..." (back) "and I'm not saying that just because I'm her mother." I would totally wear it.

Boxing Queen

Clairey vs. The Crusher

Claire Ailis, 26 months old, and a huge contender for the Tot-weight Championship. However, all her dreams came to an end when she was knocked out in the first round. What happened? Boxing Site magazine gives you the exclusive interview of "The Boxing Queen."

BS: Claire. Claire, Claire, did this happen?

C: I'm not sure, exactly.

BS: Did you see it coming?

C: No, not at all. I had both of my hands up by my head, you know, protectin' myself. Next thing I know, I'm down on the ground, KO'd. (shaking head, sadly)

BS: Yeah, it was pretty bad. Did it hurt?

C: Hurt? What do you think, Mother F#$*er?! H$#ll yes, it hurt.

BS: Sorry...I, I didn't know...

C: I have nine stitches in my eye! NINE stitches!

BS: I, I see that...

C: I'm just minding my own business, and next thing you know, it's like "And this little piggy went 'wee, wee, wee...' BAM! What the F$#K was that?!' and I'm down on the ground."

BS: Upsetting, I'm sure.

C: Oh, 'upsetting' isn't the word for it, man. I mean, sh&t...I started cutting my 2-year molars last week, my diaper leaks, then THIS happens?! Where does it end, man?! Where does it end?

BS: Claire, thank you for talking to us, and good luck in next year's TWC. Could we just get a smile for the camera, please?

C: Sure thing. Gotta pose for the posse.

Indeed, where DOES it end?

*After this interview was taken, the truth rose to the top, much like spoiled cream. Clairey had actually been "KO'd" by a patio table. There wasn't as much tough-talking little pigs going on, as much as a loud bang, and then loud screaming for "mommy."

Makes me laugh every damn time

Nov 17, 2005

My egg on drugs

Your Brain's Pattern

Your mind is a firestorm - full of intensity and drama.
Your thoughts may seem scattered to you most of the time...
But they often seem strong and passionate to those around you.
You are a natural influencer. The thoughts you share are very powerful and persuading.

Nov 15, 2005

Morning drama

This morning, Claire locked herself in my bathroom. Below, is the conversation that followed:

M: "Claire, unlock the door."

C: "No."

M: "Yes."
--doorknob wiggles--
"Turn the lock in the middle."
--wiggle, wiggle--
"Clairey. UNLOCK the door."
--knock, knock--

C: "Who there?"

M: "It's mommy. Open the door."

C: "No it's not. It's banana."
"Knock knock"

M: "Who's there?"

C: "Banana"

M: "Banana who?"

C: "I don't know!" (uproarious laughter)
"knock knock"

M: "Who's there?"

C: "banana"

M: "banana who?"

C: "I Don't Know!" (more laughter)

*At this point, i leave to go find a key for the door. I return about 2 minutes later, and unlock the door. I open it, walk in...

C: "uh-oh"

Nov 10, 2005

a poem of the morbid variety

*eta: it's just a poem. Really. I've also written a poem about crack, doesn't mean I'm a crackhead.


how far does it have to go
scars dripping down
how deep to unchain
the sadness
to hit a nerve
and end the hurt
how deep to end the sobbing,
shaking fear
not good enough to know.
Poised on the precipice
of virgin marble,
ashen grey,
head lilting in silence.
How far does it have to go
before it stops
and hits
the bone

Nov 5, 2005

God is watching...

Jenna had to pee while we were at the park. The only places to go: Port-a-Potty, or tree. Neither were kosher with Jenna. She decided to hold it, since the potty's were, in her own words, "nasty."

As we were driving home, I said, " soon as we get home, you can go pee-pee in our nice, clean potty." Her little voice pipes up from the backseat: "Yea. I can go pee in our clean potty. It's not nasty. The pottys in Tomball, Texas are clean because that's how God made them. God put all the clean pottys in Tomball, Texas...not at the park."

SO, world, if you want a clean potty, come on over to Tomball, Texas--known for the copious amounts of white-trash rednecks in Walmart, and the clean pottys.

Nov 1, 2005


The Chicks

Jenna cat

Little pumpkin Clairey

Oct 31, 2005

Happy Halloween

So, the big plan for the costuming of the chicks didn't work. I wanted to dress Jenna as an organ grinder, and make Clairey her little monkey. It just seemed fitting, since Jenna's so bossy and is always saying things like, "Dance! Clairey, Dance!" Just substitute "monkey" for "Clairey" and you've got a bonafide organ-grinder/monkey combo. I was even going put Clairey in a pink tutu and a fez (over her monkey costume). Well, my plans never came to fruition. A couple of weeks ago, my mom asked Jenna what she was going to be for Halloween. Jenna looked down, pouted, and said, "I'm going to be an organ grinder, but I REALLY want to be a black cat..." Just stab mommy in the heart, little girl. Cripes. Of COURSE, she's going as a black cat now--I mean, how can I deny her of that? I just don't want her to end up on a psychiatrist's couch, 15 years from now, saying, "I didn't know! I didn't know! It's just, ever since I had to dress up as an organ grinder, I've had these thoughts about cornbread and hula hoops..." I want NO part in that. Coming from my stock, she'll most likely end up on the couch anyways, but it will mostly be for separating her M&Ms into different color-categories, then having to eat them in an even number. I'm just saying...

So, Jenna's a black cat. That left me with the daunting task of finding a costume for Clairey. You'd think it would be easy...not so much. Yes, she's 2, but she's the size of your standard 18-mth old. You know what kind of costumes they have for babies? The huge, furry, I-look-like-a-stuffed-animal kinds. The ones that have full feet, because the babies that wear them are not walking on the filty pavement. Plus, those costumes are so damn hot, and jeesh, I live in TEXAS. I mean, it's been a lovely 76+ degrees the last few days, but still, it could jump up to 90 tonight and I wouldn't be surprised. Anyways, I spent hours looking for a damn costume for Claire. I finally found something that looked like it might fit her--it's an orange leotard with an attached, orange tutu. It came with a ring of leaves for around the neck, and a stem headband. It's supposed to be a pumpkin. Pardon me, but I've never seen a pumpkin with a tutu. Maybe I'm blind. Who knows. So, I bought the pumpkin thing. She looks adorable in it. Not very pumpkiny, but cute. It's more like we're putting on a rendition of The Nutcracker for Halloween, and she's the pumpkin fairy. I should've just saftey-pinned a kitchen towel around her waist and called her "baby wearing kitchen towel." Why the hell not?

I won't be dressing up tonight. Eh, what the hell, I might. I usually throw on one of my old cheerleading uniforms and take the girls out. There aren't very many nights in the year where you get to relive your childhood--unless you're really, really lit, but that's not too often, and even then, people still think you're weird for wanting to play "Blind Man's Bluff." They're just no fun.

Happy Halloweening to everybody! Give my kids the Reese's--they can't have them since they're allergic, but I can!! Woo hoo!!

Oct 27, 2005

Life is good

I'm at my friend's house, sitting to her left, while she boobs her newest kid. The girls (my 2 and her 1) are upstairs, making lots and lots of noise, and causing us to look up towards the ceiling every once in a while to ensure the sheetrock isn't coming down. Little voices are echoing down the stairs, yelling, "Come on!" And, because we're mothers, we're discussing the variable costs of daycare, wherein I interject, "Shit, I could buy a pimp for that much," and because she so knows me, she just continues on with her conversation.

We've already discussed Matthew McConnaughey, Harry Connick Jr., and my Harry Potter fetish. --Not sure exactly what it is about Harry Potter. Could be the schoolboy looks, or that he's hiding something under that robe of his. Rowr. He could be my little bitch.-- So, one of the kiddos is screaming--it's not mine, but I go check because I'm sure one of mine caused the tears. I go upstairs and my small one is nowhere to be found. I hear giggles, walk into the master bedroom, and Clairey is jumping on the bed. Nice. It's a king-sized bed and Claire's, like, 22 inches tall--she looks like a little elf. Hilarious. Shoulda got a picture.

Rough drafting

Blue like hope
they rescue me.
Artesian wells of grace
drawing me into new life.

Ellipses arching
softly curving
into a symphony of autumnal hues,
calling me home with a sunlit stare.

Through shadows come color
broken onto the ground in
a pattern of prayer.
On bended knee

I'm called to worship.
Look to the South
and tell me with
cathedral eyes.

Oct 18, 2005

I am my mother

Last Thursday, my house got really, really quiet. That either means that (A) the girls have strangled each other until they've simultaneously passed out, or (B) they've done something very, very wrong. Now enter scenario C: They know that they have done something for which mom will have cardiac arrest, seize, die, then get back up and spank their asses. I tentatively crept towards the playroom and cracked open the door.
[Stage directions: After viewing playroom, grab heart, stagger backwards, and choke.]
The playroom was a disaster. Every toy, from every cubby, was dumped into a large pile in the middle of the room. It was a cacauphony of My Little Ponies, Weebles, stuffed animals, and Dora the Explorer. The talking Elmo was engaged in conversation with The Little People, and the basket 'o monkeys was emptied and tossed in the corner. Playroom, indeed. I caught my breath, and after finding the kids under a pile of discarded "Learn Spanish with Dora!" cards, cried out, "What in the name of Jesus H. Christ happened in here?!"

"Nothing?! Look at this mess! Everything is in the middle of the floor!"
"Oh...that? Yeah, those are all my toys."
"I see that. Why are they on the floor?"
"Hmmm...I don't remember--but look! I found my little Simba!"

As excited as I was about the rediscovery of "little Simba," I gave the chicks an ultimatum: One hour to clean the room, or all the toys go in the garbage. Honestly, you know I'm not going to throw away their toys--I mean, cripes, that's 75% of my take-home salary sitting in that room. Regardless, I told them I was going to toss the toys if they didn't pick up. One hour later, I waltz into the room, and the only thing that has changed, that I could see, was that one of the monkeys was shoved into the shopping cart and was dressed for an outing of some sort. I walked out to the garage and grabbed a "contractor-sized" garbage bag--useful for tossing sheetrock pieces, metal scraps, roofing materials, and a plethora of toys for children of ages of 1-5. Really people, I have to commend those crafters of contractor bags at Hefty--that bag held 85% of the toys in their room, and even stretched to accomodate an entire My Little Pony Paradise Park--without breaking. Now THAT'S quality.

The screams that ensued when I appeared in their doorway--arms on hips, contractor bag lying at my feet, backlit by the nightlight--was earth-shattering. Funny, the kids don't play with 85% of their toys, but as soon as I pick up a random nothing off of the floor, it has become their "favorite" and Oh-my-God-I-must-have-that-toy.

It's been over a week, and the bag of toys is still in the garage. We walk by it every day, and every day, they ask for their toys. I tell them that they can have them back when they start acting more well-behaved. Shit. Those toys are going to be in my garage forever.

Oct 14, 2005


My sister lives in Brooklyn. She is single, and is hot. It's a total "Sex in the City" scenario. What a bitch. I've been to NY once, and really, it was enough for me. As a germophobe, it's just not a place you want to be. The first time I ever rode on a subway was in NYC. Nothing like starting at the top, right? I was wearing my new leather jacket, and was totally grossed out with the prospect of sitting on a public subway, wherein, if I were to lean back against the seat, my lovely jacket would soak up all the germs into the leather. Totally grossed me out. I sat, straight-backed, for the majority of the ride. I'm sitting there, scoping out the ingrained filth, and the back door of the subway opens. In steps a man, I believe. At first glance, I thought it was some sort of marsupial escapee from the Bronx Zoo. He was tall, and very black. His mane/hair, was grey and extreme. It shot from his head like a halo--very Einsteinish. His face was hiding behind a thick, silver beard and mustache, which had, what appeared to be, mustard caked in it. He was carrying a popcorn cup, and was begging for change. He smelled of piss. It was gross. However, I couldn't help but notice how the people just ignored him. I followed suit, and ignored him, too.

That's the one thing I regret about that trip--that I ignored the life-size marsupial. I think about it all the time.

Sep 30, 2005

"Holy Hello Kitty, Batman! She's four!"

Jenna, Jenna, Jenna...I cannot believe that you are already 4! Child, you are the reason there are rules. You are overly-dramatic, spirited, demanding, crazy, hilarious, and brilliant. One minute I am laughing hysterically with you, and the next, I'm hoping the gypsies come knocking at the door. You are a child of extremes. You are either laughing, or sobbing; being quiet and polite, or raising hell. I will let you know, that if I should end up in hell, I will be quite prepared. Thank you, very much.

You are fabulously smart, engaging, and totally, unmistakably YOU. Right now, you are really testing how smart I am. After school, you will tell me that you need a snack. Really, it's more like, "I neeeeeeeed aaaaaa snaaaaaack!" and I'll say, "But you just had one at school," and you'll look at me with a straight face and say, "No I didn't."
"Yes, you did."
"No, I didn't."
"They didn't give you a snack today?"
"No, mom. They didn't feed me today."
"They didn't feed you?"
"No. I'm starving."
"It looks like there's spaghetti sauce on your shirt..."
*gasp* "I don't know how THAT got there!"

Last week, your teacher told me, "Wow, Jenna's a real spitfire!" I always find this amusing when people just figure this out, so I said, "Really? Do tell." Unfortunately, the "bully" of Pre-K decided to take a toy away from you. Apparently, he didn't realize that although you are pint-sized, that you can deliver an ass-whoppin' like you belong in a steel cage match. So, Monkey, you walked up to that big boy, growled, pushed him down, and took that toy away. Rock on, little woman. You know how to deliver the SMACKDOWN! Now all you have to do is growl at him, and he runs away. Good for you, holding your own. It's a big, big world, baby, and you are going to take it over.

Jenna, although you are a tough little shit, you are my baby, and always will be. I know that there are several nights when you sneak into my bed, and I get frustrated with you, saying, "Jenna! You have your OWN BED!" Secretly, there is no greater gift than waking up to you snuggling beside me. You often tell me,"Mom, I just want to love on you." I know, Princess, I know. And I am SO happy that you do. I love you with such an amazing strength, that it's scary. You're becoming such an incredible little girl. Every day, I am floored at what you learn, what you know, what you say...

I love you, Jen, thank you for blessing me as your mom.

Sep 26, 2005

Things that make you go, awwwww!

"Mommy, you're in my heart. You are always with me."

Sep 24, 2005

Checking in...

A little windblown, but safe.

Sep 23, 2005

Hunker down

"Get ready to 'hunker down'!"
"Make sure you have a place to 'hunker down'!"

I haven't heard "hunker down" since my grandpa passed away. Now I'm hearing it every five minutes.

I cleaned my house, you know, because a hurricane's a-comin'. I wanted to just open the back door and the front door, and let Rita clear it out for me, but Scott said no. Damn him. So I had to clean it the old-fashioned way: I took all the girls' toys and threw them in the closet. Sure hope we don't have to 'hunker down' in THAT closet--might end up with a My Little Pony in some uncomfortable orifice. Actually, i'd rather end up with a pony in an odd area, than take the chance of hiding out in MY closet. MY closet--where 60 pairs of shoes could possibly become fast-moving, airborne missles.

Right now, I'm spending the majority of my time worrying about friends and family--hoping that they're all in a safe place. Especially those with kids--can't get those people out of my mind. I'm a worrier by nature...

In other news, my neighbor is about to drop a kid. She's so very pregnant, and I can't help but think her stubborn, oven-dwelling child is just WAITING for the hurricane to make his appearance. Figures...boys are such troublemakers. She waddled over this morning, and we took a long walk through the neighborhood--enjoying the pre-hurricane weather, talking about marriage, marriage-issues, and of course, sex. Because that's what we do. It was discussed that her husband is my type, and my husband is her type, but we could never mess-around with each others' husbands--being that mine is a foot shorter than her, and her's is such a large man that his hand could crush my skull. And of course, chatting about that, led us to chatting about other men. Being the dirty girls we are, we have bestowed the honor of "FILF" to the father around the corner from us. The one that has 3 kids. The one that mows his lawn--without a shirt. ROWR. We were laughing so hard, I thought she was going to give birth right there on the sidewalk. I could've just walked up to the nearest house and said, "Excuse me, but could I borrow some boiling water and a pair of tongs?" so it wouldn't have been THAT bad.

So anyways...hurricane party's still on. Come on over once the winds start picking up a bit, but before they're so strong you lose your footing--I'm not saving your ass.

Sep 22, 2005


It's unbelieveable here. Even if we wanted to leave, there's no way we could get out. Every major freeway is at a standstill--packed with cars. Now, we just wait...

Sep 21, 2005

More peni.

That is the plural of "penises" isn't it? Peni? Pronounced, "PEEN-eye." On with the story. I actually wasn't going to post about this because it's pretty sick, but it's also pretty damn funny. No, it's sick. Just for the record, I think it's PRETTY DAMN SICK.

The bachelorette party was held at my mom's house last Thursday. Like I mentioned before, there were peni of all sorts, shapes, and sizes everywhere. The bride was drinking out of a penis-shaped sports bottle, there was a penis cake (thank you, very much), and a large penis on the entertainment center--which, was REALLY entertaining with the addition of the huge phallus.

The girls all left (me included) in the limo around 10 pm. My mom stayed behind and de-penised her home. Because it was late, she just picked up the random peni and stuffed all the penis-shaped balloons in a bag and threw them in the closet. The next evening, my children spent the night with my mom...

Saturday morning, I walk into my mom's house, and here comes Jenna--chewing on a penis-shaped white-chocolate lollipop. As I stood there, silent (for once), my engaging soon-to-be-four-year-old looks at me with those lovely green eyes, and says, "This is delicious! You wanna bite of my bone?" I looked at her, smiled, then opened my mouth and yelled, "MOTHEEERRRR!!" Mom saunters into the kitchen, looks at me, looks at Jenna, and says, "What? She thinks it's a dog bone."

Now enter Clairey. Sweet little toddler girl, waddles up to her sister, and hits her in the head with a 3ft penis balloon. At this point, I finally close the back door and stare at my children incredulously. There they are, my little cuties, each with some sort of penis in their hands. I flash forward 15 years...and nearly pass out.

I spent the next 15 minutes removing penis paraphanelia from the house--you know, putting away jumping penises, popping penis balloons, etc. Afterwards, i felt like the old lady on "Poltergeist": "This clean." Last night, I was uploading the pics from the party, and Jenna was sitting on my lap. They upload, I click on one, and of course, it's the huge penis on top of the entertainment center. Jenna smiles, points to the monitor, and says,

"Hey, that's the big bone! That's the big dog bone. Man, that other bone was delicious! I like bones, mom."

Lord, help me.

Hurricane Party 2005

When: Friday 9/23 - ??
Where: My house

What to bring: water, canned goods, and lots of batteries.


I have nothing of great significance to post, unless you want me to talk about how I had to play "Mousetrap" fifty-thousand times last night. Damn, I hate that game. So, you get to look at pictures! Exciting!!

My sister Shannon, and ME

The chicks

Shannon and my girls

The Wee Evil One

Sep 20, 2005

The ringmaster

We went to a wedding this past Saturday. It was at a gorgeous plantation, with huge oak trees, a lovely lawn, and fifty-thousand mosquitoes. During the ceremony, rather than moving down and sitting in the aisles of chairs they had created, I had to stay up on the porch of the house and keep an eye on the smallest of my two spawn. Explain to a new 2-year old why she can't scream during a wedding ceremony. It just doesn't work. Can't wait until the bride and groom watch the replay of thier ceremony and hear a voice in the background whispering, "I am NOT afraid to beat you, little girl!" It should be fun.

My sister was the maid-of-honor. She looked gorgeous. Really, it's sickening. It's vomitous. She's beautiful. The good thing about her, is that she doesn't know she's that beautiful, and if you tell her she is, she answers with, "My hips are huge." Nice. There's always something, right? And, to top it all off, she is just a fantastic woman. Can you tell I adore my sister?

So, Shannon's the maid of honor--in charge of keeping things running smoothly, ensuring everything goes as planned, ecetera, ecetera, ecetera. The processional begins, Shannon glides up to the front, the bride soon follows, and the wedding party is standing up there in front of friends and family. The bride and groom begin to exchange vows, and Shannon realizes something. Something huge. The groom's wedding band is in her purse. Which is in the dressing room. Which is back at the house. The groom has no ring! Bwahahahaha! The bride looks directly at the preacher and says, "Oh, shit!" What to do, what to do? A quick-thinking bridesmaid pulls of HER wedding band and hands it to my sister, who hands it to the bride. They continue to exchange vows, and when they give each other the rings, the bride slides the ring onto her husband-to-bes fingertip. That's as far as it will go. I'm talking first knuckle. The preacher looks at her and says, "Go ahead. Slide the ring all the way on." The bride looks at the preacher and whispers, "That's as far as it will go..."

So, henceforth, my sister is known as, "The Ringmaster." What a fun wedding memory.

Sep 17, 2005

If you don't want to hear about penises, then don't read this

Guess what, internet?! Yesterday was my birthday! Let me tell you--31 is not impressing me thus far. What really sucks about it, is that it's all my fault. Totally. Well, vodka had a lot to do with it, so if I see anyone with a nametag that says, "HI, MY NAME IS Vodka," I'll kick their ass. I had such big plans for my birthday. Such big plans.

When's the last time you went to a bachelorette party? I don't remember when. But from what people say, I went to one on Thursday. I'm ashamed to say, that I got stupid drunk. Oh yes. I did. I proceeded to drink as much as I have ever drank in my life, and then was forced into the consequences on Friday. Happy Frickin Birthday to you--here's your hangover. I have NEVER had to say this before, but I'm saying it now: I will never drink that much again. NEVER. I can't believe that some people get that drunk on a regular basis--WHY? Do they LIKE hangovers? Cripes.

I called my husband at 330am, and I don't know why, but he didn't answer the phone. He was doing something sleeping. So, I left him a message. I believe I said something to the effect of, "I'm home [at my mom's], I didn't drink too much, but i'm not good to drive. I'm sorry, I'll see you tomorrow morning." I went to bed at 4, woke up at 7, and drove home. I slept on the floor of mom's guest room--I let my sister and her best friend have the bed--wasn't that nice?

I've realized that the horror of drinking that much comes on slowly, much like a stealthy cat. I went from, "I didn't have that much to drink," to "Oh, yea...I forgot about that one..." to "Eeeeee, there were shots involved..." It's frightening. Again, it was Vodka and her sly sister tonic that did me in. So, actually, this drunken massacre was the fault of my best friend, Angel. Damn, damn you Angel! If you wouldn't have introduced me to the beauty of vodka tonics, i'm sure I would have gingerly sipped on ice water all night. Now that that's settled...

The party was a blast. I've never seen so many penises in my life. There's a whole line of penis partyware! Can you believe? It's like dirty tupperware. We were eating chips out of a penis-shaped bowl, we had a penis-shaped cake (complete with brown coconut pubic region), penis straws, penis cups--penis everything. There were even edible, penis candy necklaces. Oh, my virgin eyes. The limo picked us up at 10, and took us to this local club that the bride loves. There was drinking and dancing and eating-of-the-penis-necklaces, and more drinking. We left at 2am, when the club shut down, and people were yelling, "You and all your phallic-symbol-wearing friends, get out!" Not really, but that would have been funny.

The limo guy took us home, wherein he was probably bombarded with more penis-speak than he was comfortable with. But there were these cards, and they had naked men on them! With penis'! It was really kind of scary, so there was a lot of frightened screaming in the back of that limo. So, the penis extravaganza came to an end around 3am, and we all went to sleep.

I climbed out of my make-shift bed at 7am, hobbled past the penis punching bag that was lying in the middle of the floor, drank some water out of a penis-cup, and went home. I drove home in my pajamas. Thank God I have tinted windows, because I looked ROUGH.

I got home, turned on my laptop, and worked all day. How good is that?! I'm SUCH A DEDICATED EMPLOYEE THAT IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY, I HAD A HANGOVER, AND I WORKED! I should get a raise for that kind of dedication. At around 400, i started to feel a bit better, so I went and picked up the kiddo from preschool. Don't worry...I got out of my jammies and brushed my hair.

My mom offered to watch the girls that night, so we could go out with friends and not have to worry about getting home at a reasonable hour. Well, I felt like incredible crap, but we went out anyways. Me and Scott, and our very good friends went to a jazz cafe downtown. It was very nice, the food was incredibly tasty, and the jazz band was nice. Then, I ruined the night because I wanted to go home and go to bed. I'm such a party pooper. But let me tell you---that was the BEST decision I've made all week. I was in bed by 1130, and slept like a rock. Woke up at 815 without any small bodies in my bed, no peepee diaper by my head, no little feet in my ribcage--I kind of missed it.

So anyways, internet, I am 31.

Sep 12, 2005

Already Two

Clairey, on September 10th, you turned 2 years old. And let me tell you something: if you stick your finger into your diaper to show me that you have poop one more time, you're not going to see your 3rd birthday. Poopy diapers aside, you are a completely awesome kid. You are sassy, spunky, and mainly, pure evil. You're just like your mommy.

Baby girl, you have taught me more about life in your 2 short years, than I have learned in my lifetime. You've shown me that my heart can grow even more than I thought possible, that I can love like never before, and that I have more patience that I thought.

Much like your big sister, you are a "spirited" child. But although you and Jenna are clearly sisters, you, baby girl, are a spirit in yourself. You're very independant, very demanding, and very sneaky. You enjoy ripping books to shreds, then laughing when you see the look of horror on my face. You throw things, then laugh and run. When you hurt someone, you nearly always refuse to apologize, but will somehow make it that you are the victim. Baby girl, you are bad, but you are so cute.

Nothing is sweeter than hearing you say, "Mommee! I luh you!" and when I answer, "I love you, too!" Your precious little voice comes back with, "Toooooo!" You love to sing your ABCs, especially, "lel-lel-lem-o-p!" You are a cuddly, cuddly baby--which is evident by the fact that you sleep in my bed every single night. Oh yes, every night. You start out in your bed, but end up in mine sometime before 5am. No idea when you do it, but you are stealthy. I try to lecture you in the morning, about how "you need to stay in your own bed!" but that never works. You usually look at me, place your chunky little hand on my face, and say, "Much, mommy, much..." which is your way of saying, "Mommy, I love you so much."

Clairey, it's going to go by so fast--so fast. You are my precious punkin, my boo-boo magoo, my sweetheart. Thank you, baby girl.

Sep 8, 2005

If my head wasn't attached to my body....

I have had one of those days. You KNOW those days. The kind where you forget the easiest and most simple tasks, the most mundane things, and the sports bra in your workout bag. You know, THOSE kind.

It's THOSE kinds of days--the kind where you have to wear your "this is not a sports bra" bra to your kickboxing class. Because, really, you COULD go braless, but you'd rather not be cited for eye-gouging. Those days where you work out so hard, that you're sweating like a beer in the desert and swearing like a sailor because you're quite sure that your legs are about to fall off. It's THOSE days that really get to me. The days where you take three exercise classes in a row because DAMMIT! that ass WILL shrink! It's THOSE kind of days.

Now, oh now, my sisters, you will not believe what has conspired from the "having to wear the work bra to kickboxing." I am FREEBOOBING IT. Oh, yes. You read that right: "FREE BOOBING." Oh, there's something there, but it's a "shelf bra." Right now, women all over the world are laughing, because really, what is a shelf bra, but a measly piece of material that covers your boobies with elasticity. Thank God I'm wearing a big, billowy, "peasant blouse" over this horrid shelf bra. My boobies prefer to rest in CUPS, thank you very much.

Sep 7, 2005

I'm turning Japanese

Things the fly on the wall heard last night:

-Get that chopstick away from your eye.
-Get that fork out of your ear.
-It's not sushi, it's fish.
-It's just fish and rice.
-Look at the size of that banana!
-It's a talking cucumber--what did you think it was?
-Well, honey, it's because tomatoes don't have legs.
-You are NOT a Spanish-speaking cucumber--you're a little girl and it's time for bed.
-Get your hand out of your pants.
-Mom, I need more food. MORE FOOD!

Oh yes, it was a night of sushi, bestial bananas, and Veggie Tales programing. Crazy, just crazy. I ate so much sushi that I am now of Irish-Japanese descent. And then, THEN, my neighbor calls, tempting me with this cheesecake that rose from the depths of hell. It was a cheesecake, but better than a cheesecake. There were apples and graham cracker crumbs, and carmel and oatmeal involved. It was too much for me to handle, so my kids ate it. Then there was the banana. The BANANA OF ALL BANANAS. This thing had to have been injected with some growth hormone. This was the largest banana I have every seen. So, of course, being two grown women, my friend and I sat at the table, cracking up over lame "banana" jokes. But seriuosly, people, this banana was SO worth the joking. HUGE, I tell ya, HUGE.

Sep 6, 2005

DL on the weekend aka a boring post

Hope everyone had a great weekend! We spent Friday cleaning out all of our closets, then drove a truckload of stuff over to a donation center near our house. We also emptied our pantry--a local boyscout troop has organized a food drive for Katrina victims.

Saturday, we went to my dad's house, so I could help him with his curtains. He has total bacheloritis--can't do anything for himself. It's funny and sad, all at once. I think we're going to buy a swingset for my dad's backyard, so the kids can have something to play with while we're over there.

Sunday, Scott went to my brother's to help him do something to get his house ready to sell. Me and the chicks washed the car. It was fun--the girls love to wash the car. In fact, Jenna loves the new car so much, that on Monday evening she was draped across the hood, and Scott said, "Come on Jen, it's time to go in." Jenna responded by saying, "Dad! I'm just loving the car!" She's a nut.

Now, back to Sunday...later that day, we went over to our friends' home, and cooked-out with them. Good margaritas, good conversation, great time.

Monday, Scott mowed the lawn, I had a few tea parties, visited with my very pregnant friend across the street, watched our kids beat the hell out of each other...the usual. Mom came over, Scott and I ran up to the store to pick up a few things. It was a normal, lazy day.

Fun thing: we rigged-up Jenna's power wheels Jeep to pull a trailer. Now, Claire sits in the trailer with her bike helmet on, and Jenna drives her around.

Sep 2, 2005

Kids are so smart

Last night we taught the girls a lesson. And it wasn't the "this is why you don't run with scissors," "this is why you don't put your hair in your 'little kitchen' blender," or the "this is why you don't eat the cat's food" lesson. We taught them a lesson in love, community, humanitarianism, and caring--we donated about 25% of their playroom to the children of Louisiana. Claire wasn't totally enthused about sacking away her toys in an industrial-sized garbage bag, but Jenna began to understand about halfway through the process. She went from, "No! That's mine, mom! I need to keep it!" to "Here, mommy. Give this to the little kids--I don't need it." I was, and am, so proud of her. She started bringing me toys that I hadn't even considered donating, and saying, "Mommy, give this to a little girl without toys." She handed me several things that are practically new. Then I started feeling bad, because several times, I caught myself saying, "But Jenna, are you sure?" Then I realized that I was being taught a lesson by a 3 year old. So I just shut my piehole and let her put whatever she wanted in the donation bag. We're loading up the truck tonight, and driving the stuff to a donation center. Having a tragedy like this occur so close to home, you start to realize how much "stuff" you have that you don't need.

Sep 1, 2005

Blunken drogging

Hello! Hello, internet! Do you know how lucky you are? Do y o? I am drunken blogging. How fun is this? Not so fun. It's 1:50 on the morning, and I have to go to work tomorrow morning. Heavens to betsy, thank God that I keep my door closed and my light turned off. If only my desk lamp is on, people will think that I'm not there. Which, I may not be. My kid has a doctor's apppointment in 6 hours, and I'm going to drag her in there smellin glike a whino. Woo hoo! Can't wait for that. I just want to make something clear: I'm not a lush. I've been drinking this week because my best friend is an evil woman and has introduced me to evil+tonic (that would be gin and tonic, or vodka and tonic). They go down entirely too easy, and before you know it, you're sittin on your best friend's lap, telling her how much you like her boobs. It's all good. Let's go over the adventures of this evening:

1. Bad "Mex Mix" food. I mean, really, they put green peppers in their chicken quesadillas. I hate peppers. I also hate onions, and those were in there too. Bastard chicken quesadilla makers.
2. A totally crappy margarita. I order them "on the rocks, with salt" because I think they'll be better than out of the machine. Man, I suck so bad at thinking. It sucked. Really bad. So bad, that the fly that landed on the edge of the cup stuck his nasty little antennae in it, then flew away, looking for a piece of crap to land on. It was that bad. (I drank it anyways)
3. Vodka and tonic. My first one. EVER. Eh, it's okay.
4. The Irish pub. Usually, I indulge in Guinness, but not tonight--I'm in rare form. I'm trying the vodka and tonic here, too. Hey, I'm Irish, so I know, Irish people are good at everything.
5. More vodka and tonic.
6. I now have Romanian currency in my wallet. How neat is that?
7. More vodka and tonic. The Irish make good vodka and tonics.
8. Repeat step 7.
9. Repeat step 8.
10. Tepeat step 9.
11. Let's go to the adult Toys R Us, if you know what I mean. (Give a couple of girls a drink, and look what happens.)
12. Laugh hysterically at something called "The Penis Leash." Believe me, whatever it is you're imagining, is probably right. Scary, huh?
13. Leave the store with a "plastic wife" for a friends friend.
14. Go to another bar. (Baker Street--fantastic place, by the way)
15. Oh my gosh! Their bartender can make vodka and tonic, too!
16. More v&t. Sitting on your best friend's lap. Again.
17. More v&t. Talking to her about how it's "okay to kiss girls, but it's not okay for guys to kiss."
18. More v&t.
19. Um, one more time.
20. Go home.
21. Put kids to bed.
22. Husband goes night-night.
23. Wife stays up blunkin drogging.

I'm tired.

Aug 30, 2005

We're in the top 40

For the past 4 years, my life has been overrun by the little rugrats that I birthed. Willingly. It's not like I had a choice: "You're dilated to 10! Push!" "Hell, no! Stick that little shit right back in there, I wanna have another 9 months of tortuous hell!"

All memories aside, my life has been overrun--I can't pee without a child standing next to me, fold my laundry without a toddler running around with a pair of panties on her head, or listen to anything other than...Kelly Clarkson.

So, it's my fault. We were at the Best Buy, and Big E requested a new cd. "Which would you like?" I asked, thinking, oh, it will be the latest Disney release soundtrack. "Since U Been Gone."
"Come again?"
"I want 'Since U Been Gone'."
"Kelly Clarkson?"
"Yes, from 'The Singing Show'," (which would be the title for 'American Idol,' in our house).

So, we buy it. Now, I constantly have to hear not only, "Play MY music! MY music!" but, "I want number 2! NUMBER 2!" "Number 2," as it were, is "Since U Been Gone." Both of my children, the spawn of a parent with a knowledge-base in English, are singing at the top of their lungs, in improper grammar. To add to the fun, my new car is very small, and it has turned into a virtual concert. I have a 4-year old screaming, "Since U been gone!" and a 2-year old chiming in with, "Yea, yeah!" It's like surround-sound. Why pay for tickets?

I heard Jenna singing softly to her My Little Pony this evening, "Here's the thing/we started out friends/it was cool/it was all pretend...yeah, yeah, since U been gone." I really hope that bastard pony didn't break her little heart.

My sister flew in from Brooklyn, and boy, are her arms tired!

Houston is such a calming place to come to, once you've lived in New York for a while. I mean, New York: the traffic, the subways, the copious amounts of bums, the chicken-sized pigeons--it's scary. So, when she wants some peace and quiet, Shannon flies home to Houston, where she can enjoy things like: the wide-open sky, the jolly fat people, real Mexican food, cowboys, and old oriental women in corduroy blazers and thongs.

What? Don't act so surprised. What did you expect? I mean, we have all that smog, so all people do is sit around, eat, and get fat. Why go outside when it's 110 degrees and deadly to breathe? What I was more worried about, was the thong-wearing oriental woman. Not that oriental women aren't allowed to wear thongs, because hey, you bind your feet, you might as well bind your ass crack, too. I don't have a problem with it. What I DO have a problem with, is that this lovely display of butt-bondage was seen in public. Not at a Walmart, where you would expect to see such things, but at the airport.

My poor, precious little sister was waiting for me to pick her up (I'm notoriously late for everything, but this time it wasn't my fault. Her flight was 45 minutes early. Hell, I didn't even think that was possible.)when she was blinded by the light. The light white of an old oriental's gams. Whilst she waited, patiently for her big sister, a large SUV pulled up into my sister's line of sight. Perturbed, but bored (and therefore becoming amused and curious) Shannon watched the SUV. As an oriental man walked from the sidewalk to the SUV, his oriental wife opened the door and stepped out--most likely to greet him with oriental kisses from his oriental business trip, and then swap sides so he could drive. You know, the usual. But, as the oriental woman stepped out of the SUV, Shannon noticed that something was, wait...something was missing. Hello, it was the lady's drawers. The old lady was missing her pants. She was wearing a corduroy blazer--buttoned-up smartly; her hair was piled atop her head in a, presumably, sexy-do; she was wearing black stilettos; and a thong. No pants. Shannon squinted to be sure, because, you never know, maybe they were just small. Really small. Instead, she saw oriental butt cheek, as the lady walked around to the passenger side of the car.

Granted, I'm happy when my husband gets home from business trips, but I wouldn't pick him up wearing just a thong and a blazer, that's just....wait a minute. Maybe that's the trick!

Leaving the airport, I saw the huge sign that reads, "Welcome to Houston!" in small letters, I'd like to add: "home of fat people, pollution, and pantsless orientals."

Pardon me while I go insane

And time is...oh wait, it's gone. No, there it is. Damn, gone again! And where is this time going, you may ask? To work! Work, work, work, and more work! And things that aren't, technically, "work," but must be considered so because they cause me to think. If I have to think, then it is most definitely work.

At least I don't have to worry about dinner tonight. THAT'S not work. We're having leftover mac and cheese and ta da! Fishsticks. Because the kids LIKE fishsticks. They're not your general run-of-the-mill fishsticks either, baby. Oh no. I got a new job, and that new job came with a raise, so now I'm using that extra money to buy NAME-BRAND fishsticks! Can you stand it?! I don't know if I can. The macaroni noodles aren't even Kraft. Oh, I'm getting all one-uppy and crazy on you guys--they're some fancy-schmancy Italian-brand that are all different shapes and are infused with vegetables. YES! Vegetables! I disguise vegetables within the al dente goodness that are vegetable-laced noodles. I ask again, "CAN YOU STAND IT?"

I'm going off my rocker. I have not eaten anything of substance today, except for about 20 Altoid mints.


I'm not sure how it happens, but every night when me and Scott go to bed, it's just he and I. I make sure there's no one else in there--I check under the bed, under the covers, and in the closet. However, when we wake up, there's me, Scott, and 2 little ones in the bed. I'll be damned! We're multiplying in our sleep!

Gettin' all literary on your ass

In the Summa Theologica, Prima Secundæ Partis, it is asked
"Whether man's happiness consists in pleasure?"

I think there are three objections, which I'm obviously paraphrasing here, so I don't want any philosophical nuts knocking down my door.

The first objection is that happiness DOES consist primarily in pleasure. The reason being that happiness is not desired for something else, but other things desire happiness. The second objection talks about the appetite. Something about how delight absorbs man's reason and causes him to hate other things (okay, I'm REALLY paraphrasing here!!). But still, man's happiness consists in pleasure. Objection 3 states that desire is meant for good. "Therefore happiness, which is the supreme good, consists in pleasure" (that is directly from the Summa).

To me, it looks like happiness, or a form thereof, is derived from pleasure.

St. Thomas answers that BODILY pleasure can't result from perfect good. Bodily pleasures result from good gotten from sense. Then he goes on to say something about man being a rational soul, and complete happiness can only be found if your soul's happy, and therefore, "bodily" pleasure does not equal happiness.

St. Thomas replies to the objections as such (again, from memory, so VERY paraphrased):

Reply to Objection 1. Delight is desired.

Reply to Objection 2. Everybody wants sensible pleasures, because the senses are perceptible.

Reply to Objection 3. Every delight results from some good, and some delight results from supreme good.

I had a discussion with my sister on Saturday, and it just got me thinking all about philosophy and what people believe. St. Thomas had a good point, but it seems to me that he goes back and forth a bit. He says that bodily pleasure doesn't equal happiness--he's right, but wrong at the same time. I think bodily pleasure brings a KIND of happiness. It's a euphoric happiness, a passionate happiness. A glow, if you will. It may not be lasting, but for that very moment, aren't you happy? Happiness doesn't have a timeline to it, last time I checked. Everybody needs some passion in their life.

Aug 29, 2005

With just a twist

On Saturday night, I discovered the awesomeness that is gin and tonic.

On Sunday, I discovered the hell that is a hangover.

Aug 26, 2005

It's our thing

It's 7am--just got the husband and wee one out the door. I'm about to have to go get dressed, since today is Friday. On Fridays, I work from home, but it's also the day that Jenna and I go out to breakfast. There's this place up the street that makes the best pumpkin muffins ever. Jenna loves them, so every Friday, we have special "Jenna/Mommy time" and go have breakfast together. It's our thing.

Speaking of special things, every morning, when the little one leaves with daddy on her way to the sitter's, I get her special goodbye routine: first she smooches me on the lips, then an Eskimo kiss, then a butterfly kiss, then a hug with a big squeeze. It makes it difficult not to eat her all up.

Sometimes, I wish it could be morning all day.

Aug 25, 2005

Winnie needs CPR! To the COW mobile!

First, there was me, wearing a Winnie-the-Pooh costume. It was full-fledged mascot territory, down to the armpit straps that keep the head on. I was too short, so I couldn't see really well, and damn! If I couldn't really see, how was I supposed to compete as Pooh Bear in the "Coalition of Obese Women's Synchronized Swimming," or COWSS, for short? It was 100 degrees outside, and I was thinking, "Man! I should have given the high-school mascot more props! This sucks!" As I wandered over to the wall, in which I would leap over and jump into the pool, I ran into the side--because of the lack of vision--and my sister laughed. Nice. But I was still thinking, "I'll be the best COWSS Winne-the-Pooh EVER! My mom will be so proud!"

No. I don't do drugs. But don't I have great dreams?

Aug 24, 2005

Obviously bored

The 100 list:

1. My hair used to be a lot more red than it is now.
2. I'm thinking about a date with Clairol.
3. I like short hair on women. I think it makes them look more confident.
4. I have short hair.
5. I'm not very confident.
6. I hate my nose.
7. If I ever meet the plastic surgeon that "fixed" my nose, I hope it's in a dark alley, and I have a tire iron with me.
8. I can change a flat tire.
9. But my husband won't let that happen.
10.I also know how to change the oil, jump start a car, and pop the clutch.
11. If my husband or my dad are around, I pretend I don't know how.
12. I don't know how to ride a bicycle very well.
13. I can't remember if I've every told you about my bicycle adventures.
14. I've had lots of adventures.
15. 99% of those adventures have been with my husband.
16. I'm a flirt.
17. My husband knows I'm a flirt--how do you think I reeled him in? haha.
18. I hate fishing.
19. I hate it when my husband goes fishing.
20. I love affection.
21. I'm a very huggy/kissy person.
22. I always hug or kiss my friends goodbye.
23. Men get kissed on the cheek--unless they're really, really good friends or family that I can peck on the lips.
24. Those men are few and far between.
25. I don't like anything that's few and far between.
26. With two young children, EVERYTHING is few and far between, if you know what I mean.
27. I miss the highschool days of just "making out." Wasn't that fun?
28. Me and Scott used to "make out" in his dad's truck. Sssshhhh!!
29. We did other things in that truck, too.
30. I love attention.
31. Attention makes me uncomfortable.
32. I like it when my husband notices another man looking at me.
33. If I notice that, I lay a smooch on my husband.
34. I love Irish pubs.
35. Guiness is my favorite beer.
36. Guiness is really the only beer I truly like.
37. Right now, I'm hooked on mojitos.
38. I used to be a lush.
39. I'm not a lush anymore. (I have kids, people!)
40. I think "Arctic Shatter" Powerade tastes like pool water.
41. I love to swim in pools.
42. Naked.
43. I'm trying to talk my husband into going to a nude resort.
44. I think that would be freeing.
45. If clothes were optional, I'd be happy.
46. I'm happiest when I wake up before my kids, and I can just lie there and smooth back their curls and watch them breathe...because 9 out of 10 nights, they're in our bed.
47. I'd love to have a night of sleep without the kids in our bed.
48. I'd like to have a night of sleep with no one in the bed.
49. I'd like to have a night of sleep with someone from my "list."
50. Nick Lachey is the newest member on my "list."
51. Sean Connery is the oldest.
52. I have a thing for older men.
53. I also have a thing for bald, goateed, rough-looking men.
54. My husband is all of the above.
55. I often have dreams that I'm a lesbian and/or a swinger.
56. I have the WEIRDEST dreams.
57. My dreams are always entertaining.
58. I used to want to be an actress.
59. Sometimes, I think I still do.
60. I rarely get embarrassed.
61. I'm a bitch to play "Truth or Dare" with, because I'll do anything.
62. I love games.
63. I'm a Scrabble queen.
64. I'm also pretty good at Trivial Pursuit.
65. I'm well read.
66. My favorite area of literature is British Literature.
67. My favorite type is pastoral.
68. I love, love, love Thomas Hardy.
69. I can't stand Joseph Conrad.
70. I love Shakespeare.
71. I adore poetry.
72. If a man were to recite poetry to me, I think I might die.
73. Smart men totally turn me on.
74. My husband's brilliant.
75. A perfect evening out would be me and my husband, some close friends, a dark pub, and good wine and other drinks.
76. I'm not a big drinker.
77. I'm a total fan of great red wine.
76. The best red wine I've ever had has been from a vineyard in Washington state (isn't that crazy?).
77. I've only drank enough to puke once. I was in 10th grade, and I drank a small bottle of vodka.
78. That was my first and last drink--until I started dating my husband.
79. I used to buy beer for my friends, because the guy at the counter would sell it to me.
80. I will beat my girls if they ever do that.
81. Spanking isn't all that bad.
82. I'm not talking about disciplining your kids.
83. I laugh at myself.
84. I'm still laughing.
85. I bought a new car a couple of weeks ago. I traded in the "family car" and came home with something totally sporty, and kick-ass, and fun.
86. I love to have a good time.
87. My mom taught me how to have a good time.
88. I love my mom more than words could ever describe.
89. I hope that my girls love me like I love my mom.
90. I bite my nails.
91. If something is really, really funny, i've been known to snort.
92. Speaking of snorting, I've NEVER done any kind of illegal drug.
93. I've always wanted to try pot.
94. I make excellent chicken pot pie.
95. I also make excellent enchiladas, pot roast, and lasagne. That's about it.
96. My favorite part(s) of my body are my feet.
97. I also really like my mouth.
98. I love whipped cream. The kind that's in the spray bottle.
99. I'm a sucker for a good dessert.
100. I love being me.


Gosh, for YEARS now, I have been losing sleep over something totally silly. I mean, I would stay up for HOURS, not being able to think of anything else but to wonder What Kind of Kisser am I?

Woo! I'm so glad I found out. What a relief.

Part Expert:
You're a kissing pro, but it's all about quality and not quantity.
You've perfected your kissing technique and can knock anyone's socks off.
And you're adaptable, giving each partner what they crave.
When it comes down to it, your kisses are truly unforgettable.

Part Passionate:
For you, kissing is about all about following your urges.
If someone's hot, you'll go in for the kiss - end of story.
You can keep any relationship hot with your steamy kisses.
A total spark plug - your kisses are bound to get you in trouble.

Hot damn! I must be a sexy mama!

Aug 23, 2005

yee haa

Oh yes, I forgot to mention the high-point of my night out without husband and/or children: While I was away, eating a lovely meal and having adult conversation, Claire had diarreah. TWICE. Scott cleaned it up once, and dad cleaned it up once. God is good.

Ramblin' man

Let me tell you, it is SO NICE TO WORK FOR A COMPANY THAT APPRECIATES ME! I didn't think I'd ever be able to say that.

I had a fantastic dinner with my boss and my area sales rep. They are both fantastic people, and hilariously entertaining. My dad watched the girls, and left not too long ago--he's probably going home to cry himself to sleep; I'm sure they scared him to death. Scott's off playing softball--so what's new?

Found out I'll be in Vegas sometime in November. I can't wait, it's going to be an awesome time. It's 99% work-related, but it will be fun all the same.

I just sent a kiss-ass email to my client because I made some stupid mistakes this week. Well, I can't say I kissed her ass, but I did blow some kisses. All is well, and she's back to thanking me for doing such an incredible job. Gotta love it.

I got two calls today from two different colleges wanting to interview me for adjunct teaching positions. That's a total dream job for me. I'm such a nerd. What I wouldn't do to be able to talk literature all day...

All in all, life is good. So good.

Aug 18, 2005

Potty mouth

Claire, yes, wee little, precious Clairey, has discovered the fine art of teasing. The other evening, after I changed her diaper, she picked up the pee-pee laden nappy and threw it at Jenna, exclaiming, "PEE PEE!!!" and laughing like a crazed hyena. Jenna screamed and ran, so Claire picked up the pee-bomb and ran after Jenna again, this time catapulting it and hitting Jen right in the chest. "PEE PEE!!! yahahahahaaha!!!!" This went on for a while, until I decided that Jenna had had enough. Then I threw the diaper away. Who knew pee-pee diapers could be so much fun?

Last night, the little sweetie and I were snuggled in my bed, watching VeggieTales for the millionth time. Clairey looked at me, grabbed my cheeks, and as I puckered up for a smooch, she whispered, "Poo-poo ca-ca."


Claire:"Poo-poo ca-ca. Mommy poo-poo ca-ca."

Mommy:"I'm not a poo-poo ca-ca!"

Claire: "Yesth! Mommy poo-poo ca-ca!" [insane giggling]

Mommy: "NO. CLAIRE'S a poo-poo ca-ca!"

Claire: "NO, no, no! MOMMY POO-POO CA-CA!!" [more insane giggling]

Well, I knew this had to stop. That's no way for a soon-to-be-two-year-old to talk. So I fixed the problem:

Mommy: "DADDY'S a poo-poo ca-ca."

Claire: "Daddy? Daddy poo-poo ca-ca?"

Mommy: "Yep."

Claire: "Daddy poo-poo ca-ca! Daddy poo-poo ca-ca!"

All's well that ends well.

Aug 17, 2005


No, I don't speak French, but I can pretty much draw a hypothesis regarding what that says. Why do I always get lesbian mail? I have never been a lesbian. The closest I've ever been is when I kissed a girl on a dare. Oh, and I wanted to kiss my friend, Jeni, once. She told me that I had beautiful eyes, and seriously, if it's coming from a good friend, you know it's true. But did that news really span the globe, resulting in continuing lesbian contraband strewn in my email box? Strange, very strange. It does sound nice though, but then again, say anything in French and it sounds beautiful.

Aug 16, 2005

Snake charmer

My mother is a snake charmer. I deliver the kids to her in the little baskets that I've stuffed them in, and mom sings a soothing melody, and they come out--not acting evil and snake-like at all. Damn, damn grandmothers and thier infernal powers!

On Saturday, I called my mother, and while Claire provided the background music ala banshee screaming, I asked my mother, in a solid, practiced voice, "Do you want her?"
"Which one?"
"The small one."
"Bring her over."

We conduct business like a drug deal--straight and to the point.

I packed up the 26lbs of evil, grabbed her a pair of pajamas, said goodbye to the fam, and loaded her in the car. I was at my mom's in about 10 minutes. Of course, Wee Evil was asleep in the carseat. That's what she does: Screams until her head threatens implosion, and then passes out from the lack of oxygen. Works for her, but meanwhile, anyone who's been within 2 miles has ringing ears and is wondering what the hell that sound was.

I unloaded her and dropped her off in mom's guest room. Out cold, so it seems. She opens her eyes, sees my mom, and becomes an angel child. It's sickening the way that happens. If it's the "island spice" potpourri that mom has going on in her house, I'll gladly douse myself in it, if it makes the kids behave.

I make my break. As I'm walking out the back door, I ask my mom, "Should I feel guilty for just dropping off my baby?"

"Nope, I used to do it all the time."

Gotta love moms.

Aug 15, 2005

It's kind of like the Black Forest

Overheard on the baby monitor: "Winnie-the-Pooh"--Jenna style

Deep in the huntered acre woods
where Christopher Robin plays
You'll find an engendered neigborhood
of Christopher's child and ways.

A donkey named Eeyore is his friend
and a little kanga-roooooo
and there's someone and somebody else
and most of all, Winnie-the-Pooh.

Winnie-the Pooh
tubby, la la la la la la la with fluff
Yeah, yeah, he's a silly old bear!

Aug 12, 2005

Friday Haiku

Pill stuck in my throat:
Listen, dissolve already!
You're making me mad.

Which, consequently,
is not what you're supposed to
be doing for me.


Right now, I have a Prozac caplet stuck in my food tube. I don't know how the damn things always get stuck. For God's sake, I can wolf down an entire T-bone and not have an issue, but a teeny-little gel cap? Oh no, it MUST get stuck. Ah yes, nothing better than having some kind of mind-altering acid burning the good 'ol esophagus. When I complained about this a couple of weeks ago, the pharmacist said that I must be "taking it wrong." Um, yea. I don't know a whole hell of a lot about different drugs, but I DO know how to put a pill in your mouth and drink a glass of water. Moron. He seriously said, "Put the pill in your mouth, tilt your head back to get it to move to the back, then take a drink of water." Really? I was so dumbfounded that I couldn't even think of a smartass remark. So I just said, "Ohhhhhh....THAT'S how you do it!?" He also said, that if the pill gets stuck, to eat a piece of bread, or something else "heavy" to help it go down. Well, hate to tell ya Mr. Pharmacist, but I've eaten two hamburger buns, and no dice. The Prozac is still in the pipe, which, if it had an emotions, would be smiling and happy right now. I have scoured my kitchen for "heavy" food, and the only other thing I can think of is the frickin couch. Alas, "davenport" is not a food group, but I'm about to stuff a frickin pillow down my throat just to see if that helps. I'm eyeing the Draino with great interest right now. But who am I kidding? That stuff can't even clear a mean poop out of a U-bend, much less a Prozac caplet stuck in my pipe. It's been 41 minutes. Shouldn't this fucker have disolved by now?

Conversations with Jenna

*As I collapse on the bed, totally "mommied" out:

"Oh, it's okay mom. It'll be okay, don't worry about it."

Aug 10, 2005

Don't scare me so early in the morning

Remember in highschool science lab, usually tucked in the back corner, you would find the "eyewash" stand? Do you remember that? No one ever had to use it--at least not while I was there. Nothing ever exploded or fizzled over, or jumped into my eye--it just didn't happen. Then again, the most "potent" potion I recall brewing up was homemade icecream in physical science. Regardless, it is my firm belief that all companies/institutions should have an eyewash stand. On each floor. After what I saw in the elevator this morning, my eyes are still tearing and burning and the image, unfortunately, is scorched upon my retinas.

*Hang on...I need coffee and oatmeal if this story is to continue...

Okay, I'm now armed with Maple and Brown Sugar and a cup of joe...where was I? Oh yes, the elevator. SO, I'm in the elevator minding my own business, when another woman gets on. I'm not one to remark on what people are wearing, but....okay, I AM one to remark....

Anyways, my eyes take her in from head to toe. Bright, bright red hair. Actually, more fuschia than red. Styled in the retro, Susan Powter style (read: extremely short, and spiky all over). Lots of gel going on there. Face: wrinkled, but professionally spackled with builders-grade putty. The makeup is so thick, that you can actually see the build-up on her face. Tons of eye-makeup--it's "smoldering" and "smoky"--like she's going to a cabaret. Lips: Hot pink. Oh. VERY. HOT. PINK. And the lipliner was visibly bleeding towards her nose--gotta mention that. The shirt, well, I'll save the shirt for last, because it's the best part. The pants: pre-faded, tapered jeans--high-waisted. Shoes: Teva-inspired, but with a 3" sole. And now...the shirt--drumroll, please.

It's a company t-shirt. I know this, because I have one. They handed them out at an "all employee meeting" about 2 years ago. It's pretty plain--company logo on left chest area, bright green box on the back with something scrawled in it--it's your basic "company-inspired" t-shirt. She was wearing this. BUT, and here it is, it had been MODIFIED. Oh yes, my friends. MODIFIED. When these shirts were handed out, you had a choice of two sizes: L and XL. I chose the L, and it's big. Looking at this woman, I can only guess that there's a poor 4-year old somewhere, crying, missing his shirt because this woman stole it. Her shirt had been altered in the "flash dance" style. It was CROPPED, people, CROPPED. Cropped where she obviously had to have taken scissors to it and then rehemmed it, for God's sake. Not only was it cropped, exposing her belly, but it was "fitted," if you will. Hugging her perky, cantaloupe boobs like white on rice. I would say the bottom hem of the shirt was about an inch away from exposing the underside of her boobies. Let me remind all of you that she's wearing this to work. WORK! A place of business!

Now I know all of you have this vision in your mind, and it may not be all that bad, and you're thinking, "So, a hot chick modified her shirt to look hotter, big deal?" Au contraire my friends. I hate to hurt you so early in the morning, but this "hot chick" could get the senior-citizens discount at the local diner. The only thing "hot" about her, was her menopausal hormones. Now believe me, I've seen several older woman that look fantastic--this was not one of them. This scared me.

Aug 9, 2005


Rivera. Pico Rivera.

There's a point...

when you've been together so long, that you just say thing that you shouldn't. To strangers. Case-in-point:

Last night, Scott and I are sitting at a car dealership. You know, one of the most uncomfortable places on earth. Because, seriously, it all comes down to "Are you WORTHY enough to drive my car?" And, hell if I know how this happens, but one minute we're talking to the financing lady about payments, and the next, I hear this come out of Scott's mouth:

"Yeah, we were just laughing because we figured that this is the first August in four years that Stephanie hasn't been nursing."

Um, what?? Granted, we all know that interest rates and breastfeeding are apples to apples, but why tell the finace person? I just looked at him, and smiled. I have a plan, and it goes something like this:

Next time we go to an Italian restaurant and I order spaghetti, I'll just throw in, "I'd like marinara on that. And you know, that just reminds me, he wears his penis on the left side of his underwear! Can you believe?!"

You know, because marinara and penises go hand in hand.

Puzzle maker

Hello. I have a request: If you find my shit, would you please put it together? Thanks. I appreciate it.

I can't get my shit together. Do you ever feel like that? I mean, usually, I'm the most shit-togethered person there is. Lately though, not so much. I just have so many other things on my mind. Stupid things that are just occupying my day. Oh, you know, just normal stuff like Jenna being in preschool, scoring 34% on the geek test, starting up the "Pico Rivera Fan Club," and laundry. The usual.

Aug 8, 2005

Conversations with Jenna

Jenna, last night, while gnawing on the remains of a t-bone steak:

"This is the best 'letter T' I've ever had!"

Carnivores. Gotta love 'em.

Aug 5, 2005

Instant Message

ripped_elder: I heard you were into older men
stewbie2: It depends on how much money they have.
ripped_elder: you see my profile baby
stewbie2: good lord. That's gross.

I invite all of you to IM "ripped_elder" and let him know that I don't appreciate him coming on to me.

*ps. It's my brother. He's SO not crafty.

Aug 4, 2005

A modest proposal--no really

Back in the good 'ol year of 1789 (I think), an Irish writer by the name of Jonathon Swift published a brief manuscript entitled, "A Modest Proposal." Now, Swift was a bit ticked off with his Irish brethren, and namely because he was Irish, he was ticked off at the English as well--you know, for good measure. However, he crafted this lovely proposal of why the Irish should eat their children. It's supposed to be a parody of Swift's actual proposals that he had submitted to the Irish parliament, but really, if I would have been alive back then, and I had stumbled across this proposal--that's just the excuse I would've been looking for.

I mean, check out the pudge on this kid! DELICIOUS.

*Can you tell I'm missing the kids today?

I ate a baby!

Adorable, isn't it? Sweet, touching....just precious. Big Daddy cuddling his little princess. Although, to tell you the truth, he was really just PRETENDING to sleep. He was waiting for her to be totally out so he could take a big bite of that. But then again, who wouldn't? Want to take a big bite of that baby, that is?

Pico Rivera Fan Club

I will be more than pleased to post pictures of Pico Rivera. Once, that is, I get my film developed. Yes, I said FILM. I forgot my camera and we had to buy a "throw-away" kind. I can, however, promise you that there will be a slew of pictures of Pico, or "Peek," as Jenna calls him, since Jenna kidnapped the camera and took several pictures of "Pico in Mexico."

Little T

Someone just asked me, "What really makes you mad?" Oh, tons of things make me mad: stupid people, people that talk to me like I'm an idiot, bad coffee, liars, one-uppers, and racial insensitivity. Last one's a doozy, huh?

I can't stand it when people use the "n" word. I can't stand it when people align their lives to stereotypes. That just really sucks. My mom has been dating a Trinidadian man for, oh, seven years or so--a really long time. For nearly 90% of those 7 years, I've had a big problem with him. Not because he's black, but because I didn't like the way he was treating my mom. I used to hate it when my mom would say, "It's because he's black, isn't it?" Um, NO. I don't give a rat's ass WHAT color he is, if he's treating me mom like ass, I'm not going to like him. Now, we all get along pretty well. He loves my kids, and my kids are taking a likin' to him. He's very, very nice--albeit YOUNG (my mother, the cradle-robber)--but he's lots of fun to talk to. Especially because he has a wicked Trinidadian accent, and he's always saying things like, "Oh my God, woman!" and it just sounds so frickin hilarious.

That being the case, I get SO uncomfortable around people that bash other races, but particularly black people (I can't really say "African-American" because mom's guy is from the islands). It really pisses me off. Why in the world would you judge someone by the color of their skin? Am I a better person when I'm not tanned?

That being said, yesterday I asked mom if "Little T" (that's what I call him) will be able to get off of work for the girls' birthday party. And you know what? I meant it. I think this is a valuable lesson for my kids, and for me, too.

Aug 3, 2005

First day of preschool...

I swear I heard her mumble under her breath: "Tell 'em I'm coming...and hell's coming with me..."

Today is Jenna's first day of preschool. It was supposed to be on Monday, but you know, with the ear infection and the fever and the whining...I just didn't want to impose that upon the general public. She's supposed to start in the "3s" classroom, and then switch at the end of the semester. However, since I have such a brilliant child, they're putting her directly into the 4-year old pre-K class. That makes me laugh--doesn't EVERY parent think their kid is just a braniac? I've never heard a parent say, "Well, you know, little Josh, he's just dumb as a fence post." Jenna's a smarty-pants, but I'm not arrogant enough to say that she's gifted. She learns quickly--that's good enough for me. Besides, I'm glad she's in with the 4-year olds. She's the youngest one in there, and the smallest. I'm hoping she gets pushed around a bit--get her off of the 'ol high-and-mighty column.

Anyways, she was raring to go this morning. If I had my druthers, and I don't--even though she's 3--I would have kept her home another day. However, I had to balance the scales: whining about how I wouldn't let her go to school, or let her go and tough-it out? No fever. She's in school. I'm kinda glad she's been home...I'm not quite ready for her to be in preschool. She's almost FOUR. Cripes, I can't believe it. I almost had cardiac arrest, dropping her off this morning. I'm hugging her, and holding her tight. Meanwhile, she's pushing away from me, saying, "MOM! I'm cool! I have Pico with me!" (That would be Pico, her stuffed dog.)Then, to add insult to injury, I find out that she's going on a field trip today! On a bus! Away from the school! Not with me!! Sweet baby Jesus, I'm going to pass out.

Aug 1, 2005

It's been a while

Wednesday, July 27th

We're on an airplane.
No, you may not "Get off NOW!"
We are still in flight.

Thursday, July 28th

Please make me a drink.
There are 4 kids between us.
Make it a double.

I need a vacation

We just got back from Cozumel, and now, I need a vacation. One that doesn't entail screaming/whining/crying, diapers, or swimmer's ear. Overall, this vacation was pretty good. Could've been better, but then again, I could have spent a weekend in Galveston trying to avoid needles while walking on the beach, so I won't complain.

The Hurricane Emily, Cozumel report:
For those of you who frequent Cozumel because you love the laid-back attitude, the friendly people, the gorgeous water, and the sun-drenched days, then--GOOD NEWS--Cozumel is fine--you should go back immediately.

For those of you who go to Cozumel to party it up, puke in the streets, grimace at the class of people who live there, and bitch and moan about every little thing, I hate to tell you, but we couldn't even land the plane, because Cozumel is no longer there. Shut your whining pie-hole and go to Cancun where everything is so Americanized, you don't even realize that you're in Mexico.

Okay, now that THAT'S been taken care of...

Vacation was nice. Good friends of ours traveled with us (along with their niece, who, might I add, is a fantastic young lady. She should be made a hero amongst young women and children. Seriously, what an awesome role model--I didn't think there were any "good girls" left), and although that didn't go anywhere near like I had expected a "vacation with friends who brought along a babysitter" would go, I won't complain. We had lovely dining companions for a number of meals, and that's more than we've ever had on previous visits. We certainly didn't get to hang out and watch our kids play as much as I had envisioned in my head, but I also haven't won the lottery, which I've also envisioned. I will, however, say this: I will NEVER, EVER travel with my children again, without bringing my mother. She is so much help, and I'll be damned if I haven't taken it for granted the past times she has gone with us. MOM: You are going on vacation with us every year from now on. Make arrangements. That being said, we plan on taking all proceeding vacations without children. Until, of course, they are self-sufficient, neither wears diapers, and realizing that you cannot get out of the plane while it's in flight is NOT a bad thing.

The resort was wonderful, as always. The people were courteous and friendly, and my room was clean. The drinks were plentiful and decent (all except the syrup-colada I got on the first day), and the food was not the best ever, but totally on par for an all-inclusive resort. Oh yes, and translation for all of you "never been to Mexico"-ers: Filet Mignon=Mignon Filet=cube steak. Just a tip: Always go for the fish. I've never seen a cow in Cozumel. I'm just saying...

The children were, well, they were my children. It doesn't matter where the hell they are, they always remember who they are, where they come from, and don't give a damn who knows it: So, we're on a plane and one wants to get off? SCREAM. Scream at the top of your lungs, "I want off! I want off!" While jumping on my lap. I mean, you can do that at home and I'll ignore you--not so possible on an airplane. How 'bout that seat in front of you? You kick MY seat while in your carseat, so why not just kick the piss out of the plane seat in front of you? I'm sure the passenger in seat 5e LOVES it. Oh, and you have a poopy diaper? I LOVE the timing of that--poop before the "you are now free to roam about the cabin" jargon happens. That's fun. That way, you can jump and scream on daddy's lap, while yelling "Poo-Poo!! Poo-poo! Potty!" I KNOW you have poop in your diaper, Love, but when the aisle is blocked by a feminine male, and we're still climbing in altitude, I really can't just skip over the drink cart and take you to the potty. Speaking of which, do you know how damned difficult it is to change a diaper in an airplane bathroom?? Good Lord.

You don't want to get out of the pool? Scream. No, reallly, scream louder. I like it when you scream. Throw a fit, too. That's always less embarassing. Oh, and if possible, while IN the pool, yell, "I HAVE TO GO POTTY! I HAVE TO GO POTTY!" While I applaud your efforts at not going in the pool, this is the one time I'm not going to give you the whole, "So, if she jumped off a bridge, would you, too?" speech. Just pee in the pool and don't tell me. I'll never know and we'll all be happier--not having had to dry off and carefully walk down the slippery steps into a bathroom that is teeming with humidity and wet toilet paper. Oh, and this is my favorite: I'll be honest here, I let you do things that a lot of other mothers don't. BUT, if we're in public, and I ask you to do something, be like a Nike and JUST DO IT!! {And our little secret: I thought the 3-fork tower was pretty impressive, and when you and your sister laugh that hard at the table, I really don't care.}But my God, child, LISTEN TO YOUR MOMMY!

It's really not a vacation when you have the kids. I think I looked at Scott with "love in my eyes" once. Maybe for a second or two. The rest of the time, the look was, "Man! You better get a hold of that child or I will beat your ass, and I don't mean in a good way!" I think I'm more exhausted now, than I was before we left. Whew! Now THAT'S when you know it was a good family vacation!

Jul 26, 2005

She nose what she's doing...

Apparently, Claire has gotten tired of being pushed around by her big sister. Claire's tired of being poked with Barbie legs, getting hit in the head with toys, and slammed into the floor like a weak wrestler. Claire, has taken up BITING. Claire bites everything. Much like the baby of "Lemony Snicket" fame, everything goes into Clairey's mouth--food, toys, an arm, a NOSE...

While at our friends' home the other evening, a terrible shriek (followed by a great wail) arose from the back bedroom. Scott ran in there, just in time to see Claire attached to Jenna's face--her teeth set in Jenna's nose.

Piranha comes to mind, but then again, so does Hannibal Lecter.

Jenna was never a biter, so we're not exactly sure what to do with Claire. Yelling, "NO BITE!" doesn't seem to be working, as she just looks at you while sinking her teeth into her latest victim--usually, and unfortunately, Jenna. I know biting is wrong, and I certainly don't want Clairey to do it, but it's really hard to look at Jenna without saying, "WELL! What did you expect? You just hit her in the head with a plastic cow!"

View the carnage yourself:



Jul 25, 2005


Okay, I'm back (and have been for the last week). I apologize for not posting...I've been dealing with tons of work, leaking roofs at fine dining establishments, Hannibal Lecter, and scaring impressionable young women with the spawn of Satan. More on that, later.

Jul 19, 2005

My Exciting Adventures in the Non-Smoking State

I've been in California for 2 days, and I'll be damned if I'm not still on "Texas time." It's only 9:06 pm, but I'm tired as all hell. And, although I'm dead tired, I can't help but want to tell you all about My Exciting Adventures in the Non-Smoking State.

My plane was supposed to leave Houston at 530 on Sunday evening. I got to the airport at 4. Then my flight got pushed to 540. Then to 600. Then to 630. Then to 645. Then to 700. We left sometime around 830. Oh, the fun of hanging out at the airport--I had forgotten the gloriousness of it all! I actually paid $10 to have wireless internet access so I wouldn't kill the man behind me for not wearing deoderant. Nothing like chatting on IM to take your mind off of some random man's smelly pits.

We finally boarded, wherein I realized that my shameless flirting and giggling did NOT result in a first-class seat. Bastard flight attendant. I ended up in a MIDDLE seat. I'm not sure there's anything much worse. And I have to add, who the hell fits in those seats comfortably? I mean, come on. I'm not considered a "large" person, by most standards, and I can't even get comfy in those things. I have short legs, and I can barely cross them without kneeing the person in front of me in the back, and knocking down tray tables. But I digress...

That's a long damn flight. When did California move so far away from Texas? Three & a half hours on a plane, in a too-small seat, and to top it all off, we had some kind of unidentifiable-meat sandwich. Life really kicked me in the ass THAT day.

We arrived, I got off the plane, waited in an enormous line to take a bus to the rental car, and then found out I got a Grand Am. Sometimes, I'm quite sure I'm in hell. This car, which has the acceleration of a slug, is just a piece of el-shitto. The entire day had totally sucked rocks, but "at least," I thought, "I have my lovely hotel." Enter "Your day still sucks" scenario 5.

The hotel, which looks lovely on the internet, turns out to be a four-star homeless shelter. Forget the amenities it lists on the website! Here's a newly-revised list for them. I'll put it in order of what you see as you arrive, just so guests feel like they're getting a real tour:

*Lovely, faded facade. We've been here for decades, and we look like it!
*Concierge-girls who dress like amateur hookers!
*Hotel employees, changing shirts behind the counter.
*Mediocre pool--with rusted fountain. Just consider the floating rust to be litle sparkles of heaven!
*Filthy, beat-up door. Someone tried to kick it down, but we don't do drug deals anymore!
*Musty, nursing-home smell.
*Stained, "guess" carpet. "Guess" what color it is underneath all the stains!
*Nasty, grime-covered light switch. Be sure to get all your shots before arriving.
*Hair in the bed (both head, and pubic), to make you feel right at home.
*Dried shower gel on the shower wall--it's soap--how can it be dirty?
*Zip-tied mini-bar. If the zip-tie's broken, we know you were in it.

I couldn't sleep, because I was quite sure there were roaches somewhere in there.
Needless to say, I checked my happy ass outta there the next day. I checked myself into a Marriott, and now Maurice, the Marriott concierge, is my newest friend.

I'm leaving to come home tomorrow afternoon. I can't wait.