Oh Giblets!

So Thanksgiving day is winding down. This morning I woke up a little before 4' and drove up to W.F. (see Punch Drunk) With half my family being in Houston and the other half in North Texas it usually happens that I dedicate my holidays up north because I don't see them quite so often.
I think I may be adopted... Not really, but it reminds me how opposites the two sides are. Kind of like the two sides of my brain always fighting against each other to make a decision. Maybe I can blame how messed up I am on my parents after all!!
On the one, I have a very conservative, schedule driven, orderly dad's side. On the other, I have a passionate, liberal, chaotic, fun-loving mom's side. Both crazy ( in a good way).
As Jack gets older, I LOVE having him around family as much as possible. I remember when I was younger how much I loved getting to be around the people that I am so blessed to have in my life still today. I learn so much from them.
Being in Houston pushes me to be a better person and always strive for more than what I have. To provide and be a lady and to be righteous and all the things that drive me through life.
But, there is something about being here that feels like home. Reminds me who I am and where I came from and gives me a minute to recharge my battery if you will.
So as I sit here disgusted that the Longhorns defense let the Aggies score in the first 16 seconds of the game, thinking back on all the dressing and turkey and countless other yummy things I have filled my belly with I am reflecting on my family, and how very much I love each and every member of my family each for different reasons, but I love them all to pieces! I am lucky to have such a great family :) Happy Thanksgiving to everyone. I hope that you are lucky enough to surround yourself with people you love and thoughts of loved ones you miss. I know I am...

Why I love grocery stores

Grocery stores for some reason have been my place of refuge. If I am overwhelmed by what live is handing me I can always go to a grocery store and they can solve all of my problems no matter what they are.
I LOVE Kroger's! There is kroger's in Plano, Texas that plays the BEST music. I'm not talking 80's Mike and the Mechanics muzac music. I am talking deep heart stirring , Elvis Costello, The pretenders, and for good measure a little light hearted Kyle Minogue...I lived across the street from it several years ago, and when I had a bad day I would always go inside and walk around and clear my head. I am severely limiting the music by even trying to list what they played, but whenever I had a day it was like the store automatically knew what song to play to mull over whatever it was I was going through that day.
Also, the freezer section is a fanstatic place to cool a hot head or for curing that lump in your throat. Just let the cool calm you down and grab California pizza kitchen while you're at it. Thin crust barbeque chicken pizza is yummy by the way.
The kroger by my house now is a neighborhood draw and it's nice to run into people that I know, catch up on local gossip and reconnect with reality even when I'd rather not.
Which is not to discount other grocery stores... HEB has GREAT deals for a tight pocketbook, and don't even get me started on the greatness that Super HEB contains. Automotives NEXT to DVD's... I can get new windshield wiper blades and the sisterhood of the traveling pants in one convenient stop!
I also adore whole foods I go there for lunch sometimes and get the salad bar. YUMMERS!! Sometimes I will splurge and buy my groceries there. It makes me feel good knowing that I am eating something that isn't so processed and the fact that the store is environmentally conscious makes me feel like I am cancelling out all the times I threw those plastic coke bottles at endangered baby seagulls from Peru.
Plus they have granola with flaxseed oil and dried cranberries.
But the one thing that all these stores have, when all else fails, and my mood is incurable. Each and everyone one of these stores sells wine. ;)

Renaissance Faire

Or as the "natives" call it Renfaire. All one word. When I say natives I mean that for a select few this is a life style choice.
I went this past weekend and was immersed in Olde English culture. It is an experience unlike any other and those that are die hard renfaireans are in it for life. So for the past couple of days it has left me with the question.... What is the draw? what's the appeal? What causes a certain dedicated few to come back year after year and dress in garb? (I learned that is the preferred term from a lady in the wagon rental line)
I will say that I enjoyed it, but I can't even say why. Is it because it's like going back in time? Did people of the reinassance really just stand around and yell witty things at you while drinking beer? Because if they did I am so buying a time machine. Of course I would have to counter that with restrictive corsets and the plaque, so maybe not so much.
Some of the highlights:
1. I was introduced to a frightening looking goat man creature monster. Who knew that under all those skulls and leather there is a seemingly normal human being?
2. I ate probably the best turkey leg of my life.
3. A drunk minstrel hitched a ride on the back of Jack's wagon. (this is only a highlight because Jack let him live)
4. I had the pleasure of seeing one of the most intriguing performances of my life; a male belly dancer that could SERIOUSLY shake it!
5. Jack was referred to as escaped dragon bait.
.... and last but not least....
6. I got to ride an elephant

Now if you can name a place where all those things can happen on a regular basis and not just one specific part of the year I am all over that! Especially if I can eat the turkey leg WHILE riding the elephant. Double bonus!!

One of these days I will finish what I start

As I sit here sharing a box of dried cranberries with my son. Which, by the way, are "very coo" according to him. I decided to look over my blog and see what antics Matt had gotten himself into and what new development had occurred in Robyn's pregnancy. It occurred to me that I have no life.
I have started seven seperate blogs in the past several weeks and have finished none of them. unless you want to hear about work or school or another cute thing Jack did. But wait? that is my life. along with the bad ass e-mails that get traded back and forth between friends during the day that keep me from going postal on the lady that sits next to me that needs concealer. Or the really cool people that I have gotten to know recently. Or the family that I have gotten to recconnect with .
Or why does Jack smell my feet religiously when we hang out in my room? And where did he learn to make that noise that lets me know he thinks my feet smell?
So many things happen in a day that I notice and appreciate that I haven't really been able to focus on one. So one of these days I will finish my blogs all the way through , but for now I am just enjoying creating the experiences that inspire them.

Jack!

Jesus I am tired! This has been a long week and I am ready for Halloween!! It seems if I am not at work, i am studying, or doing something for Jack's school. It is testing my crankiness factor for sure.

You know a little something else that test my crankiness factor? Jack. He tests what used to make me cranky or upset and takes that line I had firmly drawn in front of the Alamo, sword drawn and ready to attack Mexico, and he pushes it back about a half an inch . He could literally torch my bed while I am sleeping in it and if I made it out of the ashen mess I would melt at the sight of his smile.

I guess that's what it means to have children. They make you crazy and keep you sane all at the same time.

He brings me so much joy. Like he has this shirt, with a robot on it. It never occurred to me that he would know what a robot is at this age. But sure enough he came home one day.... well I picked him up and then brought him home, but for some reason when I play it back in my head he is throwing the front door open with great gusts of wind and bright lights coming from behind him.... and proudly points at his shirt and says, " Momma, bot!" So the bot shirt is now his favorite shirt.

Now he is going through this , I guess you would call it a phase, where everything that he likes is the most amazing thing on the face of the planet and everything he dislikes is equally on the opposite end of the spectrum. And every bit of the experience has to be somehow cataloged through my ears. As if by saying "momma, momma, momma." in rapid sucession is somehow going to make the experience more real or official.

And the screaming! I used to think that if he was screaming he was displeased, but either he learned or mommy caught up to his advanced intelligence, I am not sure which, but he now sceams at EVERYTHING. Happy, sad, scared, excited, thrilled, angry....all greeted with a great big "AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH"

I am learning to get my cut in this in little ways... Yesterday, I had planned for him to wear his robot shirt and I was excited to see him excited. So I fed him breakfast and waited for the right moment to break the news.

So like in high noon I square off at the opposite of the long hallway in my condo and I draw! I pull the shirt on a hanger out of Jack's closet. "oh Jackkkkk, look what mommy has." He smiles, because he always smiles.... then.... it registers. SHE... HAS....THE.....BOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was like beatlemania and something akin to how I felt towards New Kids on the Block at age 10. He came barreling down the hallway squealing like a special ed kid on a roller coaster.

He crashed into me with the trust and love of someone that knew that if need be my knees would turn into pillows, and wrapped his arms around my calves. "MOMMMMMMEEEEE"
He screamed like he hadn't seen me in days.
I was extremely amused and it almost made up for the absolute torture of having to drag him down the stairs with his blanket and lunch pail and backpack, and my bag, fumbly to get the door closed while he ain't gettin' any lighter or less demanding that he has his juice cup NOW.
I would never throw my son down a flight of stairs ( that's wrong and illegal and I am FULLY aware of that, I am writing from a place of humor.... take a joke) , but there have been some mornings with that little piercing screech..... had the stairs been a big rubber slip and slide into a soft meadow of feather pillows he might of gotten to take that ride. I'm just saying. WEEEEEEEEEEE
And why isn't that the case? Why can I not have a big yellow or green, hell even blue, slide of sort to get downstairs in the morning? Life=so much easier. and fun!
And fun that's what Jack has brought into my life. The amazing challenge of finding the fun and humor in everyday situations. What a rascal!

Thanks and praise

I wanted to take some time to give glory to the big man upstairs. A peculiar thing happened to me while I was in my car Friday. I was sitting in traffic and the beggining of the song had just started so I stopped to listen. Then I hear what sounds like the start of a gospel song and I was about to change it. Not that I have anything against gospel music I like gospel music I guess I just wasn't in the mood for it at the moment. So I go to push the button and the man speaking the intro says something that grabbed my attention. "He will meet you at your need all you have to do is believe. Even through struggles.." and then he started naming off all these struggles... divorce, abuse, job loss, loneliness, family struggles... every SINGLE one I had been witness to in my life. As I am sitting there in traffic drinking my starbuck's on my way to get a pedicure I started to cry. Yeah I know that's retarded and I will probably get made fun of by whoever decides to read this, but I was crying because I was happy.
I HAD been delivered from all of those things and I had been filled with the feeling of warmth and a knowing that it's not over. God has much bigger plans for me and in that moment in my car I thought of all the prayers I thought had been unanswered or when I thought he wasn't listening and it was then that i realized he was and always had been. It was like my own little personal reminder that God loves me.
It's moments like that that make me realize how extraordinarily blessed I am, and I just had to share. Maybe this will serve to remind someone else of blessings in their life too. :)

Swine flu for dummies...

It has been a long day! Last night I moved myself onto the floor of my son's room about 2 o'clock in the morning because he was runnin hot and cold and was having severe coughing fits. I was beside myself with worry that he had contracted the swine flu and I wanted to be right there in case something happened or his condition got worse.
I was such a silly worried mother. I set my alarm to go off every 15 minutes just so I could turn on the light and make sure his coloring looked right and to give him water. Number one rule of baby illness... keep them hydrated.
So this morning, I called into work and Jack's daycare. I always have to be careful with what I say to Jack's daycare because they have a rule about certain symptons and how long the child can return back after said symptoms. For example, if your child runs over a 100 temperature you have to wait 24 hours after the fever has subsided to return them to school. So I am always very careful not to throw the f word out there too liberally. Like what if he had really bad allergies and he wasn't running a fever, but in my haste to explain that he was sick I just threw fever out there. In that instance I have just earned myself an automatic dr's. note.
So, I took him over to the Walgreen's take care clinic, because that was the most convienient place I knew of that would see him right away. I got there at 8 and was still expecting a hacking, coughing, sneezing line around the block, but we were the only ones there. some pandemic this is....
So I sign him in and the nurse practioner is ready for him almost immediately.
She writes down his symptoms and checks his ears and throat, and takes his temperature. And annouces proudly "Yep he's got the flu." I aksed nervously "Does he have the Swine flu?" To which she answers "Well, that's the one that's going around. You see Swine flu is at pandemic levels...." and more medical jargon nonsense, blah, blah, blah. I quit listening. Then she hands me some influenza literature and gives me directions to the pharmacy that is compounding Tamiflu for children's doses.
"It will cost you roughly $55 for the children's dose." she says, but I really quit listening or focusing after she vaguely accused my son of having H1N1.
So I get to the pharmacy and they tell me it's going to be $94 instead of the original $55. Which is annoying but what am I going to do? Not give my son medicine. So I let her know of my digust of having to pay, but say I will pay anyway because I have to.
She tells me the medicine will be ready in several hours and I can pay then. So I head over to the grocery store to keep with popsicle and orange juice and all the various home remedies I remember my mom giving me as a kid, and trying to keep it together.
So I call my aunt and tell her about Jack because at this point the media hype has gotten to me and the fact that this thing has a body count and I start to get a little emotional. Part from lack of sleep, part from worrying that I will be able to do enough for my sick little guy.
"Did you get the nasal swab?" I say no, but in my head I am thinking that I didn't need it because the CDC's website had all the symptoms that my son had as swine flu. "Well, you need to get up there and get it confirmed, that's important."
So I have gone from tired and worried and now I am starting to get annoyed. I go back to Walgreen's and now they have a huge coughing and sneezing line. I cut to the front and wheel Jack into the nurse's office in a shopping cart . "Does my son have Swine flu?" "Yes, he has all the symptoms that are associated with the H1N1 virus" "Ok, well I would like to get a swab done just in case to confirm because as soon as I call his school and tell them that it's swine flu they will freak." and they will. I was imagining it being on the 5o'clock news and the entire school closing down. Then I imagined them using Jack's name on TV as the root of it all and that was too much.

So she did the nasal swab and 10 minutes later my son had a cold. No flu, no H1N1 ( which if you replace the "1"s with "i"s, that spells hini , pronounced hiney. as in ass.) which is what I felt like for driving all over town because I blindly trusted this woman's at face diagnosis.
But I was SO RELIEVED. All this hype that has been built up in the media about this virus and it has definitely taken it's toll on my psyche.
To hear my dad tell it.. ( And I did, because I called him shortly there after to share in my outrage) It's a government conspiracy to get Obama's healthcare passed and the CDC's is a croc that was bought out by lobbyists and I should use some common sense and figure out what a cold is... thanks dad. Very uplifting convo today. ;)
I am glad that my sweet little angel is feeling better. Hell, after the coughing fit last night you would've never known he was sick today. Running around like a deliriously happy little elf.
So hindsight being what it is. I am so over the pandemic ala swine and I could of saved myself the money and effort and bought a gallon of orange juice instead.

Princess in a recession II- SAH KURITY

As I mentioned before when I first moved to Houston I had nothing and was determined to provide a life for Jack and me. So I swallowed my pride and stood in line at the welfare office.... and stood....and stood. And for good measure stood some more. So this is my recounting of some of the things that happened, exactly as they happened while I was in line.

The welfare office is a dangerous place filled with dangerous people, and don't let anyone tell you any different. Some people live to start a fight for some food stamps. They walk in with a chip on their shoulder and anyone that looks at them sideways it's on! The part of town the particular office I frequented was in the bad part of the bad part of town. Where even the hardened criminals are scared to go.

So I go in for another "appointment", which calling it an appointment is a crock. Basically you bring in everything you own and have someone look at it and tell you that you suck. Then your job is to convince them that you suck so bad that you need help from the government. Some people are better at this than others. In fact some people can drive into the office with brand new escalades and talk on their blakberries about how they make "cheddar" and get money from the government. I on the other hand have to convince them that my literally beaten up 4 year old car is worth less than a person that has never seen it tells me it is.

"Ma'am your car is worth more than the allowable amount for approval for aid." "So you're telling me that the car ,that I can't make payments on, is too valuable for me to get assistance to buy food which I also can't afford?" "Have you considered getting a cheaper car?" I almost laughed out loud because there were rims in the parking lot of that office that were worth more than my entire car.

THAT was on a day that I knew I had an appointment. THIS particular day I received a phone call the day before telling me to come in. So I go in and head straight to the appointment check in window which is also the renewal/ information window. Which by doing this I might as well have a target on my back because the 200 people in line that I have just cut in front of don't know and don't care that I have a scheduled appointment and I am simply signing in.

So I hear things like "Look at this bitch thinking she can all cut in front of us and shit. I've been in line for four hours " And "this white girl aint nothing." really? I am tempted to turn around and say something, but the fact that I am greatly outnumbered by angry line occupants and the officer to the right of me with the tazer and very large gun in her holster, keep me quiet.

I can't say the same for , well, we will call him "Sanchez" ....

The officer in this particular office also doubles for traffic control. Or as I like to call it, directing people that can't read English.

"OK EVERYONE IF YOU HAVE AN APPLICATION YOU MUST LINE UP ON THE FAR BACK WALL. DO NOT MOVE THE CHAIRS TO SIT WHILE YOU ARE WAITING IN LINE. THE CHAIRS ARE FOR PEOPLE WITH APPOINTMENTS OR THAT ARE WAITING TO SEE A CASE WORKER........" She continues... To which I now hear Sanchez mumble something to the effect of "I can sit wherever I damn well please." Let me say that Sanchez was not in consideration to be in the category of people that she was addressing because Sanchez is no where near the far back wall. Sanchez is in fact in the row furthest from the group of people that she is talking to, but the officer was walking in front of him at the time and I really think he was bored. So what the hell? Let's get mouthy with the law for giggles! tee hee.
"Sir I wasn't talking to you. I was speaking to the people that I have seen take the chairs from their original spots to a different location." "Oh so now your saying that I'm moving my chair. Miss I feel disrespected. I have been disrespected and that shit's not cool." At this point Sanchez is standing and flapping around like a break dancer about to make a serious move. "Sir I am going to need you to sit down please. I was not referring to you and therefore was not talking to you." "NOBODY TELLS ME TO F***IN' SIT DOWN. DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE F***ING WITH??" Well that must of pissed lady cop off because she flips the latch on her holster and gets up in Sanchez' face "SIR I AM AN OFFICER OF THE LAW!!" As she guides her free hand ala Vanna White over the holster just to let him know that , yes, she is an officer of the law, and , yes, she will kill him... dead.
"Man F*** that, you ain't sh**!!" as he sits down. "I am sorry that you feel disrespected." The officer replies back in a stern, but sincere tone. That cop tone that all cops speak in. They must teach it in cop school or something. "You ain't gotta be a bitch about it." Really Sanchez??? Shut the hell up!
So I turned around for a minute to talk with the lady behind the window while the friendly couple are trying to discern exactly why Sanchez is even there. When it's determined that he is there for moral support he is asked to leave.
Still flapping... he tells everyone to F*** themselves and shoves over a podium. A guard by the door grabs him and literally drags him down the three flights of stairs opposite the door. He is kicking and cursing the whole way down.
I don't know what happened to ol' Sanchez, but I know wherever he is NO ONE is disrepecting him.

Geraldine

Ok in case you didn't know I am ALWAYS writing stories. All my life it's always been that way. I am constantly writing, not physically pen to paper, but in my head stories and perceived adventures. Maybe that's why I am little detached from reality.
Because while I am super interested in how your day went senior boss vice president, I am more super interested in what you would look like telling me about your day in a lederhosen and a cool hat with a feather coming out of it.
It is for that reason that I am submitting more than one blog on this day so I hope you enjoy. I came up with the idea that I would blog when I felt like writing and if I felt like writing three blogs in one day I would write all three and then post them one after the other in consecutive days. Well that lead to me not finishing because I knew that it wouldn't be posted that day anyway. So what's the rush right? Which then turned into, me coming back to the saved blog the next day and COMPLETELY having no idea what the hell yesterday me was talking about. So here you go multiple blogs in a day. Christmas came early this year kids, and Santa's writin' nonsense stories.
So where was I? Ah yes, Geraldine. She is the most fascinating and magnificient woman that I have ever met. If gay marriage were legal in the state of Texas and she weren't already married, I would strongly considered it.
"Who the F*** is Geraldine???" Don't cuss at my lady friend alright? I am sure we can handle this like resonable adults.
In all seriousness Geraldine is the lady that cleans my house. I hasten to call her a maid or a housekeeper because I have had the chance to get to know her and she's good people, and the nicest person that I have yet to meet.
So I will consider her a friend and the fact that she comes over and cleans my place makes her a super friend.
If you have ever had a maid you know the golden maid rule... you have to clean before they clean. You don't want to be "that house". The house that was dirty before the maid came to clean. I know it sounds backwards, but follow me it's soooo worth it.
So this morningI got up early and I picked up miscellaneous clutter, emptied out all the trash cans and picked up all Jack's toys , cleaned the dishes and put clean sheets out on mine and Jack's bed.
I come home after a stimulating trip to Wal-Mart and I open the door to CLEAN. Like beyond super clean. Like harking angels kind of clean.
The carpet was vaccuumed but somehow there are no vaccuum lines. The sinks were sparkling, the stove was glistening, the bed corners were hospital. It looked like I was in an episode of designed to sell and my place had been staged... fo' real.
I felt like Julie Andrews on the top of the freakin' Swiss Alps twirling around like a lunatic in the clean.
She even cleaned things that I had no intention for her to clean. I had a laundry basket full of jeans. First off, let me say I HATE washing my jeans. They are a heavier fabric so they take FOREVER to dry.
Geraldine or G as I like to call her, had cleaned my jeans! totally unexpected, brought a smile to my face. Also, she straightened my closet. WHAT?!?!? super happy end zone dance.
I even closed my closet door as an unspoken. "Girl, don't be going in my closet and thinking you can straighten things out, cause you can't"
But did Geraldine listen? NO! she trotted her happy ass into my closest and straightened it out! hung up clothes, sorted shoes. She kind of made me feel like that Radiohead song, " Everything is in it's right place. " And it totally was. :)
So cheers to you Geraldine, wherever you are. You cleaned my toilets and that is all right in my book.

Day 14

So it has been 2 weeks without a cigarette, and I am super stoked. Right now I am in a foul ass mood and my chest is burning and I have chewed a hole through my bottom lip,and I hate everyone, but I really am stoked.
My hair smells better, my mouth feels cleaner, and I keep thinking about the money that I am going to have, and how much healthier I am going to feel.
I have been looking at pictures and people lately and for some reason the first thing I see is what they are going to look like in the future. Like, against my will I immediately fast forward them 20 years. Will they age well? Will they be fat? Will they lose all their hair? Some it's easier than others. I just look at them and I can see that inner mature version of them begging to get out.
Sadly, it doesn't work when I look at myself. I guess because I have to look at myself everyday. I look at myself so much that I'm not sure what I really look like... If, that makes any sense at all. I will see pictures of me that capture an unflattering angle or a blinked eye, or a face I should of thought twice about and that's never the face that I see in the mirror.
In my own mirror, I have complementary lighting and I know what's my best side. I feel like a freaking super model coming out of my house. That is until I hit the flourescent bathroom at work and then, not so much.
The supermodel has turned into the blotchy faced, stringy haired mother I feel like. When the hell did that happen? When did I get old? (er)
So I guess that's the number one reason that I quit smoking, that and I of course don't want Jack to grow up thinking it's glamorous like I did.
I always knew smoking was bad, and sounded off to my parents that they should quit all the time. Secretly, I just accepted it as something that adults do and something that I would do when I grew up. So that persistent little kid that would break her parents cigarettes and hide them ( goody two shoes, I know!) has come out in me again and she is NOT pleased with what she sees. A prematurely aged woman that has chosen a path to bad health. So I have decided to clean it up and pack up the pack. To show that best face that I show myself to the rest of the world.
I read somewhere that you save roughly $1000 a year from not smoking so the only thing left to do is pick what I will use the money for. I think a tropical beach somewhere is calling my name :)

Prepare to have your face sucked off by a computer!

My brain is no longer my own. I definitely need something for my self diagnosed adult add. I took a adderall once and it made me want to stay indoors all day and eat sandwiches with the blinds closed with limited human contact. That could be normal, right?
Sometimes I feel like the poor pregnant woman in the "Bing" commercial. Another woman walks up to her in a yoga class and asks her.... Ok I am too distracted to type the description of the commericial. Every time I think about it, it just reminds me that I want to google the lyrics to the song Oklahoma, and then that sets off a chain of events that involves me sorting my dry cleaning which leads to me giving my self a pedicure then I won't remember until two days from now that I REALLY wanted to know those lyrics and I won't be anywhere near the internet. That makes me sad I don't have an IPhone and I eat ice cream. What were you saying? So here is the commercial live and in person instead.



Like that, that is how I feel all the time! There is entirely too much information out there. I can't even focus. Which reminds me I need to schedule an eye exam for next week. I should really be keeping this on my to-do list. But which to do list. My refridgerator to-do list, my purse to-do list, or my at work to do list. Why don't I consolidate those again? oh yeah my planner! I don't like my planner the writing space is too tiny. Note to self... get new planner. Maybe I should write that down somewhere?

I know more about Michael Jackson's autopsy report than I do my own life. Stop inudating me technology! Why don't you just leave me alone. What? you have Beatles rock band??? I love the Beatles! and Kindle? Book are so fun! you can download books and you don't even have to waste gas driving to the bookstore. I think I want the new Fusion hybrid for my next car. oooh the new Prius commercials are so adorable with all those little kids...HAPPY!!
Tonight I have decided that I want to see the Terra cotta warrior exhibit at the museum of natural science. You think that would be easy enough. I make the decision,I pick a weekend and I go. BUT NO!!!!
Bright, flashy, web page has other plans for me. I click on the muesum's website and there is this ANNOYING pop-up ad on the site, but it's not one of those seperate window kind of jobs it's one of those interactive we're-going-to-hide-the-close-button-so-you-have-to-watch-the-entire-add-before-you-get-to-where-you-really-want- to-be kind, but it wouldn't move or do anything. It froze me out of the website, my dreams of seeing thousands of hand carved stone warriors that lived underground for hundreds of years were squashed. So I did what I always do. I went back to my original search and picked the second option that my search produced.
Which took me to the fine arts museum website which took me to a link for the museum district. I am extremely impressed by all that Houston has to offer in the way of the arts. So want to go visit every museum in the Houston museum district and then my terra cotta idea collaspes under the weight of my brain and too much internet.
But in all reality I really do want to go and take Jack and see the terra cotta warriors. The exhibits closes on the 18th so who's coming with me?

Punch drunk

Right now I am sitting in the land of gadget fantasy. Jack and I drove up to Wichita Falls from Houston for the weekend to visit Jack's grandad or as I knew him for the first 27 years of my life, "dad".

I get here and go straight to the tempurpedic mattress in the guest bedroom with a 46" HD flat screen in it. I go to find Noggin for Jack to watch. ( which by the way if you don't have noggin and you have or are planning to have kids.... go for the upgrade!) When I find that the music "channels" on the guide are Sirius XM radio stations! I am seriously on vacation right now.

Today we will probably kick around, eat lunch, and watch football. Tonight I will probably finish the evening in the whirpool with a glass of wine. If only I could get my dad in line to be my conceirge.... right!

For as long as I can remember dad has always had every creature comfort you could imagine. From hypo-allergenic synthetic feather pillows to high thread count sheet to dark chocolate truffles. (so good) Oh and did I mention the jet black 2010 Chevy Camaro SS in the driveway? I didn't get to drive it and probably never will but it was still nice to look at.

With a TV in every room bigger and better than the one before and a back yard that is a pcituresque fantasy I will tell you if I spent more than two days here I would have no will or drive to move or think... just lounge...

Lord knows that I earned it with the trip up here though. I blame myself, really.

I guess I should start at the beginning. Last weekend I attended a baby shower, and inherited all the left over punch as juice for Jack. I don't know if you have ever been to a Southern or I should clarify further a TEXAS baby shower, but they all have the same punch: equal parts ginger ale, equal parts crack. I think it has several pounds of sugar in it, at least.

So tomorrow will be the one week mark that the juice has been sitting in my fridge. After that time the crack reverts back to it's orginal rock form and it's only useful for smoking. Not really into that so I decided to take it with on the 6 hour trip. Bad idea.

Once the liquid crack hit Jack's system he turned into his alter-ego... we will call him cracker Jack. Shaking his head wildly, beating himself with his fist and howling along to the radio...

Any snacks that were passed back to this newly formed heathen were dealt with accordingly. First it was the goldfish, he tooked a few bites and realized that they were not gummy bears and turned the bag upside down next to his carseat into my back seat. So I had a big aquarium of cracker fish swimming around my car for the remainder of the trip.

The cheetos were handled in short order, he ate two and then turned the bag over into his lap.... eating one, discarding one into the floorboard... until those were gone.

Then he got the pretzels... Why do you keep handing him food you silly woman? When you have a howling miniature punch drunk werewolf in your back seat you do what you can to appease the little beast.
So I threw the pretzels at him and he dumped them out into his lap and then got annoyed that he had pretzels in his lap and began scooping them into the backseat with his hand. Then he was upset that he didn't have any pretzels to eat and couldn't reach the now mountain of food in my backseat. So he did what rational, logical almost two-year old would do, he turned the bag of pretzels upside down over his face to see what the hold up was.
Now, if you are familiar with pretzels they have salt and it collects at the bottom of the bag. As you can probably guess, my son got an eyeful of salt. I hate to stop on long trips until it is necessary and this made it VERY necessary.
He screamed in new and creative languages reaching octaves that most seasoned opera singers only dream about. I pulled the car into the closest gas station and wiped his eyes salt free.
After that I think the buzz wore off and he drifted off to sleep. Just then the sun started setting and I turned on some Bob Marley for my nerves. I listened to "Three little birds" with the big pink sky surrounding me.
Order had been restored and everything was right with the world again. And to paraphase I was not worried about a thing and every little thing was all right as I coasted into dad's driveway with my crusty, damp, slightly salty, but sleeping toddler.

Village plumbing

So I am increasingly more impressed with how companies choose to spend their marketing dollars.
I have noticed a lot more establishments decorating Ye Olde work truck to get the word out.
I’m not talking Aunt Dot’s daycare with the magnetic sticker on the van door that Paw Paw can remove when he takes the van to go fishing on the weekends.
I’m talking Monster truck type shit. Lots of colors and graphics, but without the actual Monster truck. In this case it was a very harmless van...
I roll up on this van in traffic and the back door has this huge picture of a bathtub and all you see is a woman’s leg resting in bubbles. Calgon take me away!
Then I drove around to the side of the van and a guy, with covers over his shoes and a wrench in his hand, is standing in a fine ass kitchen. In all honesty it made me think of that episode of Kendra (you’re on your own now) at the wedding rehearsal and everyone had to put those covers on their shoes to walk down the aisle.
What’s with the wrench, covered feet guy? So I read the large lettering next to him “Village plumbing and appliances”. 'Is covered feet guy the owner or something?' I look on…. On the other side of the lettering is an extremely red-headed woman and an extremely red-headed step child mini-me version of her standing on top of the marble topped island in the fine ass kitchen. Mini-me has a wrench in her hand, but “mom” does not. They are wearing overalls with bright red shirts and bright red shoes (mini’s shoes are ruby red-sequined), but no feet covers. ‘well that doesn’t seem fair’ I’m thinking as I have now slowed down in my lane to keep pace with this van and take in this whole scene played out on the side of the van. ‘Why does covered feet guy have to have his feet covered? And overall lady and steppie the red over there get out of it? I don’t get it’
So I am building this story in my mind of what the dynamic of these people are as I am driving. I don’t know how more wrecks don’t happen with these decorated trucks because I was studying this van which let me tell you made it difficult to concentrate on the road. Road Schmoad.
So covered feet guy is the owner, I know I am so chauvinistic, and then overall and little step are his loving wife and daughter. Overall was the type in college to break all the rules and that’s why he fell in love with her, and that’s why her feet aren’t covered because that women’s libber little scamp still breaks the rules to this day. (And between you and I... needs to have the fashion police called).
But that wasn’t it. I look below the Village plumber sign and I see a name. My very first thought is ‘cool I’m going to find out what covered feet guy’s name is’. What the hell kind of society do we live in that even though the name is clearly in front of overalls that I think HE’s the owner.
I read the name, Monica Ryan, master plumber and OWNER. ‘That’s weird you don’t hear of many men named Monica’... It’s still not clicking in my head that SHE is the owner.
So I take a minute to accept that reality and replace the one I have created with this new revelation. I got a little emotional, you know??? Because change is hard for me…. *sniff*. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry…
‘So women can be plumbers too????’ My mind was totally blown. ‘Well, I’m not going to be a plumber; I don’t want to crawl around underneath nasty, stinking, houses. I don’t care how much they pay me. And is her daughter going to follow after her? That’s tragic. That’s man’s work…’ In five seconds in traffic I had just set the women’s lib movement back at least 60 years.
So then my story begins to transform into something new… Monica Ryan hates straight men and caters to gay men with her plumbing services. So Monica was married and divorced in 1998. You can always tell how long a single woman has been single by their haircut. The first thing any newly single woman does is cut her hair and this hairstyle hadn’t changed since AT LEAST 1998 I am guessing closer to 1994 or 95. So girl’s been single for a while. Around that time she wound up prego with steppie and was taken in by a colony of gay men that taught her everything they know about plumbing.

All the evidence is there....

1. You have a woman lounging in a bathtub much like the scene from "Seven year itch" with Marilyn Monroe. Marilyn Monroe is a straight's man's fantasy, but a gay man's best friend, and if he happens to be a drag queen? well enough said.

2. I think the most obvious... The name of the company is "Village" plumbing and everything village is gay... The village voice, the village people.... the list goes on. Why is that? Why do gay men like the word village? or is it less of the word than a concept associated with it?

3. The man on the truck is wearing slippers, but doesn't have a name. Anonymous, submissive man comes to fix your pipes with a big wrench and won't get your floors dirty??? Sounds like gay porn to me.

4. Oh and the final piece of evidence that I think will make my case? Step's ruby slippers... ruby slippers, dorothy, the wizard of oz.... you see where I am going with this...

I have to say the advertising worked because I won't forget village plumbing. I don't necessarily think that's how the owner intended village plumbing to be remembered, but whatever works right?

cake

So this will be short, but I wanted to share the cake I made for a baby shower this weekend. Whaddayathink?

Princess in a recession

I just started my blog and I already have a request! My aunt Julie read my blog and told me I HAD to include my welfare letter in my blog. This is a letter that I wrote to her after standing in line for five hours at the welfare office. Yes, I said the welfare office.

First, let me explain that I moved to Houston last October from San Antonio after a series of events that could fill an entire book (which I am still thinking about writing)not just a blog. I literally packed up my sh** and moved over night. Literally.

I had to completely start over (and in this economy is a challenge in and of itself). Julie opened her doors and helped me take the steps towards a normal life as a single mom. So while it's uncomfortable to admit one of those steps was to get medicaid for Jack and foodstamps to supplement my jobless ass.

What I didn't know at the time was it would take six months and hours of waiting in line for this to happen. All I will say is the welfare system, at least in this writer's eyes, was not set up for me or people like me that need it, BUT that is besides the point....

The point is that after hours of standing in line I got VERY restless and irritable. So near the end of this journey I just HAD to send her an e-mail to detail my experience.

Now remember that I said I started waiting in line in October 2008?.... please note the date on the letter... Just to give you an idea this was my fifth trip to the welfare office:




Sadie's continuing adventures at the welfare office‏
From:
Sadie Wright (sadie_wright@hotmail.com)
Sent:
Fri 4/03/09 8:32 PM
To:
Julie Ruffino (jaruffino@yahoo.com)
.ExternalClass .EC_hmmessage P
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Thought you could use a break... So I get to the office around 8:30am this morning to turn in my application. I stand in line over an hour behind a woman ( and I use the term loosely, very loosely) that keeps farting. I almost vomitted twice. She is wearing a halter top and NO bra and black yoga pants... neither of these things she should be wearing...And she's a bigger girl so I have the extreme pleasure of staring at all the glorious back fat that a shirt that fit would otherwise conceal. Lucky me! She brought with her, her young son who's maybe 4 who keeps giving me all these little punk glances. What I really wanted to do was take the little baseball cap off his head and beat him with it, but then she would fart and I would lose all track of time and space so the urge to beat him came and went. Then she started talking on her phone about "This fool she used to talk to". Her half of the conversation, in front of her son, went like this... "So you remember that n**** I used to f*** around with? and then when I had went to call him and text him he ain't trying to call me back? Well, he had called me the other night and I ain't stupid so I axed him straight up why he callin'...He said "Do you really want to know?" (We were all about to find out!!!).....Basically, in english, she goes on to tell the friend that he had been f***** around with another girl the same time that he was f***** with her and that it was getting too hard to keep up with them both so he dumped her (probably because of noxious gas) and then the other girl dumped him so he called her... Then she farted so I blacked out and missed the end of the story, but when I came to her son was pulling on her yoga pant "mamma, I'm hungry" to which she replies "shud up, boy I should lef you at yo daddy's house."

**end letter**



With all the hours of standing in line I have a lot of observations of the people that I waited in line with that I would love to put to paper. So I may decide to make this one in a series of princess in a recession blogs.

Baby Ninja

So I have all these ideas for blog entries that I want to write, but it's really just a matter of finding the time to write them. Between Jack, work, family, friends, and soon to be school. My time gets stretched kind of thin.

It doesn't help that I am too cheap to pay for internet. I spent the entire day once walking around with my laptop seeing where I could pick up signals from unsecured networks. It was a long drawn out ritual where I went to each corner of each room and checked for signal. I would hold my laptop over my head like it was an antenna or a metal detector combing the beach for change. I would "sweep" the area until the red "X" came off my internet access logo and then I would proceed to try and connect. It was quite a little treasure hunt, and if I got any signal at all I had to make sure the signal was strong enough to keep me online for any specified amount of time.

So I finally found a spot in the corner of my bedroom. If I sit up straight against the wall on the top left-hand side of my bed with my computer facing left, and my right finger touching my nose I get perfect signal!

The whole thing reminds me of the time that my dad went an entire year duct taping the clothes dryer door shut so that it would dry clothes. There was a trick to it that only he knew which meant he was stuck with doing all the laundry. It wasn't that we couldn't afford a new dryer it was just because it wasn't at the top of his to-do list.

Just like paying for internet is definitely not on the top of mine.

So not accounting for wasted time searching for internet signal. Jack pretty much takes up 99.5% of my time. I have .5% to go crazy about once every two months and then I climb back into my mom hole. I spend time on him in little ways that I hadn't anticipated too.

For example, I woke this morning at 6:30 am, I did two loads of laundry, cleaned my kitchen, did a little bit of cardio, made my coffee, and sat down to write around 7:30. Jack slept until 8:30 the day before so I scheduled in an hour that I would be able to write my blog and then make him breakfast and cater to his every whim for the rest of the day. But this one hour I would have for me. I should of known that it was coming, but I can be slightly delusional when it comes to the thought of free time.

Little boy came into my room this morning at 7:31 on the dot, blue blanket in tow, "mamma, i want" This is his new game. He wants something and it is my job to figure out what he wants. This morning he wanted snickers for breakfast. I have the bite sized snickers in a bag that I will give him as a sweet once in a while(like once a week on a saturday night), but it doesn't stop him from asking for them for breakfast every single morning. I have to say that I admire his persistent he'll be a fine salesman someday.

So the hour that I had allotted for myself turned into his time. So I had to be sneaky about getting my writing in.

I have learned to serve breakfast in rounds. First I feed him fruit. It's easy enough to take some strawberries out of the refridgerator and put him in his highchair and watch diego in the living room. Which leaves me time to microwave bacon and make pancakes. All the while ready to write with stories floating in the back of my head. So when the pancakes are on the first flip I will come into my room and write down all my ideas for wording or some cool sentences that I have picked out. Today I got carried away and was brought back by the sounds of spanish-speaking dolphins and the smell of burning pancakes. So then I was forced to stay in the kitchen and wait for breakfast to finish. No more multi-tasking breaskfast for me. But at least Jack finished his whole breakfast this morning and I did have a few minutes of peace to start writing.

I won't even say the extent of convincing that I had to do to have the time I have to write now. Let's just say it involves serious threats of time-out, promises of ice cream and a big bag of building blocks. He'll come in here every now and then to check on me or run past my door to get my attention. Once stopping only to do the downward facing dog yoga pose in front of my door and then moving on . Sometimes, it will get really quiet and I will have to get up to check to make sure all is well. 9 times out of 10 I will find him playing quietly which is what I wanted, but my presence undoubtedly stirs up another frenzy and the cycle continues.

I think these mommy "breaks" (and I use the term loosely) are where baby ninja was born. I am constantly finding things in places they don't belong. I never actually see it happen, but I know a certain pint-sized stealth ninja that might have something to do with it. Or as I have named him, Jack-san.

The other day I came out of my shower and went to my drawer to find clothes only to find all my tank tops had been replaced by a toe seperator, the thing you use in between your toes for pedicures. I didn't even know I had a toe seperator, but the thing that really tripped me out. Where the hell are my tank tops?

So I have been living with the effects of one such ninja raid for the past couple of weeks and it has begun to make me a little paranoid.

Since I have moved into my new place I have done a ton of work painting and sprucing . I ran out of energy, time, and money in my bedroom. I am almost finished except for painting the bathroom and replacing the nasty mini-blinds with a decent looking window treatment. But in the interim the blinds get the job done or at least they did.... That is until Jack-san struck.

I imagine the destruction of my blinds going something like this...

Jack, wearing only a diaper, squares off against the dusty blind with a bow. Then Chinese subtitles appear and bad overdubbing starts playing in English with a deep-voiced man with a heavy foreign accent..."so we meet again blinds" the words trying to keep up with the speed of Jack-san's native tongue, Jacklish. "I hope you have come prepared to fight." Then he busts a swan pose and flies at the window.

The rest is history, along with my privacy. At first it started out as a tiny corner hole. The blinds were bent but I could still get away with walking around my own bedroom in my underwear. Over the weeks the hole got worse and worse. How? I have no idea. I blame ninjas, damn, baby, ninjas.

Of course I have made things worse on myself by dividing my towels more generously in Jack's bathroom. Which means by the time I have used up the one towel I have allotted myself I have to run soaking wet from the shower down the hall to Jack's bathroom. All in front of the hole which is now so big that I could be charging admission for the show I am giving my neighbors.

So last night I had to spend even more of the time that I don't have coming up with a solution to covering up the hole. Bingo! I would take the blinds that were in storage that had been in Jack's, er Jack-san's room and put them in my room for now. Sounds good enough.

So I grab the other set of nasty mini-blinds and bring them into my room to make the trade. As I go to snapp the mini blinds out of the bracket the front of the bracket falls out in my hand... ok be cool maybe this isn't the worst of it... So I take down the blinds and pick up the other set to put in their place.

So now I am on a step ladder facing an uncovered window into the parking lot of my complex. I already feel like I have been on display because of the hole. But it hadn't really bothered me until now that I might of legitimately gotten some unwanted attention at least by the lawn crew, and 'were the old ladies in the bridge club looking at me funny today'. So now I am in the window trying to force the broken, nasty blinds into a broken, nasty,bracket on top of a step ladder with thoughts that I am being watched by old ladies and Mexicans.
The blinds are awkward and the ladder did nothing for my none existent coordination. I swing them around knocking myself in the forehead. Smarting for only a second, I almost lost my balance and ate it on the floor, but I manage to hold it together. I try to force the blinds in the bracket. It is then that I realize that the end of my new blind is bent and is not going to fit into the bracket. DAMMMITTTT!
Time for plan B.... So I comb the stolen internet, duct-tape dryer part of my brain and come up with sheets and thumb tacks.... No hammer and nails because Jack-san is peaceful and sleeping and you must NEVER wake a baby ninja.
Just then my downstairs neighbor walks by with his dog and throws a wave up to my direction. I glower down at him 'pervert'. Totally unwarranted, but it's late and I have head trauma. I finish tacking up the window and put the nasty blinds away.
So I sit here this morning with the sheet over my window, which I must say diffuses the sunlight beautifully, blogging about the free time I wish I had, but I think I will go play blocks now instead :)

Ho-tel everybody even the mayor

So anyone that knows me knows that the love of my life is my twenty-two month old son, Jackson. He is growing by leaps and bounds everyday. His vocabulary is growing too, on average he learns two more words every week. This was a most productive week.....He learned THREE new words. I think it might have something to do with him starting a new preschool. He's really learning so much it's money well spent,definitely. I even bought him a new backpack with his name monogrammed on it, it's so cute!! It's blue with orange writing... but that's beside the point ... The point is this week I got to hear the three words every mother can't wait for her son to rehearse over and over like music in her ears. Such a blessing.
It was like a sweet child' s symphony with that little angelic voice and those big blues eyes staring up at me, my son said the first of the three words that made this a truly remarkable week.
"mine!" he yelled with little warning that I was about to enter a power struggle with my toddler over ownership of my bottled water. I was in mid sip and he crawled into my lap and squeezed the bottle directly in the middle forcing water prematurely to the back of my throat and causing me to choke. From then on EVERYTHING was his. The remote, my clothes, and for a brief moment mommy's butt. To which we had a little sit down. The house was filled with sounds of the seagulls in Finding Nemo. 'Mine, mine, mine, mine"
He has also discovered my make-up (which my mother assures me is normal, but it somehow doesn't relieve my concern...)I walked into my room and he had gotten into my extremely black eye shadow and had conveniently found the applicator brush. ( lucky me!) Now just because it's eye shadow does not necessarily mean that you need to use it specifically on your eyes. Which is something my creative son knows inherently because when I walked in, it was all over his face, body , and hair. I grabbed the brush away from him and explained to him that everything behind mommy's door was mommy's and he did not have permission to touch anything in my room. To which he replied with word number two, "Why?".... weren't they supposed to pick this up in a year or two from now?.... I was a whole spectrum of emotions at that second and not quite sure how to proceed. One, as a mother I was excited that he learned a new word and wanted to congratulate him with hugs and kisses and lots of praise. Two, I wanted to beat his little ass for touching my favorite black eyeshadow and wasting it on his gorgeous blond hair which was now sort of leopard. Three, I wanted to laugh at the silly face he was making .....so cute. Four, is this little such and such back talking me? I don't think so. I'm gonna go find a belt! So I compromised and came up with "because I said so!" ( yeah, that oughta do it! )
Not so much, because he just fired back with another "why?" ......"because...um. I said it and that is what makes it so.." because because I don't know because how do you explain to a two year that you want to maintain healthy boundaries in your home and a mutual respect for property?? Then the light bulb came on. "because it's mine" how you like that? little taste of you own medicine? " no, mine!" and there it was. I was having a baby fight with my toddler. "Did you buy it?" ..."no" ..."well then it's mine just like everything else in this place is mine. I just let you borrow it ." There I had put my foot down. Now please tell me why I was feeling guilty?
I pretty much want to pinch his cheeks 24-7 because he is so adorably cute and when he looks at me it's hard to say anything but "awwwwe he's so cute I just want to give him sugars, yes I do, I sure do, mommy's gonna give you sugars, I'm gonna get you....Here comes the tickle monster!!" and then my day is shot to hell. But I would suffer in silence because I wouldn't let my tiny enemy know that my heart hurt for having to be cross with him. Every parents burden.
His little beaming face on top of his little chubby body came running up to me and wrapped his arms around my legs and gave me a hug. Then he gleefully stretched his arms upward towards me and then he started frowning. A look I was familiar with. Anytime he was concentrating on learning something he gets a baby furrow in his baby brow and a frown on his face. Very intense. So I knew something good was coming...... wait for it.
With his little chubby hands reaching for me my son yells "HOE" The world stop rotating on it's axis... "Excuse me WHAT did you just say?" to which he started flailing his arms in a urgency dance "Hoe, hoe, hoe hoe" Then I realized in the context it seems like he was asking for help into my arms. It was like Plymouth Rock all over again... Or at least I think communicating with my son is a lot like the pilgrims and the indians must of been. Was he saying help? Maybe my son wasn't calling me a derogatory name after all. This made me relieved. "ooooooooh you mean HEEELLLLPPPP" I phonetically volunteered. Still waiting on me to pick him off the ground he retorts."HOE" Each time saying it with more punch than the last and seemingly louder.... So now every time he needs assistant I get called a name. How is this fair?
I have been trying to help him correct himself but I have yet to see any progress. "H-E-L-P, help. Is what you want to say. Say it with me." "hoe" "no with a p at the end, you have to make a pe' sound" "hoe" "you talkin' to me?" "hoe" "oh it's on now!" "hoe" " Are you calling me a hoe? Cause we can take this outside." "hoe."
With kids it's never a dull moment and they are ALWAYS testing boundaries and learning something new. The trick is both of you getting out of it in one piece.