5 Things I've Learned from Blogging

In (delayed) honor of National Punctuation Day, I am going to blatantly overuse and misuse punctuation in this post (like I don't do it in every post, hello) - be forewarned. But first: this is what Bubba should be for Halloween........





However, a quick search of froogle provided me with the sobering fact that the adidas suit is about $134, and the kangol hat is about $20. So there you go - no baby DJ costume for Bubba because, as cute and as old school as it might be, I refuse to spend that much money on a Halloween costume. Even if it does rock out loud. Anyway:

Aimee tagged me for this meme - 5 things I've learned from blogging:

1.) Writing is therapy. I can't tell you how many times I have drafted something, then read it over and been astonished by what was either blatantly there or tucked between the lines. Sometimes I can work my way through an issue just by posting about it, and then I don't bother posting about it at all. There's nothing like perspective.

2.) People can be nice. It's astonishing that people who are geographically so far away can become so close. And can be so nice! It's wonderful when someone across the country whom I've never met offers me an e-hug just because I was having a bad day. It makes you feel better when you feel completely wiped as a mother and nice person in general and someone that you've never met in person can commiserate and talk you down from the ledge where you are about to dive off and into a full bottle of red wine and a family-size bag of nacho cheese doritos.

3.) You people can write. I'm amazed by all the casual bloggers who just write so amazingly well - just normal, average, every day people, tearing it up with the written word. You're like some sort of writing superhero - "during the day, she is your average suburban housewife, but in the evenings (after the kids are in bed, of course) she becomes.......SuperBlogger!". I can't count the number of times I have perused my normal blog haunts and come away with tears in my eyes, either from laughing so hard or because I was emotionally moved.



4.) People can be nasty. And judgemental and thoughtless and downright mean. The two things people can be the meanest about? Religion and parenting, the two items that should inspire kindness. But nooooooo, people can get nasty if your beliefs differ even slightly from theirs. But oh well - sticks and stones, right?



5.) If you don't have anything nice to say.....well, you know. Many times I have entertained the notion of blogging about some nasty bit of business and then checked myself and taken the high road. Doing this always makes me think: if I wouldn't blog about it, what business do I have saying it at all? Helps me rein in my tendency to gossip. Well, somewhat. Not entirely, but I'm working on it.

I had better get my butt to work. Because this is my to-do list for today:

• Work
• Pick up Bella from after school care
• Pick up Bubba from in-law's
• Go home, rustle up some dinner
• Baths and bedtime
• A full hour of 'The Office' reruns on TBS - woo-hoo!

And my husband, who has been on a boat fishing since the wee small hours of the morning today, had better not get in my way with his smelly clothes and his scaly fish and all the other fun things he comes home with. And that is a threat and a promise, my friends. Because if he gets up in my grill around 9:00PM this whining about laundry and fish cleaning......he's gonna have problems. Not as bad as the problem he will have if he shoves his dirty, smelly, fish-blood covered clothes in with the other dirty clothes for me to find in two days (when I start wandering around the house asking, "What stinks in here?") instead of washing them as soon as he takes them off. Oops, wait, number 5, I need to remember #5. But he still better leave me alone while 'The Office' is on.

Please consider this to be my official notice of voluntary resignation

I quit -- or, at least, I quit trying to do everything. I am not SuperMom. For a week or so now I have been mulling this thought over, and I think I'm ok with it. I have good days, and I have bad days, but I'm not perfect and that is just how it is. I have come to accept it, and am slowly starting to revel in it. So I'll say it loud and I'll say it proud: I cannot do everything. I cannot do and be everything for everyone, and that is OK.

Perfect example: I forgot that Friday was 'Spirit Day' at Bella's school, and that she could wear regular clothes. And so that morning, when I dropped her off at school and every kid in the drop off line had on street clothes, she was crestfallen. I got the big "Mooooooom!". I apologized, but I didn't get my normal good-bye and 'love you', so I know she was upset. I will admit to fretting over it during the course of the day, but by the time I picked her up from school she was over it, only mentioning once that she could have worn regular clothes and then dropping the subject completely. On a side note, I went home that morning and placed a guilt-inspired, larger-than-usual scholastic book order that I rationalized with the idea that I could give her the books for Christmas. But then I realized that making the books Christmas gifts did nothing to alleviate the problem at hand, thus proving that reason and rationalization have no place in my derailing train of thought.

I would have made a terrible SuperMom, anyway. My cape would have always been wrinkled, and probably tucked into the waistband of my pants or skirt. I don't exactly have the body to make anything made of spandex look decent, and I would need at the very least a good, supportive shelf bra (if not something with a formed cup) in my leotard to keep the girls in check.

The thought first occurred to me last Friday, on the occasion of Bella's school hosting a "Hispanic Heritage Family Fun Night". I had checked off that we would bring a dessert on our RSVP form, and around the middle of the week started dreading the event entirely. I didn't want to go, I didn't want to make anything to bring, I didn't want to keep Bubba out past his bedtime....I had a million reasons not to go, and one smiling sunshine of a reason to go - Bella was so excited about it she could hardly contain herself. I finally resigned myself to going, and to most likely staying up into the wee, small hours of the morning baking multiple flavors of homemade cookies, but my internal whining was interrupted by a rebellious little thought - why? Why kill yourself baking homemade cookies when you can just buy them? SuperMom was horrified at the idea, but EveryMom was all for it. So I did something that I have never done before in my school bring-a-dish experiences: I purchased store-made cookies. And not only did I buy store-made cookies, I left them in their store bakery boxes. And I left those bakery boxes in the plastic store bag. And I smiled the smile of a well-rested woman when I handed them over to to the real SuperMom - the PTA SuperMom.

You know the kind I'm talking about - she's the mom that attends every PTA event. She is on every committee - if anything goes on at the school, she is not only there, but she planned it and is actively executing it. Her kids are always well-behaved and immaculately dressed and coiffed, and her husband is always around and helping out. She always sets the example - she buys $200 worth of overpriced gift wrap and then tells you about. She bought $250 worth of Scrip cards and then drops that fact at a PTA meeting. She's a good woman with the best of intentions, and she obviously has her stuff together better than me. So I hand her my bag of store cookies and she says, "Oh, Wal-Mart cookies.". She then pointed out the two dishes that she had made and brought, and proudly told me, complete with perfectly rolled R's, the name of these Mexican-themed dishes. I just smiled and said, "That looks yummy." And then I went and found my seat and we had a nice time, and guess what? The world didn't end because I didn't bring homemade food. It felt good. And another little side note: I ran into PTA SuperMom on my out to the car. She was standing by her minivan, wearing a sombrero, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer (staying true to the theme of the evening, it was a Dos Equis) that she had pulled out of a cooler in her van. Ole! I guess even PTA SuperMom needs a little help getting by sometimes.

I have since engaged in some decidedly non-SuperMom activities. For example: Thursday night I put both kids to bed early so I could watch the season premier of 'The Office'. I finished off a bag of Bella's gummy bears while reading (I have finished two books this week!) and ignoring the dishes in the sink and the towels in the dryer. I drank the last Capri Sun, ate the last snack-sized bag of Cheetos, and took the last watermelon flavored lollipop. I won't share my pink Flavor-Ice popsicles anymore, either, so don't ask. And to top it all off, last night I put Bella to bed at her school night bedtime so I could have a friend come over, and we had a good time. We shared a six pack of beer on the patio and giggled until even my loud twenty-something neighbors were giving us dirty looks. Forced inside, we laughed at silly TV commercials until I almost spilled my beer and said aloud, "Oh, man, I can't spill on the carpet, my husband freaks out about the carpet", and then we giggled again and engaged in a friendly game of "Oh, you think that's bad, well my husband......". Hey, you can love someone and still make fun of the way they fold towels. We decided that we should get together every Friday night, and call it "The Friday Night Whine Club". We probably won't, but it's a nice thought and it was a nice evening.

Of course, even though I am just your normal, average, everyday mom, I do have the occasional super moments. This morning, for example: I woke up at 6:30 and in the hours before I had to be to work at 10:00am, I saw two loads of laundry through to completion (folded, hung, and put away! that never happens), cleaned both bathrooms, emptied the dishwasher and reloaded it, steamed, pureed, and froze some sweet potatoes for Bubba, got both kids and myself bathed, dressed and out the door, took the kids to my sisters, actually remembered all the things I was supposed to bring there, and got to work on time. Hooray! I'm SuperMom!

But then there was another morning this week that was absolutely dismal - Bubba woke up at 4:30 and decided he would wake up every 15 minutes or so after that until finally deciding to be up for the day around 6:15, I got sidetracked for time and ended up having to wake Bella up late and then rush her around to get ready, then I realized I didn't have cash for hot lunch money and had to hurriedly pack Bella a lunch (on mini-corndog day! oh, the horror!), we were almost late for school, Bubba pooped all over himself and his car seat, I wasn't aware of that fact immediately and he sat in it for a bit while I got stuff out of the car (I have a cold and my smeller doesn't work so well), Bubba licked an electrical outlet for some unknown length of time until I rounded the corner and caught him doing it, he almost fell in the bathtub, he hit his head on a chair, and screamed his head off because I wasn't holding him every second. When my husband got home from work I quickly tossed aside the reins of parental responsibility and went and hid in the shower in a blatant display of non-Super behavior.

There is always that humbling moment, you know, just when you think you have it all together, something happens that messes with your chi, blocks your flow, gets you all off course. But that's OK, because not every moment has to be perfect. And that's what I'm learning, slowly but surely. I also need to remember not to let those humbling moments detract from all the other good moments in my life. I'm a work in progress, darn it. I need a sign: "Please excuse my progress: undergoing renovations".

Sleeve Snot

Both kids are sick, Bubba more so than Bella. Bella is just kind of a coasting, functioning sick - not sick enough to stay home from school, not sick enough to keep her from her normal mayhem, just sick enough to wipe her nose all over the sleeve of her shirts. This sleeve snot, when mixed with dirt, forms an impenetrable stain. They should cover airplanes with this sleeve snot, because it could probably keep passengers safe in the event of a crash. Straight bleach does not work, and you can Shout all you want to, it ain't coming out. Oxy Clean (made into a paste that will destroy your fingerprints) combined with some serious elbow grease will get it out but takes a while.

I would love to talk to the genius who decided that the school uniform shirts should be white. I guess maybe that is so they won't be hot outside in the warmer months, but come on. In Pre-K, we had one PE shirt (because these white t-shirts with the school logo cost $22), so I spent a lot of time on stain removal. Last year, through the magic of hand-me-downs from a friend, we had three PE shirts. Three! It was blissful. No panicky, middle of the night loads of laundry because I forgot to wash the shirt since the last PE day. No staying up until 3AM and running the shirt through three wash cycles because stains wouldn't come out. Backup is a beautiful thing. This year we are back to one, that I got from the uniform exchange. It was in great shape when I got it, too. I showed it to her, explained that this was the only PE shirt she had, and we needed to try and take care of it. And with that simple statement, friends and neighbors, I doomed that poor shirt (and myself).

There must be something about the shirt that gives Bella an inner ear problem, because once she has it on, she becomes the clumsiest child on the face of the planet. She has fallen almost every PE day, she has spilled an entire container of chocolate milk on it twice - TWICE! - and, with her seemingly constant runny nose lately, it has been covered in muddy sleeve snot. It's almost become a game - "And now, ladies and gentlemen, it's time to play, "GUESS WHAT THAT STAIN IS!". And don't forget the bonus round, "WILL THAT STAIN COME OUT??!!". PE days are Mondays and Fridays. Mondays don't seem to be as hard on the shirt. There will be dirt, of course, and marker, and the other things first graders pick up over the course of a day. But Fridays? There is apparently something about Fridays that makes these children go insane, because on Fridays, without fail, she is filthy. She goes to after school care for a while on Fridays, and there has not been a Friday yet where I haven't gasped at the sight of how dirty her shirt is. I thought it was just her, but one Friday some of her classmates ran over to check out Bubba and I saw that they, too, were covered in stains. I don't know what the answer is - do they make Scotch guard for children? They should.

Yesterday, when I picked Bella up from school, her shirt was almost immaculate (except, of course, for the ever-present sleeve snot). I was astonished, and complimented her on how very spotless the shirt was. We got in the car, I handed her the Bug juice I had brought for her, and.....well, you can imagine how it ended, I'm certain. Red bug juice, I might add. It couldn't be a nice, thoughtfully clear juice drink, nooooo, I had to get the red bug juice. Sigh. Oh well. So, just in case you were wondering, I will be spending my Saturday night elbow deep in a ski-irritating Oxy Clean paste, scrubbing at her PE shirt with an old toothbrush and maybe watching a movie - a Harry Potter movie, yeah. I'm astonished that I don't have my own reality show, honestly - viewers would be riveted by the excitement in my daily life. "Oh, look she's.....Oh, my gosh, I don't believe it, I think she....yes, yes....oh, my gosh, she got the stain out!". America would leap to its' feet and cheer. No autographs, please.

Heyhey---a meme!

Aimee tagged me for this meme, which I will gladly do because I love talking about my kids.



1. Post a picture of you with your kids. Oops, can't do it. Technology and its' quirks prevent me from doing so. Be assured they are quite adorable to behold, while I look tired and haggard with dark circles and bad hair.



2. How many children do you have? 2, a girl and a boy.



3. What are their ages? Bella, age 6, and Bubba, seven months



4. What do you eat for breakfast? Bella eats cereal, Bubba fruit and a homemade brown rice cereal that he hates but will begrudgingly hold in his mouth, then spit out and fingerpaint with it. I eat bran cereal because.....well, why does anyone eay bran cereal? Not because it's yummy, that's for sure.



5. Do they watch TV? Yes, alas. I am about to institute a 'TV Ticket" program that will give Bella so many tickets a week and she will have to budget them accordingly. She watches TV to the point of utter distraction. Example: the other night she was watching cartoons, and I walked by with the trash, stopped in front of her and said, "Bella, I'm going to take the trash out. OK?" She replied, "OK, mommy". I walked to trash to the dumpster and when I got back to the house she was frantically running around, sobbing and calling my name. I had to calm her down, and she said, "You just left and didn't tell me where you were going or that you were gone!". That is sad. I not only made sure (I thought!) that she heard me, I actually got a reply, and she was so into TV that she didn't remember either. Hence the TV tickets - I think they are a nice (if not somewhat hokey) way to get some balance.



6. What are their favorite activities? Bubba enjoys putting things in his mouth, crawling, and climbing into places he can't get out of. He also likes eating, smacking things, licking the sliding glass door, pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. (ha!) Bella seems to enjoy everything. Her favorites seem to be painting, playing outside with other kids, she enjoys reading, singing (especially in the shower), and plunking around on her little toy keyboard. She likes cooking and baking, too.



7. Do you get a break from them during the day? Yes - Bella is in first grade, so she's out of pocket until 3:00pM, and I work part-time during the week and full time hours on Saturday. I miss them terribly but appreciate the break. Actually, the break also makes me appreciate them more. Given the opportunity I would love to stay home with them, but.....eh, you know how it is.

8. How do you end your day? Cleaning and housework, mostly. My husband works overnight sometimes, so I also try and make sure to savor the quiet once he is gone and Bella and Bubba are in bed. And now that the weather is getting cooler I'm really loving it. With hubby gone, and Bella and Bubba tucked away for the night, I love sitting on the patio with a cold drink and enjoying the breeze (it's been in the high 60's at night here lately! somebody get me a sweater!).

9. What is your best parenting tip or advice? Whatever it is, it can wait. Since I work during the day, I try and accomplish as much as possible when the kids asleep or away or whatever. I have been known to let dishes sit in the sink, to ignore the trash that needs to go out (unless it's particularly smelly), and allow dust bunnies to build up, all for the sake of spending time with my kids. The dishes will hold another hour or two until bedtime, but Bella will only want to spend time with me for so long, and Bubba will only be willing to snuggle for so long, so I need to do all that now. It ain't a new concept, I know, but I have to remind myself all the time.


I don't think I'll tag anyone right now, so if anyone wants to pick it up and run with it, feel free. Or apply it to a pet, or personal belonging you are particularly fond of. I have to go prepare for my first girl scout meeting, which is another post entirely.

I'd like to thank the academy.....

Aimee at The Mother Load gave me my first ever blogger award! Thanks, Aimee! This is a big day for me. First I'd like to thank God, and my kids, and blogger......oh, nevermind. It's a big deal to me and no one else. But hooray! She gave me this:

And now I have to give it away to five people - four regular readers and one person who is new or far away. So I proudly bestow this award to my dear sister Teresa, my dear sister Jen, the always charming T of T With Honey, and Mike (who possibly might not count since he doesn't really blog anymore, but who could blame him with everything he's got going on. So Mike: blogging or not, you are my buddy). And since it would be darned difficult to get much further away, I bestow the far away award to the lovely and talented Jen over at the Southern Jennisphere. And I would give this back to Aimee, if I could.

I didn't provide links because I'm too lazy, you can check my sidebar for links (all except to Mike's) and you should check them out because the aforementioned people, including Aimee, are some funny, thoughtful, uniquely wonderful people. Thanks, y'all!

Fairy dust wands and suction cup arrows

Gustav gave us a couple of days of windy squalls - very bi-polar weather. Wind and rain, then some brief sunshine, then pouring rain, and so on and so forth. We escaped unscathed, for the most part. Thankfully, the worst of it was being stuck inside on a holiday weekend. We were very lucky.


I was at my sister-in-law's house last night, visiting on my own (I know! Without the kids!) and was talking to my sister-in-law about my kids and their magical ways. I was speaking fondly of Bubba and his personality and how very different he is from his sister. Bubba is easy to describe, and it isn't just because he is a baby - he has a big personality for a little guy and he puts it all out there - he doesn't hold back. At the ripe age of seven months, Bubba is big, boisterous, bouncing baby boy. He is fearless and curious and into everything he can reach and a few things he can't. He's sly and sneaky and, for such a loud kid, can be awfully stealthy when he wants to be.


Bella's personality is not that easy to describe. She was an enigma as a baby, as well. You never knew how she was going to react to a situation (except you knew eventually she would act shy and scared). She was an explorer, too, but a safe and predictable one. She was always tentative in her exploring, usually telling on herself by looking for reassurance as she tried to get into the dog food or something else. She was a very easygoing baby (except for being shy) and has grown into a rather easygoing kid.


All that to say this: I was trying to describe my Bella and kept contradicting myself. I would say, "Well, she is a princess" but then I would remember her propensity for wrestling, burping and transformer toys and then I would say, "Or a tomboy" but then I would remember the huge container of dress up outfits in her closet and her growing affection for purses and shoes. Then I started to say, "She's a quiet kid" but remembered how very shriek-y, shrill and insistent she can be. But "She is so loud!" wouldn't cut it either, because she still has that tendency to be shy and hide her face. She still acts like a kid (as she should, at 6, at least IMHO) in that she shuns live action shows in favor of cartoons - there's no Drake & Josh, Camp Rock or Hannah Montana (except that one 3-D concert) around my house - just SpongeBob, Chowder (one of my favorite cartoons ever, I must say) and other animated friends. But she is growing up because she thinks she needs a cell phone and wants to shave her legs (um, no to both, thank you).


So I went home, still mulling over Bella and how I could possibly describe her, and decided that I just can't. Not in just a couple of words or phrases. And then she drove that point home. Almost at that very moment she emerged from her room wearing blue camouflage football pajamas (I got them on sale - pajamas are pajamas, right?) with a pink tutu. She was wearing a tiara and clip-on Dora earrings. Around her neck she was wearing a lovely dice-themed mardi gras bead necklace and a toy police badge. In one hand she was wielding a marabou-feathered princess wand. She had a suction cup bow and arrow set slung over her shoulder, and sticking out of the back of her shirt was the butt of a toy shotgun. She was carrying a pink purse with purple marabou trim that was full of little plastic army men and the missiles from her transformer.


And what type of footwear does one wear with such an ensemble, you might ask? Well, I don't know what you would wear, but Bella, my lovely little fashion plate warrior, opted for a very fashionable brown mule with a small heel - very tasteful and understated. Since the rest of the outfit was so....colorful.


I laughed and asked her what she was doing, and she answered that she was just playing. I complimented her outfit and she thanked me, very seriously, and followed that up with, "I choose to wear this, mom. Is that OK?" I assured her that her choice was OK. But I wanted to take a picture of her and capture the moment (if the camera hadn't been in my husband's car) just so I can always remember how very magical she is.

She is big on the word 'choose' right now. The other day she had her black t-shirt tucked into her jeans and her jeans pulled up to just under her chest, grandpa-style. I giggled and suggested that she untuck the shirt, and she said she didn't want to. "I choose to wear this shirt tucked in" she replied, before heading to her room to find her pink monkey ankle socks with pom-poms and her black knee-high boots.

I love her for the way she is so uniquely, unashamedly herself, and I hope she stays that way forever. I know I could learn a thing or two from her. So here's to Bella - may you always choose to wear what you want to because it's comfortable or you like the way it looks, no matter what other people's thoughts, opinions and comments may be. I hope she always feels free to wear football pajamas with a tiara (although she could lose the toy shotgun and I'd be OK with it), or carry a purse full of boy toys. She is full of love and finds joy in everything she does, and I love her so much my heart aches. To my Bella: rock on, baby girl, mommy loves you.

Hurricane Havoc

I hate hurricanes. Why do I live on the gulf coast of Florida, then? I don't know - maybe it's in my blood. My roots here run deep - as far back as 1784, when Pedro Suarez and family were first listed on the Pensacola, Florida census, and from that hardy stock we came. I've moved away and back twice now. Having said that, there is bad weather everywhere, and at least with hurricanes you have the time to get out of town, or at least to batten down the hatches.

The weather is the hot topic. It doesn't matter who - strangers, friends, neighbors, family - everyone is talking. At work, suddenly all my vendor reps from around the country, people who I never hear from, are calling under the guise of other things and then saying, "So what about this hurricane?". Everyone is sick of talking about it but can't stop talking about it. It looks like we are going to escape the worst of this one, although we will probably get some wind and rain. We got some of Katrina, too. Katrina was a terrible tragedy, and I can't imagine what those people went through. Going through Hurricane Ivan was a horrible, almost traumatic experience, so I can't imagine going through Katrina.

When Katrina hit Bella and I were living with my in-laws here in town - Brian had been temporarily transferred to Panama City, and we were living there until his return. So living there at the time was: my mother-in-law and father-in-law, Bella and myself, and my sister-in-law and her husband. Then some of my MIL's family from New Orleans evacuated to her house, adding another two adults and three children to the mix. Still being sensitive because of Hurricane Ivan, most of the town shut down for Katrina, so everyone was home. The wind and rain were bad but bearable, as was the tension level in the house. The evacuees were having a tough time of it - the husband and wife were fighting, viciously and almost constantly, the older boys weren't listening to anyone and were being disrespectful to their stepfather, and the 2-year old girl was...well, acting like a two-year old stuck inside during a hurricane.

The cable went out first, around 8AM or so, and without the television around the three kids went slightly insane. My father-in-law and I were discussing making a pot of coffee when the power went out, but he wasn't having it, saying "Oh, no way I'm getting through this day without coffee" and promptly went and got the generator fired up. As the day progressed the house got uncomfortably warm, thanks to the lack of electricity. The kids were miserable and acting out, and my mother-in-law was miserable and acting out, and so my father-in-law grabbed me and my sister-in-law and off we went to Wal-Mart in the middle of a hurricane to buy a fan. We lingered in Wal-Mart, enjoying the AC and lack of naughty children. Eventually we went back to the house. Wind and rain, rain and wind, things eventually slowed down. We got power back the next day at home, and we had this weird half-power situation at work, but we opened up anyway. A few days later things were pretty normal, except for all the yard trash. We were lucky.

Hurricane Ivan? Not so much. The home we were renting at the time was in a mandatory evacuation zone, so I packed up my musical instruments, pictures and important documents, squeezed Bella into her carseat and off we went to my in-law's house. Oh, and Brian, he was there too. My sister-in-law and her husband came, as well. We lost power fairly early on, and phone rather quickly afterwards. We played poker, or Phase 10, or Skip-Bo, or Uno, or solitaire, or anything else we could think of to keep ourselves occupied. Bella, only two at the time, alternated between her Leapster and other, non-battery-operated toys.

After dark, things got really bad. You could barely see what was happening during the daylight hours - once it was dark you could only guess what was banging its' way down the street. We had a huge Mag-Lite flashlight that we used to attempt to see out the screen door, but the only things that could be made out were large items - as in, "There goes Mrs. Thelma's carport cover" as the huge sheet of aluminum whipped down the street at top speed.

We were all in the formal living room (where we could open the windows without being doused), trying to sleep, when we heard a suspicious noise from the den at the back of the house. Upon further investigation (with flashlights and kerosene lamps) we found the ceiling leaking, copiously, in multiple places. We started taking pictures off the walls and moving furniture around. We got out some big woks (I mean, big woks - think three feet across) and started putting them out to catch the water. My sister-in-law was headed towards the kitchen when the ceiling started collapsing on her head. Ceiling tiles and insulation started falling everywhere - all over the furniture, the floor. We made mad dashes to save whatever else we could in the room before putting up a tarp over the entry to it from the rest of the house and hoping for the best - if the ceiling completely collapsed and there was a hole in the roof we would be open to the outside world and the hurricane blowing through it..

While we were recovering from that, someone was looking through the screen door with the flashlight and asked for a second opinion: "Does it look like the oak tree is moving?" Dread - that is the only word I can come up with. That oak tree was huge - think a good 6-8 feet in circumference, and easily twice as tall as the house. And it was moving. Slowly, but when there was a particularly good gust, it would tip a little bit more. And over the course of the night, it started listing more and more towards the driveway and house. When I saw it moving (this was at the peak of the storm, around 2AM, when the eye was hitting Gulf Shores, Alabama, to our west) I moved a sleeping Bella from the living room to the hallway. I don't mind admitting that at that point I was genuinely scared. I had been uncomfortable before, but now I was downright afraid for our safety, if not our lives. And that might sound overly dramatic, but in the middle of the night in the middle of a category 3 hurricane with the ceiling collapsing and a huge oak tree menacing your living room, well....you would be scared, too.

Bella had gone back to sleep, blissfully unaware of what was going on, and I was laying beside her trying to sleep but unable to, thanks to the constant howling of the wind. I rubbed my eye and felt something wet on my forehead that I thought at first was sweat. I thought it was sweat, I hoped it was sweat, I was ready to pray that it was sweat, but it was not - it was water leaking down from the ceiling in the hallway. I called for backup and as we stood there, peering down the hallway with our flashlights, watching leak after leak start dripping along the hallway. While getting pots and pans to try and catch the water the kitchen ceiling started leaking, and water started leaking from almost every AC vent in the house. I wish I could explain how it felt, just running around the house and finding all these leaks popping up and not knowing if the ceiling and/or the roof would hold up, or if the tree was going to fall on us while we slept or what was going to happen. It was panicky for a while there for all of us, but the leaks seemed to be content to just leak and not cave in the ceiling anymore, so we eventually got something (a pot, a pan, a bucket, a big cup) under the all the leaks we could find and then settled back in the living room (with a lookout on the tree) to try and get some sleep, probably around 4AM.

Morning dawned as best as it could against a hurricane. It was literally too windy to go outside until around 9 or 10AM, but even then there were gusts that came close to knocking us down. We went outside and just couldn't speak. There were fallen trees everywhere. Our tree had held up, but was listing dangerously over the driveway. All the cars in the driveway had been damaged in some way, with my windshield and hood getting the worst of it. There were branches and limbs and shingles and pieces of indiscernible debris everywhere. It was terrible, and the following weeks were terrible (the aftermath is another post entirely), but we made it through, and that is what matters. So I will leave you for today with the following cheesy thoughts on hurricanes and Florida:

Things Hurricane Ivan Taught Me:
-An oak tree on the ground looks four times bigger than it did standing up.
-Even after all these years, it is still nice to spend time with Colonel Mustard in the ballroom with the lead pipe.
-When house hunting, look for closets with lots of leg room.
-Water from the shower is much colder than water from the sink. .. and it tastes just as bad.
-The four-way stop is still an ingenious reflection of civility. If people follow the rules.
-Radio can be the best way to watch television.
-Chain-saw-wielding men are nothing to be afraid of.
-SUVs are the best makeshift tents on the market.
-You can use your washing machine as a cooler.
-It's your God-given and constitutionally protected right to sit on your back porch and eat Chinese takeout by candlelight in your underwear.
-We shouldn't complain about "useless" tools in the garage. .. we actually do need a generator.
-You can't spell "priceless" without I-C-E.
-Cell phones: Breaking up is hard to do.
-The need for your dog to go out and take care of business is inversely proportional to the severity of the storm.
-Candlelight is better than Botox. .. it takes several years off your appearance.
-Air conditioning: Best invention ever.
-Water is comfort food. But three-day-old Cheetos are, too.
-Shadow animals on the wall are. .. still fun.
-There's a plus to having nothing in the refrigerator.
-The movie theater can be a most pleasant place, even if the feature is Alien vs. Predator.

How to Recognize a Floridian
-Their freezer never has more than $20 worth of food in it at any given time. *This is so true- as soon as hurricane season starts I and many people I know don't keep more than a few meals worth of food in the freezer*
-They are looking at paint swatches for the plywood on their windows to accent the house color.
-They talk about their hall closet/safe room as "cozy."
-They have a collage of roof shingles from their neighborhood on their driveway.
-They each own five large ice chests.
-They always stop what they're doing and clap and wave when they see a convoy of power company trucks come down their street.
-They are depressed when the trucks don't stop.
-They know the definition of bar chain oil.
-They think the $6000 whole-house generator seems reasonable.
-They get really passionate in discussions about the merits of cubed, block, and dry ice.
-They ask their friends and relatives up north to start saving the Sunday real estate classifieds!

Believe me, although hokey, anyone who has been there and done that are nodding in agreement. Groaning, but nodding. Happy holiday weekend to all!

Of Homework and Hurricanes

School update: We are halfway through week three of first grade, and the honeymoon has ended for both Bella and myself. First grade is a lot of work and absolutely nothing like I remember it. I also don't remember it being so labor intensive for my parents (although I remember little of first grade so I'm probably wrong). According to the school handbook, Bella should have 30-45 minutes of homework per night, and most nights she does. The other night she was doing homework for an hour and a half. I would call if ridiculous, but most of it was for religion class so I would feel bad for calling it ridiculous. So I will say the amount of time spent on it was ridiculous. Of course, it is all still new to everyone and the bugs are still being worked out.Things will get better. I have had a couple of concerns with her teacher - there has been some communication issues, and she misspelled two words (suppose as 'supoose' and bring as 'breng' - made me feel a little funny but hey, she has 20 kids to write notes for, so maybe she was in a hurry). But it's early yet.

Her school has been fortunate enough to be graced with the addition of three Salesian sisters to the staff - one as principal, one as K4 aide and one whose exact job I'm not sure of but she is absolutely delightful to be around. Maybe that's her job. If so, she is doing a smashing job of it. The entire atmosphere of the school has changed. Even the parish/school priest has gone through a notable change in attitude. Things used to be bad - if he had to walk through the parking lot at carpool time he would do this brisk run/walk across the parking lot, pulling his baseball cap lower onto his head and hugging whatever he was carrying against him almost in a defensive pose. He wouldn't make eye contact or speak to anyone, even if they spoke to him. This year he stands in the middle of the two carpool lanes waving at every single car like a beauty pageant contestant. When Bella and I were walking up to her class for open house he stopped us outside the cafeteria and greeted us warmly, even jokingly asking Bella if she was looking forward to starting middle school. After we walked away Bella said, "Father Joe is nice this year". I really am thrilled with all the changes that have been made and I think it has made a good school into a great school.

And one of my favorite improvements? PTO meeting scheduling. Previously these meetings, especially the first one of the year, have taken HOURS. Literally, I would be leaving the school after 9PM. Last night, Father opened the PTO meeting with a prayer and then announced that:

1.) Every speaker would get 3-5 minutes of time to discuss whatever it was they were talking about
2.) Every speaker would be available after the meeting to answer any questions, soooo.....(and the next one was my favorite):
3.) No questions would be answered during the meeting

Oh, it was music to my ears. Sweeter words have never been spoken, at least not at a PTO meeting. I have never had a spouse available to put my kid (now kids) to bed, so every minute spent at a PTO meeting was a minute that my child was awake when she should have been asleep. So quick was good. Quick was very good. I did discover that Bella talks too much in class, and sometimes does not listen when she should, so we are working to put the kibosh on that.

We are having to adjust to a lot, all at once. The start of school. The ton of homework. My hours have been extended. Brian got moved to an overnight shift, working 8PM to 8AM four nights a week (and it SUCKS). Maw-Maw has been out of town (but coming back in a couple of weeks, much to Bella's relief). Auntie is getting ready to move (and Auntie has been Bella's babysitter pretty much since birth, so I'm expecting a pretty emotional departure). We are reeling, and it shows. My house is cluttered and mildly disgusting. I'm exhausted all the time. Things are kind of crazy, but I suppose eventually we will adjust. Life has been keeping us pretty busy. I'm desperately trying to incorporate some sort of schedule and routine in our lives, to get to some semblance of normalcy. We'll see.

I'm feeling a little hurried because I am babysitting my friend's three kids tonight while she has her 20-week ultrasound for her fourth child. But then I'm off work Thursday, so I can rest. Or frantically do housework to try and catch up on everything I've neglected the last week or two. Or three. Things are messy. I don't know what's required to have an area officially declared a disaster area by the government, but I could be close to qualifying.

And we are on Gustav watch - that horribly named tropical storm that's churning around and eyeballing the gulf coast. While the amount of time it takes for a hurricane to get near us is a wonderful thing, because it allows you to makes plans and/or get the heck out of dodge, it is maddening to have to wait. You can always tell when there's tropical weather looming, because almost every television you see is tuned to the weather channel. And every computer you pass is viewing the weather channel's website (as I am on my other tab, right now). And you talk about it, and hash it out, and discuss, and fret, and wonder at what point do you commence with all the time consuming preparations (plywood for the windows and whatnot), and it just becomes the very center of your world. We used to be in the very center of the projected path, but now we are a little further off center. I don't want anyone else to get hit, but I don't want us to get hit, either. Wish us luck!

Sleep (or lack thereof)

I have gone all Weissbluth on my baby again, opting to lovingly let him cry it out in the name of healthy sleep. For those unfamiliar: Dr. Weissbluth suggests putting your baby down at night, after soothing and stories and baths and snuggles, and leaving him there regardless of how long he might cry so that he learns to fall asleep on his own. I'm sure there are people out there who are aghast at the thought - I was, back when Bella was an infant, until she hit 12 months, and then I became a huge fan of the method. You have to be dedicated, and it really sucks sometimes, but it works.

Bubba has been a pretty bad sleeper from the get go, and I had been entertaining the notion of letting him cry it out for a while, but I had one really bad night (and I've had some pretty bad nights, so you know it had to be terrible) and it firmed up my resolve. Remember: formerly Bubba slept with me, and woke up twice during the night to eat and multiple, countless other times to fidget and cry and was restless and sometimes would wake up in the middle of the night and stay up for an hour or two and it was terrible and I was a zombie. Now Bubba takes a bath, and we snuggle and play a little and then I read him a story, give him lots of kisses, put him in his crib and close the door. He has a blue-tinted night light so he isn't in abject darkness. The results:

Saturday night: Went to bed at 8:30PM. Cried for fifteen minutes, then fell asleep. Slept through the night and awoke cheerily around 7AM Sunday morning. Hooray!
Sunday night: Went to bed at 8PM. Cried for thirty minutes, then fell asleep. Slept through the night and awoke cheerily at almost 8AM Monday morning. HOORAY!
Monday night: SIL's husband fed Bubba a entire sugar-free mocha-coffee flavored pudding cup. When confonted he said in his defense: "At least I scraped the coffee pudding layer off the top!" Oh, yes, because that makes it much better. Bubba spends his evening crying, throwing up and having terribly smelly things exploding out of his diaper. I call it a wash and just spent the night cleaning up all the fluids.
Tuesday night: Went to bed at 8PM. Cried for twenty minutes. Woke up at 5Am with a very snotty nose and stayed up, but that's OK - we all have allergies and I can sympathize.

So things are going along pretty smoothly. When I first did this with Bella she cried for two hours straight, so it could be so much worse. It's not the method for everyone, I know, but it has worked for my kids so far. He doesn't wake up emotionally scarred - he wakes up cooing and scooting around his crib, so I think he's alright.

Oh no she didn't

There has been some changes in my schedule at work lately - my hours were reduced (not at my request, but because of current economic conditions). Now I have the opportunity to get more hours, but the schedule I would be working would be odd. Money is tight for us right now - we have lots of medical bills from Bubba's arrival to pay, and a couple of years ago, as a result of being injured in an accident with an uninsured driver, Brian racked up a ton of credit card debt for medical expenses that he had to pay out of pocket. He was told at the time that he would be reimbursed but recently found out that he will not be. Add in the fact that Brian's timing belt broke and nicked a valve in the process and we just paid $1400 in unexpected car repairs, and yes, things are tight. We struggle to make Jacelyn's catholic school tuition but that is something we firmly believe in and will pay for as long as we can (we are zoned for a failing school, so if she went to a public school it would be one that's funding is being annually cut for under- performing, making it progressively worse on a yearly basis).

All that to say: I was talking to someone about it - I won't mention a name (rhymes with blister-in-law) - and she - this person whom I have known for years and years, this person who is my babysitter, this person whom I have lived with before and who knows me pretty well - she said: "Well, you are going to have to decide what is more important to you - money or spending time with your children". What? What an offensive and ridiculous thing to say.

Yes, I go to work to avoid spending time with my children and so I can have all those nice things I have: that 90's era VW that is slowly falling apart, the one where the air conditioner is slowly dying but only two of the windows will roll down, the one where the "check engine" light has been on for two weeks but I can't afford to take it anywhere to be repaired yet so I'm having to baby the car and not drive it anywhere that I don't have to. So we can live in a tiny two-bedroom apartment full of spiders and creepy lizards. I've haven't purchased a pair of shoes for myself in over a year. I don't buy things for me. I'm no martyr - if I need something I will get it, but it is a matter of need, not want.

I work so Bella can to go to catholic school and so we can have food on our table and so the hospital that delivered Bubba doesn't repossess him (although I'm fairly certain they would bring him back rather quickly). I work because some uninsured idiot from Georgia plowed into my husband and hurt him rather badly and now, thanks to some unscrupulous people who lied, we are in some pretty heavy debt. That is why I work - not because I put money ahead of my children, but because my children need food to eat and a roof over their heads. I would love to stay home with them, but it's just not an option for us right now.

Life is not that bad - we are a pretty happy little family, and we have all the things that we need. My car is a piece of crap, yes, but it is a car that gets me where I need to go, and that is all that matters. Our apartment sucks, but it keeps us snug and safe. I don't need new shoes right now, my old ones are fine. I am content with what I have (or don't have) but was just upset by the implication. The reality of my situation is that I have to work. The reality of her life is far different from the reality of my own, so maybe she couldn't see that her comment was offensive. Her reality is about to change, however, when she has her first child in February. Then maybe she won't be so quick to judge me. Or maybe she'll judge me even more, who knows. But: as a friend of mine reminds me all the time, I am doing the best job that I can, and that's all I can do. And, if in the process, someone misinterprets that, well, that just means she has waaaaaay too much time on her hands to think about my life.

It would be so easy to snark back at her, but I'm trying to be better than that. I will confess to typing and then deleting some less-than-nice comments and observations all throughout this post, but hey, I'm a work in progress. And I'm doing the best that I can.

A Guest Post: Bubba speaks

Bubba hit the big six-month milestone on August 4th. In honor of his half-birthday I have allowed him to take over my blog for a day to let everyone know what he is up to:

Hey y'all - it's Bubba. I'm six months old now - mom tells anyone who will listen how fast I'm growing up, and frankly I'm sick of hearing it - and things are going pretty well for me.

I don't sleep so well at night, but I nap pretty well when I'm away from mom. I'm not bothered by it but it seems to be a source of some frustration for her.

I love my bottle. Sometimes I'm pretty sure that mom is never going to give it to me, even when she's holding me and fixing it but hey, I don't know what she's going to do with it, so I have to cry and thrash around a little bit, but she usually comes through for me. I like most of the real food that she gives me, too. I love bananas (even though mom insists on calling them "ba-nay-nays", much to my horror), and I'll eat avocado without too much fuss. The jury is still out on those sweet potatoes - I'm not 100% on those. And I have to be in the mood for applesauce - if I'm not in the mood I'll just spit it right back out. Mom keeps giving it to me, and everytime she says stuff like, "What kid doesn't like applesauce?". and I always think that, if I could talk, I would just say, "Me, so stop giving to to me".

I'm crawling now, so the world is opening up to me. Yesterday I made two huge discoveries. The first one is this big thing called a 'window'. This 'window' is completely clear so it looks like you can go outside but let me just tell you: you can't. Even if you crawl up to it and bump your head against it over and over again like I did, you can't get out through it. Eventually I got upset and cried, and mom picked up me and knocked on it and opened it up and showed me how it works and stuff, so I get the idea - I'll just have to wait until I'm older to use it to escape. I also made my way into the kitchen for the first time, and let me just tell you: linoleum is AWESOME. It's cold on your belly and it makes a really satisfying noise when you smack it. It is, however, much harder than carpet if you hit your head on it. But on the upside, the stuff on the floor in there is way tastier when you put it in your mouth than the stuff in the living room.

I like exploring, you know, checking everything out. The TV stand is one of my favorite things - if I work real hard at it, I can get those cabinet doors open and let me just tell you, there is a treasure trove of random stuff in there that is so fun to throw around and chew on. I'm also really into plugs and cords, you know, because those cords feel real good on my gums since I'm teething and all. I have a lot of toys and junk but there is just nothing better than my sister's shoes. They are bright and colorful and have a fascinating smell and all those different textures and I love to put them in my mouth. Mom freaks out, of course, which just makes it even better.

That mom, you know, she's all right. Kind of naggy, you know - "Put that down" or "Get that out of your mouth" or whatever, but that's OK. I like my dad, too - I don't get to see him enough, but he's a good guy. And that sister of mine - well, I just can't think of anyone else who I like better. She drives me nuts sometimes, but I figure once I can really get around I'll get back at her, you know, eat her toys, break stuff, stuff like that. I love my Auntie, but she doesn't let me get away with anything. But Uncle Joe? Man, I love that guy. He will let me eat or drink anything. Paw-Paw is all right, he's pretty cool. But Maw-Maw? I love that Maw-Maw of mine. She gives me whatever I want whenever I want and that makes her A-OK with me. Aunt Jenny - well, I like to cry for Aunt Jenny, but I ain't mad at her, that's just how I roll, and she gets that, so we're cool. I just wish she would stop calling me 'Chunk' and telling me to "do the truffle shuffle" - I'm not fat, I'm just really healthy. Cam is pretty cool, too, but he won't let me touch his stuff, and that makes me upset sometimes, but whatever. My Daddoo makes me laugh, and I'm pretty sure that Nannoo is crazy (because I've heard my mom say it) but that's OK, I find crazy to be entertaining. Yeah, all those people are pretty good folks.

I'm a pretty happy guy, most of the time. In the afternoons, usually after 3PM, I can get pretty upset for no real discernible reason, but I'm just keeping mom on her toes, you know. I'm doing alright. Six months and counting - I'll write again in another six months and I'll be up to all kinds of trouble - you can count on that.

-Bubba out. Dictated, not read.

Coffee, Lizards, and Back-To-School

I have had no coffee this morning. I was out of creamer and time this morning at home, so I decided to wait until I got to work to have coffee and-GASP!-there is no coffee here. I wanted to put my head down and weep, and then nap, but alas - I must work. Or blog. And then work. And there is a little bug on my keyboard and I just stabbed it with my pen. Icky.

We have a freaky see-through lizard infestation in our apartment, thanks to Brian's lackadaisical attitude towards dryer vent connection. And what I mean by that is he didn't clamp the dryer vent hose, so basically we have a big hole in the side of our apartment allowing who-knows-what to come right in. I have noted a decline in the number of spiders for no reason I could immediately discern (we had a pretty bad spider problem, too). Maybe the lizards are eating the spiders. But what will I have to get to eat the lizards? I shudder to think. I also shudder to think what else could have crawled into my apartment through that hole - it has literally been weeks since he worked on the dryer. I could not find terms vehement enough to explain to my husband how important it was that he fix this problem. Especially after finding a lizard in Bubba's toys. I guess it could be worse, and lizards aren't cockroaches, or poisonous snakes or spiders or mice or rats, but they are still freaky and see-through and they scurry around and I don't like them or want them hanging out in my house. Or, if they do hang out in my house, they need to stay out of my sight. And out of my reach with a broom.

Bella has started writing her book reports for her summer reading because school starts on August 11th (I know!). We have been reading all summer, but I wanted to wait until now to do the book reports so we couldn't lose them. She did her first one the other day, and after she finished she started copying the same information on the next sheet. I explained that she couldn't write about the same book ten times, she actually had to write about ten different books. She was seriously bummed. But she is getting excited about the first grade and I am excited about her going back to school. But not looking forward to all the dropping off and picking up - I dream of bus service, but I'm sure it would be ridiculously expensive. There are two families, each with one child in the same school as Bella, that live in our apartment complex and are already carpooling. I approached them about getting in on their carpool and they said no. They wouldn't give me a reason, they just said no. Hey, that's the christian spirit! But we have all our supplies, and Bella's name is on everything so we are ready to go. Hooray school!

To Sisters

Well, both my sisters are funny. I had no idea my little sister Teresa had a blog - I was reading one of her old blogs and happened across her new blog. I was reading a post there that was making me smile at how very Teresa-esque it was - and by that I mean complex, thoughtful, well-written and irreverent and funny - and I had to stop to blog about it because Teresa is funny, and Teresa is witty, and I love Teresa very much. She can make me laugh like very few people can. And she and her new husband just bought a pink Vespa. So she is funny, witty, and drives a pink Vespa. The woman has everything!

And I love you, too, Jen. Who else would come over and play Guitar Hero for three hours just to unlock the four bonus songs? That is love. Oh, and you are smart and witty and funny and irreverent, too.

Here's to sisters:

If your sister is in a tearing hurry to go out and cannot catch your eye, she's wearing your best sweater. ~Pam Brown

In the cookies of life, sisters are the chocolate chips. ~Author Unknown

To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time. ~Clara Ortega

Our siblings push buttons that cast us in roles we felt sure we had let go of long ago - the baby, the peacekeeper, the caretaker, the avoider.... It doesn't seem to matter how much time has elapsed or how far we've traveled. ~Jane Mersky Leder

Sisters annoy, interfere, criticize. Indulge in monumental sulks, in huffs, in snide remarks. Borrow. Break. Monopolize the bathroom. Are always underfoot. But if catastrophe should strike, sisters are there. Defending you against all comers. ~Pam Brown

Sisters don't need words. They have perfected a language of snarls and smiles and frowns and winks - expressions of shocked surprise and incredulity and disbelief. Sniffs and snorts and gasps and sighs - that can undermine any tale you're telling. ~Pam Brown

It's hard to be responsible, adult and sensible all the time. How good it is to have a sister whose heart is as young as your own. ~Pam Brown

She is your mirror, shining back at you with a world of possibilities. She is your witness, who sees you at your worst and best, and loves you anyway. She is your partner in crime, your midnight companion, someone who knows when you are smiling, even in the dark. She is your teacher, your defense attorney, your personal press agent, even your shrink. Some days, she's the reason you wish you were an only child. ~Barbara Alpert

Of Modesty and Men (and some cute onesies)

I'm all for dressing a child like a child. I'm no prude, understand, but I try to keep Bella out of clothes that make her look like some 22-year old club-hopper that shops at Wet Seal. Living in Florida (where the temperature at 9AM today was already 90) a backless halter dress can be more comfortable, so I will admit that Bella wears some things that are slightly more revealing, but temperature notwithstanding, I like Bella dressing like a little girl, not like a little girl dressing like a ...well, like a Wet Seal-shopping 22-year old club-hopper. Nothing against 22-year old club hoppers or anyone who shops at Wet Seal, understand - I just don't think that's appropriate for my six-year old. To each his own, and whatnot. However, enjoying the whole rock/punk/metal culture combined with my appreciation for the cliche and pop culture reference, I found the following articles of clothing to be really cute and stuff that I would buy, were it not ridicously overpriced:

Inspired by my guitar hero fetish, a little something for Bubba:





















Now something special for Bella:





Heck yeah! Word to me!






And now, from the "I-would-buy-this-if-it-wasn't-$45" department - what better look for a Bubba than baby coveralls? The mohawk totally makes this look, I think.
























This shirt says, "For those about to read we salute you". Phenomenal - I'll take two. If they weren't $32 each. Gosh, it's expensive to be hip. Or at least, to have hip kids.




















This post has made me think about how I think about Bella and the way she dresses but have not thought once about the way Bubba dresses. Well, except one day when I told Brian that the outfit Bubba had on made him look a little "thuggish" (it was a Nike basketball outfit that was waaaay too big with these huge, galooty matching Nike sneakers) but that was more of an observation than a concern. Do you worry about boys and the way they dress the way you worry about girls? Is it because he is still young? I mean, modesty isn't really a issue for men as far as clothing goes, is it? Am I sexist without knowing it or meaning to be?

When I think about what I want for Bella, in the modesty department....well, I want Bella to wear what she wants to wear, to wear what she is comfortable in and what she thinks looks good, while having the confidence in herself to know that she doesn't have to show off her goods in order to attract attention. I want the same thing for Bubba - confidence, and comfort, not just in dressing but also in himself. And I hope that he doesn't wear pants so low that he has to change his walking stride in order to keep them from falling down, because that's annoying. But really, what I want them both to know is that the clothes don't make the man - or woman! You are more than the contents of your closet. As a questionable dresser myself, I think that is the approach to take.

Wow, what started out as a 'hey-look-at-the-cute-onesie' post ended up delving into modesty and mothering. Who knew I had that in me on a Saturday afternoon? That is most assuredly enough of me, I'm off to get some work done before going home to be sick and snotty some more.
Later!

Spitty birds and crawling babies

I am sick - some sort of sinus thing. I spent yesterday sprawled on the sofa with tissue shoved in my nose. I did venture out once to get milk, toilet paper and gummy bears, but other than that I moved from my sofa perch only when I had to. Bella enjoyed it - she spent a lot of time hiding out in her room and being that suspicious kind of quiet, the kind of quiet that means something bad is going down. However, when asked what she was doing, I got some lengthy explanation about birds, and spit, and the removal of skin, and when she came into the living room to explain it to me she had gardening gloves on. When I asked what the gloves were for she said, "The bird spit, mom! Aren't you listening?". Oh, geez, my bad. What a great imagination she has.

Bubba took full advantage of it, too, and put his new rolling/dragging/crawling skills to good use. Especially this morning. I was sitting right there - right there! - and he was into everything. Apparently there is something about Bella's shoes that make them far more preferable to chew on than either mine or Brian's. Maybe it's their smaller size. But this morning he got into the shoes no less than three times, and each time I had to remove one of Bella's shoes from his mouth. Once he finally got that the shoes were a no-no he headed over to the tv stand, where, after much fiddling and scritching and scratching around, he opened one of the cabinets there and started pulling out DVDs. His DVD removal plans thusly thwarted, he scooted over to the rocking chair and pinched his fingers in the rocking ottoman (what idiot came up with that idea, by the way?). That was the final straw for tummy time - once I comforted him, I gave him his binky and plopped him into the bouncer. I guess it's time to childproof.

I am going to spend my day after work perched on the sofa again, trying to get better. And maybe playing some Guitar Hero. Because I rock! Have a great weekend, all!

I need a hug....

....or a cocktail. Or both. Some random thoughts:

I went to the funeral yesterday, and it was very sad. I went home afterwards and hugged my kids until they were thoroughly disgusted with all the hugging. The graveside service was right by where my mother is buried, so after that was over I stopped by her grave, and was thinking about my mother and my children, this grieving mother and her children, and it was all too much and I had a decently-contained cry for a few minutes (you know, I tried to avoid chest-hitching sobs and all that, and managed to, for the most part). Add to this the fact that I am on my period (these horrible, seemingly vengeful periods I have been experiencing since the arrival of Bubba, the kind of period where you wonder if your body is mad at you and trying to get back at you for something - they are horrible, the worst periods I have ever had, sorry if that's too much information but it's true) and yesterday goes down in the books as a bad day.

At the end of the evening yesterday, I had gone home and was trying to rock Bubba to sleep and was suffering from a headache that was absolutely killing me. I couldn't get up to take anything because Bubba was being difficult, and there was no one else home at the time to get anything for me. I wallowed in self-pity for a little while before crying a little bit more and then just getting up and getting myself some tylenol. Then I watched 'The Office' for a while and between that and the Tylenol, felt better.

My sister-in-law and her husband just found out that they will be stationed in Viginia Beach, which is exciting for me because that is only about an eight hour drive to my family in and around State College, PA. So I can visit my SIL, visit my family in Pennsylvania, see colonial Williamsburg again (yes, I am a huge nerd), and hit up Busch Gardens, all in one visit. Hooray! Roller coasters, family, and colonial history. I'll say it again: hooray!

Maybe next time I blog I won't be so grumpy. Sorry!

It's Over

They took Miley off the ventilator last night. Her parents (her dad is not in Iraq as I had thought - he is here but scheduled to be deployed) had to make the decision and they are utterly tormented because of it - and who could blame them? They exhausted every avenue to make as absolutely certain as they could that she was brain dead, and poor Leigh spoke with half a dozen priests in order to make certain they were not going against the Church's teachings (the priests all assured the family that not only was it not against the teachings of the Church, it was probably the best thing for the baby). Her funeral will be Tuesday the 22nd, which is also when they lost their first child to SIDS. Please pray for the family, if you pray.

I am going to do what any good southerner does in a time like this - I am going to make casseroles and sweet tea.

Update

The little girl is still in bad shape - she has blood clots in her leg, and swelling in her brain that prevents the administering of a blood thinner, so her leg will have to be amputated above the clots. However, the swelling in her brain has damaged some pretty important areas, so they are waiting to do the amputation until they know more about the extent of the brain damage. The doctors apparently told the family they have some very tough "quality of life" decisions to make.
The family is still asking for prayers, if you think about it.

Prayers, Please (please please)

A friend of mine called me - her 2 year-old nephew accidentally dropped his 9-month old sister into a tub of water (with the intention of helping his mommy). The baby is in PICU and is not doing very well. Please, if you pray, pray for her. She was face down in the water for five minutes. She has been having seizures and they have had to increase her ventilator from a 40% to a 70%. The prognosis is rather dire, but her family refuses to give up hope.

Please, if you pray, pray for this baby and her family. If you don't pray, light a candle or do whatever it is you do, because they need all the help they can get. The family that is able to be with her and the rest of their family and friends who cannot be there with them are praying the memorare together at noon. These poor people have already suffered through the tragedy of losing a baby to SIDS. The mother has recently had an emergency hysterectomy and the father is in Iraq. Please pray!

Completely Random: Bulleted Thoughts

• My sister-in-law is about nine weeks pregnant. After years of trying, she and her husband have finally conceived, and I am thrilled for them. I generally try to avoid dispensing advice to first -timers in the wonderful world of pregnancy, because I understand how utterly saturated you can become with the lovely stand-by tidbits like, "Well, sleep now, because you'll never sleep again" and so on. I don't ogle bellies or back ends in an attempt to discern the sex of the baby, because frankly, hearing "Oh, look at the size of your behind, that is a girl you are carrying" once is more than enough. I try to listen, sympathize, and just be there for someone. I also try and make a point of making them feel special, because you can't get enough of that when you're pregnant. There are a few things I wish I had known, though. Or at least, had listened to when someone told me, because someone probably told me. Example: It isn't true that you will never sleep again. You will sleep, you just won't sleep as much or as well. So you should enjoy the manner and duration of your current sleep. My sister-in-law keeps saying, "Well, I know what it's like to have a baby because I baby-sit yours". I find fault with that logic, because 1.) she did not start watching him until he was six weeks old, and those first six weeks can be the roughest, and 2.) once I get off work, I show up and take my baby home. So after a few hours her baby obligation is over, and she can nap, or take a shower, or paint her toenails, or clean out the closets, or whatever, for as long as she wants, whenever the mood strikes her. When the baby is your baby, no one shows up to pick it up and take it home and suddenly, you find napping and showering and toenail painting and closet cleaning something that has to be condensed into the nap of a newborn, however long that may be - maybe twenty minutes, maybe two minutes, maybe an hour or more. Who knows? And at least for me, the toenail painting quickly falls by the wayside in favor of the showering. My feet might not be pretty but at least they're clean. But I don't say any of that, because she wouldn't listen, anyway, and I think it's just something you have to find out for yourself.

• A guilty mother's confession: I was absolutely thrilled to drop my kids off this morning. I'm exhausted and grumpy and not good company for anyone, and that's not even mentioning having to spend my work day serving the general public, of whom my opinion is low even on a good day. Bubba had a horrible night and I ended up getting a grand total of 4 broken hours of sleep, and then Bella was in rare form this morning: "Mom, did you eat my tic-tacs? Mom, why did you eat my tic-tacs? Mom, are you going to get me more tic-tacs since you ate all these?" (By the way, I did not eat the tic-tacs, her father did, but he had already left for work and was not there to catch the blame) "Mom, where's my Sierra mist? Mom, did you drink my sierra mist? Mom, I want more sierra mist. Mom, dad said he would take me to auntie's house but he left for work. Mom, why would you let dad leave when you knew he said he would take me? Mom, are you just going to let Bubba cry? Mom, Bubba is looking at you and you aren't even paying attention to him. Mom, when can you get more tic-tacs?" and so on and on and on. I took them to my sister-in-law, dropped them off, and practically skipped to the car. Hooray! Off to work!

• I remember when Bella started eating solid foods I insisted on making all of her food myself, from fresh, organic produce. My mother-in-law would buy jarred baby food at the grocery store, and I remember feeling as though this were some sort of slight against me, or she was disregarding my wishes (I'm not proud. But I'm honest!). I never said anything to her, because I knew she was just being nice and trying to make sure Bella had food at her house, but I was slightly offended by it nonetheless. Fast forward to today, with baby number two: the other day on the phone she told me, "I haven't bought any baby food, because I know how you like to make it yourself". Oh, um, yeah. Crap. Now I wish she would buy it, so I can stretch the homemade stuff and not have to transport it around. Things really do change with the second baby. With Bella, if anyone fed her something off the table I would be upset and absolutely certain that she was going to be a miserable and gassy mess. Bubba has tried all sorts of table food, the most recent being the chicken and green bean casserole I made for dinner the other night (he didn't like it). I couldn't have imagined doing anything but co-sleeping with Bella. Now Bubba and I co-sleep and I can't wait to get him settled into his own bed - that cannot happen fast enough. I love the little guy, but neither of us sleep well when we sleep together.

• That's about it for now. I'm going to zombie my way through the day and count the hours until I can collapse somewhere and sleep, even if for just a little while.

Tagged: My A-B-C's

Aimee tagged me for this meme:

A. Attached or Single? Attached to Brian, my husband of six or so years.

B. Best Friend? My sister-in-law Michelle, for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that she is my babysitter.

C. Cake or pie? Cake, I think, although it is hard to beat a piece of apple pie with some melted sharp cheddar on top. It's delicious and it grosses out a certain six-year old, who is positive that it is disgusting and I am weird. My thoughts on that: more pie and cheese for me. Sucker!

D. Day of choice? Sunday. Duh.

E. Essential item? As the parent of a baby who spits up constantly and manages to get his food everywhere, I would say laundry stain removers - any brand.

F. Favorite color? Green.

G. Gummy bears or worms? Gummy worms. Although the bears are good, too, and when faced with the choice I generally select bears. So maybe bears, then. Although the worms are good in dirt cake. Both, then. I made that way harder than it needed to be.

H. Home town? Pensacola, FL, born, raised, and live currently.

I. Favorite indulgence? Flavor-Ice popsicles.

J. January or July? January, because July is so very stinking hot here.

K. Kids? Two, and most likely to stay at two. Although I would, down the road, like to maybe do some fostering. And I would be open to adoption.

L. Life isn’t complete without? Family. And friends who love you like family (meaning they know that you are crazy and hang out with you anyway)

M. Marriage date? 11/25/2001

N. Number of brothers and sisters? Two sisters. I am the middle child, and behave accordingly.

O. Oranges or Apples? Apples. I love apples.

P. Phobias? How much time do you have? Let's see....Lightning. Left turns. Public speaking. Solo performance in public (or really, playing anywhere anyone can hear me, unusual for a trumpet player, I know, but true for me). I'm sure there's more, but that's enough for now.

Q. Quotes? Oh, a few. Let's see....

"You know that our Lord does not look at the greatness or difficulty of our action, but at the love with which you do it." -St. Therese
"Our Lord never asks of us any sacrifice above our strength." -St. Therese
"Have patience with all things, But, first of all with yourself." -St. Francis De Sales
These are just a couple of my favorites. Both saints are near and dear to me, and both have pages and pages of wonderful quotes. The above all have special meaning for me.

R. Reasons to smile? Lots. My kids, my family, my health, I could go on.

S. Season of choice? Fall. Not that there really is a fall here - there are no subtleties to our seasons - it is hot, or it is not hot.

T. Tag 5 people: AU Jen, my sister Jen and my sister Teresa (wherever they might be blogging these days, and it's sad that I don't know - maybe you girls could send me a link?), maybe Mike (if he will come out of his writing retirement) and Nicole

U. Unknown fact about me? I know how to polka. I went to a goofy progressive magnet middle school and, one year, got stuck in a polka class. Nine weeks of polka. I know your basic polka step and variations thereof. However, I try to keep my mad polka skillz to myself, because 1.) It's really not anything anyone needs to see, and 2.) shockingly enough, there are few forums in which to display said skillz. Oom-pah music is out, I suppose. Imagine that.

V. Vegetable? Collard greens. Black-eyed peas (does that count as a veggie?). Spinach. Eggplant. Lots of veggies, really - most veggies. Not okra, though, I can't stand okra. Too slimy. Blech.

W. Worst habit? Complaining. And being extremely sarcastic at inappropriate moments.

X. Xray or Ultrasound? Although I have had plenty of both over time, the ultrasounds have it, in my book.

Y. Your favorite food? Pulled pork. Anything featuring sausage, or sausage on its' own. Tomato sauces. Tomato-cream sauces. Pesto. A steak from McGuire's. I could go on and on and on, because I'm hungry, so I will stop now. Garlic bread. Ok, really done this time.

Z. Zodiac sign? Aquarius.

Baptism/Behaviour myth: busted

One day, while watching me try and wrangle my squalling son, my father-in-law voiced the opinion that the reason Bubba was so bad is because he had not been baptized yet. Bubba had since proven that to be blatantly false. I am amazed that his personality is shining through so soon, and scared that he is such a diva. Last night I didn't give him his dinner in what he considered to be a timely manner, so he started screaming and waving his arms around, snatching at whatever he could get his hands on - it was high drama in the high chair. He threw his sippy cup across the kitchen, he knocked his bowl of food off the tray. He screamed and squealed and was just generally unpleasant. I was astonished - hell hath no fury like my son when I don't shovel rice cereal into his mouth fast enough. He wasn't starving - he had a bottle probably an hour or so before he ate, and he wasn't tired - he had just awakened from a nice nap right before he had that bottle, so I don't know what his problem was. Yikes.

The baptism went off without a hitch. The priest that was supposed to perform the baptism wasn't at mass, which really scared me because I have had some less-than-stellar experiences with him in the past, so all I could picture was him no-showing and...well, that would have been bad. He eventually showed, about ten minutes late but there nonetheless, and we got the show on the road. Whew. Bubba was somewhat well-behaved, the deed was done, and everyone is happy now. My mother-in-law is ecstatic because she can take him to Alabama to go shopping and eat dinner (she is of the old school that thinks you should not take the baby out before it is baptized - not that it stopped her from taking him all over town, so apparently she revised her views to allow in-town escapades, but anything crossing state lines puts his soul in jeopardy).

The party afterwards was threatened by a nasty squall that moved through - terrible wind, rain, lightning and thunder for a good forty-five minutes. It eventually cleared up, though, and everyone feasted on the pig (which, while not necessarily pleasant to behold, was not full-on nasty like I thought it would be) and other yummy treats. Clean up was exhausting, and we were not done until almost 6:30. Tired, dirty, wet and hot. But over! Hooray! My son is a clean slate. For now.

Mustard on my mouse and other mindless blather

I was eating a wrap from Subway earlier and unknowingly got mustard all over my mouse. I was mystified all afternoon at how I kept getting mustard on my thumb, and had no clue where it was coming from. At one point I thought to myself that it was like I was bleeding mustard, which was pretty amusing. Good news, though - I am not bleeding any condiments, I am just a sloppy eater. I'm sure everyone has breathed an immense sigh of relief.

I was looking through the updated website for Bella's school the other day and was watching the picture slideshows on each page. I was determined to find Bella's picture - as I told a co-worker, she is too cute not to have her picture there (I will confess to being somewhat biased in that determination). And guess what - her picture is on the website! Cool! I would show it, and am in fact dying to show it, but the creepy factor on that is way high - "Hey, here's a picture of my kid located immediately above the name and address of where she goes to school". No thank you.

I have had a couple of posts floating around in my mind, but no real time to work them out from mind to machine. I've been thinking a lot about Bubba's baptism tomorrow, and how absolutely insane preparations have become. I also wanted to post an open letter to the girlfriend of the guy who lives in the apartment upstairs - they recently had an enormous, drunken, expletive-spewing argument on the sidewalk right outside our patio, their third since we moved in. The name calling, especially the things he said to her, was vicious and not fit for the ears of anyone, much less my six year old daughter. Thanks entirely to this couple and their arguments, I have had to seriously discuss the following topics:

• Respect for other peoples' property (as a result of the girlfriend hitting guy upstair's truck with a big tree limb)
• Hands are for helping, not for hurting (as a result of guy upstairs shoving the girlfriend to make her stop hitting his truck)
• Name calling (as a result of the many expletives they used, many of them the various synonyms not used in or by polite society to describe a woman's private parts)
• Tolerance and diversity (for whatever reason, there is always liberal use of the dreaded N-word in their arguments)
• Alcoholism (a few days after one fight, Bella came to me and asked me "What's a drunk whore, mommy?")
• Respect for yourself (this is self explanatory, I think - no one - man or woman - should ever let someone speak to them the way these two people speak to each other)

Two of the fights have taken place in the parking lot, and those we just tried to ignore. The last one, right outside the house, is when we got involved - we heard the scrabbling noise of someone falling down, all the plants on our patio got knocked around, and someone screamed. Brian went out and asked if everything was OK. The guy responded with more expletives, and said it was none of Brian's business, to which Brian responded that, when the action is happening on our patio, it becomes our business, and for them to take it somewhere else. They moved further into the parking lot - very helpful. I have learned to just take Bella into her room when this happens and we read, or play a game, or anything that will distract her, but the whole situation seems pretty ridiculous. I remember being young and angst-ridden and in what I thought was love, and even getting in some pretty heated arguments, but never anything so volatile. I mean, we are talking about two people in their twenties drunkenly screaming and pushing and throwing things at each other in a parking lot. It's sad.

This morning, my boss informed me that, if I provide him with a head shot and a two-to-four paragraph bio, he will post it on the company website. Wha? I don't have a head shot, and I certainly don't have a bio. I will confess to not having made the best decisions over the course of my life, and while I am not mired down in regret, I don't think my bio would make for good reading. Or at least, not pertinent reading, as I have very little experience and education that pertains to the field I work in (I know, I am constantly astonished that I have this job, as well). So then I wondered what my bio would look like, and immediately had to write it, albeit in a sarcastic, self-deprecating way. Then I realized it was terribly bitter and that I am very, very hard on myself and deleted it. You would have thought it was written by someone that didn't like me very much. Hmmm... you don't need Freud to figure that one out, do you?

I had no clue what I wanted to do with my life, and the one term of college I attended (I use that term loosely - 'attended' suggests my actual presence, which wasn't always the case) just felt like a waste of time and money. I worked full time, at various positions at a beach resort in Alabama, and then briefly for Frederick's of Hollywood (where I became, I kid you not, a certified boobologist - I know, right?), and then at a condominium office for a few years. I was kind of coasting along, just hanging out. I came to a point where I was rather unhappy and turned to prayer, asking for guidance, for some idea of what to do with my life. And then I got pregnant. And I had my Bella, my beautiful, charming firstborn. I was a stay-at-home mom for a few years, then went back to work part-time, then went back to work full-time, and once again found myself facing uncertainty. I wasn't sure what to do - it seemed as though there weren't any more children in my future, so I was pondering: should I go to college? How can I go to college and work full-time and be a parent? And then I got pregnant again, and along came Bubba. So the recurring theme of my life is - every time I wondered about my purpose, about my path, I ended up pregnant.

I love being a mother. I love getting out of the house part-time, too, and (keep this on the hush, if people found out they might not let me complain) I think my job is very interesting. Not what I would want to do for the rest of forever, but it's great for what it is. I think, since I am fortunate enough to be able to have the choice (and I am very fortunate to have the choice, I know), I will focus on motherhood for now. My kids are small, and for the most part, appreciate me being around a lot. When they are older, maybe I can go to school part-time and start working towards a degree in something (yeah, I still don't know what I want to do). Who knows? You can go to college at any age. It's certainly not getting any less expensive, but that's how things roll.

Two years ago, when I first told a dear and much-loved cousin that I had enrolled Bella in catholic school, she said something that I haven't been able to forget: she said that she thought the money I was paying for catholic school would be better spent on educating myself. I want to be the best role model I can be for my daughter, believe me, I do. I don't think that Bella will not go to college because I didn't go to college (or I haven't yet, anyway). I think that, by us paying for her to go to a good school, she will realize that we consider education to be a high priority. I hope that she will look back on her life as a child and and know that 1.) I tried my best to be the best mother I could be, despite my many imperfections, and 2.) I encouraged her to follow her dreams, and that I have loved and will continue to love her wholeheartedly no matter what career path she chooses to follow - whether she is a doctor, or a housewife. Do I want her to go to college? Sure, I would love that. I would be probably be disappointed if she didn't. But that is her choice to make.

Well, I declare that to be enough deep thought for a rainy Saturday afternoon. There is much to be done before the beloved son and heir is baptized tomorrow, and frankly I have done less at work today than I will be doing at home tonight and tomorrow. The lechon (whole roasted pig) is going to be so icky and weird for me - this is my first celebration featuring the dish, and I'm feeling a little squeamish about the whole thing. If you are chiding me, take a look at this photo and then tell me you're ready to pick meat directly off a pig. All I have to say is, if there are leftovers, they are NOT coming to my house. I'm not mocking the the tradition, or the culture, mind you - I'm just saying that, as a picky eater who enjoys sausage but doesn't want to watch it being made, I'm lucky - spoiled rotten, even, by the fact that my pork comes neatly packaged in chop or rib or roast form, with nary a thing to remind me that I'm eating a chunk of a living thing. And that is how I like it.

Good weekend to all!