In and Out

Yesterday my husband Dennis and I decided to bite the bullet and drive up to our old rental and clean. We'd planned to do it on Wednesday, but the bullet presented itself and invited us to bite.

The initial 10 minutes of the drive were like a death march. What's worse than returning to a former home to clean? Our dread was epic. Slumped and defeated, we made sidelong glances at each other that said we were blaming the other for our current predicament. And then we saw it. Aaaaaaaaaaa!! The In and Out burger sign on the corner of 1-10 and Ramon Road. Suddenly the van was careening off to the right and Dennis was yelling at a truck, "Are you going to turn or what, jackass?!?!?!?". And we were happy again.

Sitting in the drive-thru line behind fifteen or so cars, we settled in and tuned our attention to the radio which was unabashedly playing "Unskinny Bop".



In case you've never heard of said tune, "Unskinny Bop" is a Poison song, and probably the worst one (which is saying a lot). I realize that Poison has legions of rabid fans, none of which are Dennis or myself. After a long turn of groaning and making gag faces and feeling musically superior, we settled down to the business of analyzing the song. "But what does it mean?", I inquired. Eyebrows furled. We both leaned in a bit closer. If it weren't for the crooning and big hair smacking sounds you could have heard a pin drop. Then he said it. "Is it about having sex with fat girls?". And then it's quiet and he looks over at me. I said, "Why are you looking at me?!?". Nervous laughter ensued.

Then we pulled up to the window and it was clear it was time to pay the piper. Dennis wasn't sure if he brought his wallet so I said, "I have it if you don't have it", meaning atm card, to which he rightfully countered, "You have my wallet??". He found it and paid, and suddenly we are being told, "Here are some lap mats for you", and a smiling woman hands them to Dennis, who puts them both on my lap. I said, "Why did you do that? Is my lap so big it needs two lap mats?". He's been around long enough to know when there's not right answer and said, "I'm saying nothing".

The burgers were good. I think I still have onion breath, so watch out!

Lily loves Brian

There are no ifs ands or buts about it. Lily loves her big brother Brian. And it only took her eight or so months to warm up to him, (along with the rest of the world except for moi).

These days Brian has been showing up at our house under the guise of wanting to see us*, and then spends an hour wrapped up in a little Brianlily ball nogginizing her to the brink of nuzzledom.

I find it touching, so much so that I usually forgive him for washing his laundry one item at a time.

*All of us, not just Lily

I Joe

I still haven't finished setting up Joe Joe's room. There are baskets and baskets of toys sitting around just waiting to be sorted. Yes, I should have done this before the move. No, I did not. Joe just found his big bother Dennie's old GI Joe doll action figure and fell in love with it. He calls it "I Joe". I asked Dennis to come in and give me an opinion regarding placement of the toy credenza and this is what I got instead.




Sigh.

Crazy Train

I just realized that Lily is asleep and my Mom has Joe Joe over at her studio and I'm having fun over at Facebook instead of blogging. Now that I'm here I don't know what to say. Sort of like standing dumb-faced in a record store (yes, they're coming back, folks!) just staring at the pretty colors and bright, shiny objects, gravitating towards the top 10 rack and thinking "people sure are listening to crap these days".

Then again, maybe people always did listen to crap. Have people always listened to crap? And if I think people listen to crap does that make me a member of the lunatic fringe?

Yipes, Crazy Train ended and now I'm listening to an Ace Hardware commercial on the radio and my brain is blank again. Didn't Charo used to be in those Ace Hardware commercials in the 1970's? Tongue rolls, "Get yourself an escrew driver here, this man is so niiice!". I just love that woman. I remember how shocked I was to learn that she is quite an accomplished Spanish guitarist, having been under the impression that she was a ditzy blonde with no noteworthy talents outside of booby-shaking and hip gyrating. I won a Charo impersonation contest once at my friend Mandy's house.

Why can't I remember much about my childhood? I remember landscapes of moments in time. They are imprinted upon my brain like a Cassat or a Matisse. They are feeling, magic, tingliness, hope, wonder and a lot of looking up. Maybe that's my problem. I've been spending too much time looking down these days. The Bible says it's time to put away childish things. It doesn't say it's time to throw them away.

Rest Assured

You should have been here last night. My husband Dennis tossed a bite of guacamole into his mouth, lit up like a glowfish, then dashed over to his work bag and returned with an etching. I'd seen this wide-eyed look before. It was the one he gets when he's about to flip out over something ridiculously small and unimportant (to me). Don't get me wrong. My husband is a rock. He can and does handle the middle and big things, and most small things, with steely nerves and the grace of a nobleman. But every few days or so his sanity consciousness wavers, he senses foul play where none exists and becomes irate about something most people wouldn't be able to fathom.

This time it was the Rest Assured toilet seat covers in his bathroom at work.





Dennis: This is my mission in life. Everybody else would ignore this.

Heather:

Dennis: It could be called "Pleasant Days" or "Good Answers" or "Fishers" or "Baldwin Supplies", but it's called Rest ASS sured.

Heather:

Dennis: Don't make me think I'm insane. If there's no way to convey it without sounding insane does that mean I shouldn't say it?

Heather:

Dennis: Baby! That smug look on your face when you're typing. You think you're better than me. You'll do something tonight. You'll s%*t your pants. You've sharted before. See the R Trademark? They're not making a comment, that's their company. I mean, they thought long and hard about the name of their company. It's called rest ass sured. Those esses are in a different font almost. They paid a lot of money to some company to make those esses stand out. I was going to tape over the ured but then I thought "This is bigger than that!". I'm going to take it home and share it. I'm like Columbus. I've made a discovery!

Heather:

Dennis: It's almost like rest ass you red. Rest your ass or you'll get red. You're not writing down what I'm saying are you because some of it's jibberish. You're like "Some of it? All of it". *laughs*

Dennis: (Looks at the tv and says...) Pinot grigio.

So I decide to Google 'Rest Assured'. Not unlike a saint, I concede that in this version of the logo the word "Ass" does in fact appear to be highlighted to make a point.

What do you think?

Obstacles <- If you stare at that word it starts to look really weird

Moves can be good as well as supremely irritating. They offer us a fresh start and force us to confront the debris and schmutz in our surroundings. I've been wanting to change some habits and shatter my daily annoyances, and what better time than now?

I have decided to confront obstacles head-on, having been tiptoeing around them for years. Literally. A feng shui disaster. If a vase was in my way I'd been sidling around it. Why? I don't know. I'm thinking it may have something to do with mental clarity and not being present in the moment. Head in the clouds. Baby brain. But these obstacles, no matter how minor, can snowball during the course of the day and turn me into a fussypooh crankypants. Just ask Dennis. Or my Mom. Or the kids. Or the lady at the store. Or... ooh boy.

Had to step five feet out of the way to dry my hands? No more! Hung up a towel ring.

Have to climb a hill and wade through a river of crocodiles to take out the trash? Uh-uh. No mo. Putting the can right outside the garage door.

Moving the skid-prone couch every day to get the blinds open? Forget it. Putting the couch on a non-skid rug.

Obstacles be danged! Rowr.

All this back-patting got me to thinking. I wonder if obstacles are also getting in the way of my spiritual growth? I actually put down my "on the john" Newsweek in order to contemplate this for a couple of very heavy moments. I'll bet they are! But what if a person is an obstacle? I can't just toss a person aside. Hmm... perhaps I might re-frame my environment so the person can be allowed to exist, but so that I may walk around her with ease. Yes, maybe. (And no, I'm not talking about you.)

What if a bag of chips is an obstacle? I can simply chuck that. It's easier to toss out a bag of chips than a person. Unless I'm pee em essing.

I'm going to keep thinking about what I want to accomplish right here and right now, and what obstacles may be hindering my progress. Then I just may have a toss out the obstacles/drink a bottle of cold beer night. And I'll be sure to have a bottle opener on hand.

Stranger Danger, Will Robinson!

We've decided, and not entirely out of necessity, to adopt a casual living style at our home. To be honest, as of late I've come to the conclusion that anyone who consciously chooses formal over casual is either a) out of their mind, b) living up to expectations set by previous generations of people trying to live up to an undefined European ideal, c) a masochist, d) a sadist.

That said, I've finally confronted the fact that I have no clue whatsoever how to entertain people in my own home. To me, it's a monumental, unfathomable task. Dealing with people is one thing. I do well enough in public and at other peoples' houses. But the mere thought of two semi-strangers sitting on my couch makes my hair stand on end and my behind pucker. I, after all, would be responsible for their happiness for the portion of their life spent in my home. I don't want that kind of responsibility! People are so different. They're like puffy, hairy, walking Pandora's boxes of judgment and expectations. How, after all, should I be able to know that Sandy positively despises tomatoes in her salad and that George is allergic to ice cubes?

To invite other human beings to one's home is to set oneself up for utter failure, humiliation and devastation of what pride one has managed to squander after a lifetime of trying on bathing suits in tiny florescent lit rooms that may or may not have two-way mirrors, and dealing with others and who have bought a smelly bill of goods from advertisers and as such have adopted as their top purpose in life selling us the illusion that they are better looking, smarter, happier, thinner, funnier, and better parents than we are.

Clearly, to entertain in one's own home is madness!

Yet, I want to learn how to do it. I want to learn how to do everything that has me stymied. It's one thing to not entertain out of choice, another to not entertain out of fear and ignorance. Any tips for a mother of two teeny children? How do you make everyone happy and not lose your mind?

Booger Pickin' Delight

Good Morning! I woke up a wee bit early today and tiptoed into the dining area to try and sneak in a little pootin' time. I grabbed a Diet Coke, set myself up, stretched my knuckles, and clicked on Google Reader. Then I heard it. Is that Lily or the wind? So now I'm sitting with Lily on my lap with a boob in her mouth happily nursing away while I read my email. I couldn't type because every time I reached towards the keyboard she whipped her head around and it landed dangerously close to the edge of the dining table.

Hmm... what's that sticking out of her left nostril? Before I even know what I'm doing, I reach down with my pinky nail and dig out a dried-up booger. Now I've got a dried up Lily booger on my pinky. What do I do with it? I hadn't planned that far in advance. At the time it seems reasonable to place it on the table while I finish nursing my daughter, with plans to dispose of it and clean the table when the opportunity presents itself. Horrifying, yes. But given the situation, fair enough. Not to Lily. She's curious to see what is causing such mental commotion resulting in quizzical expressions on Mommy's face and proceeds to careen her head and contort her body towards said booger and kick her little legs until I (yes) pick it up again with plans to show it to her and explain to her all about boogers. I never got that far because the cotton-pickin thing fell on her. Where did it land? I have no clue. I looked, oh boy did I look, but it never turned up.

Want to come over for dinner? Happy Friday!

Easter Bling (Gifs, Smilies, Sig Tags)

Here's some fun Easter bling for your email, blog, etc! I did not create them myself, but rather obtained them throughout the years as free-to-use "snaggables". Enjoy!

Would a Joe by any other name still be as silly?

I saw Joe dart around a corner and knew he was up to no good. A quick chase and subsequent inspection of the contents of his tiny little fist revealed my phone. It was downloading (yes, downloading, not about to download) THIS SONG (see below). I didn't even know my phone had the ability to download songs. And who the bejeezus is Flo Rida? Is that a play on words? Is he from The Sunshine State? Does he drive a Caddy?



We had a childproof lock over the door handle on Joe's room so he didn't "break out" in the middle of the night and go off wandering the streets. It went missing for a while, and here's where I found it when moving his toddler bed.



What's that on his head you say? The cover to a new mop purchased by his father. I've never seen Dennis so excited about cleaning. He actually vacuumed the whole house. That mop truly inspired him. Did he mop you ask? Well, no. But I'm perfectly fine with keeping the new mop around as an inspiration stick of sorts.



I had to throw in a shot of Lil getting excited over a Mum Mum. Notice that she's wearing a little pink and white outfit with bows on the shoulders. I actually laughed after I put it on her. I felt like I was dressing her up in a costume. I have a closet full of pink frilly things purchased for her when she was 8 weeks in utero. Who knew she'd turn out to be a purple t-shirt and red bloomers kind or girl?



Have a wonderful Tuesday!

An Easter craft project anyone can do!

All it takes is a small investment in materials. No crochet or knitting skills required!

Check out the Crochet String Easter Eggs over at No Fuss Fabulous! Fun for the whole family! Just think of the possibilities. You can add all sorts of embellishments. I remember that I used to do this sort of thing with paper mache' and balloons.

Ooh, ooh, OOH. I want to make a GINORMOUS Easter Egg! Maybe I'll use my husband's head as a template. There are holes, so he should be able to breathe...

I don't care if we get kicked out of this place...

One thing is for certain. I am NEVER moving again.

Ever. .... !

I remember the good old days, back when I was single and childless. Actually, these were the bad old days, but they were the good old "moving" days. My Dad and Stepmom and big brother would show up at 9am with McDonalds breakfast under arm and bleary smiles on face & haul my clothing, futon, cats and boxes upon boxes of hair and body and face "product" into the back of a small truck. They'd help me lug it all into my newest place, then I'd unpack, get the kitchen set up, and head out that night for drinks with friends. A new pad wasn't considered broken in until the candles were lit, incense strewn about the house and set on fire, The Doors were blared and a friend of a friend ended up passed out on the floor with darts on his butt.

These are not the good old moving days. We're combining two households into one, at least for the time being, and I've got a beautiful and delightful baby girl who cries 95% of the time she isn't in my arm or on my boob. And a toddler who is fascinated by tools and wants desperately to "help" in any and every way that he can.

I'm not complaining, mind you! Okay, that's a crock of horse puck. I'm clearly complaining. Bitching even. But I am well aware how lucky I am to have such a ridiculously double-edged "problem", to be moving into a nice new house with the majority of my beloved family.

I'm just sick of all the STUFF. And the DIRT. And the BRUISES. And the lack of sitting on my ass.

And it's hard to pack and clean with a baby crying and a toddler chewing on your toe.

And all of us are desperately in need of a reasonble spot upon which to begin to forge a butt groove.

Crochet? HA! What is that? I may have to be re-taught.

Facebook? Huh? WHATbook?

Blog? Oh yeah, my *sniff* BLOG and my blogging buddies! Feels like another lifetime ago.

My friend Kristen is getting married (or GOT married???) and her CARD is still on my counter somewhere! My OLD counter! Sorry, Kristen and J!

My cousin Gina sent me the nicest email and I haven't had time to sit down and get caught up.

We're only about half done. I'll be back eventually. Hopefully. But I can't make any promises as to the state of my sanity!