Savvy Sensations

Remodeling Faith.

2012-02-05T22:02:00.000-08:00

We've dubbed 2012 the Year of Remodel.
It's two fold-we are remodeling the house with new floors, paint, a couple pieces of furniture AND there is a remodel going on in my little soul, a whole demolition party thing that who knows what is going to be the outcome of. I just have faith it will be better than what is there now.
I've always had a bent toward all my "home projects" going swiftly to hell.
Take for example the time I decided to paint every wall in my room dark navy/black blue, like the night sky at two o'clock in the morning in a city with no stars. THAT was awesome. It was like living in a deep, dark cave.
Or the time I was seven months pregnant so I rallied my then oh-so-trusting husband and his dear sisters to paint my ENTIRE apartment mustard yellow. The first time I walked in I realized something was off, something was entirely wrong and I would never be able to live with it. (Maybe it was the yellow up against the hot-dog brown cupboards? Made me feel like I was living in a giant hot dog bun). Because I didn't have the option of re-painting and asking them to repaint would just look bad, I decided to add a contrasting color: Mighty Ducks green!
Thankfully we only had to live in what I can only assume looks like the Packer's locker room for about a week before we were smoked out by our downstairs neighbor.
She and her nasty habit were a wonderful excuse to leave my embarrassing mistake far, far behind.
Our current home was already painted a kind of nice three-tone brown, which I've tolerated relatively well our five years here, only if you look at the darkest color long enough you realize it is the exact color of dog diarrhea.
I've also learned to go easy on painting the walls that were still white, like the boys' bedroom. I'm always one to take a risk, but I've learned to be a little cautious-painting the boys dresser a dark, amazing red was a hit, and actually turned out well. Had I decided, however, to put the same color on all four of the walls it would have made me wanted to shoot myself.
Thinking about all of this actually makes me realize I've come a long way. Both the boys bedrooms I am 90% happy with the color of the walls, and I really love the color Joey and I recently painted our bedroom and bathroom. It's a perfectly soothing light blueish green that is as neutral as white, only prettier. And more calming.
All this to say we are planning on re-painting the entire house, except our bedroom, and putting in new flooring. And I'm pretty much scared shitless.
Or at least I think I should be. Because it's already started: I have an amazing picture in my mind of what I want. It's edgy and fun and unique, what I've now learned to associate with risky. My husband -who after seeing me destroy furniture and walls and who knows what else in all my attempts- has BANNED me from doing hardly anything project wise and has been very effective in communicating with me that on this project we will not be able to re-do the flooring. We will have to live with it. No Mrs. Jones lives downstairs to smoke us out.
So much has changed though. I recently wanted to mosaic two new end tables that we got. I spent a ton of money on little pieces of beads and glass and special glue and grout. Then I picked out six of my most precious black and white pictures, and decided to put them under the glass beads. The whole project would have been amazing, except as I was doing it I just had this feeling I should stop. I should save at least the three pictures I had not covered in glue and beads, and just stop.
I passed my hands over the beads I had spent three evenings gluing down and two popped off. It was a sign.
SO, I spent the next three nights scraping off the beads I had just glued on. I had to throw away three pictures, but I salvaged the ones I didn't have the ability to reproduce, thank goodness (Noah's four day old infant picture by Fawn).
And I was OK. In the past this would have killed me. I would have been discouraged and frustrated, and felt like a failure. And though I feel those things a little bit, I'm just thankful I stopped in time and I'm still hopeful I'll be able to do something funky and that I'll love with the beads and grout. A year ago I probably wouldn't have stopped. I would have just kept plowing through, because stopping would prove I was wrong, and that my idea failed. Continuing on, acting like everything was fine, was just easier than dealing with admitting that my idea didn't work out so hot.
I am a creative person. I get inspired and excited about decorating, writing, getting dressed. And just because I've had some things, or even most things, completely bomb, I'm trying to not be afraid to hold on to my initial spark of excitement about an idea, whether it be a paint combo, or writing topic, or even what I am planning to do on a very normal day.
The process is going to be messy, but as long as I am not afraid to try, to stop, and to try again, faith tells me in the end, there will be a home that my heart can feel at rest.

Peaceful Patience.

2012-01-02T20:45:00.000-08:00

One of my resolutions is to write everyday. to stay sane. to grow. to be committed to something I love so dearly.
I just finished putting Ethan to bed. Noah went down a little earlier, giving Ethan and I quiet time to eat dinner together (soy sauce chicken) and read ("Gumdrop"-a book from Deana and the family from South Africa about a car with secret switches that makes it fast! swim! and fly! Ethan LOVES it).
He's in there now reading out loud by the light of his light up sword.
I danced with Noah in the kitchen today and cried. Twirled his growing body in my arms while listening to laughter bubble out of him. I cried because it seems so rare I enjoy my children, and for once my emotions lined up with what I was doing-dancing with him, enjoying his body cuddled into mine.

We are usually much to rushed to do this sort of thing. We are trying to get out of the house, or get down for naps, or get ready for bed. There is always somewhere we must be.
Having some time off this weekend was beyond needed. The chance to just be with my children, to not feel rushed reading them stories or taking the time to twirl in the kitchen for a bit was important for me in order to see how rushed our "normal" life is, and how good it feels to slow down.

Today Ethan's hair was full and a little fuzzy, kind of like the a horse's we saw this last weekend in Graeagle. He looked extra cute for his outing with Grandma and Papa. They took him to a movie and McDonald's for his birthday. He also got a ride on the Ferris wheel at Legends. Not a bad day for the kid!
Noah and I got some couch time together while brother was gone with soft gingerbread cookies made by Nana for Christmas. His crumbs fell down my shirt. Every so often he'd lean in and hug me, putting his head on my shoulder and I'd feel the crumbs fall. I didn't mind, not even one iota.
Tomorrow it's back to the race track. I'm praying to keep some perspective from this weekend, to hold on to some of the patience that grew out of the slow, gentle days, for all of our sakes.

Six.

2012-01-01T21:04:00.000-08:00

Today is Ethan's sixth birthday. We've been talking for a while now about what he'd like to do to celebrate, and we settled on pancake breakfast in the morning at church, a little rest at home, and then Red Robin for an early dinner so Dad could go into work in the evening.
It was a sweet day with him. He was so excited and thankful for the transformer thing I got him, and his very own journal. "Now we can write stories together, mom!"
He's a thoughtful person. This morning he had made me, Joey, and Noah all pictures and laid them at our doors so that when we woke up we'd be surprised.
For Christmas he found my absolute favorite book to read to him and he wrapped it, all on his own, with 8x11 computer paper. Then he covered it with a billion Christmas stickers so that it would look like Christmas paper. Then he mad a card, and taped it on. The paper itself was one of my most favorite gifts this year.
He's still learning to tie his shoes, and gets discouraged easily. I try to encourage him but can't help but empathize: as perfectionists, anything that isn't easily perfected is either dismissed or obsessed over. The hardest thing in the world is to work at something that doesn't come naturally, easily. I think I would dismiss the shoe tying too, if I were six, to get on to more important things like Mariokart.
We played together tonight. He coached me, "Mom, small adjustments. Small adjustments!" as I ran Mario off cliff after cliff.
He wants me to sing to him, every nite, "Sleepy Boy", two times. Sometimes he wants me to pray, and and lay with him. He is so independent and smart, I forget how little he actually is.

Play Day.

2011-12-30T09:03:00.000-08:00

We are going to Graeagle today to see Daelynn and Chuy and the girls. I can't wait!! The boys are already up there, which is why I am enjoying an incredibly quiet morning on the couch in my bathrobe with my coffee and the blog.
It's very nice.
The holidays were lovely. It's a little much, all the gifts, but at the same time it gives us a reason to come together and laugh and smile while watching the kids open, open, and open the presents. Noah's reactions this year were priceless: lots of wide eyes and "ooo's" and hand clapping, lots of hand clapping. When he'd get really excited he'd get his whole body into it, squatting low and jumping, up and down.
We are celebrating Ethan's birthday today with my side of the family. He wants a cake with chocolate frosting and a snowman made out of marshmallows on top.
It hasn't snowed yet. I don't mind, seeing as I can wear whatever shoes I want and I don't have to worry about driving the new car on ice.
But it seems a little odd, like we are stuck in fall, almost like we are living in Groundhog Day. I feel like when it finally does snow time will pick back up and bring us up to date. Joey hasn't been able to use his snowboard pass.
Maybe it will make it seem like summer will come sooner than later. Now that the holidays are over, the long wait begins. In winter it's hard to recall the warm days of summer, and even harder to imagine them ever being a reality again.
But they do come, every year, the earth slowly rotating steady and sure even when we are unaware that every second is bringing us closer to the warmth of the sun that washes the skies in oranges and pinks.

Love Song.

2011-12-28T21:15:00.000-08:00

I am on this kick now of listening to country love songs when I go for my weekend runs, the sultry, sexy voices of Brad Paisley, Keith Urban, Josh Turner, and Dirks Bentley to keep me company. The best part though, other than all those sexy males, is thinking of my sexy male at home, watching the kids so I can get some exercise.

Isn't he sexy? The one on the left of course. Although Ethan's a little stud himself.

In a surprising and somewhat unbelievable way it hits me on these runs how amazing it is we are still in love. A deep, steady, gracious love. I feel blessed.
It hasn't always been and isn't always like that, of course. We miscommunicate and get on each other's nerves and scream and yell just like everybody else. (Um, have you read my blogs from 2009?) But in all our time together, eight years, two thousand nine hundred and twenty days, more or less, we've at least learned how to work through the shit.
Now when we fight, if I can keep some perspective, there's a purpose: to come out with a better understanding of each other. To make our life together better.
I, being the passive aggressive one, have learned to bring things that bother me up sooner-like the moment it happens versus five and half years later. For example, on our way to the gym the other morning Joey told me to put the extender out on the vizer to keep the sun out of Noah's eyes. I couldn't find it and said I didn't have one on my side, to which he responded, "It's right here, dear."
And it was in fact, right there. Now, a couple years ago, or maybe even a couple of months ago, I would let that little "dear" irritate and fester and hurt me, but this morning I said, "Whenever you call me dear I assume you may as well be saying "stupid, as in, 'it's right here, stupid'."
Bringing things up in real time may seem small, but it's kinda like me getting water from a rock-I consider it close to a miracle.
I know they tell you not to but we fight in front of the kids. I'm a little bit sensitive and worry it might ruin them forever, so I take little moments every five minutes or so during the argument to make sure they are OK and not scared and that they know mom and dad love each other and that we love them and that it's not their fault. The last time this happened Ethan told me, "You know mom, I'm not even paying attention to you guys."
Well, OK then.
But it's so much more than even these practical little tricks that make a relationship better. It's something deeper, something stronger, a current, wild and and at the same time ultimately safe, carrying us along in this mystery of us, together.
Part work and effort, part grace, I can't help but feel like I a being swept along by a force much greater than just me, or Joey. There's a certain "umph" behind us together, a strength. You know how it goes, "Two is better than one, for when one falls down, the other can pick them back up"-or something close to that. And boy have we both fallen. Sometimes I'm the strong one, sometimes he is.
OK, mostly he is.

But there's a certain safety in knowing that Joey has my back; he's a safety net to catch me when otherwise there would be only darkness.
Of course it's never quite that cut and dry, and sometimes the "two is better than one" can seem like such a farce-what if all my partner does is trip me up? Throw me down? Hold me back?
I don't know.

How could I ever handle this bundle of craziness on my own anyway????

All I know is that for me, working through those times it felt like all Joey was doing was tripping me up has somehow got me here: in awe at what an amazing person he is, thankful for our marriage holding us together, lost in the sweet lyrics of country love songs in my ears, his face on my mind, his presence deep in my bones.

"And when I can't stand, you are where I land..."

2011-12-13T17:09:00.000-08:00


He is goofy and quirky. When he passes gas he tells anyone in earshot he is 'Tooty McFarlin'. It has no reference whatsoever which is why it is all the more precious and him.


He is always in another world, winning wars and saving whole societies. His art makes me want to cry it is so precious and free and he can sing so beautifully. This morning he was singing "Home Means Nevada" but to a new tune. It was better than the original, more pep. I asked him where he learned it and he said he didn't like the old way so he made a new way up. I'm still trying to pick my jaw up off the floor.


Did I mention someone is two?

It's pretty amazing, building this family, day by day together.

A Week of Recovery. Or Damage.

2011-11-20T11:32:00.000-08:00

We are back from the hospital. We went to Shriner's in Sacramento last Sunday afternoon, the first of three or four surgeries to reconstruct Ethan's little ear.
I was expecting to come home Wednesday but Ethan didn't get released until Friday morning.
We're home and doing normal things, things like taking a shower in my own bathroom and putting product in my hair and driving my car, which all seem really really special.
Ethan was a trooper despite waking up from surgery with surgical soap in his left eye. Apart from having his cartilage scraped off his ribs and then implanted in his head, his real problem was not being able to open his eye, which was swollen and purple on the outside and red and terrifyingly opaque on the inside. As his mother I kinda wanted to kill someone, like maybe the person who didn't shield his eyes from the surgical soap, which the nurse said was "anti-bacterial soap times a hundred."
I thought I was handling things pretty well until Wednesday night. After two days of his eye not getting any better and his demeanor getting worse due to the ongoing pain and irritation of his eye (his ribs and ear didn't seem to bother him at all) I was at my own ropes end. Joey went home Monday to be with Noah, so I was by myself, just me and grumpy Ethan, surrounded by the the green and pink walls of the hospital, the beep beep beep of all the little machines, and the sirens of all the ambulances bringing people to the UC Davis Emergency room across the street at all hours of the day and night.
I think what was getting to me more than anything-besides not getting any adequate explanation for Ethan's eye and no remedy for it either-was the lack of privacy. The constant publicity of being in a hospital, the shuffling of feet outside the door, the wails of other patients next door at two in the morning, the constant use of a public bathroom since the one in our room was "FOR PATIENTS ONLY". The latter was especially frustrating because Ethan could not get out of bed to use it. So it just sat there, empty, clean, private, while I made my way down the hall and around the corner three or four times a day to a stall. Showering was even more irritating and I only did it once in the hospital due to the fact I kept thinking about all the disgusting little germs everywhere (it was a public shower as well) and what if the lock didn't work and the shower curtain just gave me the creeps. At least I got clean, but it was nothing like a hot twenty minute shower in my own bathroom. Plus, I forgot my shampoo (I can't go anywhere without forgetting something) and what was supplied in the bathroom was a small yellow bottle of Johnson and Johnson's baby shampoo, which doesn't really clean your hair it just sorta separates it. Anyway, when my hair dried it didn't look any different then before the shower.
Wednesday afternoon the "toy" lady came, a pleasant woman named Melissa who was supposed to make things fun for the kids, bring them toys and movies and portable PlayStation's on wheels. Ethan didn't really want to have anything to do with her since number one he couldn't open his eye to see anything anyway and number two he couldn't open his eye to see anything anyway. Oh, and did I mention his eye kinda looked like someone had doused it with antibacterial soap, times a hundred, and then let it sit there for eight hours? The only pain he complained of was his eye.
Melissa, the toy lady, said his demeanour was "concerning" as most kids want to play with something. I started crying and Melissa suggested I get out of the hospital for awhile-she'd stay with Ethan.
I knew this was probably a good idea; I had only been there three days but I was starting to feel like I was in prison. They only trips out of our hospital room I was taking were to the bathroom; I was barely making it down to the cafeteria in the morning for coffee because I was surviving off the left overs on Ethan's meal trays (another reason why I was feeling like I was in prison).
Reluctantly (Ethan teared up when I told him I was going out for a bit) I grabbed my purse and headed toward the elevators. Outside the fresh air felt heavenly, the sun warm and alive on my cheeks. I walked a block down to a local coffee shop run by christian Asians; they had a picture of who I can only assume to be Jesus, laughing, in a cheap frame and a one page calender that at the bottom read, Revival Christian Fellowship.
I ordered a chai which was too sweet but comforting anyways and sat looking out the window. I can't remember what I thought about, maybe nothing, and then I got up and walked back to the hospital. Melissa was sitting by Ethan, her toys unopened. Ethan was awake and quiet on the bed.
That afternoon we got a roommate.
His name was Lawrence and he was six years old but looked like he could have been four. He had warm brown skin and his dark hair was curly and stood up all over his head. He was pleasant and friendly, having just came from surgery on his hand to correct his thumb which bent unusually backward, making it hard for him to learn how to write although his PlayStation skills were extraordinary.
His hand was the least of his problems, though, as he was born with no rectum, no genitalia. He has to wear a diaper and a colostomy bag all the time. The diaper is never dry because he has no control to hold his pee; it just leaks out like a faucet all day long. To top it off, he has an advanced stage of liver failure.
Grandma though, was the real paradigm. He called her "Gaga" (like the Lady) and she called him "JuJu". I don't think they were actually related by blood as she was white, and I later learned he was half mexican half black, but she definitely had the role of caregiver in his life. She talked to both mom and dad on the phone but JuJu seemed totally disinterested in speaking with them.
"Gaga" was on the phone a lot, coordinating what seemed to be a house filled with a lot of kids, making sure the dogs were taken out and the dishes were being done.
The dish conversation was the first of many that perked my ears and made me thankful we don't usually have to be paired with strangers, especially ones where we are both confined to the same room twenty four hours a day. In the middle of what seemed like a very normal conversation on making sure chores were being done, Gaga says, "Yeah, there's not a clean dish in the house....I was thinking of paying [whoevershesaid] twenty bucks to do them-it's been over a week...well, if you do them, make sure you use some bleach and Ajax to kill all the maggots, we don't want to be getting sick..."
Yeah, take a moment to process that one.
Then in the middle of the night, while holding JuJu who had started to whimper or say something, she says to him in a loud whisper, "SHUT UP JUJU! IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP I'M GOING TO CALL THE FUCKING NURSE IN HERE TO GIVE YOU A SHOT!" This was even more disturbing as I heard her tell the nurse earlier that day the only thing he was afraid of was shots.
I was relieved to see Ethan was still sleeping soundly. I, on the other hand, was seriously damaged. And poor JuJu...although they seemed to have a very loving relationship otherwise. He wanted to sleep with her and they cuddled a lot. She cared for him, changed his diapers constantly, even through the night.
Thankfully he only had to stay for one night as things came to a head twenty minutes before they were supposed to be released. Gaga wanted JuJu to be able to watch a movie but there was only one TV and Ethan wanted it off so he could sleep. Joey was back by this time and soon the tension in the air was palpable. Joey turned the volume of Shrek 2 all the way down to zero. Lawrence didn't really seem to care, but the next time Gaga was on the phone she says, "This guy over here, he's something else!"
As they left I wished Lawrence well and said a silent prayer to never ever have to meet Grandma Gaga again.
Thursday was better, having the room back to ourselves and Ethan's eye showing signs of improving for the first time since Monday. Also, Joey was with us so I could leave to the Ronald McDonald house and zone out in the shower for twenty minutes.
I was disappointed when the doctor wouldn't let us go home Thursday afternoon, but I managed to get through one more night on Old Betsy (the roll away vinyl mattress I had been sleeping on all week which made an incredible amount of almost fart like noised every time I moved, which didn't matter anyway because I always ended up back in the sunken middle, the sides folding up all around me like it was about to swallow me up) knowing that we were probably going to be released in the morning.
The next morning as we headed out I felt as happy as if it were Christmas. For the first time in my life I knew the feeling of walking away from something and having no desire to look back on it. Just leave it all there; all the tubes, all the cold bedding, all the drafty windows, the sirens.
And if by chance, you are wondering about Ethan, he's fine. Children are extremely resilient, as they say, and he can't wait to go back. They have PlayStation! Mama, on the other hand, may take a couple of weeks to recover, and heal.

Saturday.

2011-11-12T11:43:00.001-08:00

Well things have been going swimmingly since the truck incident. Days like that make you in love with ordinary days, days when nothing completely shitty happens.
Joey's been trying to sleep off a cold, especially in light of Ethan's first ear surgery on Monday. I've been trying to stay away from my husband, which is unusual for me; usually even if he's sick his nearness is more important and I'll sacrifice being sick too for some lov'in. But this time Ethan's surgery, and my ability to be there with him, wins out.
I have no idea what he's going to look like after this first surgery. I guess I am picturing a lump, or bulge, behind his little ear. Anyhow, I know it's not going to be pretty. He's strong though, and if anyone has to go through it God gave him the characteristics to make it easier: he gave his class a whole presentation on it, and can't wait to go back and give them the follow up after the surgery.
I'm a little anxious over what the heck I will be doing down there, seeing as they won't let both of us stay in the room, so Joey has decided to come home in between. I need a good book.
I am excited for the holidays, excited to be with family. We are planning on going up to Graeagle too; the thought of the big trees and clean air quiets me, makes me want to take a walk.
I miss my sister, the older one, terribly. She's so. far. away. I miss the little one too, and her girls. If I can't make it to SA, at least I may be able to make a trip to SD work...
Tonight Joey and I get to go out with friends. I'm looking forward to a big glass of wine, or two. I'm also hoping to get a run in this weekend, despite looking out the window and getting the chills from the trees blowing in the wind, the white clouds covering the sky. Winter has arrived and now it's time to bunker down, gather up every grace I have with in me, and wait it out. Things that I have found help: running, even in the cold, laying in a tanning bed and coming out brown, and going on a weekend get-a-way to somewhere where the tentacles of winter can't reach, like Vegas. The last option is especially a luxury, but one I hope we get to do again sometime in February or March, when the winter seems like it will never end. Visiting somewhere warm is a reminder things change.
It's a perfect Saturday. Still. Time to go curl up in bed, and rest.

Warming up the Truck.

2011-11-01T20:56:00.000-07:00

It started at five AM when my phone went off, telling me to get out of bed even though my body said, "No, please, God, no..." I pushed the boundaries and didn't actually get out of bed until five thirty, stumbling into the bathroom and fumbling until I was in a hot shower, where I stood, for another ten or fifteen minutes or so before I remembered I was supposed to actually do something in there, like wash my hair.
Getting ready went smoothly despite the anticipation and stress of having to get to FOUR different locations (pick up Joey, drop of Noah, drop of Ethan, pick up a car for me) before my meeting at eight thirty. We were down to one vehicle because mine was getting fixed in the shop--someone slammed their door into mine a couple of weeks ago.
It's been getting colder so I thought I'd go out before hand and start the truck, warm it up for my two little spaz attacks.
I went back inside to grab them and all our gear: hats, jackets, diaper bags, lunch bags, work bags, purses...and we tromped outside to the waiting truck, humming lowly in the quiet morning air. I reached for the handle to open the door and it didn't open.
I tugged on it again. Nothing. So I tugged on it ten more times, before running around to the other three handles only to find the same thing: the truck was locked.
And this is when my heart dropped into my shoes and I wanted to scream.
The truck was locked. Running. And the spare key was with my subaru, at the shop. And Joey was at work, without a vehicle. And there was no way I was going to make my meeting.
And did I mention the truck was running?
We ended up waiting over an hour before Joey finally came home with my spare key, after borrowing a car, going down to the shop to get it, and then driving all the way back home. I sat on the couch and had a mental breakdown while the boys played in the living room, still with their beanies on. Every once in a while I'd get up and go look at the truck, the exhaust filling the now bright morning, and want to kick something really, really, hard.
Fourteen hours later I still need a massage and acupuncture to undo the stress build up in my neck.

The Eyes of Jesus.

2011-10-30T13:33:00.000-07:00

I felt blessed today, talking to five different women in my church. We are all such cute little things. Our smiles, our sweetness, our bright eyes, despite the unexpected life has rolled our way.
Behind those eyes are commitments to marriages and children, education and work, friendships and even strangers. Behind those eyes are hearts searching for their Creator, hearts who want to love like He loves, serve like He serves.
It's a blessing to be surrounded by such women, to know I am in such amazing company. I love how open I can be with every one of them, how accepting they are of me.
I found grace this morning, sufficient for the hour, in the eyes of five different women at church. It was as if Jesus was looking right back at me.

The Present.

2011-10-29T21:37:00.000-07:00

We took both the boys to swim lessons this morning. Trying to keep Noah occupied for forty five minutes after his lesson so Ethan could have his was not one of my finer moments as a parent. He simply makes me mad. He's stubborn and loud and unsafe. I find myself just wishing the time away until he's five and can handle himself a little better.
I came home and opened a new book by Kathleen Norris. She is a life saver for me, amongst other honest and funny writers who look at life square in the face and find beauty in the middle of it's ordinariness. Or anger-ness. Or depression-ess. Or whatever it is that fills it, they find beauty there. They remind me to believe, to look for the grace that is available to me at any given place and time, including a loud swimming pool with an ornery two year old on Saturday morning.
My heart wasn't in a state to find it this morning at the pool, although I'm sure it was there...a prayer away. Where I did find it was out on our patio, four hours later, the fall sun hot on my cheeks despite the light chill in the air. Noah was still down for his nap and Joey and Ethan were in the front. I listened to Ethan's voice, riding his bike, effortlessly happy in the present moment, drifting back to me over the house.
Just minutes before I had forced myself to get out of bed, even though I didn't want to. I wanted to sleep, but even when I tried I couldn't sleep soundly. My heart lately has felt like fingers are squeezing it, making my chest hurt.
I'm not sure what was luring me to stay in that bed, although the one word that came to mind was fear. I am afraid. Afraid to get up and feel the same monotony, the same blahness in every act I do. The children make it worse because not only do I feel nothing when I think I should be enjoying them, guilt follows suit, adding to the onslaught. It's much easier to stay in bed.
Maybe pride, ("I'm not going to be that woman!"), maybe grace; whatever it was something got me to swing my legs out of bed, grab my journal, a pen and Norris' book, and head outside.
Norris writes largely about monastic life and for whatever reason it has always grabbed me, pulled me in. I've never had quite the direct and explainable connection to it like she has, but as I get older I am beginning to see more how the monastic life is so similar to my own. Maybe that's what drew me in even when I couldn't begin to explain it.
Norris writes about the similarities of a monastic vow and a marriage vow, and I am beginning to see how the parallels jump over to parenting as well.
For a large part parenting is repetition, doing the same thing, over and over. Bedtime routines. Morning routines. Reminding them over and over and over again to pick this up or don't spill that or stop saying that! Now! Damn it!
It easily becomes so boring and tedious you just want to jump out the window. This is how I feel most days. And then I read this afternoon, "A generation that cannot endure boredom will be a generation of little men...unduly divorced from the slow processes of nature, in whom every vital impulse withers..." Noah is definitely a "slow process of nature" and I was convicted at how easily "divorced" I become to my children, with their constant demands. My eyes glaze over and my heart feels like a piece of dry wood but I get them dinner! and clean their messes! and sing them songs before kissing them goodnite, almost running out of the room to peace and quiet, only to be left alone with my dry heart.
It's the dryness, my heart's true state, that's enough to keep me under the covers, wanting to sleep it away on a beautiful three day weekend when Joey is home and we are all in excellent health.
After reading and writing a bit, looking at the sky, really seeing it, for the first time in a while, I could joke with Joey. Laughing almost hurt, but it happened and then I was able to grab my stuff and head inside to my two and five year old, my life, and the present moment in all it's messiness and pain and see the edge of God's arms, open and waiting for me to jump in.

Writing, I've Missed You.

2011-10-09T14:30:00.000-07:00

I don't have time to write anymore. But I think about it quite often, and I still get out my personal journal whenever I can.
So today, the lazy Sunday afternoon that it is, I had prepared to take a nap, to try and catch up on the sleep I feel so deprived of during the week. I took my contacts out, took my jewelry off, my boots, and climbed into bed with Joey who is napping before he goes into work all night. But lying there all I could think about was if sleeping was really what I wanted to do with this time, this precious, rare time, when the house is quiet--mostly; both the boys are talking to themselves in their beds, supposed to be napping. (Does any mother not feel like their chest is going to explode from the anxiety of their children not sleeping when they are supposed to? I've learned this is not going away; I just recognize it now as something I cannot control, like, um, everything really, and then I pray for some grace in the moment to stop from morphing into complete lunatic and breath things out instead.)
Anyway, there I was lying in my bed, thinking about my poor, neglected blog, dreaming about writing in a quiet house with a cup of hot chai on a crisp, fall day...and I just had to throw the covers back and get out here to write. And it really is wonderful, transferring these thoughts onto the screen...if only Noah would shut up and my chest would release that feeling of wanting to explode.
I've often (OK, not often. Like one or two times) been asked if I have ever thought of writing a book, and the answer is yes, but then not long after is followed by why?
I've got my blog! And it's so easy to "publish" whenever I damn well please! And there is no accountability per say, nobody telling me it sucks and they won't publish it.
Isn't that the most pitiful thing you've ever heard? But it's true.
Through the blog I get to write, get to quench that need of mine to articulate in words what I see going on around me and inside of me. I think I've said it before and I will say it again: I feel the best when I am writing, and when I am writing well I may as well be flying. Writing well is like putting the perfect outfit together, like the feeling of summer turning to fall with a cup of chai in your hands, like the smell of gingerbread and cinnamon with a Christmas tree twinkling in the background. A good, honest sentence is like the love of your life kissing you outside in the cool night and your whole body being flooded with warmth. It's that good.
And I don't know when but at some point in the last recent years I came to think of myself as a writer, not because I have ever or will ever be published, but because I can't live without doing it. I take that back, I can, but writing helps me live everyday, ordinary life better, richer. When I write about my life, suddenly what is normally black and white turns to vivid colors, reds, oranges, yellows. Writing helps me stop and recognize little tid bits of meaning in all this non stop madness; of all the go go go, tying shoes, wiping bottoms, blow drying hair, applying eyeliner, and washing undies that is my life.
Writing can release the hold of the fingers of whatever is gripping my heart; be it control (like today), or fear of not being good enough (most days), or loneliness (Sundays through Thursdays, when Joey works).
As dumb as it sounds, writing is like a friend. A very close, intimate friend who lets me be as honest as I need to, helps me to sort out the things inside that feel like a tight twisted knot, and who never ever ever judges me.
I didn't necessarily plan on getting up just so I could come out here and write and entire blog on writing. If anything though it's a reminder to me how what precious thing it is to be able to have the time to write about life and how much I enjoy it.

Summer Lov'in.

2011-09-28T21:24:00.000-07:00

Determined...

Staying up late and talking on the deck. And drinking wine, obviously. Wine eyes.

This one is long over-due. It's Ethan's First Day of Kindergarten Picture. And just a quick up-date: he is rocking it, just like his mama knew he would!


Swimming! Lots of good swim time with daddy in the Millpond.

Basically though this was an amazing summer. We spent so much wonderful time together, at Tahoe, at Graeagle, at home.

A family comes so quick. I am so blessed by these three men in my life!

It's been a month since we have been there, but Noah still wakes up and says, "Millpond! Wader wings! GO!"

The one thing I've learned working full time is to appreciate every non-working moment I have with my kids.

I love this new role I am in as a "working mother"-forget the labels, I am Danae, walking in the ways God has guided me in.

I am slowly climbing out of the box I had built for myself, of what I thought my life would look like, of what I thought my life was supposed to look like, and I am letting myself try new things. I'm getting to know myself it seems for the first time. Or maybe not so much getting to know, maybe just not shooting down every want and desire that springs up inside me. I'm letting them simmer, praying about them, giving them room to grow if they are good things. And lots of them are, imagine!

I can't believe what this has done, how different my life is tonight from four months ago. I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not afraid to be honest with God. I'm not afraid of how He put me together in my mother's womb. I'm not afraid to screw up and learn and move on, enjoying every second of everyday I get with my family and the people I love.

Joining In the Crickets' Chorus.

2011-08-26T21:09:00.000-07:00

I am home alone, sort of. Noah is sleeping. The crickets are chirping in the black night. I remember a time I was listening to the crickets not too long ago, maybe a year, maybe two-it really is amazing how they pass! I remember having trouble: trouble in my heart, trouble in my marriage, trouble in my place in life. The crickets were the background sound to the chaos going on in my heart. I specifically remember ending my post with, "And the crickets are chirping like they've all gone mad."
Tonight the crickets are chirping, just like that other night, only tonight they are soothing, calming. Peaceful. Like they are right where they are supposed to be, doing exactly what God made them to do.
Their chant tonight is background noise to a extremely grateful and anticipating heart. A trusting heart. A heart in awe in how big God is, how good He is to me. How personal.
Maybe six months ago I laid my heart down. I prayed. I told God how unhappy I was, but that I was going to trust Him and push through, even though the years seemed so long ahead. I told Him I trusted that He was good. That He loved me.
I didn't expect anything.
It reminds me of when I was growing up I asked God over and over and over again for a dog. A black and white one, please.
For years I prayed this. I prayed but it was a hopeless prayer. Desperate. I didn't ever really expect my want to be met.
My dad, bless his soul, finally gave in and we were told about ONE homeless dog who needed a family. The dog happened to be black and white.
I remember this same feeling I'm feeling tonight the first night I got dog; this feeling of incredible thankfulness that number one, He's there; and number two, He remembers me, cares for my heart's desires. And He gives them, like a father, wanting to give his child the world.
It makes me wonder why I ever doubt, but I do. And, shaking my head, I know I will again. But maybe it will be less frequent. Maybe as I get older and see His grace poured out on me in such a personal way over and over and over again it will begin to sink in deeper into my soul: the fact that, number one, He's there; and number two, He remembers me and cares for my heart's desires.
I know this doesn't mean I have arrived anywhere. New battles will be born in my heart; I will have to learn to trust, over and over and over again. But I think what I am so thankful for tonight is the surety I feel in my heart of God and His immense love and knowledge of me, of my heart that most of the times I can't even figure out.
Tonight the crickets are singing, and so am I.

Trust Me (from God). And Don't Look in the Mirror in Zumba Class (from me).

2011-08-17T21:25:00.000-07:00

Well, after suprisingly not feeling so horrible after a long day I happened to read my friend Emery's (wonderful!) post on motherhood and now I feel very close to tiny ball of deer shit.
hmph.
And then there's the thinking side of me, the side that more than a couple of times a week or a day says in my little brain, "It feels so good to be doing what GOD has called me to do. WORK!". Then I kinda shake my baffled head. Because that's not what I pictured myself doing. I pictured myself at home, with four or five kids at my feet, and a pitbull. In an apron of course! I even blogged about that, way back when. Too bad I don't know how to tag it here.
Instead I have two amazing little dudes and I find myself working. And loving it. Growing. Becoming more confident in who God made me to be. I see my skills and talents blossoming and maturing.
And that's not to say I don't fight a horrible gnawing feeling of guilt parallel to every thought of every second of everyday, but I am beginning to learn that listening to those feelings of guilt and fear is the worse thing I can be doing. I might as well put a bullet to my brain for all the good they are doing me. They suck the life right out of me, out of everything good that is happening in my world.
I think it's neat how God works so differently in our lives. How he shakes up our expectations and says, Trust me. Not your emotions. Not your situation. ME.
And that is for every mama out there; those at home full time, those that work, those whose children are grown, those that have lost their children, or heck, it's even for those women who don't have children.
Trust me.
God, that is so comforting to my weak, tired heart right now.
In other news I took a Zumba class tonight, my third or so. The number one rule in Zumba is this: don't ever, everevereverever look in the mirror at yourself during class.
I thought I could dance. I am, you know, the last one on the dance floor at weddings and stuff. But there is something about Zumba...I look like I should be in the River Dance instead. Stiff as a board! I have WHITE GIRL all over me. Maybe a long black sexy wig would help? A red, sequence dress, with fringe on the bottom?
That would be completely awesome.

Chicken Nuggets, Right or Left?

2011-08-10T21:40:00.000-07:00

Just a couple of thoughts today; like images of clarity in the blur of my life.
One, we went to Sonic last night for dinner and I got my usual, chicken fingers with ranch, topped off with fries and a Oreo shake. Yum! I don't know if it was mid bite or maybe after the little feast did the thought occur to me that the backs of my legs resemble a chicken nugget. I've eaten chicken nuggets since I was a little girl. They are my go-to if you know what I mean.
Been pondering that one.
And number two, today while we were driving Ethan says to me, Mom. I hate leaning in the car.(**Don't you remember when you were little and had to use your entire body weight to not fall over on the twirly on-ramps on the freeway?**) I just hate it. When you turn left, I have to lean right. And when you turn right, I have to lean left.
That's what he said to me. I have always had a hard time differentiating between my right and left. That's the cold hard truth, no exaggeration there. Maybe the day I was supposed to learn the difference between the two I had some horrible tragedy happen in my life that I have completely erased from my brain? It's the only explanation.
So as his mom who gets all hibbly jeebily when I have to use "right" or "left" to hear him say something like that so confidently, like it is nothing, makes me think he has to grow up to be a genius, or an astronaut if we still had those around.
Yep, those are my two clear thoughts I've had today. Now it's time this sleepy, exhausted, cloudy brain girl went and got some sleep. And don't ask me what side of the bed I sleep on.

Big E!

2011-07-30T14:05:00.000-07:00

Little pre-run intimidation.

Getting warmed-up.

Showing off the guns.

And yes, he does look like me.

Ethan starts school next week. All thirty three pounds of him. I'm not all mushy gushy teary eyed. That's not the relationship I have with Ethan (we'll see how Monday morning goes...). I'm just proud of the firecracker. He's going to take this world by the horns and they are not going to know what hit it, exactly what he did to me five and a half years ago.
I had Ethan at home, a home birth. It was the beginning of a new life for me, one that started out so nice and clean and cozy. I loved being pregnant, loved setting up the nursery, hanging the perfect, unused clothes in the closet by size so I could stare at them and imagine how perfect life was going to be after the baby came. How perfect of a mother I was going to be. The perfect life I would give my child, who at that time I didn't even know was male or female.
The first time I felt any real labor pain I was opening the fridge to get something for my midwife to eat. She was hungry. I remember trying to cover it up, trying to not let the electrifying pain surrounding my abdomen and shooting down my legs show on my face. In my head, though, was the truth: what the hell? Up until that point I was in denial. None of this was supposed to be painful. I had always been spared. I don't get pain, I don't get real consequences. I dodge them, live in denial until they go away. Despite what your life may look like, my life was supposed to be easy, painless.
For nine months I anticipated my labor. I planned for pain theoretically. But deep down I was in denial that any of this would ever cause any pain, but of course it did. Motherhood has caused me excruciating pain. But it has also caused so much growth. So much realness.
This is how my labor was supposed to go: I'd be a perfect hostess and eventually we'd all be sitting around munching on olives and I'd say it was time and push out a perfect little baby. And then what? I hadn't thought that far ahead. Probably sleep.
The pain did come though, of course. And after what I can honestly say was the worse night of my life (labor is a B. end of story) Ethan Lear made his way into this world. His name means strong, firm. It fits his demeanor exactly.
He's been strong and firm right from the beginning. He's outgoing and imaginative. He's assertive and displays very natural leadership qualities (which his mother has to counteract every second of everyday). He can be maddeningly bumptious (if you don't know what that means, go look it up. It's a wonderful word to describe your children ages 2-5). He is also incredibly loving and cuddlable, on a good day.
And when I think about him starting kindergarten, starting the rest of his life, I'm proud of him, excited for him. Whatever he wants, he will conquer it.
Last night we ran in the Moonlight Madness Race at Rancho San Rafael. It was mostly for Ethan; he's been dying to run in his first race. Joey ran with him and although I couldn't see them (I had to stay back with the stroller and Noah) Joey said he started out like a bat outta you know where until he realized the finish line was not right in front of him. He realized he'd have to slow down and keep a steady pace, and take walk breaks when he needed them. I was worried about a full-on break down but overall he ran really well and finished strong. Just like he'll do for the whole rest of his life: take a couple of walk breaks when needed, but overall he'll finish strong. I'm sure of it.

Listening to God's Grace Rustling in the Aspens' Leaves.

2011-07-24T14:51:00.000-07:00

So after a sweet time at church today Ethan got up from his nap and we went outside and had lime popsicles together. Ethan decided they taste like 7-Up, one of his favorite sodas. I agreed.
We sat on the side of the house in the only shade available at this time of day. It's just a small bit of shade provided by the house, but in this heat you need it, otherwise you feel like your skin is melting off your body, like the lime popsicles sliding off our sticks.
As I sat over there I couldn't help but listen to the lone aspen on that side of the house, it's leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. Sounds like a waterfall.
I love aspens. I have six of them at my house, two of which were successful transplants from Graeagle (I mention the "successful" part because we tried so many that didn't make it). This particular aspen on the side of the house was actually a left over; the mother tree had died, but when I went to pull it up, I noticed a lone branch, no bigger than a stick the boys would use as a sword in an outside game, sticking out near the bottom of the trunk. For some reason it still had give to it unlike the rest of the tree which was dry and would crack off if you tried to bend it.
I pulled up the rest of the tree but I left the branch at the bottom. It was growing sideways so I stuck a rock near it's side to make it stand straight up. There was no hope of it ever surviving but at least until it died its natural death it would be straight; at that point in my life I just couldn't put a live branch in the trash can. Seemed wasteful. I'd let it die naturally and then throw it out.
Here's the thing; it didn't die. Ever. It's now one of the most healthy aspens I have ever seen. It's big and bushy and beautiful. That stick in five years has grown into one of our biggest trees on the lot.
There is no rhyme or reason. There was no toil on my part, unlike the work I had put into the many trees before it that didn't make it.
And whenever I look at this particular aspen I hear God's grace rustling in it's leaves, telling me to rest and stop worrying so much. Telling me that no matter how much I plan and prepare and seek advice and do everything possible a human can do to make good decisions, God's will will be done.
He holds me, he cares for me, he loves me. He knows what trees will grow and what trees will die. So today I am trying to tell my little heart to listen to the shhhhh shhhh shhhh of the leaves, of God's heart toward me.

Maybe Jesus Had Eyes Like Tahoe.

2011-07-17T13:35:00.000-07:00

I have the urge to write. That means there is stirring in my soul, conflict, unresolved items floating around, waiting to be sorted out, answered, somehow.
We have been taking advantage of these hot July weekends. We made it up to Sand Harbor again yesterday. That lake is so damn beautiful you have to let your worries go when you look at it's clear, unbelievably turquoise waters, when you hear it's cold waves landing on the sand. How can you not? It's beauty is overwhelming and leaves no room for worries.
But then of course we drove back down the mountain.
And then, today in church, the song we sang in worship, 'Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in his wonderful face (what the does Jesus look like? He must be beautiful, maybe his eyes are like Tahoe), and the things of earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of his glory and grace'.
The things of this earth: mortgages, the housing market, pay cuts.
They can all seem so overwhelming. I can't just FORGET about them. They exist and are as real as the skin on my bones; it is our roof and our food and our livelihood. Our life. Yet, somewhere in the midst of all those gnawing details there is beautiful truth I can be overwhelmed with, Jesus and his beauty and eternalness, and still be a good steward and responsible little human, wrestling with the choices we have to make down here on earth.
I haven't figured out how to live the paradox. But at least I know it exists. That's as good as it gets right now.

The Hardest Thing.

2011-07-06T22:30:00.000-07:00

The truth of the matter is I have everything I've ever dreamed of and I still feel like shit tonight. I have the self esteem of a broken eggshell that just got crushed by an old brown boot.
I have a (two!) jobs I love, I have the best husband in the world for me, I have two adorable healthy boys, I'm not an ugly betty (although I have the confidence of one) and yet tonight I really am feeling low.
I don't get a ton of time with my boys and tonight was going alright until number one decided to play games with his mama's mind at nine PM. By nine PM I am done. I can handle getting off my second job at seven PM, after leaving the house twelve hours earlier to start our day, grabbing my two starving monkeys and driving the thirty minutes it takes to get to our humble abode. I can handle making dinner in chaos, Noah hanging off my right leg, Ethan's non-stop chattering asking me to look! play! watch! see!, all of our tummies growling. I can handle two bed time routines done by yours truly, the fifteen minutes it takes to change Noah's diaper because he somehow manages to wiggle away from me as I try with dainty fingers not to get poop all over myself or the floor, brushing his toddler teeth as he screams like someone is trying to circumcise him sans anesthesia. I can handle falling asleep in the rocking chair as I sing Noah song after song, even though it won't matter: one or twenty, he still wails when I shut the door to say goodnight. I can manage playing "flip up" with Ethan (his favorite 'wrestle' game before bedtime) even though I know it gets him all riled up instead of calming him down. I can manage tickling his back and singing him songs (again, even though it is never enough and he wines for more every. single. night.) but when I walk out his door at nine PM or so, I am done.
Done.
And this is when he decides to play games.
He'll say he has a question, or has to poop, or has an emergency, like he found a bugger on his blankie.
I can handle one or two after tuck-in interruptions, but by three I hear a voice coming out of my mouth I don't recognize, and I can only imagine what I look and sound like to him.
There's so many things going into play here.
Number one, he's not obeying. I clearly laid out the rules that when I walk out his door, there is no more talking.
Number two, my confidence as a mother, leading, guiding. I suck at it! I think the worst thing I did ever in my whole life was read parenting help books. Or maybe I need to read more of them. At any rate, I never feel like what I am doing is right unless I can step back and tell myself, "You're doing OK honey. You're voice was a little rough there, but at least he's safe and has a bed and jammies and dinner."

Tonight, after three horrible back and forths with him, I finally just shut his door. Pissed as I was, I knew I couldn't control him. He's only five, and you think you could. But I already see he's on his own, him and the world and God. And I have to be ok with that as a mother, as a person. He'll do things in life I don't agree with. He'll disrespect me. And somewhere I have to let it go, have the grace to not let my heart harden and hate him.
I've read enough parenting books to know that is a no no.
And I can't live like that anyways. He's my baby boy and now he's in there sleeping with his mouth open, his tiny little legs sticking out of his super hero undies.
This parenting thing is the hardest thing. That's all.

Winning the Big One.

2011-07-03T10:43:00.000-07:00

That was the best forth of July since I was a little girl rolling down the lawn at my rich uncle's house. Me and Joey met the boys, my parents, and a whole crew of extended family and friends up at Graeagle. We spent the day at the millpond, relaxing in the hot sun,getting out legs wet up to our knees in the the icy water to cool off, and floating around in circles on floaties. We played my favorite game of all times: water wiffle ball. If you want to have a good time, and forget about what your rear looks like in your bather (ok, that never is going to happen but it at least takes your mind off of it for a bit) and actually get it in the water like you used to before the mascara/hair/wussieness set in from growing up, wrap a wiffle bat with duct tape. Grab some tennis balls and get at least three people. Batter stands in the water up to their ankles, pitcher is up to their knees or so, and the outfielder gets ready to swim for balls. I love this game, hearing the balls pop as I whack them high the air, watching them splash into the water, and then eventually having to swim out to help retrieve them. It's the only thing that makes me get in the water and swim and I love it.
The boys were fantastic, and by that I mean the day seemed normal: not crazy, not messed up, not frustrating. It went like you think a fourth of July should go. I think that has to do with two things mostly: numero uno, my kids are growing up. Ethan is very self sufficient and I don't have to worry about him killing himself if I lose track of him for two minutes. And although I still have to worry about that with Noah, he's still old enough to enjoy the water. Plus with all the help from everyone who thinks the little guy is just too cute to resist (or they are just being merciful to me), the day went incredibly smoothly. **note to self: when you're old and have nothing better to do feed some poor frazzled mama's two year old dinner for her so she can sit and talk and drink a beer, and maybe even eat a hot hamburger. I love gracious souls who do this for me. I feel indebted to them with my life, and would, in fact, step in front of a bullet for them if it came down to that.
I think the best part of all of this, besides my children not have meltdowns, besides spending the day with Daelynn and her family, besides just being in Graeagle with it's tall dark trees against the sky melting into dusk, was having Joey there with me.
We've spent so many holidays and family gatherings apart that having him there with me is like the difference going on a week long tropical vacation with your favorite person or going alone; or it's like winning the lottery or going bankrupt. With him there I feel like I've won something big, like the World Series. Without him there I feel like I've lost.
We were told that his job would do this. That it would be "hard on the family". When you're young, or at least when I was young, I took so much for granted, especially time. Saturdays, Sundays, evenings, weekends. I thought it would be no big deal to give those up for other times together (why should it matter?) but for whatever reason that I can't explain it does. It matters to have Joey there when everyone else is celebrating.
And yesterday he was (ironically it wasn't even the forth but in Graeagle they celebrate early, which worked out fabulous for us because in real life Joey works tonight and tomorrow).
So yesterday, due to a stroke of luck, Graeagle deciding they celebrate the fourth on the second, and grace, we won big.
Happy (pre) Fourth.

All Alone.

2011-06-30T17:50:00.000-07:00

Came home boy-less (the little boys are camping with Nawnie and Ampa, and the bigger one is golfing) and the first thing I did was strip off my shirt. It's wonderful to be able to walk around in just my bra with no boys around. Haven't been able to do this in years, and I miss is terribly. There is something so freeing and comfortable about it, especially when it's hot and I've been dealing with sweat pools in my pits all day. (o boy. Have I said to much? I am sure Joey has loved the small hiatus on the blog. But I'm back now, sweat pools and all).
It's funny coming home to a quiet house, my ears ringing to the silence. I'm loving my alone time but all it takes is to walk by Noah's room, see his empty crib, and I am suddenly missing him, reminded how blessed I am to have my boys.
But now back to the alone time. It's fabulous. My body feels like it can relax, there is no noise, no needs needing to be met, just me, walking around in my bra, eating snacks.

Waiting on the Weekend.

2011-06-30T17:39:00.000-07:00

Today was typical, long. I teach Balletone after work. I have time to kill, which is fine by me because that means I can drive stress free over to Saint's, instead of driving like a mad woman, white knuckling it through yellow lights. I took a step class tonight before my class. I realize I am joining the step craze a little late but it's fun. I like the teal, pink, and black steps. Makes me feel like a real bonifide woman doing step. I don't know, maybe you aren't really a woman until you've mastered step aerobics.
I met my friend for lunch, which made my day a little brighter, a little shorter. We sat and talked in the sun. I felt a sisterly bond towards her as I said goodbye; maybe because I've known her for a while now, or maybe I just miss my sisters, especially the older one, so much right now. Of the three of us, she is the last one I thought would live outside the US, but there she is, halfway across the world. There's a nine hour time difference which makes telephone calls tricky. One or the other of us is either just getting up and the other is doing the bedtime routines for our boys.
I'm looking forward to this weekend. Daelynn and Chuy and the girls are in town; I love seeing my little sister's beautiful family. It's so fun to have girls around. Ethan is going to be camping with Nawnie and Ampa, and we will join them for one or two days.
I'm sort of in a funk, if you can't already tell. I think it could be one of a hundred of things, including but not limited to: busyness (haven't I just been talking about how I love that?), not seeing my husband, my period on her way, my body adjusting to half the amount of exercise it's been used to getting, my butt expanding due to the previous mentioned, nobody caring about my expanding butt except for me and my extra tight pants, and busyness. I feel like I need a vacation, time to do nothing, read, connect with my boys, make love with Joey, and pray. The weekend is only two days way, thank God.

Just Stuff.

2011-06-28T20:01:00.000-07:00

Haven't written in a while because there is no time, no energy. During the week I see Joey for minutes at a time and our weekends are jammed packed with tball, family bbq's, shopping, and house cleaning.
But in all the busyness I feel like we have a functional routine and I like feeling productive. It also makes the relax times that much more relaxing. I cherish my Sunday afternoons: after putting the boys down for their naps, I wiggle into my bikini, grab my tanning oil and head up to our patio with a icy drink. I rest (or talk with Joey if he comes up with me) while I let the sun sink into my skin, relaxing my muscles.
For some reason I'm living with less fear, less of a death grip on life as I thought it would be. As unsettling as it is, I'm seeing that things don't have to be the way they always were, that things can change and that's alright-more than alright, change in a lot of ways brings new life.
I know that's all vague and weird, but it's just something that I've been realizing lately and it's exciting because it means there's opportunities for newness. Which I always need, being so afraid of growing old, having already had the best years of my life, etc etc. You know, all that bullshit.
My boys are growing up right before my eyes. They look so similar it's almost a little creepy, even to me and I am their mother. I'm still trying to figure Noah out-I think he's still trying to figure himself out. He has to have any seat he's in buckled, he will throw food at any chance he gets and this evening he dumped a full salt shaker all out on the kitchen floor.
And we are supposed to survive this? And still be functional adults?
**note to self: if you want to feel like the worst mother ever to walk our planet earth,desperately put ear plugs in at two in the morning (after listening to your two year old scream for two hours) and then wake up two and a half hours later to him still screaming. Go in his room and find him behind the rocker, alternating between hitting his head on the wall and the chair like some person in an insane asylum getting weened off crack. Then wonder how long he's been out of his bed in the pitch black screaming his head off, and realize the clunk you heard two and a half hours ago when you decided you were done and put the ear plugs in was not his sippy cup of milk like you thought it was but actually it was him, falling out of his crib for the first time. Two and half hours ago. Yeah, think about that. It's a lovely thought.
But you know, other than that sort of stuff life over here is actually going really well. As I was leaving work today I thought, probably for the hundredth thousandth time since I started working how much I like to work and how much more functional this is for our family.
I'm still seriously dealing with mommy guilt but I kinda just tell it to shut up because I know this is better for us. I try to take advantage of the time I get with my little guys: the bed time stories, games after work, and fun filled weekends (which reminds me! I got ~~myself~~ Joey a fire pit for Father's Day and I love it! We've used it twice and it's like camping, only right in our backyard! I get to watch the dusk turn into night, listen to the crickets come out, enjoy a glass of wine while watching the warm flame do it's mesmerizing dance right before me! It's absolutely perfect as long as our neighbors decide not to blast eighties rock music out their back door. That kinda ruins it.)Where was I? Mommy guilt. So yeah, besides right now, I try to spend most of my off time with the boys. Which, sigh, reminds me I need to go do that now. It's bedtime, baby.

Pukies and Blanket Jealousy.

2011-06-06T08:51:00.000-07:00

I spent the better part of yesterday (as in on the hour, every hour) puking my brains into the toilet bowl. Thankfully Joey had decided to take the night off anyway so he was able to take care of the children. I still vote that the hardest thing in life (besides maybe being in a cave alone and chopping your pinched arm off with your own pocketknife) is trying to take care of young children while you are puking your brains out, on the hour, every hour. I tried my bestest to get up and get going this morning ( I want to eat! I keep fantasizing about ice cream floats, and coffee, and Hot Tamales), but my body won't have it. I am weak and get the chills if I stand for too long and when I tried a bite of bagel it sent me running back to the toilet. Ugh.
It feels like Oregon in Reno today, all wet and grey. I once thought I'd like it up there, all the green (it is so beautiful!) but I miss my sun. By the end of the week it is supposed be in the mid seventies and sunny. I can't wait to feel the sun on my skin, soak it up, be done with this sickness and this forever winter we seem to be having here in Reno. I'm ready for bathers and bbq's, sand and a cold, fizzy drink.
Joey ran in the RTO this weekend (so glad I wasn't puking then!). The boys and I went over to Jen's for dinner on Friday night. They made me a pink birthday cake and white frosting and pink and purple sprinkles, picked out especially for me by Ethan. He's such a doll.
On Saturday morning we got up and I taught a Balletone class (I am loving this format more and more every time I do it! Plus somebody once told me ballet is good for the wrinkles on your bootie. Anything to help Operation BHandT!). Then we went to Ethan's t-ball game. The little guys are actually playing now: we even had a chase from third to home with a slide in to score!! It was awesome. Ethan's still picking up the game. He plays outfield and the other day he tells me, "Mom, when I play baseball, sometimes the ants are going into the ground, and then sometimes they are coming out of the ground." I reminded him it's more important during a baseball game to know where the ball is than what the ants are doing. I think he sorta got it.
Noah has morphed into a delightful two year old. His favorite and most often used word is "Nooooooooo!" in the whiniest voice imaginable. He says this while swatting at the air with his right hand. We've got the throwing of the food onto the floor under somewhat control. He has become very attached to his blankie, a symptom of what I as his working mother can only attest to separation anxiety. Every time he asks for it ("Bankie! Bankie!") it's like a stab to my guilty heart. The other day he actually did cry when I left him at child care and the pain I felt as I shut the door on his teary face was tortuous. I liked it better when he was interested in the play dough. So now we are trying to limit the blankie time, otherwise he is Linus from Charlie Brown: pulling the blankie everywhere behind him, inside, outside, he even wants it in the bathtub. I have to tell myself over and over, "He has not replaced you with the blankie. He has not replaced you with the blankie." But when the first thing he says when I pick him up from day care is "Bankie! Bankie!", his chubby little finger pointing to it in his cubbie, it makes a mama wonder.

Memorial Day Weekend.

2011-05-30T14:47:00.000-07:00

Joey took me out for my twenty eighth birthday last night. I'm not even at the age old people want to go back to (as in when you ask them how old they are turning and they say "29!") and yet I think I am old. I feel old. I blame that entirely on my children.
Even still we both looked smok'en hot in our black, dress-up attire: my tiny black dress (which I am sure made my dad's insides turn over when we dropped the boys off. Joey says I need to seriously get over this. Not really sure how at the moment, but I think he's right.) and Joey in his black button up shirt and leather jacket. You'd never know at home we're just a bunch of old married fogies who barely can hold their farts in anymore.
We went to Harrah's Steak House and enjoyed the extra polite service ("m'am" and "sir")and delicious food: fresh white bread with crunchy crust smeared with creamy butter, red wine in an extra large glass, steak cooked exactly how each of us likes it, strawberry cheesecake for dessert. Ugh. I still feel full and that was almost twenty four hours ago.
Then we rented a movie (a horrible, horrible movie)and got Hot Tamales (my favorite) and some chocolate candy (for him) to top the night off.
The movie was Black Swan, picked out by yours truly. I like Natalie Portman and I like ballet, so I thought it was a no brainer.
Well. I should have actually used my brain and read the back of the movie which said it was a "psycho sexual thriller" or something gross like that. Maybe I would have chosen something else, or maybe not. I don't think I would have believed, before I watched it, that any movie with a ballet base and Natalie Portman could be so awful. I mean, the Natalie Portman movie we watched in my house over and over and over is Mr Magoriam's Wonder Emporium about a magical toy store for gosh sakes.
Black Swan was completely disgusting on so many levels. I kept thinking she was going to pull through, get out of all of her emotional, psychological problems and overcome (comm'on Natalie! You can do it! I need you to do it! Be my hero!); but instead she just ends up killing herself. (Oops! But, no-see, now you don't have to go through the torture of watching it because you already know: she kills herself. The End.) It was more of a horror film, really. I give Joey crap all the time for renting the F-bomb throwing, shooting, bad guys movies, and then I go and rent the worst movie we have ever seen in all our nine whole years together.
I have officially been banned from movie picker forever, which is fine by me. That choice made absolutely clear I am totally inept at choosing a quality movie. Or at least at my next attempt I will read the back of the DVD case.
So anyways, right now it is so quiet. All the boys are sleeping. It won't last long though; nap time is like a baby chick about to hatch: the first whimper from the bedroom like the first crack in a previously silent eggshell.
It's not a bad thing, it just happens.
Once we are all up Joey is bbqing steak and we'll fix corn and potatoes too. A couple of more hours to spend together before the start of another week, which will be short thankfully. And please, summer, get here!! This weekend was like Narnia: winter and no Christmas.

Saturday Bliss.

2011-05-22T08:56:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning and I'm missing my blog (writing) more than I'm missing working out. So that's a lot. Work is going fabulous, the boys have adjusted just fine, my breakdowns have been minimal. I'm heading into week four and that seems just impossible it's gone by that quickly.
Yesterday was a super fun day. We went to Saint's to work out; I did a sculpting class which I always love because when I leave my muscles feel stronger than they did before. Joey did his own thing and than he swam; I love that he gets to swim now because I work there. Makes me feel like I am giving him something, you know? He loves to swim. I used to like swimming too before I wore eye make-up and spent forty minutes on my hair every morning. Now the thought of swimming, well, you might as well line me up on a brick wall and spray me down with a fire hose. But he can still love it; he's bald and never wears mascara.
After the gym we went straight to Ethan's t-ball game. It was one of the rare ones that's been warm and bearable, which actually made it relaxing and enjoyable. On the way home we stopped and did some grocery shopping at Scolari's with the kiddie fire engine carts that Joey always lets the boys get. I hate those things. Not only is it as embarrassing as driving a light teal Astro minivan in the store, turning into the isles is almost impossible and you can completely forget about turning around mid-isle-not going to happen. Plus, you always have the risk of taking out whole center displays with it's non-u-turn radius. On top of that it's grimy as hell and I'm sure has sicknesses growing all over it like a high school science project.
Once we got home and got the kids in bed I made brownies for our after-dinner-dessert and then hopped in the shower while Joey went for a run.
The best part of the day was getting out the shower to a quiet house that smelled like brownies and lying down on the couch in my bathrobe, my wet hair wrapped in my towel like a turban, and resting for fifteen minutes without so much as a peep from the boys bedrooms. Ahh, bliss.
Then I got all dolled up and as soon as Joey got home ran out the door to meet my friend for drinks at the local Mexican restaurant just down the street. It felt great to be getting out and doing something which felt so normal but really is such huge, abnormal thing for a mom to do: get all dolled up, leave her husband and children on a Saturday afternoon, and go have drinks with a friend from work, just for the heck of it.
When I came home Joey looked like the Gladiator had gotten a hold of him. His left eye especially was all bloodshot and looked like there was a golf ball underneath of it. He explained that he must of breathed in some awful plant that gave him an allergic reaction on his run. He was a total stud tho and still went over to our friends for dinner.
So we finished the day over at Jen and Sam's, relaxing with friends with the occasional sniffle and sneeze from Joey, my heart thankful.

Healing: the End of Mommy Guilt, Part One of Many I'm Sure.

2011-05-15T13:54:00.000-07:00

So after maybe spending the whole day after I wrote that last post in a foggy depression bubble in which I maybe was a little too sensitive and barked at my husband over a simple little comment that maybe turned in to a full blown why'd-i-ever-marry-you fight which maybe led to me leaving the house and crying in my car for an hour because I didn't have a bra on and couldn't go to Starbucks or anywhere else, a good friend reminded me I could read my bible and pray, and that God would answer me, somehow, someway.
See, sometimes I forget I am a christian and can do these things. Or maybe I don't forget, I just don't believe any of it.
Anyway, after a day like that even I am desperate? enough to sit down and open my bible, despite all the baggage I carry around it.
Because I am having such a hard time figuring this whole mother/wife/woman thing out, I listened to the little voice (this time I'm pretty sure it was the spirit) reminding me of Proverbs 31, the place where it talks about what a woman who is following God looks like. I wasn't expecting much; like many other "church" people I've read this passage so many times I can easily pass it off like a Hallmark card but I listened to that little voice anyway and flipped there.
Two verses in and my heart was so soft I could feel it melting in my chest : "Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value. She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life." After that big'ole piece of humble pie **see middle of first paragraph** the writer goes on, verse after verse after verse of...her working. Yes, yes, it's work that is pretty home-makery except for maybe when she buys the field (that's pretty business like, like maybe in today's world she'd have a business degree or even better, a finance one) and some could argue it all has to do with her home, but the freeing part for me was that this woman was BUSY. She worked really really hard. I can't imaging she was sitting around all day satisfying every whim of her children. In fact, the only time children are mentioned is near the end when it says, "Her children arise and call her blessed". She's getting up early and doing a whole bunch of hard, tiring things that make her house a functional home, one where at the end of the day her children and her husband praise her. (YES! this is what my little heart cries out. I WANT THAT!)
I also want to mention the part where it says, "She provides food for her family and portions for her servant girls." I hadn't ever paid attention to that part before, that she had servants, as in plural. Who knows? This lady could've had a full time nanny for each one of her children!
In all seriousness it just made me realize I need to give myself a break. The standards I hold myself up to are so ridiculous and because I can never meet them I end up believing lies:
You got married too young. Your first baby was a naive mistake. You doubled that mistake by having another. You are not responsible/emotionally stable/old enough to be a mom. In short: Your life is wrong.
And then in church today Louie talked about carrying around unforgiveness (of ourselves) and sin (lies) on our backs like when Paul says in Romans 6, "Who will rescue me from this body of death?" He explained that back then murderers would have their victims' bodies chained onto their backs and eventually the rot from the deceased would seep into their own bodies and kill them. (BTW, I think this is a great idea!) It was a perfect picture of how I am walking around these days with a "body of death" chained to my back, it's rot (lies) seeping into my heart, making my life stink.
So. This has all combined to make for a very emotionally draining weekend but I feel like I at least broke through some of the lies I've been unconsciously listening to, and that I also can now start to replace them with truth: Nothing about your family is a mistake. You are the exact mama God chose for your boys. You are working hard, for the good of your family. Get some servant girls (haha just kidding).

Mommy Guilt, Part One of Many I'm Sure.

2011-05-14T14:41:00.000-07:00

Ahhh Saturday! I remember the weekends being such a refuge when I worked fulltime before and here they are again. I appreciate days off so much more, I appreciate sleep so much more, I appreciate wine so much more.
Let's start off by letting you know I have been dealing with chronic back pain. There's a part of me that just wants to ignore it but the other part of me can't because, well, it hurts. All the time. I don't know what it's from but I have a feeling it's from overuse particularly in kickbox and also maybe yoga and then there's my whole cracking-every-crackable-joint-in-my-body issue that I've had for fourteen years. That could be it. Anyway, I'm worried.
So I guess I will just ignore it because who wants to pay for an MRI or CT? Not me. I've already had to do that once when my appendix decided to blow (while I was prego with Noah) in between insurances. Great timing, God.
ANYWAY.
Even while I sit here trying to ignore it the pain from my neck is giving me a headache in the lower back of my skull. AWESOME!
I'm sort of looking forward to cleaning today, getting my house looking nice and smelling good. Ironically it's so much less dirty then when I was working part time because WE AREN'T HERE TO MESS IT UP FIVE MILLION TIMES A DAY. So it should be a relatively quick clean.
I am still loving my new job. It's a great fit for me and I am excited to be fully off training and on my own.
I still am having fits of mommy guilt over it, lying in bed unable to sleep wondering if this is all a big mistake, and I am only doing this to take the easy way out. Being a fulltime stay-at-home mom is not my cup of tea but I feel like kaka over it. Instead of looking at this work opportunity as something totally awesome and fulfilling and financially helpful and an answer to my desperate prayers, I lie in bed wondering if it's an opportunity from the devil himself and the beginning of the end for me and my children.
I'd like to think the pressures I feel are from outside of myself but they're not. They are from my own gut, my own soul. They are from this awful habit I have of comparing myself to every other mother out there and coming up short every time even though no other two moms' lives look the same, but for some reason everyone else is doing it right and I am the only one royally messing things up in the maternal area.
I have to consciously remind myself that all those wonderful above feelings are from my own insecurities, period.
And then of course, looking at reality also helps. Like the fact that I noticed last night, after too weeks of working fulltime, I was able to laugh and enjoy both my boys for the first time in what seems like a very long time. That I am not rushing out of the bedtime routines to fall on the couch completely exhausted and overwhelmed by their questions and crying. That I linger while singing them songs, tickling their backs, pulling the covers up close. That when Ethan is procrastinating and delaying his bedtime as long as he possibly can, I can laugh it off with my husband and say, "That kid!" instead of wanting to shoot myself in the head.
The flip side to all of this is that annoying little voice (my conscience? a book I read? the spirit? the devil?) in my head telling me you are running away from your children because it's hard! you are taking the easy way out and it will eventually come back to bite you in the butt, like maybe your children will end up in the state prison because of it! And you will be perpetually unfulfilled for going after things that aren't really important (like financial security and a fulfilling job) instead of raising your children twenty-four-seven! I could go on-the little voice in my head certainly does-but I will spare you.
Man, this is all putting me in a depressing mood.
Maybe it's time I go grab my lemon scented Lysol and fill the air with clean happiness.

Mother's Day in Thirteen Minutes.

2011-05-08T15:44:00.000-07:00

Oh! I have about thirteen minutes to write something.
That's how my life has felt this first week of work. I live by minutes. If I am miraculously eighteen minutes early for work I take it as a prime opportunity to do the grocery shopping. Yes, I may have turned into a chicken with it's head cut off but at least the fridge is full.
But really, it's been awesome. I love working. I think, maybe when I have three free minutes, I might "privatize" the blog just in case for the sake of my job. I have a reputation of saying the darnedest things on here! But I want you all to stay with me so as soon as I figure out how it all works, what with the secret passwords or whatnot, I will be sure to let you know!
Today is Mother's Day, and boy has it been a doosey! Joey is working all day. It wouldn't be so bad except I keep getting texts and messages on facebook about how I should be getting spoiled and pampered, which is not happening. I did however stop by Walgreens and picked up a set of press-on nails and some new light pink summer time lipstick. Pitiful but it makes me happy.
And then of course there's my children. This morning as I laid in bed, thinking about single-momming it all day on Mother's Day and wallowing in self pity, Ethan came in with a card he had made at school that he has been just dying to give me all last week. He'd say stuff to me like, "MOM! There is this really cool card I made but I can't tell you who it's for. So don't ask me, alright?"
So this morning he finally got to give me the really cool card and it was very pink and sweet. His handwriting gives me the same feeling I get holding a new baby.
Then I came out to the table and there were little pipe cleaner flowers made from Noah's tiny hands. And to top it off, coming out the bedroom right before we were to go to church, Ethan told me (sitting in the laundry basket) "You look pretty mom."
So really, I have nothing to complain about here.
Going back to work has been much easier than I had anticipated. I had a month to get things in order and totally became a freak case of guilt and anxiety over what going back to work "full time" would do to my children. Turns out they didn't die, or turn into vegetables, or hate me. Well, maybe Noah hates me. But he's pretty crabby all round these days.
In fact, his first day in day care ever, he reached out for the caregiver from my arms.Not even a whimper. All you mothers out there can sympathize with how heartbreaking this was for me as a mom, as well as a little embarrassing. I checked back on him five minutes later, thinking for sure he'd be screaming and clawing for the door but instead he was just really interested in the play dough.
I had to just walk out and let it go.
And...my thirteen minutes are up. Happy Mother's Day.

Noah Bear.

2011-04-29T15:20:00.000-07:00

It's the weekend baby! The last weekend before I start full time work and turn into a complete hermit! I really want to go out tonight but have run out of sitters. It happens.
Noah is incredibly cute at this moment in time, and also incredibly maddening. I think to the degree they are cute they are also to the same degree crazy monsters. Just a theory.

I call him "Sticky Fingers" because if it is in his reach he will squeeze, pull, dump, break, smash, or throw it. Wherever he finds himself I find myself doing a mad rush to clear everything out of his grasp. He'll eat almost anything, besides food. The other day he gave me a big toothy smile full of purple crayon.
Crayon!
But Mac and Cheese just doesn't do it for him.
Currently he's sitting by me at the table filling my check book (yes! my check book!) up with thin, one-and-a-half year old pencil scribbles. I guess I'll be spending the rest of my afternoon erasing them. This is the type of stuff that makes the crazies set in, btw.
But he's so dang cute you kinda just look over it. The way his cheeks puff out like rolls and his long, fair eyelashes, and of course that goofy grin. Like he just put a whoopie cushion on your seat and he's waiting for you to sit down on it.

Special Thursday.

2011-04-28T13:28:00.000-07:00

It's Thursday. Thursday is when I get to scrub my toilet bowls. You'd think I'd hate Thursdays but I don't. There is something wonderful about getting the whole house cleaned all at the same time, or at least in the same day.
OK, that's happened like once since I've lived here, but it was really nice that one time.
This morning as I lay half asleep in my bed and Ethan came in like he always does to tell me he's awake (so nice of him) and that he is going to go get breakfast (Good! Go!) I had a warm moment in my heart and snuggled up with him. He smelled really good, like strawberry yogurt, so I told him, "You smell good!" to which he replied, "You don't!"
I promptly told him to get out of my bed.
Later I tried to skype with my sister on the other side of the world but certain munchy munchkins weren't cooperating, so we kept it short.
Then we went to the park where we braved the wind to see an old friend and her crew. It really wasn't as bad as I had anticipated it to be, I just couldn't see where in the heck my kids were because there was so much hair blowing in my face.
Today is a special Thursday though because it's my husband's birthday. It's also the anniversary of our very first date.
We went to a trendy little place called De Gru Nez or something french like that to watch their open mic (I'm sure it was spectacular!) and what I remember about that first date is that he ordered coffee and I ordered water. Water! What a cukeball! I must of still been anorexic at that point, obviously.
Even with my obvious issues he still wanted to date me after that, and here we are. I still have obvious issues but at least I eat somewhat normally.
I'd love to write some mushy gushy thing on here for him but what I know he would really like for his birthday is for me to NOT write about him on my blog, ever.
So- HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY! the end.
I start the new job on Monday. And no, I do not have my outfit picked out yet (but I better go do that!)
Other than all that I am looking forward to the weather being somewhat consistently warm. All this cold, windy nonsense makes me grouchy.
It's supposed to be sunny and warm by the weekend which is great because we are going to Little League Day and the Aces. I can't wait! I will take pictures and be sure to post something. Now I need to get back to scrubbing those toilet bowls. Yipee!

My Hero.

2011-04-25T14:31:00.001-07:00

This little guy has been spotted running all over my house...

...in my yard...

...everywhere!


The mastermind behind the mask.

Ethan lives in Superhero World. It's alright by me. Right now he really can't decide what he is going to be when he "gets big" : Superman, a baseball player, or the garbage man. If he chooses the third option, he says I will have to come out of the house and watch him dump our can when he drives by. I said OK.
We bought this cape in Vegas for him after much debating whether it was worth thirty bucks. Being emotional saps for parents after a whole three days away we decided to splurge. It was, of course, worth every shiny penny it cost.

Coming Home.

2011-04-21T12:02:00.000-07:00

I can tell Vegas was a really good vacation because when I came home and started doing the normal stuff I have to do everyday I felt a familiar tightening in my chest which I have otherwise not paid any attention to. Having it be gone and then coming home and feeling it come back and settle in my chest I realized how awful it actually is and that I probably should be on some sort of anti-anxiety medication. It's like I am living with a fucking** gun to my head!
**F-bomb explained below**
But of course I'll just keep plowing through having fits of anxiety every so often during the day, especially around wake-up time, nap time, meal time, go to work time, come home time, and bedtime.
The transition from non-mommyhood to mommyhood is more like a metamorphosis of some sort: one day you are a normal, young person and then suddenly you are a...a...I haven't quite figured it out quite yet. What I do know is becoming pregnant is a little like a pretty little frog being put in a cold pot of water, only to have someone turn up the heat nice and slow. You don't even know anything is happening or changing until one day you look like this:

and find yourself on a vacation in Vegas realizing you are living with a whole load of stress and anxiety everyday which makes you bite your fingernails and the surrounding skin around them and you have more acne than you ever had going through puberty and you grind your teeth at night when you finally are able to go to sleep after tossing and turning from worrying about everything from what it costs just to drive to the grocery store to the fact your rear-end is looking more and more like your mothers everyday and you are starting to get headaches like all the other people out there who live with their buttcheeks squeezed so tightly they have to manually release them at nighttime while they sip a glass of wine. If I don't do the medication I should probably look for my purple silky blankie from when I was a little tiny girl so I can go in the corner whenever I need to and suck my thumb.
Besides that frightening revelation Vegas was amazing. Downtown reminded me of home, just bigger with boobie flashcards all over the sidewalks. I affectionately started referring to it in my head as "Las Boobes" or "Titty Town". There were boobies just about everywhere, except on my chest of course. The good Lord just skipped me over in that line. I have tried to make up for it by using the "Bandeau" type bikini but really I think the stylists just have it out for us non-chested women because I swear those bathers just make it worse! They flatten you at like your just been pressed and ironed and they somehow seem to do this both ways, horizontally and lengthwise.They don't just make your chest look smaller they make it seem like it doesn't even exist. Or if it does it's on the same level as piece of angel hair pasta wrapped in pretty flowery material. Kind of a side note but thought I'd better let any other little boobie sisters out there know: stick with the padded halter tops. One hundred and fifty billion million times more flattering.
Our hotel was beautiful with winding walkways surrounded by lush green grass and leafy lush bushes all right in the middle of the desert (I am so sorry to whatever po-dunk community Vegas is stealing all the water from, but for this weekend I really appreciated it. So for all your dying crops and cows, THANK YOU!)
There were two pools and two hot tubs which I soaked in to my heart's content. I rushed my tan like I always do and ended up looking like a red-spotted leopard by the first evening but thankfully I have at least one good gene and that is that my sunburns usually tan up within a day or two.
I'll tell you what though, I learned my lesson. Day two I loaded up on SPF30 three or four times, just like my husband Joey does and has done for the last ten years or so, making sure to get everywhere, especially all those places that seem to burn up like a piece of unattended broiled toast (the hips, around the breasts, the forehead, my scalp, and, of course, my nose. Hello Miss Rudolf the Peeling Nose Reindeer!) This is the first time I have ever applied sunscreen in any sort of grown-up way, ever. And guess what?! It works!!
On the night after the race we went out with some of the other runners and I was just a little teeny itty witty bit out of place. Just a little though.
OK, OK, I sat there all night like a fucking bump on a log. But I did learn how to use the F word, if you haven't noticed. Being the obedient, people-pleasing, pastor's-daughter I am I never learned how to use it properly. It took a lot of observation and practice in my head but I think I finally have it! At first I couldn't get it straight: do you drop it at the beginning of the sentence, or the end? Or both? And can I call the ladies the B word or is that just for the guys? And how many words are there for male genitalia? 100? a million? I'll never learn them all!

Still, I love love love love love spending relax time with my husband. The daily grind leaves so little time to get away. We get about a weekend a year. I cherish it.
Coming home was great thought too. I couldn't help but drop to my knees the moment I walked into my parents house to pick the chubalubs up: I just had to get down and as close to their little doughy faces as possible. Noah acted like I was delivering the mail and completely ignored me. Ethan at least said hello before going back to whatever he was doing. Eventually, though, we were all in a big group hug and I think I may have cried.
And even still, a whole twenty four hours later, everything they do is incredibly precious and cute and I think I have taken more pictures in the last day of them than I have over the last year.
The whole thing-going, coming home-makes me want to do more of it. The other day some fifty year old ~~geezer~~ guy I ran into said that because of the economy they just can't take their kids (almost the same age as mine) to Hawaii every year anymore. "It's more like every three years or so. It's too bad. We leave on Thursday for ten days, but man, it's been forever. Last year we had to go to Mexico instead and we didn't feel safe there."
I was, like, feeling so sorry for him. And his poor kids. This damn economy! Hawaii every three years instead of annually! How sad! And to have to use unsafe Mexico as a substitute! Just awful!
I'm hoping for a maybe **crossing my fingers and my toes and my eyes** trip to Hawaii with JUST my husband in about ten years. But I'd take Mexico. Joey does carry a gun and all.
I will post pictures as soon as I get some uploaded. Viva Las Vegas baby.

Vegas Baby, Here We Come!

2011-04-11T14:33:00.000-07:00

And that's about as crazy as it gets, folks.

My husband and I are going to Vegas and the thing I am looking forward to the most is sitting by the pool in anything warmer than fifty one degrees in utter quietness.

For the most part I am going to be solo because Joey is running in this crazy race and I am looking forward to not having to talk to anybody unless I want to. Teaching preschool and having young children at the same time means that you say approximately 4 million billion words a day; that is to answer the thousandth question and also to tell them to "Stop it!" for the umpteenth million time.

Ahhhhhhhhh.

I can almost feel the tranquility.

I plan on spending most of the time napping in the sun on a lawn chair while watching my white, wintery skin slowly turn a delicious brown and then the other shopping for the rest of my shoes and bags that I most absolutely need for work.

Oh and maybe sip on a refreshing mojito and stuff myself with restaurant yummy food. Probably shrimp. And crab. Lots of crab.
If you see me, don't talk to me.

T-Ball Madness.

2011-04-10T08:18:00.000-07:00

Ethan's first game was awesome! He hit three balls off the T and got to run all around the bases to home too! I am sure he asked the coach if he could be the catcher-he's been trying to get us to buy him a catcher's mask for about a year now. Here's some pictures of the little champion:

Go Big E!

At one point he tried to bend over to actually pick up the ball but, alas, realized with all his special gear he could only bend over about an inch. O well.


That looks says one thing: DETERMINATION.

In the midst of little brother running around the baseball park like an absolute mad man I managed to get one picture and there's nothing really to say about it, only that I love it more than Christmas, more than winning the lottery, more than anything in the world.
Can I get that tattooed on my back?

I forgot to mention it was freezing and the kids play for AN HOUR AND A HALF. As soon as Ethan saw me after the game he started to cry he was so cold but then coach called them over for a pep talk and without my prompting he pulled himself together and went over to the team with a great sense of purpose. Made mama so proud!

Goooooooo Tigers!

Dreams Do Come True.

2011-04-09T08:19:00.000-07:00

A long long long time ago I was pregnant. I went to this art show and being the sentimental, hormonal, irrational first time pregnant girl I was, I spent way too much money on this print:

I think I almost cried when I saw it. I had all these visions of Joey playing baseball with our unknown baby in a beautiful muted sunset, wild flower field. You pregnant women know what I am talking about. It's been hanging in Ethan's room since the day he was born, and all of a sudden in the midst of life this picture is happening.

Ethan started T-ball a couple of weeks ago and his anticipation is about ten times any emotion you get from the above print. He is pumped. Unfortunately due to the wonderful spring weather we have been having in the forties the last three games have been canceled.

Everyday he wants to wear his uniform to church, or school, or Nawnie's house. He has to show everyone. And if he is not wearing it, he is talking about it: what the bumps on the bottoms of the cleats are for, how to squeeze your mitt to catch the ball, what his first hit off the T is going to be like.

Cooking his pre-game breakfast.

This morning he was up at six, already fully dressed and ready for his game, which is not until eleven thirty. I told him he can't wear his cleats in the house (it's like someone hammering on my kitchen floor) and we had to take the bat, mitt, and ball away until game time because the boys could not stop fighting over them. Otherwise, though, it's completely awesome. Better than anything I could have imagined five long years ago.

What a champ!

Guess Who Got to Go Shopping.

2011-04-08T17:30:00.000-07:00

So the boys went over to my friend Lillian's house for a play date yesterday because Lillian is Mother Teresa of 2011. I swear if I had any power whatsoever I would make her a saint. Not just for yesterday but for twenty five years of love: first to me when I was young and now to my boys. Boggles me.
Anyway, I had about four hours to myself and Lillian lives very close to my favorite place in Reno: THE LEGENDS!!!!!!(on and on forever).
I went to work on my work wardrobe. Seeing as I have almost nothing that would be appropriate for the office, I have a lot of wonderful days of shopping ahead (all spread out over my entire career of course. In case any of you -Joey-were wondering).
I went to the GAP because I was looking for basics:
A black pencil skirt (check!)
A white button up (check!)
Slacks in black, grey, or brown (check!)
Fitted blazer (check!)
Closed toed pumps in gray or some versatile color other than black, which I already have (not yet).
Professional bag (My hobos send a very bad message, or so I've read. So sad).
I spent a whole crap of money and then went to F21 (how could I have ever doubted?) and found a bunch of the same stuff only cuter and for half the price. So then I went back to the Gap and returned about half the stuff I bought. You know the sales person loved me.
I took some pictures for all ya'lls pleasure. I am so pumped. This is by far the most fun part of getting the new job (much to my husband's dismay, but I digress).


So here we have a ruffled sleeveless top (F21) with black skinny jeans (GAP). These are my first skinny jeans ever! I am so hip! And to finish off we have some black pumps (I think these are pumps? Still learning the lingo. Pumps sound like white eighties tennis shoes).

Here's that same little outfit with a navy blazer (F21). I plan on wearing this pretty thing with everything since I am cold until we hit mid nineties or so. I am especially excited to wear it with all my little dresses I have collected with over the years that otherwise would not be so office friendly.

Switched up the top here with another little ruffle blouse. I love this look. Everything is nice and basic and then you get to throw in a girly, flirty, pattern.


I am so excited about this pencil skirt (GAP)! It's soft and fits my body and height perfectly! The jacket was a steal at F21. You'd probably be able to get an even better effect of the professionalism oozing from this out fit if 1.) I had some hose on my white legs 2.) there wasn't laundry that needs to be folded in the background.


This is my replacement for the traditional button up. Gap had one but it was thirty bux or something ridiculous on sale and it was just frumpy looking. Reminded me of the dentist for some reason. This shirt, although see-threw as a pair of sheer pantyhose, is girly and sweet. I think a white cami underneath will do the trick.

I think I have a great start! I got some other staples too-two capris, dark and light, a dark denim pencil skirt, and a long sleeve navy striped button up. The only essential things I am missing are some variety in my shoes. I told my husband I only need to buy one more pair but I may have lied. I also need to get a new, stiff bag. I have never had a stiff bag. To me they say one thing: Stiff. However, I guess they also say clean, organized and professional. My soft floppy (and messy) purses will have to be reserved for the weekend.

Bottoms Up.

2011-04-04T21:18:00.000-07:00

Operation Butt, Hips, and Thighs, which I affectionately call "Bottoms Up", is in full swing. I went out for my first run two? three? days ago and everyday since the charlie horses in both thighs have gotten more and more intense. What the ?
I forgot how it feels those first couple of runs after a whole winter of non-running: the ache, the stiffness. And of course I probably over-did it, as is pretty obvious from my "warm-up" three mile run which included two nice hills in itself. Heh.
So...by the time I got to my "work-out" hill I was ready to go home. I ran up it once, trying to lengthen my stride and go as fast as I could. I can tell you right now this is going to be good for me. I am so comfortable right now in what I normally do; mixing it up with hills, pushing myself, will be good, physically, mentally.
And then I went home.
Next time I will shoot for a mile or so warm-up, and then my goal will be to do the hill three times. Just writing it makes me wince.
My super-ambitious-crazy-over-do-it-kick-ass part of me wants to be able to run up the hill ten times in one workout by the end of the summer.
My newly-feeling-old-learning-to-pace-myself-or-else part of me thinks five or six should be sufficient.
We'll see who wins.
My family right now is in a transition as I prepare to change jobs, try to figure out childcare and kindergarten (nightmare!), and get my classes re-arranged. Instead of teaching 6 classes a week like I do now, I am cutting down to one for a while, and then going to add back two on Saturday. It's a lot of changes but I am looking forward to them.

See That Cloud? I'm On It.

2011-03-30T21:36:00.000-07:00

Picture this cutie pie and nice clean car seat with chunky oatmeal like barf all over it. Twice. Then try, as hard you can, to smell what my car smelled like all the way home. Sort of like opening a Ziplock full of raw chicken gone bad. Did I mention the drive is ten hours?

Driving ten hours with a five year old? There's only three words: PORTABLE DVD PLAYER.

The driver. We only missed a highway once. Maybe it was my fault.

What you feel like when you can't get a job. And have pinkeye.

If I get a blog written it will be a miracle seeing as I have four little munchkins running around my house today. Well, one of them is napping. With four, one of them is always napping. I literally swap them out of the crib. We just got done making egg-less oatmeal cookies (because I have no eggs) and they turned out really well. Plus, I was able, God knows how, to not eat eighty three percent of the dough, which usually means I want to puke every time I make cookies. This time my tummy only hurts just a little.
We recently got back from San Diego visiting my little sister and her family. They just had a new little girl, Adelynn. She was so sweet! It was great to be with them and it painfully reminded me how much I miss being with Daelynn. I like feeling like I can totally be myself with her. She knows me, knows where I am coming from, so there's not the miscommunication that exists in newer relationships. And in newer I mean anyone who has not known me for over twenty years or so. Which includes my husband. Who I love oh so much.
I love San Diego, love the feeling there, the smell, the humidity, the temperature. I hate Reno. But it's probably just a familiarity thing, and even though the grass IS greener in San Diego, metaphorically life would be life there as it is here.
Speaking of which, my life has been in recovery mode for the last two years or so. My first kid knocked my world of it's axis and the second one, coupled with the loss of a job I really liked-but couldn't handle the stress for-sent me in a dizzying tailspin.
I feel like through counseling and books and ramblings in a journal and introspection, Oh! the introspection, I have come to see myself a little more objectively, maybe, and even though it's really awkward and painful, it also has helped me in new endeavors because I know myself better, know how I respond to things, know what I suck at, know what pushes my buttons, know what makes me happy.
Which leads me to the point, which is I got a new full time job!
The interview process was excruciatingly painful, getting all dressed up in my best, trying not to pull my hangnails or pick at my face not knowing when my next interview would be, getting mentally prepared, trying not to sweat it (literally), blah blah blah, only to get no response.
And then, Hallelujah!
On a last ditch effort to the wind I went to one last interview. I left feeling insecure and disappointed, trying to forget about the whole thing. The next morning I saw an unfamiliar number on my phone and sure enough it was them, offering me the job!
I'm still stunned.
Life is going to change so much. I have to leave my boys for longer amounts of time than I ever have before. I have to cut back on teaching exercise.
But there will be so many positives to it, I know it is what we want to do. It is EXACTLY what I was looking for, and nothing else I was applying for even comes close. I feel so thankful, so amazed at God who I think is so far away, so not involved in the details of my life, and then all this happens, and it's like He's putting the world together again, making every little detail work together in a way chance could never do.
I have a about a month to get everything re-organized, get childcare all taken care of, get my wardrobe ready (very important), wrap up all the loose ends.
I feel like I have been given a second chance and I am going to appreciate it so much more than I ever could in the past.
On top of that golden nugget I also, somehow, miraculously, got into one of the nicest gyms in the area. I immediately was given two classes, which I had to give up due to the new full time job, which was so sad, but I am on their sub list and hope to pick up a class that will work with my new, very tight schedule. I know eventually something will work. It always does--sometimes it just takes patience, like years worth.
I am overwhelmed and floating on a cloud of stunned happiness over here. It's pretty cool.

This firetruck stroller thing was the highlight of the trip for the boys. Forget the gorilla.

What you feel like after you've found a job. And don't have pinkeye! Yay!

Just a Blurb.

2011-03-29T10:21:00.000-07:00

My fuse is as short as a pig's tail this morning.
I was home sick with the boys all day yesterday with the most annoying of all sicknesses: Pinkeye. Pinkeye ain't so bad if you don't wear contacts. For me, it locks me up in my house, with my ancient glasses, no make-up, feeling like a slob.
Yesterday was a long, slow, relaxing day. I enjoyed it. I went through every.single. one. of the boys toys and got rid of five bags of them. Glory hallelujah! Then we went for a walk to the park and enjoyed the first day in a long time with blue skies and warm temperatures. In the fifties of course. We take what we can get around here. The biggest thing was there was very little wind.
But today it's one day too many and my patience is worn thin. I don't know why...too much coffee? Not enough food? Pinkeye? The medicine I took for my recurring sinus infection? Who knows. I feel jittery and like old thin branch about to snap.
I skype with my sister in about twenty minutes, which should help, as long as I can find something for the boys to do.
I'd stick them both in front of a long movie except Noah isn't into them yet. With Ethan I was oh so careful the amount of TV I let him watch when he was one or two (No more than twenty minutes a day!) and then with Noah I sit him on the couch and try to sell it: "OOOOOOO!! A MOVIE!!!! how fun!! Let's sit here with our blankie, and snacks, really good snacks....and WATCH IT!!! YAY!!!!" But, alas, it only takes about ten minutes and he slides off the couch, looking for something really naughty or dangerous to get into.
Yesterday he only tried to kill himself three times. Thankfully we came out of the day with only a minor cut above the eye and bruises on the chin and forehead.
Today the skies are covered in white clouds and it looks cold. I can't wait for summer.

Goodbyes.

2011-03-15T16:24:00.000-07:00

I am a bad, bad, bad, bad, BAD person.
As I sit here and write there are no little dog paws prancing around my kitchen. Feibi was picked up today by a pair of RVer's from Oklahoma and Riley is on her way to the Humane Society.
(Big sigh).
I have been crying on and off all day long. I decided to put Feibi up solo on Craigslist knowing that small dogs go fast and it would be harder to place the two together, especially with Riley's health problems (did I mention she is, no was, starting to leave poo all over my kitchen floor every other morning or so?). As was expected I got quite a few calls on Feibi right away and am still continuing to get them.
Feibi will be fine, I hope. The couple who came to my doorstep to pick her up were late sixties, high riding RV people from Oklahoma who were in Reno for a gun show. He was short and stout and from the way his shirt was mis-buttoned you could see his left boobie kinda just hanging out under his shirt. He had what looked like sailer tattoos and what I pray to God were not prison tattoos on his forearms. He was direct and dry and would say some sort of a joke ("I'm not fully dressed if I don't have dog hair all over me") at random times with a completely straight face. I liked him.
She was smiley with blondish gray whispy hair going all over the place. She had on a light pinkish flower shirt and her jeans had a hole in them ("You really gotta fix that hole, Mary!" her husband says).
They have two Rat Terriers (NOT Jack Terriers, as I was quickly corrected) who ride with them everywhere they go on the dash of the motorhome. Feibi should fit right in.
The only thing that worried me was when he started talking about the types of treats he gives his dogs. He tells me in his thick, Oklahoman accent, "Yeah, we giv'em chicken bits and bull penis'. They just love'em. I get'em for twenty dollars a pound. They can't get enough of 'em."
At this point I just couldn't picture Feibi chewing on a bull's penis but I smiled and went with it. She will probably love it, and I sure as heck am not buying her anything as exquisite.
Riley, on the other hand, is on her way to the Humane Society. With her health issues I know she will be hard to place and she will probably be put down. The whole thing is just heart breaking, from beginning to end. If you have followed my blog since the beginning you know that after I graduated college I wanted a dog. Feibi and Riley were number three and four; the first two didn't work out at all. Riley and Feibi were a good pair and they worked; I just never once considered the cost of boarding my dogs every time we want to go on a vacation. Too much.
So. I am once again dogless. I will appreciate the ease of going out of town and not having to find someone to house-sit, or pay someone; not waking up to poo all over my kitchen floor, not having to worry about the neighbors hating us because of Feibi barking. I will not miss the yearly shots and 100 lb bags of food from Costco, or the goo from Canada we buy at fifteen bucks a bottle so that their pee won't kill our grass.
But I will miss them. Dogs are worth having just because. They are little buddies, always ready to be with you even when you are at your worst. They don't care. They love you regardless. And I will miss that ready love.

At least Feibi will have her bull penis.
Oh I am a blubbering sobbing mess right now.

Playing Catch Up Again.

2011-03-13T13:52:00.000-07:00

There's so much to catch up on! Again!
The most depressing and at the same time freeing thing is that we have decided to get rid of the dogs. I feel like such a bad person, like I have crossed over to the dark side.
Which is probably true.
So they are for sale on Craigslist. It is all very humbling to me. But I know it's better for my family. The hole I wanted those dogs to fill in my heart (seriously) has just turned into a pain in (mostly) my husband's ass.
For that darn hole in my heart, well, I have at least since realized dogs won't fill it, nor will another baby, or my husband, etc. etc.
Moving on....
Operation Butt, Hips, and Back of Thighs.
I have come to the conclusion that with as much as I work out I really have no excuse to have a part of my body that I don't like because it's not in shape.
Enter Operation Butt, Hips, and Backs of Thighs.
Starting whenever the weather warms up I am going to be doing serious boot camp on my butt. There is a hill right out my front door that I am going to commit to running up it at least five times, three times a week. Tyra Banks was asked one time how she kept herself in shape and she nailed it: "I run. Hills." (That's not a direct quote even though I just made it one, but she did say that's what she did).
I also am going to do the leg press and hamstring thing at the gym with enough weight to make me break a sweat when I do it on the opposite two days I don't run.
This is what I feel like I have been missing: WEIGHT. To help tone it all up and make it perky instead of saggy, smooth instead of craters of cellulite.
I had sort of come to accept my butt/backs of legs as is but I have never really tried to focus and change them. The rest of my body has gone with the program and toned up quite nicely. My butt however is stubborn so I am going to kill it.
Maybe if I get brave I will post some progress pictures, but actually as I write that it is a very dumb idea. I will not be posting even covered pictures of my rear on my blog (cheers from Joey!).
Moving on...
We re-did our bedroom, a little mini-make-over. I love love love it!! And I should post pictures but I am just too lazy. Maybe later.
We have been doing all sorts of spring cleaning and it all started because we bought a new vacuum that actually worked. When Joey and I saw the amount of dirt coming out of what we thought were relatively clean carpets we both wanted to puke and cough all at the same time.
Even since we have been on a cleaning frenzy over here: the blinds, the floor boards, organizing closets and pantries, re-doing our bedroom...it feels so good!
Makes me think of that book The Tipping Point and how in life there is a point where things reach and from there they just take off; the vacuum was our tipping point. I can't stop now. I want to clean and paint and re-do everything.
We've been in this house five years now, enough time for it to need to be deep cleaned.
But of course right now I have two options: find some dusty thing to deep clean with q-tips and an old toothbrush or go take a nap in our new bedding.

What's been Happenning. I've Missed My Blog!

2011-02-28T15:26:00.000-08:00

I haven't written in so long! I've been busy! uninspired! and busy!
I am looking for a new job. Not that my old one is bad or anything it's just that I want something full time. And with all the cutbacks due to the economy blah blah blah, my family will in the very near future need mama to be working full time.With benefits. (I can safely say all this on the Internet due to the unfortunate fact that the staffing agency I signed up with decided to call to "verify" my current employment while I was making small talk with my boss. That was fun).
Anyway, trying to find a good job is a full time job in itself: the resume (trying to adjust and manipulate pre-formulated formats: oh just shoot me!); the interviews (the outfit, the nails, the hair, the shoes, the bag, the toothbrush, the extra deodorant--you all know I sweat like a pig), the right smile, the right handshake. And of course, finding the time and child care to make it all happen.
It's crazy.
I am so so so thankful for my work in exercise on the side. I make money doing something I absolutely love!
The boys have been easier the last couple of weeks (which is maybe why I am so uninspired!). Life feels normal, predictable, safe. When it's like this I almost can't believe how crazy it can get sometimes, until I go back and read my blog. Heh heh.
It's about that time of year when all I do is start writing about the weather, and how bad I want summer, and how terribly cold it is, and how good it feels to feel the sun on my cheeks.
Yep. Brace yourself. March and April are the hardest months for me to get through. I want summer so bad I feel like pressing a fast forward button.
This year, however, we have a slew of fun stuff planned to get us through these last two grueling months. We are planning on going to San Diego to see my new niece? or nephew? in a couple of weeks, whenever the little darling plans on getting out. Then we are going to go to Graeagle, one of my very favorite places in all the world with it's massive trees hundreds of years old and the stillness in the air when you take a walk after dinner...it's like the definition of peaceful, in a place. The smell of mountains and dirt and not of car exhaust. Anyway I love it and I love having my boys up there, seeing them enjoy all of the things I loved when I was little.
And then we are going to Vegas, me and my honey. I've never been to Vegas and I am so excited! Joey is running in a race and I am going to sit by the pool and shop. Then we will come together and go to some big race dinners and stuff and it is going to be dreamy and fabulous. We even get to go on a plane! I am sososososo excited!
And then it will be May, and hopefully the sun will have decided to stay, and I can breath and take off a lot of clothes and hang out in my backyard as much as possible. We'll get the pool out and sun bath as much as possible and if I can, talk Joey into getting a trampoline.
The other day at my pastors' house Ethan jumped on when of these things for hours, and heck, I still want one from my childhood. It's just a matter of finding the right spot, you know? Plus I heard they help you tan (they are black) and they are great with the sprinkler underneath or for a fun place to sleep in the summer. Ooooooo....see, now I want summer even more!!!

Eating.

2011-02-17T11:57:00.000-08:00

I thought I was doing better with Noah and his refusal to eat. I put a piece of hamburger meat in his mouth and he actually started chewing it. I looked away all happy and glowing inside until two seconds later when I happened to glance back at him and noticed he was rolling the meat out of his mouth with his tongue and then grabbing the tiny pieces off his chin with his fat fingers and throwing them to the dogs, just like normal. I gave him a desperate look and he looked back at me, his eyes saying, "What? That was totally disgusting. Any sane human being would do the same thing."
His table manners have gotten really, really bad. He throws spaghetti, cereal, or anything you put in front of him. He smashes it on his tray and then chucks it to the side or behind him. It would be hilarious if it weren't my kid, or my kitchen floor, or my laundry.
I don't know how he's surviving, but he seems to be doing just fine. He's got a little chub in the behind and he's growing tall.
His teeth are priceless. They are coming in at all different times and sizes and in all different places. It's like looking into a mouth full of miniature glaciers. And then when they all come together in that puffy cheek grin he does it just about busts your heart in a million pieces.

You Know. Just Another Thursday in Crazyville.

2011-02-10T14:22:00.000-08:00

Today was a crazy day (are we starting to see a pattern here?). Riley had her rabies shot appointment, and since I had already switched it a couple of times, I decided I better just get it over with. I always do this with the dogs: make their shot appointments, and then call and reschedule ten times before I actually suck it up and go. We were only about ten minutes late, which was a miracle if you take into account the massive poo Noah decided to have as we were running out the door.
So, there we are, me, my two boys, and my paranoid dog. I happened to ask the vet if he thought she was blind (her white eyes sorta gave it away for me) and he said yes. Completely.
So that's why she keeps running into the sliding glass door! And tripping over her dog bowl! And running into the open dishwasher! And I thought she was just dumb.
He also said we need to do a blood test ($) to see if she has diabetes ($$$) and also that there is a specialist in town that removes dog cataracts ($$$$$$$$$).
I have decided it is time to start saying my goodbyes to this sweet, good-looking, pitiful dog.
I am more worried about Fiebi, my other dog, than anything else. Fiebi is fine, as long as Riley is babysitting her. Left alone, Fiebi screams and cries like a two year old and then her only solace is sucking and chewing on my dinning room table chairs. Or, she works herself up so much she barfs or has diarreah all over my kitchen floor. I'm not sure if she thinks Riley is her soul mate or her mother, but either way when she is not with her she freaks out.
After the vet we drove to Wal-mart for an eye appointment. I've gone in for "follow ups" every two weeks now since my contact incident at that long awaited Christmas party which was a long, long time ago. My eyes won't settle. They keep getting worse. It's horrible. The next step is bifocals.
BIFOCALS!!!!!
Are you freaking kidding me. Maybe some rich soul out there will feel sorry for me as the youngest woman ever to have to wear bifocals and sponsor my lasik surgery. And maybe they'd throw in breast augmentation while they're at it. That would be awesome.
After Wal-mart (I know,I know: we entered the you-are-a-brave-brave(or stupid)-mommy-for-running-more-than-two-errands territory) we drove to Plato's Closet because I had some clothes there I had to pick up or they would put them all back and not give me my money for the clothes I had brought in two days before. I hadn't been able to finish THAT day without the kids because the store was backed up, so today there I was: freaked out, dying dog in the car; and my two kids, already two errands in, on the verge of lunch and nap time.
Can you say tense? My neck and shoulders still are not relaxed from it, even though we got home safe and sound almost four hours ago.
We picked up Old McDonald's on the way home and I got Ethan a happy meal. I didn't think to get anything for Noah, because you know, as the second child everythings an after thought, but he ended up eating more chicken nuggets and fries than Ethan did. Good to know.
Then they both went down for their naps and I lied down to see if I could steal another nap like the other day. It sorta worked. Enough that I feel good. Noah is still sleeping and Ethan is watching his movie, and here I am, blogging about just another plain 'ole day.
Life's good. Looking forward to the weekend!

Focus.

2011-02-02T21:18:00.000-08:00

I feel like I need a vacation from screens, and buttons, and all things electronic. Something like a month or two in the mountains with nothing but hot water and a blankie and the big trees to keep me company. Oh, and a lake.
I got this new iphone to try and stay up with the times and really I don't know if it's the phone or if it's just me but my brain has turned into scrambled eggs.
There's too much going on people! Can't we just focus on ONE THING AT A TIME?! I read this awesome article about this woman who went to some place like Switzerland and learned how to focus on one thing at a time by milking goats. It was enlightening, revolutionary really. See, the thing was, the goats could tell if her mind was on anything else and the milk just wouldn't come out. She had to completely focus on them and the task at hand or they dried up like raisins in the sun.
I lack focus. My mind is always going going goiNG goING GOING!!!! It's hard to enjoy things, especially children, when my mind is always wanting to do stuff.
And they are cute. Tonight Ethan was a bunny with his jammy legs on his head for ears. He ate his whole dinner that way. Then we played school and he set up books as the children and when it was time to sit he would lay them all down and when it was time to stand he would stand them all up.
Laborious, I know. But also genius, don't you think? He was "Miss Fawn" and I was "Miss Amber" and led the "kids" in a song (the bad ones had to go to a time out chair) and then taught them about Saturn. "But, Miss Amber, why is SaDurn 'sad'?" I tried to explain it wasn't "sad" but "Sat" like "Saturday", but he didn't seem to really get it and kept looking at me like I was just making excuses.
It was fun. I haven't had fun with him in a while. The clerk at Walmart (seems like lots of significant things happen at Walmart...) said out of the blue to me, "He's precious. We don't think so when we are raising them, but we miss them when they are gone." I don't even think I had a murderous mommy look on my face or anything, he just said it because he wanted to. And I needed to hear it after the last six days we've had with my first born.
"He's precious."
Yes, he is.

Rested.

2011-01-27T14:35:00.000-08:00

I actually got to take a nap today. Do you know what that means? That all three of us, The Big One, The Little One, and The Crazy One (that's me) all were sleeping at the same time!!! I don't think this has ever happened in the history of our life together and will probably never ever happen again as long as we live! It was kind of like mama crack for me. I mean, I didn't really sleep, because I kept thinking I was hearing one of them cough or whine when really it was just the deep slumbering breath of one of my dumb dogs but I at least got an hour and half of quiet restfulness. And then I "woke up" and felt sane and not like my life is one big construction roller that can't stop.
Then to top it all off I made a hot bowl of tomato soup and sourdough cheesy bread, and I ate it in peace, listening to my refrigerator kick on, and then off, and then on again. Such a peaceful, comforting sound.
I am still getting over this cold but everyday I blow my nose less and this morning I noticed my mouth didn't feel like someone had torched all the moisture out of it so I must be sleeping with my mouth at least partly closed. I got some Elderberry today for the homeopathic side of things and then a nose spray that you could probably use to terminate rats for the modern side of the things, just to cover all my bases.
I teach two exercise classes tonight, which will be the sixth and seventh I've taught or just done since Saturday. And I am supposed to be taking it easy. I am learning though that my body cannot take kickboxing at a hundred percent anymore. My back is old and stiff. I feel almost immobile in the mornings. I can't get my pants on or tie my shoes. It's freaking ridiculous. So I am learning to back off a little, take hot showers to relax my muscles, take time off from a hard work out to recover. I want one of those inverter things, like I mentioned before, and a hot tub, sauna, and personal masseuse. In the meantime I make do with really hot, long showers.
Now it is time to go clean. I am getting better at combining the things I love to do (fiddle-fart on the computer) with the things I must do (clean) to make our life run smoothly and in the end be enjoyable for everybody. I have dishes that look like the Leaning Tower of Pisa on both sides of my sink. Somebodies gotta do it. Cheers.

Tuesday.

2011-01-25T13:33:00.000-08:00

Don't mess with me today. First of all, I drank twice as much coffee as I normally do, doubling my heart rate and making my teeth clatter while at the same time dropping my blood sugar so that I am on the edge of becoming extremely irritable and then falling over and fainting. Also, I just got back from the sixth trip to the AT&T store, or Costco, where I am trying to take my phone back and get the upgrade returned as well. Supposedly this is a very complicated process and the ding dongs that work both at AT&T and Costco like to pretend I am a ping pong ball and that it is always "the other store's" issue why this is such a pain in the ass.
Then this morning when I was trying to skype with my sister who lives a world away and won't be coming back anytime soon, the program kept shutting down on us, thirty seconds into our second sentence. Maybe I should try letter writing.
Annnnd it's Joey's first day back to work and chaos returned to normal this morning without him. I see I have my work cut out for me if I want the peaceful feeling to stay that was created when he was home. He's just better at raising the boys than I am in terms of schedules and eating on time and keeping the house cleaned.When I am in charge we play and then we all breakdown, and we eat snacks when we can. And we scramble to clean it all up before daddy comes home. Embarrassing, but true. It's easy but it's not the healthiest way to live.
So, the effect of all of this--I forgot to mention I slammed Ethan's foot in the door of the car this morning; that was a great way to start an already hectic trip to the park--is that I have a knot in my stomach the size of a soccer ball and I am having trouble breathing, which is making me dizzy and light-headed, or maybe that's the coffee?
At any rate I feel a wee bit overwhelmed and the thought of throwing a new baby in the midst of all this seems just insane (I told you I think about that a lot), and to top it off I have a list of all these little, time consuming things I need to get done before the evening comes, and whenever I have a list of little things I need to do that I don't really know where to start I want to curl up in a ball on the couch and snuggle underneath a warm blanket and suck my thumb. OK, not really but you know what I mean.
I have to be careful what I say on here--my good friend and husband always is so good to remind me that some people don't know me and may think I am quite serious about things, like, for example, sucking my thumb.
I am not serious people! Jeese!
Heh.
But if I did suck my thumb...wink wink.
Anyway, it's been a crazy day and even if I wanted to I don't know if I could go take a nap right now my heart is pumping so fast.
I should probably try though. I have been trying to get over this cold for about a week. It's taken over. Moved in. Totally sabotaged my life. Everything I do has to be measured up against "The Cold". It doesn't let me exercise and it only wants me to eat really spicy foods and it's so dang thirsty all the time! It leaves me with a mouth as dry as the Sahara in the mornings with breath that would wilt a flower and probably kill small insects and a nose that looks like those cinnamon candies I love so much. When I breath I sound like piece of construction equipment. Which is all to say I should probably go rest. I hope I can keep my mouth closed.

On Having Another Baby.

2011-01-20T16:49:00.000-08:00

Just read a couple of blogs on the issue of wanting more children. This has been on my mind a lot lately. The idea of not having any more children is a little scary to me, seeing as a little girl I never thought past the point in my life where I would be holding a baby. What do I do with a ten and a six year old? I have no idea. What does life look like with a growing family, not one in diapers? I have no idea. Who am I if I am not a young mom to babies? I have no idea.
And then it was interesting: I was reading Dobsons's Strong Willed Child book and happened to flip to the end where he answers questions, one of which was, When is the best time to have another child? And his answer surprised me. He basically said in terms of the children the spacing doesn't matter; there are pros and cons to whatever ends up happening. What matters most in deciding to have another child is:
THE HEALTH OF THE MOTHER. Really??? My health matters???? My physical health? my emotional health? my spiritual health? Really?
THE FINANCIAL STATE OF THE FAMILY. Really??? You mean if I can afford a child??? That matters??
THE STATE OF THE MARRIAGE. Really???? My relationship to my husband matters???? I am supposed to know and enjoy and have time with him???? Really???
AND FINALLY, the BIG KICKER...THE DESIRE OF BOTH PARENTS TO HAVE ANOTHER CHILD.
Really??? I should want one, and if I don't that's reason enough to stop??? Really???
This was all incredibly freeing to me.

Snippets.

2011-01-20T16:20:00.000-08:00

What to write about. We went to Costco today. Noah is wailing in his crib. He's supposed to be napping. Whenever they are "supposed" to be sleeping and they don't it makes my skin crawl.
I got my hair cut today. Some random guy in Walmart yesterday told me I was beautiful. It was one of those moments where I was irritated with Ethan because he was taking so long to get going and I had this horrible, bull-about-to-charge scowl on my face and then suddenly, out of nowhere, I hear that, and I think I said thank you, and then two seconds later I turned around to see where he went and if he was actually real and he had vanished.
I think he was an angel.
Then I went to the eye center to get a new prescription because I switched to soft contacts after that horrible experience with my hard ones, but now my eyes are changing and I feel like I am going blind, or at least that I will be walking around with bi-focals around my neck very soon. It's all quite depressing. I mean, maybe I can make grandma glasses look sexy, right? Maybe? Please?
Also I have been sick for the first time this year. I thought I was doing so well and then BAM it hit me: the chills, the achiness, the dry eyes. I thought I was just sore from working out more than normal or maybe all my years of kickboxing had finally caught up with me and I was destined to be an invalid from here on out, but it turns out I am just sick and will probably recover, thank the Lord.
I do, however, want really really really bad one of those inverter hangy-upside down things, you know what I am taking about? They sell them at Costco for two hundred bucks and whenever I see it I just want to crawl up on it and hang, and let my back stretch out, and reverse all the blood flow to my brain. I mean, seriously, it takes every effort in the world for me not to hook my ankles in and try it. We have absolutely no room for it but I am willing to have it be on my side of the bed, along with all the guitars and other crap we store there.
I am having phone issues, thus the trip to Costco to return it. Things got a little complicated, however, so we will probably be making another trip back to Costco this evening. Two trips to Costco in one day with two small children! It should be in the Guinness Book of World Records.
In terms of my flu, I am taking echinacea and viatmin C and lots of hot water with vinegar and honey. Also DayQuil and NightQuil which really take the edge off but also leave me feeling like I may fall asleep right in the middle of a conversation or something. Like blogging...

Seven Years. For My Hubby.

2011-01-17T12:10:00.000-08:00

These pictures are out of order. I wish I was more techno savvy so that I could make this blog a little more understandable and easy to read, but work with me.

Some of my favorite moments with you...

Santa Cruz, 2008. Bed and Breakfast on the ocean. Remember the hot tub on the roof, the waves making music against the dark sky?

San Fransisco, 2010.

I had so much fun on this trip with you. It was fun getting to experience and learn something you love so much. I can't wait to go back!

Noah Jay's birth, Sept. 2009. This is one of my sweetest memories with you. Ethan's would be too if I could remember anything about it besides the fact I almost died.

San Diego, 2008. I love playing with you especially in the summer when there's water around. I love to camp, work out, do yard work, eat, dance, and snuggle on the couch with you. There is no one I'd rather be with.

I feel thankful today, a little overwhelmed, and really proud to be having a seven year anniversary. In the long run it's only the beginning, but to tell you the truth, from the beginning I never thought we'd make it here. I just knew I'd have to take it one day at a time, and trust love to cover what it needed to each day.
And look, seven years later, what love has done.
I feel a richness in the tiny seven years we've been together, building a life. Grace has been abundant. I've learned so much about myself and about you. I love getting to know you.
I can't imagine how seriously lop sided I would be without you in my life. You help to make me a little straighter, less impulsive, less unsafe. You've helped me become successful in goals I've always wanted to accomplish. I feel like with you behind me, I can do anything I want.
You make me so proud. I can't wait to see and experience and enjoy life with you over the next fifty years or so. I'm not as scared to get old knowing you will be with me.
Thank you for putting up with me. I know sometimes you feel like you have three children, not two. I know my forgetfulness and spaciness can drive you mad. I'm expensive. I try my best but I am only just beginning to understand how you see the world, and how I can help you. I know this blog gives you ulcers.
And through it all, you are the best friend a girl could have. There are no words, just a feeling in my chest that wants to explode with gratitude. Happy Anniversary.

Issues.

2011-01-12T14:30:00.000-08:00

Wanting desperately to sleep. Feeling like a wussy that when I actually have to get up before eight a.m. I need a nap at one. Wanting to write but don't really have anything interesting to say. Hoping the caffeine from my matevana tea will kick in soon.
Let's talk about eyeliner. Encouraged by my good friend, I decided to try it. She taught me how and now I wear it everyday. I am still getting used to the thickness, the heaviness on my eyes, but I think I like it. I've gotten a couple of compliments on my teeth, actually, but I think it's because they look whiter in contrast to my dark eyes.
I swear.
I kept pestering Joey, asking him what he thought and finally he said he liked the new eye makeup. It's like pulling teeth to get one good opinion out of the guy. What do they care about anyway? Oh, right. Cleaning. (at least mine).
Also, concerning the eyeliner, I feel like I finally look like the cool girls, you know the ones in high school who actually looked put together and not like some frizzy-haired-retainer-post-braces-yahoo? Well, I am ten years late but I'm pretty sure I'd be cool now. Better late than never.
Actually in high school I really didn't care. And I do now. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? Am I really regressing? Mercy.
I went out to lunch, childless, with my good friend yesterday. It was, like, amazing. I never spend time with my girlfriends without children because we are selfless and stupid mothers who just don't think about carving out time for ourselves. But it was so good, like what a good date alone does for me and Joey. Sometimes it's like a light bulb goes on in my head: "DUH! This wouldn't be so damn hard if you'd just plan a little and DO STUFF YOU ACTUALLY LIKE TO DO."
But sometimes the planning is more effort than I have in my mommy brain to even think of. Still, it was a good reminder to think of things I would really like to do, do the planning it takes to do them, and then enjoy.
There is a part of me that doesn't feel at peace with the life I am living. Like underneath I am fighting it the whole way, wanting something else. I hate this feeling. It makes me feel guilty and like I don't value my children like I should. They are so consuming, more consuming than I really can even begin to articulate. It was like something changed about five years ago and even though I want a break, I want a reprieve, it never comes. The ball keeps rolling.
It's not all bad, all hard. But overall, it's frustrating and extremely tiresome...and it's like I can never catch up and feel refreshed. Unless of course I am drunk, and then sometimes even then I'm still worrying about something.
I'm wondering if this horrible feeling ever goes away? Like is this a Little Kid Issue, or will this be with me forever as long as I am still living? Am I just a real wussy?
Probably just a wussy. Obviously this is not the best day in the world.

Things He Says.

2011-01-07T20:10:00.000-08:00

When referring to my bra : "Mama's boo boo cover."
When he has a headache: "My brain hurts."
While sipping on a soda :"This sprite makes my stomach sparkle!"

Just Checking In.

2011-01-05T14:38:00.000-08:00

Eating my staple of homemade nachos, salsa, and orange juice. The combination of salty and sweet is perfect. I eat it almost everyday.
Joey is taking the next two weeks off. He's never taken so much time off before. He wants to be a snowboard bum for most of it, and really, I don't blame him. I'd love to be a shopping bum for two weeks too. It's going to be great to have him around, catch up on some of our shows. Seems with all the holiday halabaloo, we missed on the really important stuff, like watching tv together on the couch.
I'm ready for a date night. Dinner, maybe a movie since we have tickets from Christmas. Life is good.

Besides Not Taking Myself So Darn Seriously.

2011-01-02T20:15:00.000-08:00

New Year's Resolutions, 2011.
1. Floss more. Flossing makes me feel so sexy, so grown-up, and so responsible all at the same time. I mentioned to Joey the other night that flossing makes me feel very sexy and he looked back at me like I had completely lost my mind. I guess that's a boy/girl difference thing.
2. Drink more water. I never drink water. Ever. I drink coffee, orange juice, beer, and wine. In the winter I also drink tea. But remember that whole eye thing? Well, one of the things I learned at the eye doctor was that I was so dehydrated it was affecting my vision. Oh, really? Normally things don't fade into each other, like one big orange blur?
So here I am, sipping on a cup of hot water. Not too bad really. Sometimes I put a couple teaspoons of apple cider vinegar in there too, because supposedly that stuff will prevent cancer and wrinkles and shit. My great grandmother drank it regularly and she lived quite independently right up into her nineties, so I am a believer; however, I am a little worried about what the acidity is doing to my teeth.
3. Drink less coffee. I say less because I usually have four cups or more in the morning and I don't really care about the caffeine so much as it making my teeth yellowish-brown. So I want to cut back, maybe. Or maybe I will just resolve to brush my teeth right after the coffee. A good brush at ten-o'clock in the morning is a great pick-me-up. Plus, come to think of it, extra brushing, the the middle of the day, makes me feel sexy too.
4. Start a book. About what? How to start? About what? How to end? About what?
5. Get all the details about going back to school. I would really like to go back and get my masters in writing, however, I need to get some guidance on this because of a few things: a, it's very expensive; b, my bachelors has done crap for me; and c, maybe I should get something practical, like a dental hygienist degree thing.
6. Work out more. Haha just kidding.
Then of course there are things I'd like to work on relationally, and emotionally, but we won't get into those here and honestly I am not sure what they are.
So what are yours?? And, (because I've never really had resolutions before) do you ever actually do them?
Cheers!

The Big Five-O.

2011-01-01T08:39:00.000-08:00

Ethan is five today. FIVE. It's so wonderful I just can't stand it. FIVE is when people stop saying horrible descriptive words (as in the "terrible" two's and so on) before the age so maybe five will be a little less pulling-out-you-hair-ish than the previous four. I have hope.
It seems to be the case so far: this morning he is bright and all smiles, in his new birthday outfit, ready to celebrate. He still got up at five? six? in the morning, which is his custom, but I can handle telling him to go watch a movie until I get out of bed.
I took him and Noah clothes shopping yesterday, a fact that makes me feel really-super-mom-ish. Of course we got a little desperate by Store Number Two and I had to keep them from killing each other in the dressing room, but we made it! And Ethan was such a trooper, tagging along because he's too big for a stroller (and doubles don't fit in clothes stores anyway) sometimes pushing the stroller for me even though it's probably heavier than he is, what with Noah and all the clothes I have heaped on top to try on.
I just know he is going to have horrible memories of clothes shopping with his mother, the endless feeling of it. I can see it in his eyes.
He wanted a Superman shirt, a blue and red one, but we couldn't find one so we got a Batman one instead. I don't like the Joker on the one half, but what can you do. I couldn't break his little heart.
Anyway, I can't believe he's five. Some wise, old mother (probably) said it well: with children, the does go by very slow and the years go by very fast.
Ethan's smile busts my heart and his spirit fills my soul. He is priceless and there is nothing that compares to him. Happy Five, buddy.

Keeping it Lite and Merry, All Year Long.

2010-12-29T19:01:00.000-08:00

It's nice to be inside, all warm and cozy, with my tea made in my new cast iron pot from my sister, which makes me feel all special and important (it's like so much better than a regular tea pot. And much more expensive).
My class tonight was canceled due to the snow. Damn snow. I don't remember the snow being such an inconvenience when I was a child. In fact, I hardly remember it snowing more than twice my entire childhood. Everyone always wanted snow, everyone was always talking about the drought and how if we could just get more snow...and now it seems my son plays in snow the entire winter while I shovel our driveway over and over and then drive three miles an hour in the slippery mush sweating like a cooking pig over one of those hot Hawaiian fire pits.
Even today, on my way to work, driving way slower than grandma (cars were passing on both sides!) I still slid, two times, one right into the middle of a red light intersection.
I just don't get it. My tires aren't bad. I'm in third gear for gosh sakes.
Other than snow writing has also been on my mind. Specifically, this blog.
Over three years it has slowly and quietly crept into almost all aspects of my life: friends, family, work.
It's interesting, this writing.
If I may get a little sentimental, it's all very near and dear to my heart. It enables a certain aspect of myself to come out that otherwise doesn't--in person I can be quiet and maybe shy (I like to think sweetly demure but I think it can also come across as being a capital B) and hard to get to know. It takes time for me to feel comfortable, and sometimes time doesn't even help. I like my old friends, girls who have known me since my memories begin. Or at least friends from my early twenties.
But this blog...this blog makes it's own friends. And that is perfectly OK with me. I never feel so loved as when someone comes up and gives me a hug who I hardly know, but who I know reads the blog.
Writing in an open, public way takes a lot of courage, or stupidity--I keep going back and forth and I can't really decide. But when I think about it, I tend to land on the latter--you throw yourself out there, your inner most thoughts (OK, not really. I am not that dumb, really.) But you open up a great deal more than you ever would otherwise, and you find yourself walking around in your real life feeling quite naked, wondering who read what post, and hoping some were skipped over by certain people, or, The Worse Thought Ever: no one is reading them at all.
Sometimes it's awfully cold, being so naked, and I feel so awkward I literally want to curl my naked body up in a little ball to hide and cry. And some sentence, some damn sentence, will keep rolling over and over in my mind...why oh why did I publish that? Great Gawd! On the INTERNET!
My husband has suggested (or maybe it was me, I can't remember) that I let him read through my posts before actually publishing them in efforts to not completely ruin my life via The Blog. Which in the moment sounded like such a sane and mature thing to do, but then other times I really don't care because we all feel whatever I write on here, and that is one of the reasons I write the thing to begin with: even when nobody comments...OK, so not so much when nobody comments, but! when somebody does comment, it makes me feel less alone.
I love writing. The process itself takes on a life of it's own....sometimes it's absolutely torturous and just looking at the screen makes me want to throw the dumb laptop into the toilet and other times I have this fun, sneaky little smirk on my face the whole time because typing the words gives me just as nice of a buzz as a glass of good shiraz.
But most of the time writing makes my life complete. My experiences don't really have an end until I push "publish" and then I take a deep breath and can be done. I can move on.
I get to experience things I like twice by writing about them. They almost can become more real than the experience itself, and many times when I look back and remember, it's the writing I remember, not the experience. Just like a picture.
And if it was a bad experience, I write about that too because writing usually will make it better, if only because I can step back and laugh at her, because, she is so crazy, and her life is so normal, and through it all she is really handling things quite well and you just want to reach out and hug her and let her know everything will be OK and she just needs to calm down.
Writing has let me laugh at myself and helped me to begin to not take myself and my life so seriously. This, by the way, is my 2011 New Year's Resolution: To Not Take Myself So Effing Seriously.
It's all just too funny really. And even if it's not funny, if you can see something funny in it, it makes it so much easier to survive (I'm thinking here specifically of changing the millionth nasty, stinky, dirty diaper....you know, with the pre-toddler just wriggling out of your hands like you are trying to brand the poor baby and poop everywhere and instead of getting all bent out of shape, taking a deep breath and in your best baby happy voice making up some poop song or something of that sort...K, maybe that was a dumb example but you get my drift).
Having a sense of humor just might be the key to surviving The F***ing Fours as well. Nothing else has really been effective.
And through it all, this blog is there. Letting me vent. Letting me yell. Keeping me sane, letting me laugh at me. You, people who read this, are all apart of that, and that makes me love you too.
Peace and a blessed 2011 to you all.

My Christmas Present.

2010-12-22T14:08:00.001-08:00

We had so much fun last weekend. I keep thinking about it, certain moments, and smiling.
It all started with a snow storm. Not just any snow storm, a significant snow storm, with so much of the slippery, deadly mess falling from the sky the county canceled all after school activities. Right away I started to feel anxiety rising at the thought of not being able to go to Christmas party number one. I had gone tanning for gosh sakes. This was all I asked for for Christmas! And it would be so not fair if we couldn't go due to some dumb snow. Despite putting our lives--including those of my two precious children--in danger, we loaded the truck with all their stuff, a bottle of wine for our host, and our contact cases just in case we couldn't get home due to the weather (or, maybe, not due to the weather) and started out going at top speeds of fifteen miles an hour on the freeway.
Since my accident last January, I basically become a freak case driving in the snow. My palms get all clammy and I see delusional accidents happening right before my very eyes and I can't stop sweating like an absolute pig.
Forty five minutes and a massive headache (due to muscle tension in my neck) later--oh and sweaty palms, don't forget the sweaty palms--we pulled up to my mom's. We made it without an accident or killing the kids and I couldn't wait to get them dropped off and be on our way.
Then we could finally start this long anticipated, dreamy weekend!!

We slowly made it over to the party at a beautiful home in a neighborhood Joey and I only dream about and walked inside. I got a Blue Moon, stuck my booty on the couch, started talking, and the evening finally slowed down. It became relaxed, beautiful, timeless. We ended up up staying the night which was fine because the house had a least one extra master bedroom, so we had our own bathroom and everything.

Which is where things took their first turn for the worst.

I don't remember dropping my contact, but really, after a night like that, who's going to remember? The next morning when I went to put my right contact in, I felt like someone had just taken a piece of jagged glass to my eyeball, which is sorta what happened because at some point my hard contact broke right down the middle and, failing to notice this, I put the dumb thing in my eye.
It took me four years in eyeball hell to get the stupid thing out. At which point I washed it real good and still not noticing it was broken, stuck it back in my eye thinking it probably had a bit of mascara on it.

Well, it definitely was not mascara.
Now, if I could only begin to describe to you the pain of what I was feeling--having a broken contact on top of my now scratched cornea--you'd probably want to shoot yourself.

Anyway, I decided to do the smart thing and leave the contact out, even though I couldn't see worth beans. At this point I looked like a semi truck had run me over and then backed up a couple of times. I mean, with the alcohol factor, the not-taking-off-my-make-up factor, the staying-up-till-wee-hours-of-the-morning factor, no shower, and then the war I just fought with my eye (with globs of day old party mascara on), I looked pretty much like I had been on meth for the last six years or so. At least I had my teeth.

So now, without so much as a q-tip to tidy up my eyes, we had to go say goodbye to our host which I did as sweetly and charmingly as possible, despite looking like a beat up whore. Thankfully I couldn't really see his face to tell if he was making any sort of weird faces at me. I am sure if he thought I was cute last night (and oh! I looked so cute!), this morning he most certainly was thinking it must have been all the alcohol he was drinking and he would be wondering what in the name of all goodness happened to her?

We picked up the boys and drove home, ready for a big nap. I thought maybe resting my eyes for a couple hours would heal whatever damage I had done and the broken contact wouldn't be so bad to wear for just one evening. I had to be able to see at Christmas party number two! There would be all sorts of new people! What if I got people mixed up, or I couldn't see the food or a glass of wine and I dumped a glass right in some poor chap's lap?
These, however, were the least of my worries because in the middle of our nap the day took it's second turn for the worst when Ethan came into our bed moaning and crying and complaining that his ear hurt.

Ethan never complains that his ear hurt, even though he has had countless ear infections. I tried to ignore it, then I tried to act like it really wasn't that big of a deal, and then I just gave up and wallowed in hopelessness. I had to accept the fact that we couldn't go: I couldn't see, Ethan had an ear infection, or worse, he was dying. And all I could think about was going to some dumb Christmas party.

Joey got up to take Ethan to the Urgent Care, and I stayed behind to take care of Noah, who was screaming in his crib. So fun!

I got real sorry for myself. It was nice to dream about a night away, all dressed up with new people and amazing food and drinks with hotel California King bed to fall into at the end of the evening.
I took some deep breaths and at first asked why: why the snow, why this weekend, why my contact, why the ear infection. Whhhyyyyyy???
Then I decided God must be punishing me for drinking too much the night before. Then I had to tell myself God doesn't really work like that (although the contact thing could have been a legitimate consequence or it could have just been really, really old), and accept that in life this sort of thing is going to happen.
Surprisingly, my despair passed quickly as I made the bed and thought about how our evening at home was going to go: dinner, bedtime routines, snuggling on the couch. Wouldn't be that bad. And I'd be with Joey, which is all that really mattered....but the dancing!...and the food!...and our suite!...I said a sweet, desperate little prayer. And it turns out God wasn't really really really mad at me because just then Joey called and even though Ethan's eardrum ruptured, his pain had subsided and he still wanted to go to Grandmas.

Oh hallelujah how the angels were rejoicing!!!

I started getting ready and thankfully my eye felt a lot better after the nap. So I decided to try my contact one more time (why didn't someone just shoot me?).

After wrestling the gnarly thing out one last time, I finally gave up. I'd go blind. Wouldn't be able to see a darn thing but at least I'd be there. And hey, after a drink or two, I wouldn't notice it anyway and neither would anyone else. It would just be that awkward, first-forty-minutes-stone-cold sober phase I'd have to get through.

One more time we loaded up the truck and all the boys stuff and we headed over to Joey's mom's. Got the kids dropped off, and we were off again!

On the way into the hotel it was raining just a bit but after all the mishaps we'd had, I was thankful it wasn't a massive storm. When crappy things happen, it sure makes you appreciate normal life, even if it is boring or not perfect (so what's a little rain flattening my hair? Who cares?! I was there! Blind, and with flat hair, but there!)
Our hotel suit made me feel like Kate, William's finance. It was so majestic and beautiful and there was a hot tub right by our bed! I touched everything because I couldn't see it very well and pretended for a couple of seconds I was Helen Keller. Then we got ready quickly and headed down to the ballroom. This party was quite different than the one the night before because it was so big, more like a wedding reception. The people were all new to me and I tagged along behind Joey as he introduced me to some of them before the party got too big and everyone stopped introducing people all together.
No one seemed to notice the eye problem.

We ate, we danced, and we talked. Then we danced some more, went pee, danced, and went pee again.

It's always so fun to see my husband party. He works hard and he plays just as hard. I love to see that smile that only comes out when he's relaxed and having a really good time. It reminds me of when we were eighteen, with no responsibilities...but I never live in the past (haha).

We danced for a long time, until the huge party had dwindled down to just those of us on the dance floor.
Some of Joey's friends had gone upstairs to dance some more and I could tell Joey really wanted to go, but I was done. We had been sipping on pure Patrone all night and instead of making me happy and wanting to dance it was making me extremely sleepy. Plus, my shoes were rubbing raw hot blisters all over my feet and I was so sick of seeing everything in blurry double vision.
I told Joey my feet hurt, but that didn't do much. Then I tried to be more direct and let him know that I was sleepy and getting cranky and was on the verge of turning into a total bitch, but I think he had drank too much for that to really sink in. So we found ourselves upstairs in a club that reminded me of Brazil: people. lights. music. headache...my feet were on fire. In the middle of all that chaos I told him I was done and was going back to the room. Then I walked away.
Which I realized ten seconds later was a really bad idea seeing as I had never been in the club before and couldn't tell up from down (due to the crazy amount of people jammed in there, the lights, the booze, and my poor, dear eyes) and was totally lost, not to mention I didn't have our hotel key, he did.
I reluctantly turned my body around, thinking, well, if I came from this direction, I will go back in this direction...
And bam! There he was. My night in shinning armor. He was a little pissed, but still he was there and I was so relieved to see him. We left and we went to bed a little upset but too tired to dwell.
I thought the morning would be awkward but it wasn't anything we couldn't work through.
We had a delightful breakfast of greasy sausage and eggs and fruit and coffee that just about made your tummy turn it was so strong. Everything was all so delicious, I can still taste it.
And that's how I remember this weekend. I think about it and smile because it is so not us. And then at the same time it is completely us and I am so glad we got to have it together.

Noah's Diet.

2010-12-21T21:31:00.000-08:00

Reason number four hundred million billion and ten why I feel like a failure as a mother: Noah's current diet consists of milk and graham crackers. OK, and an occasional Christmas cookie. I try to feed him other things but they almost instantly get chucked on the floor to be devoured by the dogs with an innocent (but not so innocent) "Uh-oh!" from little picky pants.
Oh and raisins, he will eat raisins. But they don't count because they come out the other end whole and undigested.
I think it would be such a cool experience to be a mom and not feel like a freak'en failure ninety nine percent of the time.

Chicken Noodle Soup.

2010-12-13T14:17:00.000-08:00

I'm sipping on some Lipton instant chicken noodle soup, which has no chicken in it. I bought it at Wal-mart the other day with my Grandma, who I call Grammie. She actually bought it for me, because even though I am grown up now and perfectly capable of buying my groceries, I think there is some Grandma rule out there that says Grandmas cannot let their grandchildren pay for anything if they are in a store together.
Sometimes I just crave this soup. It's salty and so full of MSG it might just turn me into a mutant tonight. But the smell, even just ripping open the pouch, is beyond comforting. I even debated today for about twenty minutes if I really wanted it today. If the MSG was worth it, if I really really really wanted to taste it today or if I should wait and have it when I am sick or something. I finally gave in, and I am so glad I did. It is so warm and good!
Sometimes all the crap is totally worth it.

Tanning, 101.

2010-12-12T13:07:00.000-08:00

So I went tanning a couple of days ago for the first time since, oh, maybe ten, possibly fifteen years ago. (It's shocking to me that I can even use the phrase ten or fifteen years ago, but I'll get into that a little later).
I learned that tanning has become big business, and gone are the days of five dollars for twenty minutes under the blue bulbs.
I needed a tan quickly so I went with the Platinum Bed, with supposedly bulbs so powerful they penetrate the fourth layer of my skin, guaranteeing a deep dark tan with bonus skin cancer at no extra charge. (I learned this in one of my classes at UNR. A girl student did a whole research project on it and I specifically remember her talking about the light "penetrating" the fourth layer, and how it changes your cells, or something, and that for sure it will give you cancer. I couldn't stop thinking about this the entire twelve minutes I was laying in the bed. I'm sure thinking about the lights only cause the cancer to grow more quickly, at least if you are the type of person that believes in the power of ones' thoughts), Ironically, this "fourth layer" bed was the most expensive, and the chic behind the counter was selling it like it was a Mercedes.
Before making my choice, the chic (who could have been anywhere between the age of twelve and twenty three) tried to sell me every tanning package imaginable, including lotions and potions guaranteed to make me look as luscious and dark as she was. She even used herself as an example of what certain beds and lotions combined were capable of. I was almost buying into her whole deal (for a fourteen year old she was a cut throat sales person), until she said she would sell me her "special" : fourteen days of unlimited tanning in the most powerful beds.
"It's a really good deal. You can come fourteen times in two weeks. Just stop by everyday..." And that's when she lost me. I shook my head out of tan world and took a breath and remembered my life and what it took in order for me to come ONE day. One day. For twelve minutes.
But let me rewind.
I decided that what I really wanted for Christmas was to enjoy one night out with my husband. I mean really enjoy it. So that's where the tanning and nails and shoes all came in. But in order to get to these appointments, I need someone to watch my boys. So I planned this tanning trip like three weeks ago. At the last minute, Joey had a meeting come up, so it was almost lost, until at the very truly last minute, they rescheduled it. Tanning salvaged. But I knew there would be no way on this beautiful green earth I was going to get back there more than maybe two times, if I was lucky.
So I opted out of the fourteen tans, and stuck with three and a five dollar packet of goo that did nothing for me except make me smell like flowery barf. But like I said, she was a really good sales woman/girl.
Before I went back into my little room I told her I just had some piercings done and would it still be alright to tan. She said yes even though she had no idea what she was talking about and then at the word "piercing" she just lit up like a little Christmas tree. I could see she had her nose and her lip pierced, but she went on to ask me what I got, and when I told her she almost started squealing. It was like someone had just loaded her up on tequila for the first time. We become instant bff's. She then proceeded to show me all of her tattoos, including the mustache on the inside of her pointer finger that her and her real best friend got as a joke--and to tell you the truth it did make me smile when she held it up over her lip-- and to talk about her belly piercing and how she wants to pierce her hips (I tried to not look surprised here, like old people do when young people say crazy things that they've never heard of, but I don't think I succeeded). Then she went on to ask if I was going to the Santa Crawl.
"Santa what?"
I had no idea what she was talking about but quickly started nodding my head like I did. And I felt a little relieved that I at least looked like a person who would go bar hopping all dressed up like a cute little Santa girl, even if that is the farthest thing from my current life.
When she customarily asked if I needed help to know how to use the bed and I said "yes", she looked like someone had just dropped their pants in front of her.
"You've never been tanning before?"
"No," I lied. I thought it was a better answer than bringing up the last time I went tanning was probably twelve years ago, when I was her age, and that I was also a little scared of the beds. She seemed to think we were sort of the same and I thought it was OK to leave it like that; live in that little fantasy land for a minute or two of a life filled with nights out on the town and tanning every day, just because I wanted to.
On the way home I called my husband and could hear my boys in the background, and I felt tired despite my afternoon away, to myself. It is exhausting to stay pretty. I missed my boys and my husband, and taking an afternoon for myself, though needed, also took away precious time with all of us together, and suddenly I had this huge desire to be home.

Expectations, Denied. Again.

2010-12-11T08:52:00.000-08:00

I got my dermal yesterday in my tattoo. It's a little sparkly and so fun. I decided to re-pierce my belly as well, thinking that I have the scar anyway, there might as well be a cute sparkly thing in there.
Well.
Turns out your skin isn't in the exact same location as it was pre-pregnancy. So my belly button ring is all off to the left of where it should be. It's like I got a side-belly button ring. Maybe it'll be the new hip thing, but probably, no.
Gawd. It looks a little weird and really off. It almost makes me dizzy.
I'm trying to roll with it, sometimes telling myself it's just the scars of motherhood, and every time I look at the crooked thing I could think warm lovely thoughts of my children...but mostly it just irritates me and makes me touch it, trying to get the darn thing in the center so I am surely going to end up with an infection because you aren't supposed to touch it at all. And I can't stop trying to shove it over to where it should be, only to watch it slowly sag back to the left.
It's pitiful, really.
The dermal is where it should be though. And getting one thing right out of two isn't so bad. Maybe it's a good thing I can't see it very well because I can't analyze the crap out of it and find some reason as to why it has failed my expectations, too.
Other than that, things are going well. We are going to a crazy Christmas party this weekend, and my Christmas present is that I get to go tanning (HELLO??? When did tanning get so dang expensive? It's more money per minute than a massage. I seriously got ripped off). But I am going anyway, three times before next Friday. Then I get to get my nails done and my toes and I got new shoes to go with my favorite little black dress. I know what I will be wearing down to my earrings and purse, even my make-up.
I get a little excited about these things.
And I am just praying my dermal doesn't get infected because that would be a huge rain on my parade, since my back is totally exposed in my dress and some nasty red oozing thing would not be attractive, and I would end up wearing a turtleneck and be really pissed off the whole evening.
So if you want to say a prayer for me and my piercing too, that would be great.

I'm a Yellow.

2010-12-08T14:14:00.000-08:00

I need some relief today. Crack would be good. I feel in the midst of four years of "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" I have completely forgotten how to be a me that I actually like. A me that is fun and carefree and happy and all those things that color quiz on fb said I should be (if you haven't taken it, it's a whole lotta fun. You can find the link on my profile page.) I feel like all I do all day is bark: "Pick up!" "Get your jacket on!" "Go to bed!"
Yesterday I spent the entire afternoon trying on cute clothes that I buy to make me feel good but then hardly ever wear because they are going-out-and-having-fun-clothes, not work-at-a- preschool-come-home-and-clean-clothes. I tried them on with different shoes and earrings and smiled at myself in the mirror for the first time in like seven years. I used to spend afternoons doing this all the time.
Then I got my guitar out and sang some horrible music but it felt good anyways. After exercise I had on my new black beanie from Banana Republic. When I wear it I feel like a hipster (what the heck is that? I don't know.) So I turned on my Pandora Bruno Mars station and danced my heart out in the kitchen while my boys ate their microwave chicken nuggets, wondering what the heck happened to their mom.
And for the first time in forever when Joey came home I didn't feel weak like I needed him to kiss me and adore me to feel good, I just felt good. By myself. For myself. It's hard not to build a wall here between me and Joey called I don't need you.
I'm still working through all that.
But I am learning to not feel guilty for being me, and even, maybe, liking myself. I mean, that yellow person seemed so dang likable. Fun and inviting and sociable. Like the color quiz said, I am spontaneous, I crave adventure, I don't like people controlling me. I can be irresponsible and forgetful (Um hello? children? Yes I have them, and yes I need to pick them up from the sitter after work), but I am a happy person! A likable person.
It's that dang responsibility that gets me. And the feeling of stuckness. The lack of some awesome dream and adventure waiting to be experienced. That and the whining.
Oh God! The whining!
I can be so lost in the moment (like, say, blogging) I give myself five minutes to get myself and two kids ready for work. And then, of course, hell.
But what's hard about that is I feel the best when I am lost in a moment, making a mess, not thinking about the things I SHOULD be doing and just doing what I WANT to be doing.
When all I do is things I should do I get very angry and mean or worse depressed; my face freezes over and my eyes stare out into the distance like I am on a lot of medication.
I haven't yet figured out how to live out both of these things, responsibility and fun. Cleaning and dressing up. Getting ready for work and writing.
Speaking of, the kitchen is an absolute disaster. There are dirty dishes everywhere. Food left out from dinner. I should be getting Ethan ready for bed.
So...maybe I will put on my rap music and clean up, a step, at least in the direction of merging the two extremes.

Christmas' Past.

2010-12-06T15:24:00.000-08:00

There aren't many Christmases that stand out from the others, but there are a few. If I try to go in order the first one was on Christmas Eve. My little sister got a doll I wanted and I could have killed her. It was one of the most disappointing nights of my life and even the next morning when I opened the exact same doll for me, I was still a little sad. And mad.
Then there's the Christmas away from home, in Brazil, where everything is hot. I started early, like we do here, asking where I could buy Christmas cards and buying everyone I could think of presents and saying "Feliz Natal!" to the store clerks on my way out. Everyone looked at me like I was nuts until I realized Christmas isn't a huge money making scheme over there: it's just a day to eat and be with friends and family.
Then there's that Christmas Eve with my first grown-up love. We had broken up days before, but decided to see each other in order to exchange our gifts, as friends. We opened them together in a stolen moment on my couch, sneaking out later to go for coffee at some tiny coffee joint neither of us had ever been to. It was cold, and the coffee was so hot. Everything felt warm and intoxicating, my blood bubbling with thankfulness to be with him, despite having called it off days before. I've always been a spaz like that.
Then there's the Christmas where I was huge, ready to pop with my first baby. I can't remember ever being so uncomfortable in my life. Some people hate being pregnant in the summer...I'll take sun dresses and a pool over huge coats and Christmas parties where everyone is so close you can't help but knock them over with your humongous belly any day.

Hooky.

2010-12-05T14:21:00.000-08:00

Ethan's drawing of me and my friend Jen. I think we kind of look like flies.

The new 'do.

My Little Barfymuffin. When he's not barfing.

What a funny day today. Woke up and after asking God to forgive me for secretly being happy we weren't going to church (Noah was barfing all last evening) so that I could get a bunch of errands done, the day basically turned into a pile of poo.
We were just about forty five minutes behind and everyone was crying and cranky and hungry, so our errands turned in a nightmare. Then Ethan's attitude has been like an army general on crack, and add Noah's barfyness to the mixture, and I am pretty much sick of being a mom.
Joey however is home, so the planets seem to be lined up right in at least one area. We're back to getting through the bedtime routines and then snuggling on the couch under a blanket with a glass of wine and Bones or House or Lie To Me.
It's so good to have him home, close, so I can touch his skin, smell him. He goes back to work today, and life goes on.
It's just been one of those days where I underneath everything that we are doing I am pleading with the Lord, God! Redeem this damn day!
Sex helps. Writing helps. Going and getting my nails done or shopping or tanning helps too, but those things need babysitters, or at least a husband who is not sleeping. I find myself lately going from one form of relief to another, and it makes me feel like I am not on good terms with God, because if I were I would be OK without my drugs of choice.
I wanted to wrap Christmas presents today, and write our Christmas letter and stuff them in cards, and think warm gooey thoughts of friends and family as I addressed envelopes. Instead, I realized we somehow forgot the bag with the two boxes of cards in them at the store, and when I sat down to write the letter the first two sentences I managed to get out sounded really over the top and cheesy, like I was trying to cover up some really crappy day with exclamation points.
In other news I chopped my hair as a surprise for Joey coming home. I decided this would be better than me trying to re-paint the whole house while he was away, which turned out to be a good idea seeing as I barely got the dishes done. It's a compromise cut: he likes my hair short, and I like it longer, so I got sort of like a mullet in reverse: the front is long and the back is short. It makes us both happy.

More Patience...More Pictures.

2010-12-03T08:28:00.001-08:00

It was 29 degrees outside (And I really don't know if I am exaggerating that number or not) but as soon as we pulled out the cupcake it was as if Noah was in the Bahamas. He could have stayed there all night.

What you don't see is his poor face when I took the uneaten cupcake away so we could return to the car and de-thaw. He got so mad, his face red like a little lobster. Then, if he could talk, he would have said, "You are a bad, bad, BAD mommy!!!"

I like this one. You may be seeing it in some Christmas card or something.

Happy Friday!!

We Are Family.

2010-12-02T14:38:00.000-08:00

Ethan is almost five. How'd that happen?

It's Joey, Little Joey, and Mini Joey.

I'd post a picture with all of us but I have no patience and my computer can't do two things at once.

Good Morning, Miss Ogre.

2010-12-02T07:22:00.001-08:00

Why is it that as you get older you get uglier and uglier in the morning? I seriously scared myself this morning when I looked in the mirror right after getting out of bed. Then I happened to yawn and my breath could have wilted a flower.
It's like I turn into a ogre in the middle of the night, and then after I shower and get my makeup on and my hair dried I turn back into me. It's making the thought of camping more and more impossible, especially tent camping. I think the biggest thing is my left eyebrow, which I over-plucked a few years back (OK, OK, I plucked the entire second half off), and I can't let it grow back because it grows all funky and grandpa like, so I keep it plucked and have to draw it in every morning. But until I can get my hands on that essential little pencil I just look really weird, like I am going through chemo.
Also, I am hoping that by writing this dumb crap my mojo will be back in town at about the same time Joey is. I have this strange hunch that writing is secretly connected to my sex drive. We'll see.
Some other stuff going on in my head:
Sometimes, against all better judgment, I want to have another baby. The other day I had decided that this is what I wanted and so I spent all day dreaming of a third, probably a girl, and thinking of names and picturing meadow scenes with all three of my children frolicking in the muted sunset light.
Of course, when I let Joey in on my plans we almost got divorced, but we worked through it.
Then today I am thinking about wanting a job that makes a lot of money and has some sort of title that would make me feel good every time I told anyone what I do.
And of course, those two little things (a baby and a job) don't really go together. In fact, in my life, from past experience, they sort of create an atomic bomb in my life: BOOM!
Anyway, just crap in my head.

The Funk's Passing.

2010-12-01T08:07:00.000-08:00

Well, that dumb funk is passing. I exercised on Monday and Tuesday night, didn't read anything except for The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe to Ethan but I still think that helped, and have been having pretty good hair days the last two days so the funk is rising, thank God. Oh and I spent yesterday morning with a girlfriend and tea which is pretty much balm for the soul.
I know this funk is totally connected to The Flow: two weeks out of the month I am a normal, functioning, life-loving (normally), woman, and then the other two I am this crazy mofo that cannot stop eating and has to try every second to keep her mind from going into nuts-o land.
Today though, I feel almost great. I got up after only hitting the snooze twice (usually I am more of a four or five times snooze-button woman), got all dressed and ready to go to work without the boys getting out of bed, and then wa-la: Ethan is sick. So here I am, up nice and early, all dressed and feeling good, with no plans.
Which is fine by me. I get to write and I get to do some more "deep cleaning" as my husband puts it: his ultimate surprise gift for when he comes home. He's so weird. He is going to be thrilled to see the bookcases all neat and dusted, the plant sheddings gone from the huge tree plant I have on my nightstand which he hates but I insist stays put to half-way disguise the ugly printer we have in our bedroom.
So, today I say goodbye to the Funk, until about Christmas time, when I know she'll be back.

The Funk.

2010-11-29T14:37:00.000-08:00

I feel really weird, and I think it may be that I need a haircut. My boys are sleeping, so it's nice and quiet.
Thanksgiving was the bomb: the long weekend, seeing extended family, the gooey food, the turkey (dark meat all the way), going up in the mountains to cut our tree, bringing it home and having it's sappy smell fill my house, decorating it, decorating everything. We even got two Christmas shopping trips in. And then today, back in the normal swing of things, I feel tired.
The morning did not start off well. My alarm did not go off so instead I work up to Ethan asking if he could watch a movie forty five minutes after I should have been up. We got ready super quick and everything would have been fine only I put my keys in my underwear drawer (I NEVER have put my keys in my underwear drawer) and it took me twenty minutes to find them (I don't even know what I bothered to look in my underwear drawer. I think it was in a desperate, crazy, throw-open-every-cupboard-and-drawer-moment...maybe). Then out the door, planning on going eighty or eighty five the whole way, until I realized the freeway was backed up to California.
It's mornings like this where my lips are pursed and I try to do my yoga breathing so that I don't explode. It helped to look over at the lady in the silver car next to me and see that her lips were pursed and she looked about three seconds away from exploding too.
I feel all out of sorts lately. Like I said, maybe I just need a haircut. Or maybe it's more--I have had no desire to write, or have sex.
I know, I know! Right after that whole weekend sex frenzy post! And now I'm as cold as a dead fish. Oh the irony!
This has never happened in my entire life. Kinda like the car keys thing.
I'm kinda just moping around, waiting for it to pass....every once in a while I shake my head and my long hair trying to shake the funk out. It helps for about a minute and a half.
Maybe it's lack of exercise. With our big weekend I missed a couple of normal exercise times, and as I get older I realize more and more how closely linked working out is to my emotional well being. So I'll go work out tonight, see if that helps.
Maybe I need to get into a good book, go pick up some Anne Lamott.

Holidays.

2010-11-23T08:24:00.000-08:00

Woke up to snow this morning and haven't decided if I am excited to have to shovel or not. It's Thanksgiving week, and I really love the holidays. I love shopping (but you already knew that), I love the parties, the family, the friends, the food. I even like the cold weather, the snow. Winter and I get along pretty well until about February or March, and then by April (when it should be getting warm but it doesn't) I really hate it.
I can't wait to go get our tree, to decorate it together and put the first few gifts under it. The plans aren't set in stone yet but we are also planning on taking the boys with Nawnie and Ampa to the train in Portola where they serve hot chocolate just like in the Polar Express. I've wanted to take Ethan to this for two years and always seem to miss it.
We also have some Christmas parties coming up, one for Joey's work at the Peppermill that's going to be an overnighter, complete with a massage from the spa. I'm just a little bit excited about that.
I usually do a Christmas card with a letter about our year and a picture, but haven't started this year's yet. I've done it for the last four or so years, and want to put together a book with the letters and the pictures so it will be a quick reference of our life. Might work on that today...
I've also been working on a photo album from Shutterfly and have about four pages left till I reach the max amount of pictures they'll let me use in a book. It's about three years worth of pictures.
I love chronicling our life. It's really neat to see Ethan grow and change, and now Noah too. Noah is just like Ethan (in looks) when he was Noah's age.
I've been really feeling domestic lately. Maybe it's the holidays. Anyway, it's fun. Maybe I'll go bake some bread or something.

Fear(less).

2010-11-16T20:52:00.000-08:00

Dear Future I will not fear you. I will not fear the thought that I have royally messed up my first son, and will soon be putting the finishing touches of "royal mess up" on my second. I will not fear tomorrow, in thinking that I am too old to accomplish anything. I will not fear the thought of what you hold for my marriage, for my relationships, especially with my two sons. I will not fear drugs on the streets of middle school, of meth and nail polish and whatever else it is that they are injecting or sniffing these days. I will not fear my body, my bones as they ache, especially in the mornings. I will not fear them becoming old and brittle and excruciatingly painful.
I will not fear the red 40 in the fishy gummies I ate on Sunday because I was starving. I will not fear the ice cream, and the cheesecake I ate this weekend. Especially the cheesecake because it was in celebration of Jen's new baby. I will not fear the thought of inheriting all of my mom's bad habits. I will not fear the economy and the fact that we are so upside down in our house we are dizzy. I will not fear the idea of being stuck: physically in this house, emotionally in my relationship with myself and others, and spiritually with the God whom I grew up with.
I will not fear the thought of never moving on, of never reaching my potential. I will not fear the thought that Justin Beiber is like twelve.
I will not fear the rich ones, the ones that drive the nice cars and wear the flashy jeans. I will not fear my husband. I will not fear my four year old. I will not fear old age, the wrinkles that are bound to come no matter how much money I spend on moisturizer. I will not fear the loss of young, effortless beauty. I will not fear the grave, the dirt being shoveled on top of a box that will hold my remains while I am busy meeting my Maker. I will not fear that either.
I will not fear my parents, what they think of me. Or anyone else for that matter. I will not fear relationships and what it takes to maintain them, including conflict. I will not fear the desert, or the valley of death for that matter. I will not fear this afternoon, with lists of things I could do, I should do, and the overwhelming feeling of numbness that accompanies them.
I will not fear cancer, breast cancer, melanoma, and autoimmune diseases I hear about on House. I will not fear the sun.
I will not fear the gap, the emptiness of intimacy I sometimes (more than others) feel in my marriage. I will not fear it.
I will not fear making mistakes because I don't believe in terminal mistakes. Oopsies, yes. Learn and grow, yes. I will not fear mistakes as if they could ruin me.
I will not fear having more children and I will not fear not having more children.
Carpe diem!

What to Expect.

2010-11-13T07:20:00.001-08:00

I thought of some awesome things to write today in the shower, and now I can't think of a darned one. And oh, by the way, is "awesome" dumb now? Because remember when I went to get my tattoo, well, there were all these punked out guys who thought they were real cool, cuz they had like a zillion tattoos, and when I used awesome, as in "thanks for my tattoo, it's awesome" (hence, compliment), they snickered at me like I was some lame-o.
I hate fat boys with lots of tattoos.
Ohhh my gosh I just remembered some of things I was thinking about in the shower!
It started with the boys' toes. I cut those toenails, and fingernails, it seems like all the time, I mean, they must grow super fast when your young because I just finish with the last little pinkie nail on Little Lear Number 2 and low and behold Little Lear Number 1 needs a trim again. I am always trimming.
And that got me thinking of other things I didn't expect when I was, um, expecting.
I didn't expect to go crazy, for one.
I didn't expect to meet a side of myself that is so mean, impatient, and rude.
I didn't expect to stay skinny.
I didn't expect to be this tired.
I didn't expect to fight so much with my husband over how they look and act, how we should discipline.
I didn't expect them to cost so much.
I didn't expect them to dictate everything, from our city to our house to our cars to our jobs.
I didn't expect every morning to be the war in Iraq, screaming, whining, and all without coffee!!!
I didn't expect to never sleep again. I mean really sleep. I know I don't really sleep because at any point in the middle of the night, I am up like I was just lying there waiting for Ethan to come in or Noah to whimper. Like I am waiting for it. Midnight, two, or four thirty in the freaking morning, it doesn't matter. My eyes pop open like I heard a gunshot. Now, at six, for some reason, I feel like I can't open my eyes for anything, even if the whole house were on fire. At six, I think I'd let it burn.
I didn't expect to feel like there is no reprieve. Even on over night dates, which we take fairly regularly, it always feels so short. And the restfulness of it is easily taken over by the anxiety of the thought of picking up the buggers.
I didn't expect every car ride to be such a pain in the ass, getting both boys in the car seats with all their junk and snacks.
I didn't expect bedtime to be the war in Iraq either.
Now this list just makes me feel horrible, because my mother, the saint, never said a word about any of this.
And I love my boys. I love their soft doughy cheeks and the way they smell like yogurt and graham crackers and all the sweet love they give me. But I was expecting that.

I didn't expect them to look so much like me. It can be painful, and at the same time so awesome, to see my face in his. I didn't expect them to get to smart so quick. Sometimes I feel like I am dealing with a teenager, or a cut throat lawyer, not a four year old. I didn't expect them to be so unpredictable, so unique, so uncontrollable. I didn't expect them to make so much noise. It doesn't matter, the dinner table, the car, bath time, anytime they are not sleeping you can pretty much bet they are making noise. A lot of noise. I didn't expect quietness to become such a cherished rarity, like something uber precious, like dark chocolate covered almonds and an expensive bottle of Shiraz. I didn't expect to like the way they smelled so much, like cream cheese frosting and syrup and (when clean) Aveeno baby shampoo.
I did not expect it to be so hard and complicated, so immensely dragging (especially in the mornings and evenings) and then at the same time they are life. They are my life. I would die a thousand deaths if they died. They are irritation and frustration and anger right next to a love so big it busts your heart, if only because you are trying so dang hard to be a good mom.
Which is what you expected to be. Funny how expectations never quite pan out the way we expect them to.

Rated PG-13.

2010-11-08T13:57:00.000-08:00

The boys are all napping. Life is just going along, totally normal and fine, which is fine with me. I'm not depressed. I'm just regular, and that is fabulous.
I am thankful for the weekends with Joey. I am thankful for sex. Who'da thought in seven years it'd be just as crazy but a whole lot better and more intense than it was at the beginning? We basically have sex all weekend long. It makes up for the three and four days he works and we don't see each other. We're hungry for each other and in the crazy life of a young family, sex is the ultimate reprieve. Renewing, refreshing, connecting, when nothing else does.
I've always enjoyed sex. It's a role reversal from the stereotype of "hubby wants it all the time". Not in my house. In my house, "mama wants it all the time." And after seven years, I've beginning to come to peace with that, with me. So I like sex? Sometimes more than my husband? Good for me.
I feel sometimes like it is a special little gift God gave me, that I like it. To me, there is nothing on God's green earth better than sex. This is a testament not only to the rock star skills of my hubby in bed, but also to the unique way God put me together. And honestly, I think more women are like me, we just don't get heard very often in a culture who accepts the notion that men want it and women hate it. Especially, a-hem, the christian culture.
It used to irk me, and I guess it still does, that any christian book on sex, if mentioned at all, will have about a paragraph worth of "now there is the very rare case where a wife will want sex more than her husband..." and then some lame advice to get undressed super slow and that should fix it.
Not so much.
We're over the hump now, but there was a period of time that I could have used some serious help in how to deal with the pain of what I saw as rejection to the deepest part of me. Why didn't he want me? I must be unwantable. Ugly. I must smell. As sexy as a piece of old broccoli.
And then I grew up a little bit and learned to ask for things that I want, learned to talk to Joey without assuming he was thinking I was ugly and stunk, and things slowly got better. We are just two human beings who want different things at different times, but we loved each other. And somehow, the kinks got worked out, like sifting flour: eventually after a lot of shaking, the lumps got sorted out, the impurities were separated from the good stuff.
And boy, is the good stuff good!
I learned to trust myself. I learned I am a complete person, whether Joey wanted me sexually or not. I learned my beauty did not depend on Joey's need for sex, or his lack of need. I learned to ask for what I wanted without hesitation or reservation. Just ask.
And then when the answer is no, I've learned it is not "no" to me, it's "no" to sex. And then I can still curl up close and drift off to sleep assured my husband loves me, he's just tired, sick, mad, or stressed about something. His problems, not mine. And because I love him, I don't want to stress him more, make him more tired. So we'll just sleep.
Unless I really really really want it and then I say so. Because that is what relationship is: back and forth, someone giving something, someone receiving. It's the balance of giving and serving while at the same time not letting your own needs get pushed under the bus. In other words, being a grown up.
Now how did I manage to write a whole post on sex? Oh yes, naps...just talking about sleep, sometimes that's all it takes.

The Most Perfect Day.

2010-11-04T09:28:00.001-07:00

Sunny with a high of 76! These fall days are so beautiful. Everything is kinda muted: the trees, the sky. It's gorgeous.
We are going to walk around the marina today, and then I have laundry coming out of my ears. I can't believe it's already Thursday.
I had the most awesome day two days ago.
I decided to clean my car which hadn't been cleaned since about 1992. I did the whole deal--vacuumed, wiped, Windexed the windows inside and out. Then I decided to take the boys for their haircuts, to be on top of things and to make my husband love me a little more.
Ethan did great, sat up nice and tall and every once in a while would turn toward me in his chair and give me the thumbs up sign. I have to hold Noah during his haircuts because he thinks the buzzer is actually a be-header. He screams like he's being branded, or worse, circumcised. So I get to get his soft, thin hair all over me, despite the cover, and he gets to get it all over himself because he's squirming so much his cover is all waded up in a ball under his left arm.
We finally get all that over with and he leaves with a Tootsie pop that looks way to big for him. He's really happy though.
I get the boys back in the car and we drive home to get Fiebi, who is like six months late on her booster. Again, I had a free afternoon, so I decided to take her in, to make my husband love me a little more.
I grab the dog and throw her in the car and we are off. We get to the vet and when I open Noah's door I realize the sucker was a quick fix for the moment, but in the long run was a very bad idea. He is covered in a pink sticky film. His entire face. His newly shaved head. He can't open his fingers. On top of the stickyness, his fine, soft hair is everywhere. He looks like a balding lion.
And an extremely neglected child.
Oh my goodness...
Fiebi is desperately trying to jump out of the car as I try to figure out how I am going to clean this kid up.
Ethan keeps saying, "Noah is a mess!! That is not a good boy! He is a mess!" We are late. I finally find some water and start yanking out tissues and getting them wet, watching them almost dissinigrate in my hand. It takes almost an entire box to get him somewhat clean.
And let me just point out in all this "being on top of it" I forgot the diaper bag. Or, more correctly, I just didn't think I'd need it. Two qucik errands. Well, now I know baby wipes would have been really nice.
So I take the dog and kids in, Noah on one hip, Fiebi on the other, my purse in between them somewhere, trying to make sure Ethan doesn't get hit by a car.
All the receptionist ladies raise their eyebrows as I try to get the door open to get in. One of them finally does the kind thing and gets off her ass and opens the door for me.
Noah won't let me put him down, which was the plan. Fiebi is terrified, but at least she is still. Ethan begins telling the receptionists how old he is and when his birthday is and everything he is expecting from Santa Clause.
We finally go back, and when the doctor comes in, he takes one look at me and my sticky children and says, "Are you OK?"
Oh yes, yes, I am fine. I thought he was just being polite, but then he says, "Are you sure?" and I kinda wanted to curl up and weep in his arms.
He tells me Fiebi is fine, just really scared, and I just smiled and said great. I was dying to get out of there. Noah let me put him down for three seconds so I could get in my purse to pay, and I just prayed some huge beast dog didn't come out from down the dark hallway and gobble him up.
This time I push the door open with my rear and we head over to the car. I am so realived to be getting in the car, the kids constrained in the their carseats. I sigh a big sigh of relief.
I turn the key in the ignition and see Fiebi's body start to curl up like a cat stretching and then she does that gross hair ball thing with her mouth and then it all comes out, redish brown barf in long tubes like she's yarfing up her own intestines. It gets on my dress, the seat, inbetween the gear shift, and the floor.
I do my best to clean it up with my last three kleenex.
We finally get home and I pick Fiebi up and throw her in the house. I come back out to get the boys and Ethan says, "She pooped!"
"Noah pooped?" It couldn't have been Fiebie. It just couldn't. It had to be Noah, where the poo is contained in a diaper.
"NO! FIEBI POOPED!"
All over the seat. Down between the back and everything. I mean, really, it was a perfect ending to a perfect afternoon.

Fall Fashion, Sunday!

2010-10-31T12:57:00.001-07:00

He's my fashion support, always telling me that my "shirt is cute" or my dress "is really beautiful". He's a stud himself, and Joey finally convinced him, somehow, to sport these rad Converse. I've been trying for two years. He barely fits into them now. Great, he'll be able to wear them for a week. I'm hoping Noah will be less picky when it comes to what he wants to wear, but I guess I shouldn't be talking. I wouldn't want anyone else dressing me, either.

And here is where I'd like to point out how much we look like twins. You can't deny it. He's a little mini he-me.

Little bows. I totally regretted this skirt after I brought it home, but surprisingly I keep finding myself putting it on, mixing it up with all sorts of tops. Not bad for a regretsie.

So today is a little mix-matchy crazy. I just wanted to wear that big brown ring, and this is what came together to wear with it. Now, to find something super hot to wear for my date tonight!
Jacket: Old Navy
Shirt: thrifted
Skirt: F21
Tights: F21
Boots: Off Broadway
Ring: F21

Fall Fashion, Saturday!

2010-10-30T11:52:00.001-07:00

I love these shoes because they are so sneaky. They look like those cute little flats everybody wears, but in fact, TA-DAH! they have a hardy wedge on them! So sneaky! At five foot two, I just can't afford to wear flats. I feel like an elf when I do.

K that is not a boogie on my shirt, my mirror is just dirty. Although with Noah and his faucet of a nose, it definitely could have been a boogie. But I am just saying this time it's not.
See that pretty ring? I am in love with it.
And finally, I should not be wearing these pink shoes with this shirt because the shirt's stripes are actually red, however, they have faded enough to kinda be dark pinkish and it's Saturday so who cares.
shirt: Little sister
jeans: Lucky, thrifted
shoes: Ross
ring: F21

Harvest Weekend!

2010-10-30T09:45:00.001-07:00

On the way to the pumpkin patch...so excited!! I remember last year taking the boys, and Noah was two weeks old. The sun was burning hot and I was a little freaked out of him getting sun burned. How the time flies!
So many pumpkins! Big ones, little ones, long ones, fat ones! So many pumpkins!

Our firefighter and policeman. We are super safe around here.

Oh, isn't he just to die for? I mean, really.
***Maybe I will post Fall Fashion Saturday, if I decide to get dressed today!!***
Our big harvest day wore me out!

Fall Fashion, Friday!

2010-10-29T10:44:00.001-07:00

Trying out the hat, since Emery is just so darn cute in them. And my hair is finally long enough. I like it. It makes me feel like I can get a way with something sneaky.

I feel a little bit bag-ladyish today, however, I am super comfy and super warm. So I don't really care.

Everything today is from F21, except for the skirt, which I bought at Banana Republic, and the boots, which I will probably wear pretty much everyday this week. I don't have a lot of variety in my fall/winter shoes.

Ethan's fall fashion.

What happens when you are one, and your older brother is four.

Fall Fashion, Thursday.

2010-10-28T20:29:00.000-07:00

Totally not worth posting. But maybe I will be more inspired tomorrow.

Fall Fashion, Wednesday!

2010-10-26T09:32:00.001-07:00

Today is a new outfit, inspired by all you participating girls' cuteness! The shirt is a little short in the back (or my bootie is a little long), but other than that this outfit fell down from heaven and landed right on me.
Ring: on Hard Candy nail polish
Sweater: Gap
Shirt: Forever 21
Leggings: Target
Boots: Off Broadway

Fall Fashion, Tuesday!

2010-10-25T21:49:00.001-07:00

Simple and sweet today, with a little glam glam in the form of nailpolish and a bracelet.

Sweater: American Eagle, thrifted

Jeans: Lucky Brand, thrifted

Boots: Off Broadway

Wedding ring: hubster, bought at Stephen's in Santa Cruz

Nail Polish: Hard Candy

Bracelet: Christmas gift from little sister three years ago. This is the first time I have worn it and I LOVED it. Totally made the outfit go from "duh" to "TA-dah!!"

How We Roll.

2010-10-25T21:43:00.000-07:00

Just another evening at home with the hubby, over a cup of tea and an AR-15. You know. That's just how we roll.

Fall Fashion Debut, the Real Deal!

2010-10-24T12:53:00.001-07:00

Boots: Off Broadway Shoes
Bracelet: JCPenny
Earrings: San Fransisco street vendor
Sweater Dress: Ross?
Leggings:Target
I love wearing my boots with dresses! These black one's are so soft and cozy on the inside, like slippers. I could live in them!

One Day I Came Home and I Found This.

2010-10-23T11:47:00.000-07:00

And if that's not a first born, I don't know what is. He told me he was getting all ready for school for the next day.

Me and My Tattoo.

2010-10-23T07:39:00.000-07:00

So last night I had a nightmare the tattoo became alive and grew and took over my entire back. It was horrible and I woke up with a dull, aching headache. I thought getting the tattoo would let me sleep peacefully again, but obviously not. However, this morning when I checked her out in the mirror, there she was, and she even seemed smaller than yesterday, which is good. I was having some serious buyers remorse. I needed about ten shoulders to sob into (really, I haven't cried, but I still kinda want to).
As I write this, I keep looking at it, and it is pretty. Just a little edgy and unpredictable, like I said (hmmmm, sounds like ME!)
We will just have to get used to each other, me and this tattoo.
See the circle at the bottom of the flower/peacock thing? My original plan was to pierce that with a pretty little blue jewel. However, seeing as how I have freaked out about the tattoo, I think I might just slow my unpredictable, impulsive ass down and wait a while.
I really tried my hardest not to be impulsive about this. I looked at thousands of tattoos. I looked at designs on my clothes and on my throw pillows. I brought in some ideas. But then when the guy showed me this, sketched in black and white, I was just like, Yes! DO it!
And that's just me.
So in a way we are perfect for each other, me and my tattoo--even if she is keeping me up at night.

The Tattoo!

2010-10-22T14:06:00.000-07:00

It's feeling a little better today. It's a little edgy and unpredictable, (like, what is that thing?) and now that the adrenaline has worn off, I am freaking out. It's so BIG! But I am letting myself get to know it, warm up to it, grow into it. I swear to God the stencil did not look that big. I am so freak'en crazy.
Also, I just realized today is Friday the 22cnd and not Monday the 25th! Silly! So anyway I guess I just got a little practice in for the Fall Fashion week! And thank you Jill for helping me out with the picture issue, duh!

Fall Fashion Debut!

2010-10-22T07:06:00.001-07:00

Dress: Forever 21
Jean jacket: the Gap
Boots: Off Broadway Shoes
Purse: Forever 21
Bracelet: San Fransisco Pier
Earrings: JC Penny

This is one of my most favorite outfits of all time. If I die, go ahead and bury me in it.
PS: Would one of you more blogger savvy people tell me how the heck to turn that vertical picture around? (I mean, wouldn't that be such a great picture if it were THE RIGHT WAY AROUND?) I would just love you forever!!

That Pain in My Neck.

2010-10-21T20:29:00.000-07:00

So as soon as the thing isn't all red and swollen and bloody I will post a picture or two. I had no idea you bleed getting a tattoo. Before he started I noticed the six inch high stack of paper towels and thought, now what could those be for?
Soaked in my blood, that's what they were for.
So the pain was like a small pocket knife carving the design into my flesh, or someone with super long nails popping two thousand pimples on my back, like for three hours.
However, and I just have to say this, compared to a long labor, on a scale from one to ten, the pain of a tattoo is like a two. I mean, for Pete's sake he stopped every three seconds or so to re-dip the ink. One side of my shoulder was like a hundred times worse than anywhere else for some reason. It wasn't on a bone or anything, it just hurt like the devil. That's really the only time I wanted to back kick the guy right in the nuts.
The artist was very nice, and when I shook his hand I noticed how soft it was. He was a L.A. lifeguard for like ten years before becoming a tattoo artist. The L.A. county had to implement a tattoo policy because of him. He's married and has a little girl, who's two and a half.
He put me at ease and did a fantastic job on the tattoo. Can't wait to show all of you!!

Fall Fashion Week!

2010-10-20T14:17:00.000-07:00

I am definitely going to do this! I have followed Miss Emery (http://emeryjo.blogspot.com) on many of her seasonal fashion weeks and it has been so fun I just can't not be a part of it anymore! I will try to be really good and post everyday! (Now I better go find some worthy outfits!)