Back!

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.

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.

Jumpin' on the train

But everyone else is doing it!

10 years ago: I was in my last year of undergrad, taking 22hrs, and working part-time at Zales Jewelers, and stuffing weights down my shorts so I could get diet pills from the doctor.

5 years ago: I had been married for 4 years, and had been trying, unsuccessfully, to get pregnant for about 2 years. I was also living in Atlanta, while Scott lived in Houston, and drinking myself into a stupor most every night and ate a lot of chocolate.

1 year ago: I sat back, and looked at how our family had grown from just the two of us, to the four of us. We also developed a fantastic friendship with another couple whom we love to hang out with now. I ate chocolate.

Yesterday: Woke up in Jenna's twin-sized bed, with Jenna curled up beside me, with my little one pulling my hair, screaming, "Mo'nin' Mommy!" Got them ready for the sitter's, checked the lump on Scott's head, and sent them off. Went to work, picked up the girls, then dinner/ate chocolate/bath/bed. Then Scott and I watched "Hitch," while Jenna, who was supposed to be in bed, sat in the big chair and fell asleep.

Today: At the office, because the ridiculous IT guy still hasn't fixed my remote access! Spending time with my girls tonight, as it's Scott's "poker night" with the guys. Eat chocolate.

Tomorrow: Grocery shopping (buy chocolate), helping my dad, then probably cleaning house/laundry. I *think* we're visiting with friends tomorrow night. Not sure.

5 snacks I enjoy: mini-carrots, trail mix, popcorn, granola bars, and chocolate.

5 bands that I know the lyrics of MOST of their songs: Chicago, BeeGees, Aerosmith, Madonna, Garth Brooks

5 things I would do with $100,000,000: Pay for my mom's retirement, College accounts for my kids, a bunch of land for Scott (with a hunting cabin on it), a new house with an awesome playset in the backyard, invest in chocolate.

5 locations I'd like to run away to: Mexico, Germany, Austria, Italy, my childhood.

5 bad habits I have: Worry constantly, eat too much chocolate, brush my teeth too hard, grind my teeth, leave my shoes all over the place

5 things I like doing: Loving my chicks, cleaning, taking pictures, reading, eating chocolate.

5 things I would never wear: biker shorts, a thong bikini (too much chocolate, maternity overalls, an "I'm with stupid" shirt, red high-heels

5 TV shows I like: Dr. Phil, Good Eats, Unwrapped, Iron Chef, and...hmmmm...I don't watch a lot of tv.

5 movies I like: The Princess Bride, Mona Lisa Smile, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Like Water for Chocolate, Dead Poet's Society

5 famous people I'd like to meet: Laura Bush, Jennifer Aniston, Eaven Boland, Seamus Heaney, J.K. Rowling

5 biggest joys at the moment: The chicks, Scott (and the fact that he's not hurt by the BIG BALL THAT HIT HIS HEAD), my family, my friends, chocolate

5 favorite toys: Umm...no comment.

Texas story

My sister was here the 4th of July week. On Friday the 8th, the whole family gathered at my brother's to have dinner. Kind of like the "last supper," but instead of Jesus, there was Shannon, and instead of going to heaven, she went to Brooklyn. I said "KIND OF LIKE," not JUST like. Anyways, when you get the entire family together, there's just tons of uproarious laughter, and lots of "remember when..."
SO, on the eve of my sister's departure to Brooklyn, we sat in my brother's dining room, leaned back in our chairs, and laughed our asses off.

We were all there: me, Scott, Shawn, my sister-in-law, mom, and dad. Topic 'o the night: The move to Texas.

We moved to the great state of Texas (from Michigan)in fall of '81. I was in third grade. I don't remember much about anything directly prior to the move, except that my dad had been gone a long time, and right there at the end, my mom and brother left, too. Me and my sister lived with my grandparents. I have no recollection of how long they were gone, but in my childs mind, it seemed like forever. I don't remember them arriving back at my grandparents' house, but I DO remember, quite vividly, not wanting to sit next to my brother, because his legs were covered in ant bites. Apparently, he hadn't heeded my dad's warning that the ants in Texas bite, and he had stood in an ant mound. Well, those ants chomped his little legs up good. He had nasty, pus-sacks (now, isn't that a disgusting description??) from his toes, all the way up his legs and onto his butt. I will say that I never wondered about him, in later years, when he would sit outside and try to light anthills on fire, while chanting, "Die, bastards! Die!" kidding. just kidding. Anyways, a few days later, we packed up the U-HAUL with the few belongings we had, the 5 of us piled into the bench seat, and we were off for Texas.

We were in a small truck--the kind with just a bench seat in the front--seats three, I think. Well, there were five of us. Dad driving, Shawn next to dad, me next to Shawn, Mom, and Shannon on mom's lap. Obviously, this was when people didn't think that kids needed to be strapped into carseats and the like. Hell, you didn't even have to wear a seatbelt. The sleeping arrangements were...interesting. My mom and Shannon slept on the bench, while my dad drove, and me and my brother slept on the floorboard. That just kills me. I freak out when Claire's carseat-strap is loose, and I traveled cross-country, sleeping on the floor of a U-Haul. Crazy.

I remember very little from the trip--most likely because I was near a state of complete asphyxiation from breathing some kind of fumes leaking in through the firewall. In some random state, we crossed a bridge. I had never seen a bridge like it before--it was over a bayou, and was made of steel beams, stretching to form a canopy over the cars. Dad said it was a "wish bridge," and when we went under it, we should close our eyes and make a wish. 20+ years later, I still make wishes everytime I cross one of those bridges--thanks for that, dad. We arrived in Kingwood, Texas in the early, early hours of morning. I remember, as I stumbled into our new home, thinking that it was hard to breathe (the humidity).

And here I am, oh-so-many years later, still in Texas. I don't think that I'll ever move out of this state. Besides, my blood's so thin now, that I freeze in 65-degree weather, so I'm kinda stuck here.

After waking the next morning, I opened the front door, and walked into the oven that is Texas is September. A few first impressions/questions:
-It's HOT
-There are no sidewalks
-What are those tall, skinny trees?
-Where are all the horses?
-Cowboys? Where are they?
-Not a cactus in sight.

I also found it hugely disappointing that it was NOTHING like "Little House on the Prarie." I was totally expecting indians and covered wagons, and riding horses to school.

I hope he takes up pillow-fighting

Scott plays softball every Tuesday night, and has for the last, oh, I don't know, 10 years? Let's just say he's been playing forever. Yes, "forever" should cover it. Tuesday nights are his. Depending on what time his first game is, he will leave the house by 530, or be around until 730--if he has late games. He's home no later than midnight, most Tuesdays. Even if his last game is at 830 (which means he would be home at 10), I know not to expect him until midnight. After his games, he looks for other teams that need an extra guy. Scott's always the "extra guy." Any team that picks him up is lucky. His position of choice is outfield, and if he plays out there, it's like a puzzle finding it's missing piece. Everything is perfect. He just loves the game.

He's the coach of his team, and he loves it. Softball is one of the little things in his life that keeps him going, and it's one of those things that I complain about, but I'm glad that he does it. Everytime I see his beat-up softball bag, his muddied cleats, or his scribbled-on score pad, I have to smile, because it's such a huge part of him.

Last night, he got hit in the head with a ball.

He was in the box, and the guy at bat sent a ball straight over to Scott. Thank God he was paying attention, or the result would've been a softball straight to the face. Thankfully, Scott saw, and in the split second that was allotted to him, he turned and ducked a bit--the softball nailed him on the right side of his head, about 2 inches back from his temple, and above the ear.

I wasn't at the game, but I just knew something had happened. I knew something was wrong. I couldn't sleep. I thought I heard my cell phone ring, and, of course, my mind just starts sailing off into all kinds of not-so-pleasant thoughts. I just knew I was going to get a call that something had happened, and he was in the hospital. I hate it when my mind does this, but I love it when I'm wrong.

Scott walked into our bedroom right around midnight. He stood by the bed, and I immediately asked, "What's wrong?"
"I got hit in the head with a ball," he said.
As he stepped back into the light, I could see the huge swelling. Call me crazy, but head trauma freaks me out. My God, your BRAIN is in there!! He did a fine job of calming me down, because he's such a calm guy himself. I was scared that we'd have to take him to the hospital, because, good Lord, he had a frickin BALL HIT HIM ON THE SIDE OF THE HEAD. However, he kept telling me he was fine. The entire time he was in the shower, I sat in bed, nervous as all get-out, just imagining what would happen if he blacked-out in the shower. I laid there, counting my breaths, and listening to the shower spray, and the sounds of him washing and rinsing off. After he got out, I got him a bag of ice to put on his head.

He stayed up for an additional hour after getting into bed, and then fell asleep, in a inclined position. I don't know how many times I woke him last night--poking him in the ribs, whispering, "Are you okay?" I'm still worried about him today.

*Maybe it knocked some sense into him.*

Ba da bum! Thank you folks, I'll be here all week!