I'm So Drama

Talk about your cliff hanger--eh? The last thing I said in my last post was, "I'll let you know if I'm gonna live." Then nothing for almost a week? Let me just say, I totally didn't plan that, but wow--dramatic, wasn't it?

Firstly--I'm still alive (oh, you noticed?) and it's going on 9 days and I've still got them palpitations. I went to my doc and we did the EKG thingy and I've got the fast heart beat w/some irregularities, but not like emergency stuff. However, I am going to see a specialist on Friday, cuz it's weird (very fitting for moi). So, like $2000 later now, I'll find out I have gas.

But anyway, back to the drama, drama...right after I posted my heart post (last Friday), my computer just died. Right then and there (is this a sign?). Bad, bad computer. So, I'm making my hubby late to work right now using his laptop (he's been gone for 2 weeks, just got home last night), so I can get my blog fix. Then I'm gonna get my computer fixed. Hello, Geek Squad? But very soon, we will have the computer fixed, so I can get back on here, cuz I'm so inspired. Reading other blogs is so very inspiring. I love it! It's all so new and exciting to me! Y'all are so iiiiinteresting! And funny and oh, the parallel lives we live! So I'll be back. I have so much to say! Stay tuned for my new found crush on Jeff Corwin, more funny A-girl convos (remind me about of the lettuce one, K? And my "chubby" arms), my love of Happy Hour, how my fave coffee shop closed (how could you??), my nightmare dream, and more Random Thoughts (I've got a lot of those)...Yes, I've got a lot to say--that is, if I live.

Ha ha...cliff hanger.

P.S. Thanks for caring about a complete stranger, guys. As soon, as I get my computer fixed, I'll be back to pining my free time away reading your blogs. :)

My Heart Hurts

Here's my latest hypochondriac episode (don't worry, there will be more). So I've had heart palpitations for five days now. At least that's what I think I'm having, Google said so. Anyway, it's a new feeling in the heart region. The first two days straight (all day), it felt like my heart was doing flip flops. Like when you're just pregnant enough to feel the baby roll over...that sort of feeling. It doesn't hurt, but you know, maybe your heart shouldn't be doing gymnastics in there. And it's not doing it when I'm running up the stairs, or down the stairs, or back up again, cuz I forgot why I was going upstairs to begin with. It's doing it when I'm calm (a rare occurrence). The next day it wasn't flip flopping, but kind of a bit of a sharp pain...again, all day. Then yesterday, same thing, but a little duller. Now this morn, no sharp pain, but I can feel it beating every once in a while. Anyway, not the norm.

So I'm going to go see the doc this morn, while my girls are in school, baby girl (I take care of a baby) in tow. It will be right when she's supposed to be napping. So this should be good. I just know I'm going to get in there and have absolutely no symptoms at all (you know how just making that Dr. appointment cures you on the spot some times--or maybe that just happens to me). There will be a lot of "Mmmm...hmmmm's" and how much caffeine do I consume (not enough) and alcohol (don't make me give up my Happy Hour, lady). "How's your exercise?" (wait, I just have to pause here and laugh my self silly...okay we're good) and "Are you stressed?" This is where I give her the blank stare that totally says, Yes, I'm stressed, lady! Do you know me at all? Then $500 later, she pats me on the shoulder and tells me I just have gas.

I'll let you know if I'm gonna live.

Here Baby

Oh yes, update on the kitty and then I seriously have to go to bed.

So I didn't feed Baby, but she's still coming around. She likes us. Last night, I was taking the trash out and I noticed my neighbor across the street holding her and she asked if it (Baby) was ours. I let her know it wasn't but that I was very tempted to feed her. She laughed and said her son and the boys next door to them had been feeding it. That was a huge relief to me because you know, earlier in the day, I had to make an "emergency" call to one of my best friends who tells me what to do all the time (she's very wise) and she was so good to share her own story of "saving" a kitty and inadvertently "saving" a possum too! Yipes!

So it looks like my street has a new Baby kitty. I'll just let my neighbors feed her. I'll just blog about her.

Yeah, That Didn't Come Out Right

Okay, another "confession" at 11:08 p.m. This has been bugging me all day and if I get it out, maybe I'll be able to go to sleep easy.

So I watch a baby girl full-time and usually pick her up after dropping my daughter off to school in the morn (I used to pick her up before dropping her off at school until we found out we had 34 tardies--I've already posted about that one though)...SO ANYWAY, today Liv didn't have school and I asked the dad of the baby I watch if he could drop baby girl off on his way to work (he lives on my street). So he's fine with that.

So he comes to drop her off and it only takes a minute, but in that sixty seconds, my dog starts barking at him. And he goes to pet her and she kind of backs up, all scared and nervous-like (not a good impression). I tell him "sorry" as he's heading for the door and THEN go on to tell him, "You just need to come by more..." Woah...back the truck up! What did I say? No...more like what did it SOUND LIKE I just said? I hurriedly added after he gave a somewhat nervous laugh, "t-t-t-to drop the baby off..." and he was gone.

OH MY GOSH! Are you thinking what I'm thinking? That totally came out all wrong. I wanted a Take Two immediately! I totally wanted to tell him to wait and explain the whole life story of our dog and how we just adopted her, she's a little skittish, she's had a hard life, nervous around the boys, but just needs to get to know you, etc...I almost blurted out, "Wait, come baaack!" Which would have made it like a million bazillion times worse sounding!

I'm an idiot. That's just all there is to it. I am such an idiot.

Huff and Puff

Okay, so I'm already a freak about germs. I get teased about it all the time. I totally have the jumbo bottle of antibacterial in the car, one in my purse, I have stock in Clorox wipes (I absolutely love how supermarkets have the antibacterial wipes right by the front doors to wipe your carts off), etc...We wash our hands as soon as we get in the car and as soon as we get home. It's just part of the routine. I don't even have to tell 'em, even though I do every single time. Yes, I'm a freak...I know this. So you can imagine my feelings on how my kids have this fascination with having to use the bathroom at restaurants. It never, never, never fails...they always gotta go (even though we just went right before we left the house--it's a rule). And I do mean Go. It's like they save it up for when we go out to eat. I'm already a nut about using public restrooms anyways (omg, don't touch anything!), but I know it's gotta be done. When ya gotta go, ya just gotta go. Especially when you're a kid. What do we ingrain in them the second they begin potty training? Listen to your body. I don't know how many times my girls have thrown that one back at me when I huff and puff them to the restaurant bathroom. I'm just listening to my body, momma...Oy. And it never fails that they have to go right when the food gets there. Even though I've asked them about ten times if they needed to go, cuz I know they are going to have to go. And it's hardly ever at the same time that both have to go. I know I could make them, but if you knew my girls, you would know that when choosing your battles, this is one to avoid at restaurants--just let the girl color, if ya know what I mean. Cuz I do try to be cool about it and not be a freak mom. I try. I don't want to care about this. But I do.

So, I take the first one, get back, get ready to take that much anticipated bite of my now lukewarm food, and the other one pipes up that they gotta go potty. Really? Seriously? Cuz I was just there. Did you miss that whole conversation five minutes ago, or what? (Insert a full mouth of food and a smile on hubby's face) So we huff and puff back to the bathroom again. And they do take forever. You know how little kids are. Just a-singing away. laaaaadeeeeedaaaa...And most of the time they won't let you in the stall with them, so you're waiting on the outside of the stall for the inevitable, I'm done! Only to realize the door is locked (even though you told them not to lock the door), so they have to get up (cringe) and unlock it for you. The other day we went out for breakfast and on the way out I took the girls potty, cuz we had to run a lot of errands. So Addy goes, and amazingly...just #1. Good. In and out (of course holding the door handle with a paper towel). I send her to sit with her dad outside. Then Liv goes. #2, of course. Ten minutes later (I swear), I take her out to sit with dad and then I run back in to go. In and out for me. I go back out ready to start the day, and Addy has to go again...you got it--#2! I seriously think my head is going to blow off. But what are ya gonna do? When you gotta go, you just gotta go--at restaurants.

Here Kitty

It seems we might have a new kitty. Two days ago this cute little black and white cat showed up on our front porch. Every time we open the front or garage doors, she just comes a-running up and meowing her little head off. I call her a "she," because she sounds like a girl. And I've named her "Baby," cuz I keep telling her, You're just breaking my heart, baby! I want to feed her so bad, make her a little bed in the garage and give her warm milk. I know when I got home today, Baby saw me carry in the new bag of cat food (we do have a cat already) and when she was in the garage, she saw the box of kitty litter. I can just read her little mind--it's right there--gesturing wildly with her little paw. Though, I reason that she does have a little red collar with a teeny bell on it, and she's not exactly looking like she's used all of her nine lives up. She's looking pretty good. But still. Baby girl won't leave. Is it bad that I'm trying to talk myself into keeping her, because she matches our dog? She's so tiny and meow-y. That bell's cute too. But it's the bell that's pretty much telling me not to feed her. Yet. Poor Baby.

Here's A Random Thought

Don't you just love when you've been driving around and you've listened to your CD for the millionth time so you're switching from radio station to radio station trying to get past the commercials, talk and songs you don't want to hear, only to pull in the driveway and a really good song comes on?

We're Not Talking About Frogs Here

My kiddos are really starting to notice that it's just been me and them a lot. A lot. Daddy's been doing a ton of traveling. The girls seem pretty oblivious and distracted most of the time, in their tiny worlds of Barbies and Hannah Montana. They seem to mainly bring up the subject of daddy at bedtime, after the third glass of water, the fact that one of their toenails is this long, or bringing up a huge question about life that momma doesn't have the energy to Google at the moment. For the most part, they are handling Just The Three Of Us better than I am.

But the other day, the subject of daddy was brought up in the light of day. I was driving A-girl to preschool and I asked her what she thought she was going to learn that day. I was expecting her to say, "the letter q," or "frogs," or even bring up the fact that she had string cheese and jelly beans for snack. You know, big dealies to a 4-year-old.

Instead she thoughtfully answered, "I think I'm just going to miss daddy today." Break my heart into a million pieces right then and there why don't you! Then she went on to say, "I wish daddy worked at Target with great grandpa." I really had to give that girl a big ol' understanding smile in the rear view mirror. I know, baby, I know... I reached around the seat and squeezed her little foot. And though I don't know if that would be the best answer for our situation at the moment, I totally get why she would think it would be. It would be nice to have daddy around more, and that 10% discount wouldn't hurt either.

Just A Flipping Vent

Everyone is in flipping Italy. My brother...my sister...my mom is on her waaaaay. All I can think of is that is so nice of them to be in Italy. My brother's in the air force and lives there and my sister, who lives in flipping Thailand is on "holiday" for almost a month to visit him there and my mom just flew out this morning to meet them for two weeks.

You know what I'm doing? Trying not to cry about the fact that my dog is shedding black pom poms everywhere! Okay, totally have to vent about this, because no one is even reading this (except my mom and ummm...nope, not even her, cuz she's in flipping Italy!), and I just have to get it out. What is up with my dog dropping the hair? There are trails of black clumps all the way through my house. On my bed, dustbunnied under the sofa table, stuck on my lip gloss, the baby bottle nipple and I even found one floating in the bathtub last night and I'm sure there's probably a clump left behind in the toothpaste aisle at Target! I could make another dog with the amount of hair that she is dumping. Yes, I know there are much bigger issues in the world and if this is all I have to complain about...I knooooow. I am this close to feeling bad about that. But really, I should be in flipping Italy. That's all I'm saying.

Not Another Tummy Ache

I've been meaning to write about this. It's like confession, or something, this blog stuff.

So, recently L brought her report card home. When your child is in first grade, this is a pretty exciting thing for the parent. Just like you love to sit down with their teacher at parent/teacher conferences. You just love to hear someone else say good things about your child. You don't dread it like I imagine you will when they are in middle school or high school.

So, as soon as I can catch a moment without interruption, I sit down to read it. It draws me in like a good book. I read everything. I just can't get enough of it. There are X's and +'s everywhere showing that she is getting this stuff. That things are "Strongly In Place" and "Developing". No "Needs Developing" anywhere to be seen. Everything that was a "Developing" last term is now a shining "Strongly In Place". She excels in Work ethic, Science, Art, and all the Character Traits. Momma is proud. I can't wait to show this baby off to all the grandmas!

Then I see it. I almost miss it. In the right hand corner there's the little Attendance box. The first term she had 1-1/2 absences and 2 tardies. This last term, she had 6 absences and 34 tardies! 34 tardies? Ouch, that really hurt to see that. I can't imagine that we've had six absences, but my girls are good at the tummy aches, and momma's a Nervous Nelly, so I can imagine that is probably spot on. But thirty-four tardies? I am so embarrassed and ashamed (I need a detention), because this is none of her and all of me. I'm the one that wakes her up, gets her going and drives her to school. I'm the one that makes her tardy. I want to blame it on the fact that she walks slow as molasses. I want to blame the fact that it takes us ten minutes to pick out the perfect color cereal bowl and then fight with our sister for ten minutes more, because we've changed our mind. I want to blame the fact that my girls hate everything I pick our for them to wear, even though they loved it the night before. That it's like pulling teeth getting them to pick something else out that fits their criteria. That the dog literally needs a bath two minutes before we head out the door, cuz it never stops raining in Oregon and our back yard is a swamp. I almost want to say, "But everyone else does it," because I actually do have to wait in line to drop her off. I want the blame to be somewhere else. But she is seven and can't drive yet. Plus, I'm the mom. I know better.

We have a little name for how late we are in our family. We call it "Buzo Time". I have never hated Buzo Time so much in my life, cuz, usually I can blame my hubby. At some point I'm probably goint to be able to blame him for these tardies, but at the moment I can't find anything. I'm just wondering why didn't the school send me a note? Maybe give me a little head's up? You know, school starts at 8:00, not 8:01. They send you notes home for everything else, don't they? Man, I'm still trying to pass the blame. Sad. Well, my dad always told me that if you can be ten minutes late, you can be ten minutes early. That is a solid bit of wisdom. I should write it down.

As you can probably imagine we haven't been tardy since. You can bet we won't be tardy the rest of the year too. But now the tummy aches--that's a whole other story.

"Your doopa's bigger than Shannon's!"

Okay, I think I might be getting a complex here. Several times recently my four-year-old, A, has brought it to my attention that I'm fat. She's not even trying to be nice here. The other day she pointed out that my "doopa is bigger than Shannon's!" By the way..."doopa" is our polite word for "butt". Notice the irony? And granted, my doopa frankly is bigger than my friend, Shannon's. Trust me, I've noticed. Then another time recently my sweet little drop of love corrected me when I was picking out what to wear to my father-in-law's birthday party. I had gone through a couple options and stated out loud, "I'm think I'm too big for this," and A piped in, "You mean, fat!" Er yeah, that is what I meant to say. Why do four-year-old's have to be so brutally honest? I have noticed that when her seven-year-old sister, L, hears her say these things, she gives a little cringe. Apparently between four and seven years of age, you get that chip that says, "don't say fat".

So panic is starting to give that not-so-little nudge that momma needs to lose some weight. Not that it hadn't already occurred to me as bathing suit season is fast approaching. It's just that I have a problem with exercise. I pretty much hate it. Momma don't like the gym. I know I need to exercise, but prefer the outdoor kind. You know, where you're burning the calories, but don't really realize you're doing it. I get my exercise in. I take the stairs (escalator), park far (which has nothing to do with my claustrophobia issues), spend the summer in the pool with my girls (standing in the shallow end, with the occasional cannon ball), playing outside with my girls (watching them ride their scooters, band-aids in pocket, yelling "car!" as needed), camping (eating s'mores), and biking (for my birthday I want a Cherry Red cruiser with red fenders, a basket, a light and a bell that is very Mayberry, please). Oh, and I walk my dog too. Really. See, I exercise!

I wouldn't say I'm a small girl though. When I think of how not small I am, it reminds me of when I had lunch with my husband's college roommate, about ten years ago. One of the first things he said when he saw me was, "You're looking healthy." As opposed to the last time he saw me when I was apparently knocking on death's door (I believe it was my wedding day). The problem is that I love to eat...more than I love to exercise. The balance is way off. I do love the cheeseburger and fries, the pizza and I'm pretty sure there is going to be homemade chocolate cake in Heaven. I love spicy and fresh and the crock pot is my friend. One of my favorite meals is my step mom's corned beef and cabbage. I could faint just thinking about it. I am constantly looking for new recipes. Some of my favorite people are Paula Dean (I love how she is always licking her fingers and has food all over her face--we should all eat this way!) and Rachael Ray. I love to try new things too. I pretty much love anything someone else makes me too. Simona, my girlfriend from Lebanon, was very good about feeding me wonderful meals she put together from scratch with only whole food ingredients, some her momma would send her all the way from Lebanon. I can't even pronounce most of what she made (well, I can say, "Hummus"), but it was delicious. I try to eat healthy too. Less meat, more veggies and grains, yada, yada, yada. But it has to taste good. Oh Lordy, it has to be flavorful. My husband's grandma eats like a bird and has told me time and again that food does nothing for her, that she "never got excited about food". I am totally the opposite. I look forward to it. Countdown to it. Celebrate it. Which brings me back to my doopa.

Yeah, it's bigger than Shannon's. We all know that. But it's mine. It's been with me forever. I like it. My hubby likes it. And even if my four-year-old has issues with it, momma's gonna keep it. At least until I get my Cherry Red cruiser with red fenders, a basket, a light and a bell that is very Mayberry, or try on bathing suits. Whichever comes first.

River's Eyes and Definitely Not My Ears

So I'm sitting in my daughter's dance class, reading a copy of Cottage Living. I flip to a story about this lil' community up in the Puget Sound and all of a sudden I've got the tears. I am moved by a story about cottages. First I ask myself where I am in my cycle and then it occurs to me that I'm thirty-four and maybe this has something to do with what I should have been. Cuz, crying over an article about houses is just not the norm, is it? Is this what having a passion/desire/dream/ambition about something is? See, I've never thought I had that. Never thought I had the "big goal" in life. The Dream. I know, a little disappointing. I'm so sorry. I mean when I was little I bounced between wanting to be a teacher and the next Olivia Newton John, but what I honestly imagined when I was little was being married and a mom. I couldn't wait to be thirty. I was constantly playing that MASH game where you figure out who you're going to be married to (it was always between River Phoenix, C.B. Barnes and Tom Cruise--I know, I know), what kind of house (or shack) I was going to have, (I usually got a pink shack). I was also always acting out the pregnancy process, followed by the labor too...it was hard pushing a pillow out of my t-shirt at ten-years-old. But seriously, what I saw in my future was making dinner and paint colors. Diapers and grocery shopping. Seriously. I dreamed of messy kid house--the Cheerios in the couch, sort of thing. Taking my kids to school, bedtime stories...I prayed my kids would get River's eyes and definitely not my ears. And thankfully, I got my dream (minus River).

I guess I was never encouraged to "be somebody". And I don't mean that I'm not somebody, cuz I fully believe that being a stay-at-home mom is the equivalent to two full-time jobs (Dr. Phil said so). No really, I do feel blessed to be able to do this, because I know there are a lot of moms out there that wish they could, but just can't. And I also know that lots of mom's out there absolutley love their career and being a mother and are successful and completely happy in both. I give them big, big kudos (high fives everywhere). Not that I was discouraged at all to "be somebody", there was just not really that pressure to go to college. Just basically the big push to get out of the house and do something. When I was graduating from high school, we were supposed to know what we were going to do, what our plans were after graduation, etc... Everyone was talking about it. I couldn't say "be a mom" (though several schoolmates did choose that option)...out loud anyway. So I chose "flight attendant". I got all signed up to go to this flight attendant school out in Florida and everything. I was set to go. Then I went and visited a friend down in Tucson and went to her college orientation with her (just for fun), and on the spot, decided to go to college instead. I'm very random and impulsive that way. So I went to school. Over the course of the next 8 years, and 4 schools later, I ended up graduating with a degree in English. And promptly had a baby.

I wish we (okay, just me) could find out who we are and what we want in life when we're eighteen. It would have saved me a whole lot of time and money. It's has just taken me a little longer to realize that maybe I should have done something besides English, maybe in Interior Design instead. I absolutely love everything about making a house a home. It's probably one of the first things I notice when I go to some one's house for the first time...how does this feel? I can remember being younger than ten and for some reason my dad had all these floor plan books. I used to spend hours browsing through them...dreaming. I spent a lot of my free time as a child drawing my own floor plans. I was a perfectionist. I had a ruler and everything. My step mom used to take us with her to look at model homes all the time. I absolutely loved walking through these homes and would envision living there--where I'd put the couch, what color curtains, carpet, that I'd have to have a sink under a window, and even then, I was all about the feeling of a place. I even daydreamed about hiding in one of these homes and living in it for a week (complete with groceries and MTV).

In eighth grade I took probably the best class of my education...Home Ec...we cooked, we sewed and best of all, we designed our own home. We had to draw a floor plan of our dream home, the look of the exterior and landscape. Everything. Mine was a log home with a huge front porch. I loved that front porch. Our teacher gave us a budget and a JCPenny catalog. We had to furnish our house, with everything, down to the appliances, and all within our budget. At thirteen, it's was just huge to care about something a little more than River Phoenix. And I did...I got an "A".

Now that my kiddos are both approaching school age, I'm starting to get that hankering. I think I'm going to want to do something. I'll be lonely, my house will be entirely too clean and I think I'm just going to have to get out of the house, and not shop. I'm noticing I have aquired a huge addiction to Craig's List. Specifically the furniture section. I visit it entirely too much. Granted, we just moved into a new-to-us home, so I've got to furnish this baby, but when I am e-mailing all my family and friends, asking them to let me know if I can shop for furniture for them, I think we've reached a whole new level. I'm a personal shopper now. An unpaid personal shopper. But, man, I do love it. However, I think school is probably out of the picture for me. I did that, don't really want to have to do papers and math again. I fear I'm going to have a hard enough time with second grade homework soon enough. But what I do love is that I have that passion/desire/dream/ambition that I never really had, or maybe just didn't notice before. I love that when I'm shopping at primitive decor shops, it feels like home. That I will sit on the floor at Barnes and Noble and look at every single home decor book there is...and then buy three. I love the fact that I get excited about table runners and embroidered pillows and that my house smells like Bartlett Pears. I might shock everyone (most of all myself) and go back to school afterall. Or I might get a job as a checker at Albertson's and spend my fortune on antique settees and rustic lanterns. Who knows, I just love the fact that at thirty-four, I'm thinking about it.

Save The Earthworms!

It's days later and I still feel like I need an explanation. Last Wednesday morning, waiting my turn in the drop-off line at L's school, I see this little girl walking up the sidewalk up to school. She looks like maybe fourth grade. Cute little thing. She's walking kind of awkward and it is then that I realize that she has high heels on. High heels. Not even like her momma's high heels, not the little plastic Barbie sparkle ones. Real high heels, and they fit her. I cannot believe what I am seeing. I check myself to see if I am exaggerating. No. I look around to see if there are other kiddos in high heels, some sort of "dress like your mom" scenario, but no. She does look like a little momma. Cute little blond bobbed hair, with the black and white polka dot headband, little choker necklace, black shirt, white Capri's and...black high heels. Not clunky high heels. The skinny heel. Maybe 1 1/2" heel.

I'm trying to think how this conversation might go. They are in Macy's, Closed toe or open toe? Alligator skin or snake skin? Those will look fantastic with those white Capri's! Do you think you can play dodgeball in them?

I'm thinking of my own shoe shopping experiences with my kiddos...Velcro or laces? Rainbow or the sporty ones? How about the pink ones, you have a lot of pink...

I don't know, I'm just so disappointed. I don't know in exactly what. Her mother? Society? Is this what I have to look forward to with two girls? And I realize this little girl could very well have stashed these heels in her backpack until she got two blocks from home. Her mom could have no idea. But they fit her. I think of my 4-year-old and her love of shoes. I find her paddling around the house on a regular occasion in my shoes, an old purse she found in the back of my closet, and a swaddled baby doll with marker on it's face. I find it endearing, her playing momma. She's just playing.

Maybe this is naive of me, I mean I am only seven years into this motherhood bit, but I kind of want my kids to be as innocent as possible. I want them to be seven and four for as long as I can. Yes, they adore Hannah Montana and when cleaning up, I always find Ken and Barbie kissing. And sometimes when they huff away and slam their bedroom doors, I have a glimpse into their teenage years. I want them to think "stupid" is a bad word for as long as I can. I'm not going to rush things. I'm going to encourage dragging their comforters downstairs and building tents all over the living room. We're going to save the earthworms together and and play Go Fish until the cows come home. I'm going to enjoy their childhood. So when I pull to the front of the line and watch my oldest pop out of the car, Little Mermaid backpack and matching lunch box in tow, skipping into school, I think, maybe go as far as to promise, that they will enjoy their childhood too.

Take yer lid off

Hubby and I went on a really good date Sunday, out to Buffalo Wild Wings (the best wings...ever) and then to the Arlene Shnitzer (which I totally thought was the Arnold Shnitzer) to see Ray Romano and Brad Garrett. We were really looking forward to it, cuz you know, Ray Romano...and then the fact that we hadn't been on a date since um...yeah. Well, Ray was hilarious with his stories of "Frank" passing gas ("Soooorry, but I've got three more coming.") on Everybody Loves Raymond, his own family life of stashing squirt guns in the glove box in case his twins fell asleep in their carseats, and his never ending quest to not piss his wife off (ie. sketching her while she sleeps). You know, very Everybody Loves Raymond. That's funny stuff. Brad was totally that uncomfortable funny--let's see how many people we can offend in 18 minutes sort of thing (that poor lady from Romania in the front row). He had his moments though. It would have been really funny if the translator standing in the front by the stage, doing sign language, would have hopped on the stage and whipped his bootie. Her hair went all the way to her ankles...totally couldn've been a weapon. He is flipping huge by the way...like 6'8 (as he said, a "cross between Herman Munster and Greg Brady"). But I SWEAR what was really funny...what I remember the most about this show is watching my hubby drink his beer out of a straw! Just to paint the picture a little more, he's a bit of a beer snob. Brews his own, only micorbrew, knows the best breweries within fifty miles, etc...At the Shnitzer, they'd let you take drinks in the auditorium as long as they had lids on them. We so felt like grownups just being able to take drinks into the auditorium in the first place. So cool. We are so out without the kids. I did point out to him that he *could* take the lid off when he wanted a drink, but everytime I looked over at him, there he was just a-sipping his beer through that little petite black straw. Seriously, babe? That is *my* hubby. That's my man! Back away, ladies! That is all for me! Who needs Ray Romano when you've got that kind of funny?

"These Taste Like Baby"

We needed vitamins. My kiddos have been sick a lot this winter, so I wanted to find them something a little beyond the Flinstone vitamins I usually give them. So I recently went to New Seasons and picked the clerk's brain about what "the best" children's vitamins were. She gave me a couple choices and after much deliberation I finally chose some. They looked good, said all the right stuff and had the pretty rainbow label. They were a million bucks, but I'm being healthy here.

So this morning I give them to my girls over breakfast and the next thing I know, they are crying their eyes out and wretching. Very dramatic for so early in the morning, but not really new. I have girls...two girls. This is a regular occurrence. The vitamins are "gross" and my 7-yr-old informs me, "they taste like baby!" Whatever that means! That could mean a lot of things. My 4-yr-old whole-heartedly agrees with her (between gags). I just give them "the look" and tell them to chew it up quickly and swallow it down with some yogurt. It's like I'm torturing them here. I tell them, "It's just a vitamin...eat it!" They do it, but they sure don't like it and continue to let me know all the way to school. I thought I was going to have to pull over, cuz my 4-yr-old sounded like our cat hocking up a hair ball. Somehow we all made it safely (minus the barf bag).

When I got home my hubby and I had a laugh together over the girls, as we cleaned up the breakfast dishes. He asked me if I tried one of those vitamins. I hadn't, so I did. I was only chewing for a second, not even that, when my gag reflex started working. Oh, this was bad. Very bad. Horrible! I was completley deceived by that damn rainbow label! What a cruel, cruel joke! Hubby laughed and acted out the whole chewing episode (he had tried one while I was taking the girls to school)..."where's my yogurt...this *does* taste like baby!"

I think I can't dance

So, I think I can't dance! This was almost the title of my blog. It's so me. I always say, "Don't call me Grace," cuz I am not really known for being um...steady on my feet. We'll just say that. No, I'll explain more. You need it, I can tell. I fall down a lot, run into things, and basically lack coordination. I don't know how it happened. I used to have these things. I blame having babies (cuz it's a good excuse), but really I think it's because I am a 34-yr-old woman trapped in the body of an 80-yr-old (though I do think a lot of 80-yr-olds are much fitter, healthier and um... just generally peppier than me). Though I do try though. And I *think* I can dance...in my mind, I am so damn good. I can get down with the best of them and I used to. All my life (until I had babies), I've danced. Had the tap, jazz, ballet, clogged...was on the dance team in high school (Go Cougars!) and it was a *favorite* past time. I grew up in a small football town. It was kind of what we did. A little Footloose if you ask me. But we were allowed to dance. Next to bonfire parties out in the middle of Nowhere, Arizona...dancing was a huge past time for us kiddos. So anyhoo...you get the point, right? Right? I love to dance. I've got the music in me, for sure.

So now, I've had the babies and my babies aren't really babies anymore...they are kids. Full on kids and they love to dance. We have them in dance class and I love to see them dance. They are really good. If I totally didn't know them, I'd think they were good too...it's not just a mom thing (it so is). One day I'm watching my girls get down to Justin Timberlake and the High School Musical soundtrack, I wished outloud that I wanted to dance too. Their teacher heard me and let me know about her adult classes. Woo Hoo! I'm in! I thought what a *fun* way to get in shape (after the babies) and get some much needed exercise and stress relief. Plus, I love to dance. Did I mention that?

So I went out and got some cool dance clothes (at Walmart) so I would actually look like a dancer. You know, the black gouchos, cool t-shirt, put my hair all up in that cute messy...creative bun...you know what I'm talking about. The bun that looks like you just got up and went, but it totally took you 20 minutes to get that bun just right? Okay, talking about the bun too much. Anyhoo, so I'm at dance class. It's actually jazz class...beginners dance class. I'm thinking I'm not such a beginner, cuz I've done this before (18 years ago--I've done the math), but you know it doesn't hurt to go over the basics. Well, the first thing I noticed as we were sitting in our little meet and greet circle was how dang young everyone was. I'd say the age range was probably 14-23. And that they were all currently dancing and had been for years and years (none had babies yet). Then there was me, and another woman who might've graduated in 1991 too. We looked at each other and smiled (moral support). That's okay, that's okay...this is just fun. We took turns going around the circle and introducing ourselves and a little short explanation of why were were there (um...to dance). So when it was my turn I totally joked that I was there, "Cuz it wasn't the gym." Ha ha...everyone laughed. It was all good.

Then we started dancing. No, not dancing...yet. Just some warming up, stretching and then all of a sudden were down doing sit-ups. 100 sit ups. Let me repeat that--100. Followed by 100 push-ups. I think I was on my 43rd push-up (yeah right...more like 3rd), when I said, "Oh, this *is* the gym!" Um...WHEN do we start dancing here?

So we finally started dancing. Sort of. What I thought was going to be jazz was really like ballet...it felt like we were doing The Nutcracker. We just went right into it and I swear that everyone knew what they were doing. Totally not beginners. We were doing leaps and I don't even know the names for what else we were doing (everyone else did though), but I do know that most of those girls...ALL the girls, were flying through the air in perfect formation, legs straight and ALL the way apart...toes pointed, arms straight. They were GRACEFUL. Beautiful. It totally sucked. I know I've done the ballet, but really...it was when I was like 5 and I probably didn't like it. Where was the jazz square? The snaps? I think I was thinking more Grease than Nutcracker. Anyway, it was brutal. I felt like I was SO LOUD every time I landed. The rest of the girls were like doe...there's that whole graceful bit. I was an elephant in gauchos. Pretty sure. Even my fellow 1991 alumni was doing great. She was struggling, but she was doing it. I totally could not keep count, remember the next step, or the last for that matter. Totally a mess. And if the teacher (whose name I have surely blocked out) told me to straighten my arms one more time...I can't even imagine what I looked like. Well, I kind of know. You know it's bad, when the rest of the class is trying to be encouraging and help you through it. You know it's bad when they are cheering you on, "You can *do it* Sunshine!" Oh, I can assure you that I cannot. I'm not having fun when I'm fighting back tears. Tears! What is up with that? How long is this class anyway (I think it was an hour)?

So I didn't go back. I know, shocking. I think I need to be in my daughters' class. Seriously--that level. Hokey pokey anyone? Oh wait...hip hop? They teach hip hop...hmm...sounds fun. :)

First Time

This is my very first blog post...ever! I thought I'd give it a whirl! I must say, the process was a little intimidating (don't worry, I'm used to that) and I *might've* taken about 30 minutes this morning trying to think of the *perfect* title and name for my address. So, I totally figured out *the perfect* title and address and an hour later, I came back and redid the whole thing and still (it was "I think I can't dance"--yeah that seriously took me all morning), I'm not sure if I like it. I hate perfect. I should've known. I do know that I'm not original...it's been said before (I googled it), so don't prepare to get your socks blown off by what I have to say...ha ha...you can stand up for this. I'm pretty sure you will not be amazed with my brilliance, but if you are, trust me it's just pure luck that I said that. But...you might laugh. You might. ;D

Here we go...