September 2008 Archives

Okay, it took me a while to recuperate from my journey. My spiritual and cultural journey into the land of red. It was just as I suspected but on a much larger scale of crazy.

The funny started when our limo pulled up in front of our house. We live in an, uh, older neighborhood, by older I mean, less expensive than the average neighborhood where a limo pulls up. Even better was the house across the street that was repo'd and foreclosed on, is now for sale, and a couple was looking at the house, and behold, a limo pulls up and potential neighbors walk out in jeans and sneakers and jump in a limo and drive off. That's how we roll here in this hood, so you best keep up!

We lucked out with a fabulous group. Senorita and Dr. Husband have a great group of pals and I am grateful she (they) took such great care of us in the school of hard knox of NU Football Tailgating & Game-ness. But seriously, the ride in the limo was brilliant because we could just chit chat and laugh. And we laughed. And laughed. Then laughed at how much we laughed. I've skipped my ab workout today because my six-pack is still sore from the workout in the limo. ***Just a sidenote - I don't really have an "ab workout"...nor the six-pack. But it's fun to dream, folks.

I cannot believe these people took a picture with me. But I want it completely documented that SENORITA explained to me that it was a "Blackout Game". I hated to ask, but, I wanted to fit in as much as I could, "What's a blackout game?" She very patiently explained that it's where everyone wears black and how cool it looks in the stadium. See how cool we all look? Yeah, no one else got the memo. But atleast we could all find each other, right?

You would think, when you step out of a limo, people stop and look and ask, "Wow, you're in a limo!" But with a shirt like this...not so. When Ricardo wears this shirt, no one asks him "How tall ARE you?" It's just a simple outreach of joy and love for the shirt. Even at the Nebraska game, "DUDE I LOVE YOUR SHIRT" from strangers forty feet away. And then they tossed him a beer. Every time. Not ONE time did anyone ever say, "Dude, your wife is a 6' bombshell." NOT ONCE. Geesh.

So, we get to Lincoln, and hit a bar first. Hey, it's on the way to the tailgate, so might as well. It's absolutely packed, and that's when I remember something that may or may not hinder my happiness for the rest of the trip I've just locked into 12 hours for: I HATE crowds. Woopsie, probably not a great plan. I don't mind a good crowd, because I can see over everyone. So, that's nice. But you know, the shoulder to shoulder crowds? Just not my thing. I go along with it though, because what is before me is a first: a band at a bar. I'm not talking rock band, it's the effn marching band, pre-game warm up! Fine, it's not the actual Nebraska Marching Band, it's the alums from it. Playing all the fight songs and such. A pep rally, in a bar. The town MY college was in a dry county. So, the band, in a bar - never thought of it. Just perfect! So fun. Maybe it was the acoustics - maybe it was the beer at a pep rally. It was brilliant and fun. Fo sho.

Aren't we cute? My girls took good care of me and showed me how to roll at the game and tailgates. These girls rock!

Then we headed out to the tailgates. Plural. I envisioned a gigantic parking lot full of motor homes with grills outside. But Nebraska campus and stadium is downtown. So, it's really several parking lots. I think - I don't know - but I think they are themed a bit. A pal said she tailgated at the Players Parent's tailgate. Senorita put careful planning into mapping out our tailgate plan so that we'd move closer and closer to the stadium. I also envisioned at these tailgates that there would be corn - like a competition - and that it was like Fair Food. Back in Texas, there's BBQ. Cookoffs. And one of my favorites at a cookoff is corn. They DIP IT IN BUTTER BEFORE THEY HAND IT TO YOU!!!

So, most of the Husker fans are probably disappointed by the fact that the Huskers lost the game. But I'm more disappointed that there was no fancy corn dishes, no fried corn, no corn dipped in butter. This is the most I could find:

Ahhh, the glistening sun shining behind the Nebraska flag and endless satellite dishes..I also thought that everyone tailgated and then went to the game. It turns out, most tailgaters never go to the games. They watch it on a big screen. I'm amazed at how many tailgates there are, how much food and drink there is, and how welcoming and inviting everyone is. We bounced to about 4 or 5 tailgates and had a great time. Even me, because, again, it was shoulder to shoulder.

Tomorrow, I'll tell you about the game crazy.

That's how I roll.

Take note of how small the actual football field looks compared to the size of the stands to accomodate all that crazy known as "fans".

I have to fess up and tell y'all I've been sucked into the vortex of crazy. I run my own show of crazy - nice and quaint and cozy. And for four years, I've protected my kids and family from what I fondly refer to as the freakshow here in Nebraska - Football. I still sight that I've never seen anything like it - and I'm from Texas, folks. Oddly enough, I've only seen the freakshow in all it's glory here in my safe community of Omaha. I dare not venture to the darkside, on homegame day - to Lincoln.

Until now.

It turns out, I have made some really good friends at the gym. And it also turns out that DesignDiva is married to former Husker and New York Giants offensive lineman, Rob Zatechka. I'll get back to him later, because, as you will see through this blogumentary of freakshow 2008, Nebraska Football has very little to do with the players. VERY little. DesignDiva reads this rockshow of a blog and decided it was time to learn me a lesson, citing that maybe I should go see what it's all about. In all sincerity, she and a few other pals truly want to defend the great nature of Nebraska Football Tradition. And what kind of writer am I if I don't check it out for myself?

Tomorrow, thanks to Rob and Designdiva and Senorita and a few others, I will be attending my first Nebraska Football game. Really, it's my first big football game, at all. I think I went to a few Houston Oiler games back in the 70's (shut your mouth if you weren't even born in the 70s), and I went to a Texas Tech game one time but they got annihalated so badly, we left early.

Rob and Designdiva gave us their tickets. Well, we got them at face value, and from what I've seen and heard, that's a gift. Tickets being auctioned off for a fundraiser last week went for $900 - each. So, thank you very much to Rob and Designdiva for the tickets. From what I've heard on your career at Nebraska, it's an honor to sit in your seats. I hope our neighbors aren't disappointed... "WHO ARE YOU? WE WANT ZATECHKA!!!" When they realize what an outsider I am, I'm going to get mauled.

I think the reason I am so amazed at what goes on for a Nebraska football game here is because I went to a Division 2 school, West Texas A&M University. Go Buffs. When I came in, they were just restarting the football team. There were barely any scholarships, if any to offer. Some of the best guys in the world played on that team. Like me, they weren't the best players - per their suggestions, not mine. Did I mention I don't know a lick about football? But my alma mater football team, that year, they had hearts of gold, of platinum. They worked their butts off, got pummeled twice a day, all for the glory of simply getting the chance to play ball. From sitting in the training room, getting ankles taped or nursing wounds and bruises, or twisted ankles, we sat and iced and I became great friends with some of those guys. That's why I went to football games, to cheer my buddies on. Since I played volleyball, I only got to see a football game about once a year. So, being able to go cheer them on was such a treat. And having them cheer me on was absolutely a factor of my success.

The stands were never full. And it was the best fun next to playing my sport there was. So, for the life of me, I can't figure out why these people here in Nebraska are so crazy for football. Do they each know someone, have a close bond? I doubt it. I'm going to go see what it's all about.

Perhaps I'll find the answer at a keg. I'm a little freaked out already. Ricardo and I are joining 3 other couples and going to the game FOUR HOURS prior to kick off, in - get this - a LIMO. A part of me is very frightened. My defense will be my camera. I plan to photo essay this entire gig. So, wish me luck, and come back. I'm guessing attending the game, the limo, the tailgates (plural - back at WTAMU there was A tailgate about 1 hour before kickoff), the bars, the people, I'm guessing it'll necessitate a four- or five-part series of blogworthiness.

Wish me luck. And also, those Huskers too, I guess.

That's how I roll.

Yesterday, the kids and I took Farley the Wonderdog to the vet for his regular exam and shots, you know. That stuff. We take him in,the kids find the kittens the vet is trying to save and sucker up clients to adopt: "Gee Mom, it's too bad you're allergic to cats." Yep. Keep remembering that, Max. So, while they were distracted with all that, I took Farley over to get weighed.

With all the weight loss going on in our house, I thought nothing of it. But Farley the Wonderdog was wiggling and, so I weighted him three times. I finally got him to sit on the scale before and could not believe what I saw. ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY FOUR POUNDS. I'm fairly certain this is the heaviest this dog has ever been. Just like when I went to weigh in for the first time at Weight Watchers, now it's not just a few extra pounds. It's a problem. 25 pounds of a problem. I knew while we sat there and waited that I was going to get in trouble. I even changed my posture from bad-ass momma to kid waiting for the principal. Farley the Wonderdog knew he was in for it, too.

For the last three years, Dr. M has been telling me that Farley should lose some weight. And for the past three years, he's gained weight instead- a little more everytime we bring him in. So, as soon as Dr. M came in, I started with what I always use in my defense in adverse situations: Jokes.

Dr. M: "Looks like Farley's still gaining weight."

Me: "Well, he IS named after Chris Farely, so, we have his namesake to uphold to." Nervous chuckle....chuckle.....chuckle.... awkward pause.

Dr. M: "Didn't Chris Farley die in misery and shame and excessive indulgence?"

Funhater.

And proceed with the serious lecture. But this time I tried to defend myself.
"Okay, but when we've tried this before, his gas alone was validation to give up and let him gain weight."

"Uh, how long did you put him on the diet? It only takes a few days for the gas to subside and his stomach to get used to it."

"Fine, it was two days, but two of the worst days of my life. I had to buy hazmat masks, for God's sake."

Later on, I say to the doctor:
"Well, we took him off the Prozac, and so, my big concern is that when we put him on this diet, he'll uh, well, he'll eat the house."

"Ever thought about locking him up?"

"Yeah, we tried that."

"What happened?"

"He ate the house. He ate the wall. Seriously.Come over, I'll show you. We left it as is for proof."

Here's what he did to a WALL when we "locked him up" in the guest room. So, now, guests are greeted by this:

HE ATE THE WALL, folks. THE WALL.

Dr. M didn't believe me. But promised that if Farley DID have said incident again, that I could call and he'd come over to see it for himself.

Before we left, Dr. M. was petting Farley while Farley was laying down. And he just stared in awe, "He's huge. He's way too big. This isn't fair to him."

So, now Farley the Wonderdog is on a strict diet. The kids and Ricardo (Gramma - you too) have been put on complete restriction from feeding this dog any scraps or anything tasty at all. It's diet dog food baby. I wonder how many points it comes out to?

Day one, Dr. M. DAY ONE, and we came home to his expression of disapproval of such attrocities as this diet bull shit (That's Farley the Wonderdog's words, not mine):

Yep, that's a soiled pullup he snacked on. You showed us Farley, you nasty dog. That's so gross. I took the picture and left the mess for Ricardo to clean up. And yes, up to this point, that is a Farley proofed garbage pail.

Here's his "before" picture. He has to lose 20 pounds. He could stand to lose 30, but the doctor said 20 would be okay.

In case you can't tell what a gigantore this dog is, I took this picture for perception's sake. I'm 6'3". This dog weighs only 50 pounds less than me.

When Ricardo was taking these pictures, he looked down at me and Farley the Wonderdog and exclaimed, "Man, now that I look at him in the camera, I see, he's really really fat." So, I've opted to take more pictures with Farley, seeing as how he makes me look so tiny and all...

Wish us luck!

That's how I roll.

Today, it hit me that our budget isn't enough for our needs. I say that, I should probably say something more like "needs". In quotes and all. I've come to the realization that my "needs" probably aren't really needs at all, and maybe I should readjust my "needs" into needs - no quotation marks necessary.

It takes me a while to come to these realizations. Even longer to actually act on it. I can't help but thinking that maybe the economy is getting to me and my family. Surely it can't be ALL my fault. Are groceries really that much more now? Perhaps.

What we do here at the MOTR Casa is called the Envelope Budget. You set a budget for things like bills, groceries, gas, stupid school odds and ends, etc. You label envelopes and put the allotted money in said envelope. When the envelope is empty, you're out of your budget for that item. It works for spur-of-the-moment people like me. Sometimes I find myself doing what my mom used to refer to as "robbing Peter to pay Paul" I'll snag a little out of the medical envelope for a gallon of vodka or something like that. But for the most part, it works. Until today.

Today, I needed to run to the grocery store for diet dog food (I'll explain later) and a few other things. I was torn between which store to go to, I mean, I'm about to drive by Walmart and they are cheaper. BUT, the kids' school is doing some fundraiser with Hy-Vee receipts. What to do, what to do? Save gas and a few bucks at WalMart while losing a few dignity points and grimmacing at the apparent required screaming kid. (Ever notice it's a constant at Walmart?) Or tack on a few cents for the sake of my sanity and contribute to the fundraiser for my children's education? That's when I remember, "You hate Walmart. Nothing good is in Walmart. Your therapist said Walmart was unhealthy for your soul." And so, I pass right on by WalMart and head to HyVee. HyVee is a local grocery store here in the Big O. They have bigger aisles, good produce, and more importantly competent and happy and helpful (gasp!) employees. I feel happy and successful when I leave HyVee. When I leave Walmart, I feel violated.

I get in, shop, and whip out my envelope, it's Peters - you know - to pay Paul. Translation: I left my Groceries envelope at home, but just used my Entertainment envelope money that was in my purse, resolving to put the money back when I get home. I get out. I'm yapping on the phone with my mom, when I get home and go to take the money back to Paul (Follow me with the nice analogy, folks) and I cannot find Peter's envelope. I panic, then think, and realize I left it at the check out lane. AAAACK!

I get back in the car, and lecture myself all the way back to the store: "Can't IMAGINE why you can't keep a budget, Les. I mean, just leaving your budget envelope with MONEY IN IT at the store, can't see why you can't get a grip on your budget, LAME ASS!" I'm holding my breath, because it's 50/50 it's still there. Yes, anyone could have snagged that money. But it's HyVee. Good happy and let's not forget helpful employees.

I get there, walk in, go to my line, the nice and lovely lady is still there, I say, "Did I leave an envelope here?" Holding breath....holding breath....flashing nice trusting smile....holding breath

"You sure did! We figured you'd come back for it! I'll go get it for you."

They get it, give it to me, and I go to open it, when I see they've taken extra precaution and taped it. Fascinating, taping it shut, a new level of budget discipline. I'll consider it.

This would have never happened at Walmart. I'm just sayin.

That's how I roll.

This email was sent to me today. I don't know who Ron is, but...what he said:

This was sent to me this morning. They are the best Hurricane Ike damage pictures I've seen yet. The power of nature is very frightening, the mercy of God is awesome, and will of mankind is inspiring.

-Ron
HURRICANEIKEPics.pps

You probably know by now, I'm from Texas. I grew up just north of Houston, a little suburb called Spring. It's about an hour north of Galveston.

My mom and her boyfriend still live in Spring. After Ike, they are ok. "Duh," Some might say, "She's an HOUR INLAND, you just said that." Yes, thank you. But my mom's okay because they have a generator. They are an HOUR INLAND and still without power! They are north of Houston. North of this:

So, yes, she's okay, and asked I'd tell my masses. So, there you go. Most everyone I know is as close as that. Except my Will. Will is the brother I never had. Turns out I was enough to drive my mother to permanent birth control. But, whatever.

My Will. I don't even know where to begin. This kid goes down to Galveston and falls in love...with the island. And on more than one instance, I've advised him to leave and move back home. But he's insisted that he can't leave Galveston, that it's a part of him. That his friends ARE his family down there. (Except ME Will, because I'm in OMAHA. Except MEEEEEE, right?) So, when he was threatening to not evacuate prior to Ike coming in, I pulled a Big Ass Sister Smackdown like he's never seen before. It was an Instant Messenger novel that I'm SURE he was happy to read rather than hear my yapping on a phone call. (He wouldn't pick up his phone when I called anyways...)

Thankfully, Will got out of Galveston with Jane (the sexy bulldog, if ever there was one). This is Will's refugee picture:

For Will, this is actually an opportunity to start all over. He could walk away, with minimal loss (his business and his dog are okay, and that's about it)- he could start all over. I think that's probably what I'd do. I'm not proud to say that. But Will, like so many others, is committed to returning and helping not rebuild his life, but help his friends and help rebuild Galveston.

Everytime I talk to Will, I think, "Oh, yeah, Galveston." Out of sight, out of mind, right? And that's what I want to try to remind y'all of, please don't forget Galveston! With amazing people like Will, it cannot be forgotten. Oh sure, there are a few assholes there, I know a few of them too. But I'm hoping with people like Will and his friends, that good will overcome evil whores.

If you've noticed, the Emmy's and Lynne Spears new book have booted stories on Hurricane Ike and it's devastation.

Will is returning to Galveston to review the damage to his home and to the island. He is sick over the anticipation of what he is about to find. So, please take a look at these pictures. And say a prayer. If you can, contact the Red Cross or the Humane Society and see what you can do to help. Go here to get updates and see what you can do for great people like Will and Galveston.

That's how I roll.

Cheers Dad.

The other day I was sitting here, websurfing, I'm sure, while the kids had a snack after school. And I heard this:

LUCY: Timmy in my class NEVER practices his spelling words. EVER.

MAX: Is your name Timmy?

LUCY: No.

MAX: Then don't worry about it. You just worry about Lucy.

I about peed myself with laughter, but held it in. Lucy looked to me for defense, but I said nothing.

When Ricardo got home, I told him the whole story. He chuckled and said "That's you. He totally got that from you."

I say, "Uh, no, that sounds just like my dad."

To which Ricardo replies, "EXACTLY."

Oh God.

That's how I roll.

Some of you may know that song reference. I don't care how straight I am, I love the Indigo Girls, and have braved being the minority at Lillith Fair every year they had it so I could sing along as loud as possible to that song. That, and I'm a bonafide member of the Sarah McLachlan fan club. You shut up, anyone who writes a song about ICE CREAM is a friend of mine!

Back to the song title. I thought I'd take this opportunity to bring y'all up to date on my heart mending from losing my girl, Carrie. You know, when someone loses a loved one, after the funeral and all the thank you notes are over with, you really don't know how it's going after that. How could you? Well, from the blog, ofcourse!

First of all, Carrie's family is doing ok. Some days are harder than others. Sadly, they've dealt with loss before. I wish this made it easier to deal with, but I'm guessing not, it's probably overwhelmingly worse. The good news is, I don't leave them alone. (Well, it's good news on my side, atleast.) I harass them as much as I can without legally being a stalker. (I know my rights.) They are all very open and real about how they are dealing with Carrie being gone. Thank you for your prayers for them, as well. Please continue to pray for them.

Also, thank you to JB, my PILs, J-dawg, Scrapbookdisneydiva, Erica and my MOMMY for your very generous donations. Back in my non-profit working days, the mantra was, "It never hurts to ask." So, I sent out the ol mass email as well as posted on this blog begging for sponsorship. And it sure doesn't hurt to ask. It actually melts my heart. It's so sweet and heartwarming to see not only the donations roll in, but who's making them. Some of y'all knew Carrie. Some of y'all never met her, but you know my heart, and so you do this for me. Some of y'all, I haven't even seen in years. Your donations are the greatest hugs to me. Thank you so much. Your actions speak bounds and will not be forgotten!

If you would still like to donate money or your time, it's not too late! Wink, wink. As a family, Ricardo, Max and Lucy will join me and walk with Carrie's friends in Texas in November. If you'd like to join us, in the words of Bob Baker: C'mon down!

I am doing better each day. It still takes my breath away to know she's just not here. I still think to call her and tell her a funny kid story. I know now that she's my angel. And I think she left this earth knowing that she was leaving me with Yallison. Yallison and I take good care of each other and nurture our precious friendship even more now. MyDaph and Julz(Holla!) take good care of me, and are on the mend too! The both of us just see life's little perks and celebrate them more now. I thought I was all grown up when I got married and had kids. But I think I've got more clarity now, more gratitude for life. Yallison does too, I can hear it in her voice. So, we embrace the slow process of mending our broken hearts, and I think we're a little bit Closer to Fine each day.

That's how I roll.

I came up with this while on the phone with a friend the other day. As moms, we need to take care of each other. I think we lose sight of that sometimes. So, here it is the mom-to-mom mantra as far as I'm concerned:

• Never ever question how a friend worships.
• Never ever question how a friend votes.
• Never ever question how a friend parents. Ever. You're better off telling them how to worship and vote.

Ricardo and I were at the gym the other day. Some people go on dates. We check our kids in at the gym and go workout. We ran into some people we know. They are nice ladies, Julz(HOLLA!) and I have been pals with them for a while. And that's when I was posed a question that someone had the cahones to actually ask:

"What do you have to do all day, you're stay-at-home moms?"

Ahhh, yes, the age-old question. I don't recommend you ask nor suggest any type of question to a SAHM. (SAHM = Stay-At-Home-Mom, or Sexy and hot mom, whatever). It's like asking when a pregnant mom is due when she hasn't told you she's pregnant yet. Don't do that. Unless the child is coming out of her body, and his little hand is waving at you, never ask.

When she asked, I let it roll. And trust me, Pal, is a great gal. She was joking. But two days later, Ricardo brought it back to my attention. The fact that he remembered, took to my defense, that he acknowleged it, and was upset by it truly conveys to me that he gets me and understands me. And he knows a lot of all that nothing of what I do all day.

Let me take this moment to address that my "job" isn't really a job to me anymore. Primarily, because I don't get paid - except in the weight of dog poo and sticky syrup kisses. But it's not a job to me because I love it. It's fun. I'm really enjoying my kids. My kids are six years old now & I haven't changed a diaper or wiped a butt in a few years. I have it easy (now) because I had my kids at the same time. I'm brilliant like that. I paid my dues time two just in simultaneously potty training, but breastfeeding - puhleeease - that was the hardest 3 weeks of my life.

So, in answer to that question - I do what you do, because you're a mom too. But you're a working mom. Still, I do what you do. Take care of my kids and the house. I just have the privilege of doing it all day. That's what it is, it's a privilege - not a job, a privilege. It was a job. It was hard work. But now it's simply a privilege.

My friends, however, work their asses off, have singletons, get the kid all raised and off to kindergarten, and then go and have another kid. Then another. Then another. We call that "job security" in the SAHM circle when we're all gathered to watch Oprah and sip martinis. When you have kids at different ages and stages, it's a lot of work. A SAHM with 3 kids ages: 7, 3, and 1 - will change diapers AND potty train all day while shuttling to and from school and doing multiplication tables. That is work. Trust me. It's a job. And you do NOT want to know the details.

Well, we do what all moms do - working moms, single moms, SAHMs, we just do more of it. We're at home more, making more messes and then cleaning them up more. So, it's just at a higher frequency. I do more laundry, more cooking, then more cleaning, more shuttling the kids, more volunteering. Most days, it feels like I'm chasing my tail. Makes me dizzy. I like dizzy. I'm good at it.

Last night, Ricardo got a call at 3:30 in the morning. He's a programmer, so someone had an error or something. All I heard was things like,
"Well F7 it and run a query on the 51a2b. Then try to enter New Product and try to do Internal 760. Then F4. And that should work."

I have no idea what he does all day. I know that he's good at it.

So, ditto.

That's how I roll.

There's a scene in the Princess Bride - the greatest movie ever:

Vizzini: Finish him. Finish him, your way.
Fezzik: Oh good, my way. Thank you Vizzini... what's my way?
Vizzini: Pick up one of those rocks, get behind a boulder, in a few minutes the man in black will come running around the bend, the minute his head is in view, hit it with the rock.
Fezzik: My way's not very sportsman-like.

Amen to that, Andre the Giant! In biding time with my kids and family, I took a long hard look at my mean-mommyness and what really drives me nuts. It's picking up everyone's crap, all day. Ricardo's pieve around the house is the lights. He tells me he walks around the house in a constant flow and turns off lights. Keep turning them off, hunny, so I don't see all the crap on the floor. Shoes are the worst, mine included. I can't decide if it's because our feet are so big, or what, but they are everywhere - giant people shoes. Nothing says "damn kids better pick up their stupid toys or I am going to burn them and make them watch" like stepping on a lego, a barbie, or my personal favorite, a hot wheel car. And everytime I step on it, I look at my foot in complete disappointment and awe that it's not bleeding.

It makes me grumpy and loud and very Joan Crawford. I don't want to be Mommy Dearest, I want to be hot and fun momma. So, I've taken drastic steps to make that possible. I've scheduled several surgeries. Or not...yet, anyways.

But I have decided to take the mean away and just clean it up myself. Julz(Holla!) and I pleasantly disagree on this. But that's because her kids main form of enjoyment and glee is cleaning! Another difference in our homes is I don't have a play area outside of their rooms. I've considered it, but don't have it. So, when a kid at MY house wakes up in the middle of the night, oh, barfing, let's say. And I rush in, and I'm all "Oh, hunny, are you okay sweetie? Let me get to you and hold your hair back....what the..." SLAM-CRUNCH-THUD while she's still barfing and I'm wincing in pain, suddenly I hear myself, "I TOLD YOU TO KEEP THIS ROOM CLEAN, I"M GOING TO THROW IT ALL AWAY! I'LL DO IT - EVERYTHING ON THE FLOOR IS NOW TRASH, YOU HEAR ME OVER THAT HEAVING THING YOU'RE DOING!? PULL YOUR OWN DAMN HAIR BACK, KID."

Fine, it's never come to that. But close. That doesn't have potential at Julz(Holla!)'s house because her toys aren't in the path of barfing children at night. She has a cool play area and perhaps, along with that, a bit more patience and that other stuff - maternal instinct and all that.

So, I've taken into account the fact that this is just might be my fault - somewhat. We don't give them a chance and make it a consistent routine to clean up before bedtime. We're barely getting their teeth brushed. And since I AM the stay-at-home mom, and somewhat of a control freak - I've just decided that I'll clean it up. Gasp. What are you teaching your children, Leslie!? I'm teaching them that mommy doesn't scream all the time. Just some of the time.

Relax and hear me out. They have chores and responsibilities. But really, they can't clean fast enough or good enough for mommy anyways. Not yet, atleast. So, I take them to school each day, and come home, make the beds, and pick up the stuff. My hope is that they'll get good and comfy in a clean home. That they'll see that everything has a place - a good place, that mommy picked out for a really good reason. And then in a few years, it'll be logical that they just return their stuff to that place naturally. That, or I throw their toys away when they are at school - which I do 3 times a year anyways.

Yeah, cleaning up after the kids probably isn't very sportsman-like in the world of mommyness. But I'm going with Vezzini on this one, drastic times call for drastic measures.

So far, this is working. The first week, they came home each day and thanked me voluntarily for making their beds. Today, I went to make Lucy's bed and found her trash can half full (always the optimist) of water. Interesting. See, had I not made this decision to clean up their rooms, I'd have not found the nasty water in her trash can. I'm in a less demanding angry mommy, and really, I think I have my stay at home mom gig prioritized better than I ever have. That, and the skin on my feet is in tact. So, that's bonus.

What are your tips on keeping the house running smoothly without justifying Joan Crawford references?

That's how I roll.

Do you use an umbrella? I never use umbrellas. I like that song by Rihanna, though. It's fun. And I look just like that picture of her when I have an umbrella, too. Just like it.

The other day when Max was sick, it was raining pretty hard out. Not your average drizzle. Since Max was with me, I decided that I'd be a responsible parent and keep the sick kid less miserable and dry, and so I grabbed an umbrella.

I now remember why I never use umbrellas. They don't work. I learned early in this mommy gig that you don't give a kid an umbrella. You get poked in the eye, the stomach, and all while it's raining out. So, I made Max stand under my giant umbrella. When we got in the doctor's office, I realized from the hips down, I was soaking wet. So, that means Max's head was dry, the rest of his body was soaking wet. Oh, Yeah! THAT'S why I never use an umbrella. BECAUSE IT DOESN'T WORK. Instead, I just don't leave the house when it rains like that. I thought I was just being grumpy and stubborn, but it turns out, I was just right. Again.

And what is that when you get in your car, from the rain? Trying to stay dry, and then close the umbrella with the car door open, you trying to close it and then slide it into the car. It's like some yoga contortionist pose. Then, inevitably, you get the umbrella in the car, just enough to brush over your legs, dripping. And then umbrella gets your car all wet. What's the point anyways! Am I doing it wrong? Anyone have a tip for me?

Maybe they should make an umbrella that goes all the way over your body. A six foot long umbrella. I'm on to something.

You can stand under my umbrella, ella, ella. Stupid song.

That's how I roll.

I got a call yesterday from the school. Max had a headache and a fever. I'm on my way. So, longer story less long, he had a huge fever all night. We made it through the night.

By morning I wake up and smell the Strep Stench. If you've had strep throat in your home before, you know there's a very distinct smell involved. If you've had it in your throat, you know the taste. It's gross, I know. But it's there. We get the flashlight, and behold, puss pockets. Nice. Good thing I had the genius insight to make an appointment for today. Yay me! I remind Ricardo we have an appointment and at some point he says to me, "Make sure he gets the shot, okay?"

We like the shot because I'm not great at keeping up with giving the medicine consistently. I never could remember to take my pill either. That's why I have my tubes tied. I mean if the desperation of simply keeping up with the children I have and not throwing any more into the crazy mix isn't enough to keep me taking a tiny little pill once a day - every day... And when the kids are on antibiotics, it's for 10 days. By day 2 they are completely rehabilitated and I forget to give them their meds because the fever or barfing isn't around to remind me. So it's my fault we get the shot, but I can't remember to give them the meds, okay? Geesh.

We go to the doctor. Max was looking forward to seeing Dr. B, because she just had a baby. There wasn't much time for chit chat after the strep test came back positive. Dr. B asks if we want the shot or the prescription. And in a split second, because the kid just looks awful and defeated already, I think to just say, "Prescription." But in another split second I think to give it one more push for the shot and tell Max,

"You can choose. Daddy wants you to get the shot." I told him that not to reprieve myself from the crime that was about to ensue, but to motivate him (fine, manipulate him.) And I'm ashamed to say, it worked. As soon as he heard, "Daddy wants you to..." his face lit up and he said, "Okay, I'll get the shot." Schocked, Dr. B went to get the nurse to administer the shot, because when you've paid off all those student loans to be a doctor, you don't have to be the bad guy and give the shots anymore. Clearly it's what separates a doctor from a nurse.

The problem with the next 5-10 minutes is they took too long. They gave Max ample time to reconsider. I tried to reassure him that it would be over in just a second and then we wouldn't have to worry about it. I tried soothing. I tried explaining. I tried distracting. Where they heck are they? I'm out of ideas! I finally got him calmed down, and then the attack came in.

I think I said this the last time one of my kids got a shot, "I WILL NOT DO THIS AGAIN." So, now it's in writing, and hopefully, I'll have the same ample time to review before the ladies with a mission, also known as nurses, come in with the six foot long needle. Max tried to blend in with the wall. It took two of us to get him on the table. I had to lay over him and hold his entire body down while another nurse held his legs and feet from kicking while the other nurse - the very effn slow nurse- took her sweet ass time getting the shot in. This time it was longer. I'm guessing a full minute. I'm tired and worn out from holding him down while I stared at his very impressive red, gigantically swollen and puss-pocket infested tonsils while they vibrated from the intensity of his screams. It was loud, pathetic, and reminded me of some submerging therapy treatment I've seen on a Law & Order episode. Horrific.

I will not do this again. I will not do this again. I will not do this again. That was all I could think and say to myself to comfort myself. Comforting Max was not even an option. He was rightfully pissed off. I mean, PISSED OFF. They gave him a stupid Sesame Street bandaid and told me his leg would be SORE FOR SEVERAL DAYS AND TO PUT AN ICE PACK ON IT FOR THE NEXT 24 HOURS! ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? What the hell kind of shot did you just give him?!

I think since he's 6 years old now, and the size of an 8 year old, that maybe he qualifies for some larger gauged needle with thicker penicillin in it. Who knows. All I know is that the tears are now forming in my eyes and the large lump in my throat when finally, Max lets me hold him, and he clings to me. I carried him out of the office with about 10 people and 4 kids glaring at me while I carried him out.

We left there and went straight to pick up Ricardo for lunch. Whatever this kid wanted, he was getting. I would have let him test drive a car if he'd mentioned it. As we pulled out of the parking lot I said,
"You mad at me,baby?"
He nodded.
"Well, that's ok. Will you let me know when you're not mad at me anymore?"
He nodded.

About 5 minutes later, before we got to Ricardo's office, Max finally breaks the silence with,
"I'm not mad at you, Mom. I'm mad at Dad, cuz this was his idea."

I hate that for Ricardo. But for me, it was finally a moment when mommy wasn't the bad guy and in complete context. I will never do that again. I will never do that again. I will never do that again.

That's how I roll.

Remember Magda from the movie There's Something About Mary? Yeah, I'd blocked her out of my mind too. Until yesterday when I saw her at the gym. Apparently, she's still making guest appearances, except instead of autographs, she's hanging out with the older boy toys in the weight room and on the track.

This woman was in her 60's - but perhaps I was fooled by her bleach blonde hair and wrinkled, flappy, but very tan skin - and she was more like 70 or 80. It's VERY possible. She was an exact duplication of Magda, except, Magda wore muumuus. This woman was wearing a tube top. I just looked it up, it's called a smocked tube top. Here's a visual:

Imagine that white. And see through. You would think the roushing would protect my eyes from any areola (yep, I said it) sightings. You're wrong because - well. She was wearing it as low as you possibly could. You know, ladies, like when you're using a "regular" sized towel instead of a giant towel sheet and so you wrap it around as low as you can so it covers your netherland region too. You know? Well, she had that going on, but she had pants on, so she didn't need to have the top start so low. So, the band goes across where the ladies are. But she's 80. So, her ladies droop. It happens. And it happened for Magda UNDER THE WIDE BAND, highlighting her booby presence at about the belly button. And people, it's thin tshirt material. Where her boobies are is a thinner and non-roushed material. Oh God. My eyes! My eyes!

When I came across Magda, I was running. I'd run about 10 yards, so I was sucking desperate oxygen. And I'd convinced myself maybe I should walk instead of run since I was starting to see red spots and this return of a character from a 90's movie. I had my ipod blaring, so I'm sure once I realized it was just the red spots I was seeing, and Magda really was there, not in my hallucinogenic-oxygen-lacking mind, I am certain I said loudly, "OH MY GOD." Just like Janice from Friends. I continued to jog and decided some buddies of mine HAD to confirm this sighting. So, I go over to them working out.

My eyes bulging out of my head and burning must have given it away cuz all I could get out was, "Have y'all seen...."

And awesome DesignDiva says, "The chick with the tube top almost to her belly button?"

"YES"

But her workout buddy hadn't seen it yet. I convinced her she needed to take a jog with me on the track. It goes around the gym, so we could find her that way. Kristi hates running, but was willing to do it for the sake of staring someone down. So, we took the scenic route and jogged around the track. We had a sighting. She was shocked. And she confirmed my suspicions with "Oh My God." And I said, "I KNOW!" When we got back around the track, she said, "That was so worth the run." And then she went off to work out.

We had a great conversation about whose responsibility it was to tell this woman to uh, stop blinding the public. I mean, is it MY responsibility to gaulk & talk about her, or should I say something? I'm way to caddy for that. I mean, if she were my grandma, I'd totally pull her to the side. So, really, it's the grandchildren's fault in this case. We decided it was an "equipment issue" and therefore, it's the trainers' responsibility to say something. Good luck with that, y'all. Our responsibility is solely to promise that we'll never let each other walk out fo the locker room like that. It's a pact we're willing to make to each other for the next 40 years. We're caddy gym pals like that.

That's how me and my gym posse roll. I'm taking a day off from the gym for my eyes to heal.

How can you say no to this guy, or this post?

Please visit my page for the upcoming Brain Tumor Walk and Angel Adventure® - A Walk and Community Day to support the brain tumor cause.

When I lost my dear friend, Carrie Vivian Womack, to a 3 year battle with brain cancer in July, so many of you sent me the most amazing notes. Some of you didn't even know her. But you know my heart, and so, in a way, you know her too. Some of you had the pleasure and privilege of knowing her. Thank you so much for your kind words when sometimes no one knows what to say. Including me. But some of y'all said "Let me know if I can do ANYTHING to help." Soooooo, here it is! Aren't you relieved now?

When we (Carrie brings together an amazing group of friends - all of them - amazing people) discovered there's a walk to raise money to fund of all things: BRAIN CANCER RESEARCH, it just seemed like a great idea. I wish Carrie had known about it so we could have done this annual walk with her. But she never would call it cancer. It was always just a tumor. And it's not the annual brain tumor walk...it's the Annual Brain Cancer walk. So, we'll leave denial in Egypt and do this walk in her honor. We're all getting together for this walk

When I think about losing her, it still just takes my breath away. By making a contribution through this site, you will support my fundraising efforts and help make a difference in the fight against brain tumors! Sometimes it feels like "Why should I raise money for brain cancer research when it didn't help my friend?" But really, it's all the more reason to do this. Because I would do this for you. It's for our future. So that Carrie's memory lives on, and I MAKE people care and remember her. So that future great lives like hers have a chance to fight this.

Please help support my commitment to the National Brain Tumor Foundation by making a donation through my fundraising page by visiting my page.

If you can't give, please join our team, and walk with us on November 8.

Thanks again for supporting my fundraising efforts and helping to make a difference in the fight against brain tumors! Don't forget to forward this to anyone who you think might want to donate too!

And yes, Carrie and I shared a great love of rap and hip hop. I once spent four hours hunting down La-Di-Da-Di just so we could listen to it together again. It was the best 3 minutes ever. So, c'mon, bounce wit me, bounce wit me!

That's how I roll.

It's a beautiful Fall day here in Nebraska. It's Saturday. I've got one kid playing at the neighbor's. One kid on the couch barfing about every two hours. Ricardo's working on the lump-o-chevelle outside. It's 55 degrees outside. Just a good start to Fall, sans the barfing kid. Perhaps it was too much cake. Totally my fault.

So, I decided to go out and mow the lawns. Next to vacuuming, it's one of my favorite past-times. Fresh fall air, getting a major weekly chore done, and all while rocking out to some gangsta rap. I've waited a little too long mow the lawn, so, in an effort to appease my neighbors, I figure I'll mow the lawn now, before it starts raining, or I get busy with very important things like laundry, or researching tropical vacations. So, I go to mow. I'm about halfway done with the back yard, when I say to Ricardo,
"It's noon, right?"

"Yeah, close to it, why?"

"Well, I was worried maybe it was too early to mow or something. It's eerily quiet out here. No one's in sight."

It's not like it was 30 degrees out. I mean, I was out there. And honestly, a few of my neighbors lawns were longer than mine, which is rare. But no one was out. Nada. Not even the 3 neighbor houses down the street who love to hang out in their driveway. They were all gone. Where the hell was everyone? After the next grass catcher emptying session, it was really starting to bother me. That's when Ricardo motioned for me to take off my earphones. I oblige and he says,

"We've lived here for 4 years, we should know better by now: The Huskers game is on. No one outside, no cars, no one mowing."

I giggled and fired up the lawn mower waiting for some Husker fan to come kick my ass for not being glued to a tv or radio. But they didn't. I'm guessing it's becasue they were winning.

GOSKURZ.

Later I ran up to the grocery store. The game was on their overhead system. Ahhh, yes, the sound of the season: Fall in Nebraska.

Since we aren't avid fans, and perhaps therefore not even legal citizens of Nebraska, obviously, we don't have football parties or tailgate in the stadium parking lot, never to leave the tailgate, but listen from the parking lot. We're not invited to many Husker game parties either. Maybe it's because I go to any party to talk about my feelings and for the food. Heck, even a good recipe is incentive for my Weight Watchers meeting. AND I get to talk about my feelings. So, maybe the static from my crunching and yapping is somewhat of a set back. But I do like to find out who won. I'm always relieved for the safety and health of our community when the Huskers win. It's a direct correlation.

After the game, my neighbor mowed his lawn, in a light rain.

Welcome Fall.

That's how I roll.

This week is the kids' birthday. I keep readjusting my (our) purposes and goals. So, this year, we said goodbye to the bouncy-house home party and hello to the out-of-home-activity kids only, none-of-mommy's-friends-on-the-floor-please-party. Why? You ask. Well, first, I figured I'd let someone else handle the panic attack of being swarmed by cake breathed precious children when presents are being opened. That, and the Olympics sparked Max & Lucy's interest in gymnastics. Considering my kids are now 6 years old and the size of most of the gymnasts NOW, we had their party there in hopes it's a phase and after the party, we can move on to training to beat Phelps' records. I digress.

Still, we had a sweet and homey feel because I will travel with scrapbooks. I took them to the party and made everyone look at them. And also, my great pal, Nikki-TheCakeMakingDiva, made their cakes. Aren't they beautiful and perfect!? Both Max and Lucy were were in awe of Nikki-TheCakeMakingDiva's love poured into and expressed in cake. Seriously y'all, it was so sweet.

It's probably good to point out that Nikki-TheCakeMakingDiva hosted a family birthday party later that night, but after making those great cakes, she was caked out, and went and bought a cake! My little twirps over her family. How sweet is that!? Probably not so sweet to HER family, but to us, it was sweet. And they look and TASTE so good!

I love birthdays because I love cake! They got one each at the party, cupcakes at school for their classes on their birthday, and then ofcourse, we HAVE TO HAVE a homemade cake on their actual birthday.

I can't help but every year realizing that their birthday is more of a celebration for me, than them. It's not even overcompensating at this point. It could be that these kids coming into life began my life. Wow that was deep. Whew. Take a minute. You good? Perhaps it's the reflection of my fun pregnancy, and the dropping to my knees for great thanks for how healthy and remarkable our labor and delivery was. Tonight, I told the kids, "Six years ago- at this time today, we were in the hospital and mommy conned her doctor to give her some food, and mommy didn't care if I was in labor, my sweet babies wanted their last supper - in the womb."

Or I'll say, "Lucy, you're 6, but you're brother's still 5 right now!" Because they are an hour and a half apart. Yes, they really are. Seriously. And then Lucy looks at me and says, "Well, where's my cake?!"

Then Max tattles on Lucy like she just did it, just now, "Well, you cried until I came out!"

Then Lucy fires back, "Yeah, well you didn't want to come out! And YOU made mommy wait!"

Then they unite forces against me, "MOOOOOMMMMM, where's our cake?"

"I'll call Nikki."

Six years. My kids survived me for 6 years, and not one visit from CPS. I deserve cake for that.

That's how I roll.

...that these two would make the best VP & President ever.

As a mom, I've never been more vested in politics than now. Nothing makes me more angry than listening to politicians speak. It reminds me of the days of a guy picking me up at the bar. It's the same thing, buy me beer, woo me with empty promises, flash the smile, great hair, on best behavior, they've got the wing man and everything. We hit the sack, and now I'm stuck with a committed relationship while you ruin my life until the long overdue break up is here.

I learned early on that politics and my personal relationships do not mix. Discovering what some of my family members believe is sometimes horrifying, as I'm sure they feel the same with me. After all, I'm the only Catholic in the bunch. However, as much as I find this blog a personal relastionship, for all moms, and parents, it's my choice to bring up some angles that I've come up with, in being on the rocks and all.

Palin's pregnant daughter. Personally, I don't really care about it. Maybe it's Jamie Spears fault. It's fairly amusing, I'm certain because I've never had to deal with something like that before. I also chuckle at it that perhaps now she'll consider her insurance premiums and a universal healthcare plan. I don't believe for a second that when she heard the news from her daughter that Palin initially thought or said, "This is wonderful news honey! Congratulations!" But I do find it amusing that she's Republican, Pro-Life, against choice. And yet, her daughter's CHOSEN to keep the baby, she's revered for that? For making that CHOICE? Wow.

Palin's an interesting choice. If it was to get the female vote now that Hillary is out of the running, that's a big slap in the face of us women, don't you think? People who are switching their vote to McCain because Hillary isn't in the election are probably not even registered voters. You vote for the issues, not the pant suits. Duh. To vote for someone simply because they are a woman is sexist, right?

It's best to point out that I'm equally and impartially disappointed in all of these candidates, as I am every election season. For 3 years - thureeeeeee yeeeeears - we've heard about what they believe, what they look like, where they came from, what they wear, and on occasion what they are going to do as President. They've spent more time campaigning on what they can do rather than doing it. Because most of what they promise they are going to do as President, they can't necessarily do as President, they could, however do as SENATORS. Writing bills for all this change should have already been done.

My solution for this would be like speed dating for the presidential election, allow no more than 5 months for the entire campaign. And you have to take a leave of absence and find a replacement for your current job. Three debates. No stupid commercials. No lobbyists. No conventions. Conventions are just a waste of lobbyists money anyways, right? There should be a cap on the money each party & candidate raises. If they raise more, the monies go to American Food Banks and Natural Disaster Aid, or perhaps offset the National Debt. Then, we select our candidates based on what they've actually done in their job already. And instead of issuing their beliefs and what they want to do, they issue HOW they'll do it. No media would be allowed to discuss the candidates, all information is emailed or mailed.

All I'm sayin, Presidential candidates - it's been 3 years of my life that you've wasted (Just like the damned ex-boyfriend who picked me up at the bar, except I actually learned more about myself from him than I have from you guys/gals) - 3 years and I'm still unsettled from the smoke you've blown up my ass.

I'm allergic to smoke.
That's how I roll.

I knew this summer was probably one of the last summers I'd have my kids all to myself. We travelled across the country, and they stood by me and took pretty good care of me when we lost Carrie. We had so much fun travelling and playing together. I really like my kids. And found that they like me too.

Then school started. And on the first day, I found myself holding my kids captive. Not two seconds after I picked them up from the first day of first grade, they couldn't get home fast enough so that they could play with their friends.

Um, excuse me. But I need to know how your day was.

But there was no time for that. And I had no good reason for them to not go play with their pals other than, "But don't you want to talk about your feelings to mommy first?" Cue the long pause. "Fine, go."

So, on day 2, I did what every rational mother would do, I held them captive in my car, nice and cozy and securely fastened in and we went to Sonic. They each told me all about their day with big fat milkshake faces. Per our bank account and my children's health, I just can't take them to Sonic everyday.

By day 4, out of desperation, which is where all my great ideas and solutions come from: survival mode, I decided to do what probably most normal mom's do - simply be available. This concept probably sounds odd to most, because you already do it. But it just seems like each time the kids come to me with some need like fixing something, or finding something, I'm busy vacuuming or doing dishes or something really important like folding laundry. So, on day 4, while the kids were at school, I had an epiphany that I should just take care of the house while they are at school, and the moment they are home, I sit and wait.

Because I'm tired of telling my kids "In a minute" or "hold on just a sec" and I'm fairly certain they already know that the moment that comes out of my mouth, it's not just a second, or even a minute. And yes, I do housework while they are at school already. It's just that there's THAT much house work to do that I go pick up the kids from school and then keep doing the housework. I think it's mostly Farley the Wonder dog. He's so high maintennance and all. Laying there and moaning, and the occasional, letting him out, letting him in. Whew. Demanding dog.

So, when the kids get home, I make them a snack, and I wait. No tv. I just sit on the couch and wait. And although they go off and play. Sometimes, just sometimes, they want to play with ME. And I've just decided I refuse to miss out on those moments. It's funny and sad to me when I reflect on being a stay at home mom, and too busy to stop and play with the kids. One day they won't ask for me any more.

Ironically, this decision to not do housework while the kids are home typically has the house cleaner. I still haven't dusted in a few months. But I guess I'm getting more quality cleaning in a smaller block of time. It seems my role as stay-at-home mom changes each year, and I think as long as I'm willing to re-assess, it's working for me and my family.

That's how I roll.