Houston Needs A "Pass" on Hurricane Season

It's June 29th....and "Alex" is brewing in the Gulf. Not. Good. Hurricane season officially began on June 1st, but we usually don't start seeing named storms until later in July or August. Add to this, that the forecasters have predicted 3-5 big ass hurricanes for the season....and the outlook seems a little grim.

Sooooo, after surviving Hurricane Ike in 2008, I would like to submit a request to Mother Nature for a "PASS". It seems fair to say, that my fellow Houstonians and I were pretty good sports and "took one for the team" when Ike barreled though. It cut a swath of destruction from Galveston/Crystal Beach all the way to..... Well, I don't know exactly where the storm was downgraded from hurricane status, but I know that we were definitely in it's path.

My compadres are already starting to discuss necessary measures needed in order to be prepared for the duration of the season. Given the not-so-sunny forecasting predictions, I am actually ready to bite the bullet and start shopping for a generator. Seriously. We were lucky to have only lost power for TWO WEEKS after Ike, and the idea of a repeat does not give me warm fuzzies.

One of my FAVORITE hurricane supply lists, so far, is from my dad & Margaret. They stocked up on three cases of beer, a box of cigars, margarita mix, BBQ chips, lanterns, Pepsi, oatmeal cookies, and other various "fillers". I think it goes without saying, that if the weather gets nasty, they should load up and drive straight to my house!!! HAHAHA

SIDE NOTE: Because of their nasty dispositions, and inability to play nicely with others, I have unfriended the following; Alex, Bonnie, Colin, Danielle , Earl, Fiona (she is NOT a princess), Gaston, Hermine, Igor, Julia, Karl, Lisa, Matthew, Nicole, Otto, Paula, Richard, Shary, Tomas, Virginie, or Walter.


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Motherhood is...

Motherhood is...

Flash cards. A lone soccer sock that can't be found. Hair "clippies" in my pocket. Cheerios, chicken nuggets, and fries under the car seats. HUGS! A strategically placed lego that you step on in the middle of the night. Buying a team t-shirt so your child knows you are on "their side". Birthday cakes and ice cream. Sleepless nights. A sweet little hand, wrapped around your finger right after being born. Parent/Teacher Conferences. Sippy cups with curdled milk stashed behind the couch. The sound of little feet coming down the stairs. "I love you mommy" notes on your favorite stationary. Having "the talk". Alligator tears. Report cards. Sticky door knobs. New shoes. The gift of a handful of rocks from the playground at recess. Hearing about his/her first kiss. The Tooth Fairy. Working on school projects together. Pop-Tart smeared on your shoulder (where YOU can't see it) by little hands when you were dropping them off at daycare. Itsy Bitsy Spider. Saying prayers at bedtime. Learning to ride a bike. "Over spray" on and around the toilet. Hearing your child say their first words. Crayon drawings on the walls. A smiling toddler with a turd floating in the bathtub. Pacifiers! Cozy blankets. Spelling. Being the "mean mommy" because it's the right thing to do. Slamming doors. Piles and piles of laundry. Dr. Seuss. Halloween costumes that they wait all year to dress up as. Baby lotion. Patience under fire. The first steps. Hearing your kids mimic you when they think you aren't paying attention. Little voices singing. Tub toys.

....Knowing that they will be grown before you know it.

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Florence Nightingale

...add to the list that I am NOT Florence Nightingale, either.

This afternoon the chain on Conner's bike came off as he was riding home from the pool. He went over the handle bars and was hurt pretty badly - lots of "surface damage" but no broken bones or lacerations. Luckily, a good samaritan noticed the accident as he was driving by and brought Conner home.

The sight of blood has always made me cringe, but somehow when my kids are hurt, I manage to find the where-with-all to hold myself together and stay calm. The catch, for me, comes when they have sores, wounds, or "boo-boos" that are oozy and weepy. *yikes* So when Conner gets out of this nice man's truck today and I see blood all down his side, I put on my game face and went to work. It wasn't a professional mending job, but all of the road rash got rinsed, cleaned, and bandaged.

Fast forward.... On our way home from dinner tonight, we stopped at the pharmacy and I bought a bag FULL of non-stick gauze pads and bandages. I was feeling pretty good about about my bag-o-kid-fixing supplies, and was ready to get home, inspect, reclean, and rebandage...... Well, that was the plan at least. *GULP* As soon as his shirt came off and I saw the weepy, messy bandages, it was all over but the smelling salts. It took mere SECONDS for me to start feeling lightheaded. Suddenly dinner wasn't sitting so well - threatening to make an encore appearance. Broke out in a cold sweat. It was CRAZY!! Even my feeble attempts to breathe deeply, lean against the counter, sit on the couch....nothing worked to quell the nausea. In the end, I finally just had to go lay down on the bed....completely unable to contribute....USELESS.

Of course, Richard, being the comic that he is, couldn't pass up the opportunity to come lean up against the bed and fan himself like he was going to pass out and tease me. HAHAHAHA!!! Stinker. :)

Conner will probably hurt for several days, but he has already asked to go hang out at the skating rink with his friends on Friday. How do kids do it?!? Just the THOUGHT of rollerskating so soon after wrecking on his bike makes ME hurt. Oh well, he can always call if he wants to be picked up early, right?


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Happy Hour!

How can I say "no" when Abby gives her I-can't-take-any-more-of-this-nonsense look, and says, "Can we pleeeease go to happy hour today, Momma?" It's as though she's channeling her future 35ish year old self. The self that has kids, a job, housework begging for attention, wishing for a nap, and she just needs an escape.... Or maybe those are just my sentiments that I see mirrored on her face? I don't know, but Happy Hour at the Sonic Drive-In is fixin' to make my afternoon!!

Make mine a Route 44 Cherry Limeade with extra lime, pretty please?


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Massage: Therapeutic or Torture?

Going to get a massage is one of my favorite personal indulgences, plain and simple. The massage I got this afternoon, however, makes me wonder if I am really in search of relaxation for the body and mind, or maybe the correct term might be "a masochist". Hmmm....something to think about.

When I met my therapist today, she was a tiny little Asian lady who is probably only 90lbs soaking wet with all of her clothes on, and a few inches shorter than I am. Got a visual on this? Yep, she was a tiny little sprout, and it kinda made me a little leery to be honest. When I go to get a massage - I want a goooooood massage! At this point it would have been in very poor taste to question her ability, though, since I had already upgraded my massage to the aromatherapy package AND closed out my tab along with tip. :) Once in the room "Annie" asks me if I have any particular areas that are bothering me, and I remarked that my lower back had really been hurting...blah, blah, blah.... Famous. Last. Words.

Annie starts me out face down for my two hour massage, and gets right to work on my back. She ruuuubs my back, kneads the knots, and WOW, we are off to a GREAT start. Annie's easing the pain out of my lower back, the tension is starting to go away, relaxation is starting to take over, my breathing is good, the hint of dozing off is just a few minutes away. And then...oh dear Lord....THEN she starts in on my hind end. There's really no other way to describe the pain. She found every nerve ending, every pressure point, every area that DIDN'T hurt and PULVERIZED THE LIVING HELL OUT OF IT!!! Apparently when I said lower back, she thought I meant MY ASS, and went about, skillfully, trying to relieve any discomfort? HAHAHAHA!! Discomfort? WHAT A JOKE! For a minute there I was giving serious thought to calling a personal foul, telling "Annie" to get off my butt (literally), and find new territory to assault on SOMEONE ELSE. If I hadn't had my face wedged into the little cushiony spot, I would have sworn that she had her elbow jammed in my butt cheek with her feet planted firmly on the wall in a pseudo crouching-tiger-hidden-dragon-type ninja move. You get the picture...she's horizontal in the air, feet in a racing stance on the wall, supported only by her needle-like elbow, and of course, my butt cheek is her platform.

By the time Annie moved her focus to my legs, at least I think it was my legs - I can't exactly remember, the knots were returning in my lower back, and my feet were starting to cramp from clenching my toes. In an effort not to come flying off of the table, I intently focused on the two hour mark. This feeling/terror/fear is reminiscent of my anticipation concerning childbirth; knowing that what's happening is going to hurt like CRAZY, but it will end at some point. Or at least that's what you tell yourself when you are restraining yourself from ripping the hair out of your husband's head for doing "this thing" to you, in the middle of a beastly contraction. Oh wait...wrong topic! Anyway, I am sure that in a day or two I will grab a little mirror to get a glimpse of the "rear view", only to find that I look like someone used me as target practice with a paint ball gun at close range.

Moral of the story: A serious can of "Whoop Ass" can come out of the smallest, most unseemingly, able packages. Also a classic blunder of judging a book by it's cover.


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Spring Chickens For Sale

Today is my birthday, and I must admit that the aging process does not give me the excitement or warm fuzzies that it did when I was in my teens, 20's, or even early 30's. The past few days, in particular, have reminded me that I am every bit of 38 years old....and no spring chicken.

Remember the cute little story that your mother probably read to you in preschool called "Granny's Glasses"? The story about how Granny wants to read a story to her grandkids but she can't find her glasses....looks high and low....here and there.....and it ends up that her spectacles have been perched on her head all along. Remember the story? Well, here's my version:

I had had a loooooong day with the kids, we had played for HOURS at the pool with friends, went out to eat, got a few things done around the house, and was completely exhausted. So I did what I do every night, I took a nice hot bath....pretty standard stuff. Afterwards, I started piddling around the house, straightening up, putting things away, etc. THAT is when *light bulb* I realized that I needed to find my glasses! I retraced my steps and looked in all of the usual places. They weren't sitting next to the bathtub, so I checked the shelves in my closet...dead end. Searched the kitchen...nope. The laundry room....a bust. So I decide to retrace my steps, AGAIN, just in case. Panic was starting to set in, was getting a little worked up, almost in tears, wondering what I would do if I couldn't find my only pair of glasses. As I am patting down the bed in case my glasses had fallen into the folds of the fluffy comforter, Richard asks me what I'm doing. I whine about how I've been looking everywhere but can't find my glasses....to which he replies, "They're on your face." And just like any complete idiot would do, I reach up and feel that, YES, my glasses are in fact right on my face! Perched on my nose. Lifting the visual fog, so that I could retrace my steps. Doing their job. Helping me see.....but not fixing the dumb. Grrrrrr.

Richard said he's keeping this one in his arsenal for future use. :)


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Card Shark

Growing up, my family spent a lot of evenings playing games together. We enjoyed games like Go Fish, Old Maid, UNO, Battle, as well as a multitude of various other board games. One of the stand out favorites was Memory. Just the mention of this game probably makes my Dad cringe and start to twitch. *chuckle* The most enjoyable part of playing Memory, was when my brother Nathan would step up to the table and face off with my dad. Two words - brutal and beatings. *outburst of laughter* Of all the kids, Nathan was the Memory Master, and he owned almost every game that he played with us. Over time, and numerous beatings, my dad (figuratively speaking) took his toys and went home. He would not play Memory with Nathan....period. *laughing too hard - must catch breath*

This smattering of memories kept popping up in my mind tonight as I was getting SLAUGHTERED at Memory by my youngest. *grimace* Every time Luc would get a match he would giggle and gloat....not too surprising, since he's almost seven with a competitive streak a mile wide. But when I would get a match, WOW, what a fuss! Anyway, he beat me twice (horribly), before I finally turned him loose on his sister for the next game. :)

Lesson learned: Growing up, it feels A-MAZ-ING to beat the snot out of your parents at games. As a parent, you reflect back on those cocky little displays of sweet, sweet victory when you were a child, and smile humbly as your child stands up from the coffee table to do the John Travolta moves from Saturday Night Fever. Rock it Lucas, and enjoy the victory lap!

The Good Lord Knew

About late April to mid May, I start to get a little out of sorts as the temperature starts to rise. There always happens to be one particular day (for me), when summer becomes a reality instead of an anticipation. It's the day that I step out of my house and immediately start to sweat from every single pore in my body. Not just a mere glistening, or steady prespiration after working in the yard, we're talking sweat so profuse that even your knee caps start to feel icky! I LOATHE THIS DAY. And, although I know that God is always present in our lives, this day reaffirms that He knows me personally, and knows my strengths and weaknesses.

He knew that I would not fare well as a pioneer woman. Countless hours, traveling in a covered wagon acrossed the vast wilderness of the western United States without air conditioning (or a jack for my PDA)? Ummmm, NO.

He knew that I would be unbearable if I had to sleep through summer nights without a fan set on the highest speed AND air conditioning. If momma's hot when I wake up, it ain't pretty!!

AND, He knew that my sanity (and the sanity of those around me) would require a nice bubble bath at the conclusion of a blisteringly hot day. Sweat is the enemy.

All this being said, summer lasts about six months in Houston. The hottest months of the season are July and August, Lord help me, and we are only part way into June. We have lived in the Houston area for almost 18 years, and every year I get gripey to move away when summer rears it's ugly head again....this year is no exception. When we got home from hanging out at the neighborhood pool this afternoon, I told Richard that I was going to give serious consideration to any marriage proposals from north and west of Texas. Please send resumes and serious offers to 1-800-COOL-BRZ.


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Yearbook 411

(This installment could also be titled, "Boys vs. Girls")

Lastnight, as I was going through the kids' backpacks and sorting through the year-end piles of "send home" workbooks and papers, Abby pulled out her yearbook. Since the yearbooks had just been distributed the same day, she was dying to sit and methodically examine every page. It was fun to see all of the great photos of school activites and all of their cute little friends. As we were going through each grade, from 4th to Kinder, I also got a play by play of the "who's who" at our elementary school. The following were some of my favorites...

"**** and **** are my bestest friends EEEEEVER."

"She thinks that she is so great, but she is really mean, and no one likes her."

"He is nice."

"She was soooo mean to ****, and s0 I am not friends with her anymore either."

"I love her hair."

"She moved to another school."

"I like to play with her at recess."

"He is reeeeally bad and gets in trouble all of the time."

"I want to play with her this summer."

"She used to be friends with ****, but NOT anymore."

"He is super smart."

"Lucas looks so silly [in this picture]."

"She always asks me to buy her a cookie at the cafeteria on MY lunch account, but she never pays me back."

.....And the list goes on. Every page had a commentary, and it was very enlightening.

On the flip side: As Lucas took his turn to sit next to me and review the "history pages" of the 2009-10 school year, there were a just a few comments, here and there, but nothing compared to the dirt that his sister had dished. His highlights were....

"There is ****."

"Oh! There is ****, I play with him on the playground."

"There is ****, he is in Ms.****'s class this year."

"There is ****."

"It was SO cold on the snow day. **** had huge gloves on."

.....Just stating the facts, no details or embellishments.


GOTTA LOVE IT!!!

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