I'm a Late Bloomer

I am atwitter with glee. I am the proud owner of this and let me tell you, I am a better person for it. I know all of you have had your espresso makers for years already and are yawning right now - I feel like the last girl in the group to get her period. But this is groundbreaking for me!

I hadn't wanted to invest in one because I kept giving up coffee. But, then I'd do tea, then chai, then chai latte, then I would actually start dreaming about coffee (who does this??), so then an occasional decaf latte followed aaaaaand now I'm back on the juice: grande nonfat mocha.

So, I shopped around - this is the

best website for reviews - and my cafe bistro (it's actually called that - don't you want to just hold it?) arrived last week. Since that time, my friends, I have been a foaming fool. I do peppermint mochas, I do vanilla lattes, I do chai lattes. I even did an iced mocha for Vi, which she loved and she is hard core (her site is called 'the green straw' for God's sake).

So, every morning is a delight now. Not only am I saving about $200 a month on not going to Starbucks, but I get to call out my name when I put my coffee on the counter. And that's just fun.

p.s.- By the way, the title of this post makes me laugh because I had DD's when I was 11. But, that's another post.

Blog Envy

You know what I'm talking about. Don't lie to yourself. You've just spent three hours drafting the perfect post. Funny, but not too funny, thought-provoking, a tad racy. You're a little smug.

Then two days go by: nothing. No comments.

So, you start browsing other blogs and you come across one with a recent post title of like,"Why My Hamster Is Fun". But, wait. She has 76 comments! People love her! They're flocking to her! So, you take a look at her profile. She's in your age range. She lives in suburbia like you do. She has the same number of kids you do. She's just like you! You're so similar and yet, so not. And then the jealousy starts. You're thinking 'I'm better than this!' And yet you have to remind your husband to read you. You're miffed.

But, this. This is the worst scenario. You see a great blog - one to make all the blogs bow in respect - and the content is freaking amazing. She's funny, she's honest, she's subtle. You want to hate her. But, you can't. Despite yourself, you're laughing out loud and clamping your hand over your mouth. She's awesome. And you can't even claim to be funnier than her. She rocks.

And then you realize that there really is no original thought. We are all out here in the dark vast blogosphere inspiring each other - bringing different perspectives to the light. We're like one big blog. And you wish them the best. ...and start emailing their audience bribes.

p.s.- No offense to people who have actually written about their hamsters. I'm sure you made it very... interesting.

I Actually Said This Yesterday

Impatiently to Vi:

"Vi, if you don't jump on that turtle and push it, I don't know what I'll do".

If you've been reading then you know what Vi and I have been up to lately and the context. But, it's funnier if you don't. Hell, it's funny both ways!

About Me - You Know You Like It

13 Things I Do That I Know Cannot Be Normal

1. Clean my entire house with Clorox Wipes.

2. Re-wash the same load of laundry five times because I keep forgetting about it.

3. Not notice that my husband shaved his goatee for two entire days. I swear I look at his face. Often.

4. Cry on the phone to the receptionist when making a doctor's appointment. For a routine physical.

5. Tap my Coke can before opening (Does anyone know why I do this? Where did I pick this up? I can't stop!)

6. Repeatedly interrupt my working husband to sing "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?" while slapping my own ass.

7. Overdraw my checking account with Target purchases.

8. Refuse to read a book that someone else has read before me. I must purchase my own copy! (See #7).

9. Continue to order a Mocha Valencia at Starbucks and then not drink it. (I don't think I like Valencia after all).

10. Palpate my abdomen for masses during yoga class.

11. Clean before the housekeeper comes (back when I could afford a housekeeper - See #7).

12. Hide in my garage from my neighbors. And on the rare occasion when they do spot me, shout out "Heeeeey there!" and vigorously wave, grinning wildly.

13. Perform every function of my day with the thought in mind that I'm one step closer to sitting and eating chips.

...and just to keep it balanced, I give you addendum A

13 Things I Do Inordinately Well

1. Find obscenely close parking spaces at the mall during Christmas.

2. Make voices for animals (not animal voices, voices for animals. There's a difference. A big one.)

3. Paint (walls, not pictures).

4. Make people laugh. (Maybe not you, dear reader, but there are others. It's not all about you!)

5. Write extremely well-informed, thoroughly researched, coherent papers without doing a lick of actual research.

6. Give the perfect gift to a person I hardly know.

7. Give advice.

8. Pick things up with my toes. Like the cat.

9. Sell my products and run my business...when I want to.

10. Get a party started. (See #8)

11. Maintain a 4.0 GPA (this feat is being aided by the fact that I haven't registered for classes for the last 3 quarters).

12. Regularly provide clean folded laundry for my cats to sleep on.

13. Make lists.

I'm Being Stalked

I have a confession to make. I hate laundry. Not just like, "Oh, I'd rather not put the clothes in the washer. What a bore." More like, "Can we just move?"

Laundry is my nemesis. It lurks around every corner. It leers at me from across the room. It grows and mutates and travels down the hallway. The problem is that I do not have a system. I've heard plenty of girlfriends refer to a day of the week as their "laundry day". What the heck? I swear to God, if I actually knowingly designate an entire day to doing nothing but laundry I will claw my eyes out. What kind of life is that? Where is the hope? What is worse than knowing Wednesday holds nothing more for you than retrieving underwear from inside pants? Please.

So, yesterday my naked husband is bent over the dryer and I ask (over my shoulder from the computer - where else would I be?) "What are you doing?". Folks, he is washing all of his underwear! He has dug out every single pair he owns and is climbing over the dirty clothes pile in the laundry room in order to have clean underwear. Especially his lucky red ones. (Which came in a tri-color pack -green, red, white. The green ones were done long ago...since that's his favorite color.)

So, I think 'How long has this been going on?' And then I state the obvious. "Hooooney! Don't be so dramatic. We can always buy more."

I anticipate my husband will be available shortly. Check back soon!

Two Guesses and the First One Doesn't Count

started a game of 20 Questions and tagged Blue Tige who tagged Stacy who tagged me who swallowed the bird to catch the spider to catch the fly.....

Here we go:

1. Best memory?
The day I found out I was pregnant. I actually pinched myself that day. I was all alone when I took the test and the excitement was almost more than I could contain. Mostly because I knew I could now eat entire pizzas and people would look on approvingly. I know my favorite memory should be the day my daughter was born, but since I almost died that day, that memory is a bit of a mix. The day I found out I was going to have a baby was pure euphoria unsullied by any fears.

2. Most terrible day?
Easy. The day my father died. I remember numbly driving down the freeway after, looking around, thinking "It's Monday. People are driving to the grocery store. People are headed to Chili's for dinner with their family. How could he die on a day like this? A day like every other day?"

3. Birth City?
Livermore, CA

4. Favorite thing to do?
Peruse my favorite blogs with a piping hot fresh mocha and my husband next to me at his computer.

5. Hollywood Crush? and why?
Matthew McConaughey. Do you even have to ask?

6. Favorite food?
My mom's chicken soup. (how novel, I know)

7. City you want to visit most and why?
New York. I have always been fascinated by the attitude, the culture, the fashion, the shopping, the entertainment.

8. Fantasy/dream that you want to come true?
To be a published author would be my dream. My wish would be that my daughter live a full happy life.

9. Favorite sport?
Hmm. Taking my stairs two at a time? Actually, if pressed, I'd have to say baseball because that is what brought my husband and I together. I pretended to like it and he invited me to a game. Presto! Marriage!

10. How long have you been married?
Five years.

11. Favorite song and why?
"You Were Meant For Me" by Jewel. I used to sing it in the shower when Chris and I were dating. Subliminal messaging. ;)

12. Someone you most admire?
My mother. (Whom I hope doesn't read this and see that I was in the shower while Chris and I were dating. Ha!)

13. Someone you hate and why?
A person who is in someone's life that I care about who is causing her grief. Can I be more vague?

14. Secret crush?
Kevin James from "King of Queens". I like funny!

15. One (maybe 2) rule/s you live by?
Never say something about someone you love behind their back that you wouldn't say to their face. (It took me years to figure this one out!)

Always say "I love you" when you leave.

16. Do you believe in God?
With all of my heart.

17. A dark secret (we won’t tell)
I once keyed a former boss' car. (She was really mean. I mean really mean. I swear. ...Okay, it was wrong.)

18. Most treasured item and why?
My wedding rings. Because they're... my wedding rings?

19. If you could turn back time, what would you do and why?
I would have gone to college earlier and kept at it despite my parents' lack of support.

20. Last but certainly not least, what kind of “work” do you do and do you enjoy it?

This one is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.

hahahahahaha

Actually, I own a corporate gift business. I started it with my mother five years ago while pregnant, so that I could stay at home. The business ended up being far more lucrative and demanding than I ever imagined. Then we landed a little account called Warner Bros. Heard of it? :) Then...well, we'll save that for a different post. I don't want to kill my buzz.

TAG! YOURE IT!

1. Chris - See Wilson Go (this will be nice & light for him ;)
2. Renee - Selfish Behind the Scenes (she'll tickle your funny)
3. Chic Mommy - she has 3 kids and I'm sure doesn't get enough games. LOL

S.P.T. - Now Even More Boring!

S.P.T. - Now Even More Boring!

I'm disenchanted with myself. This is getting old.

Notice my daughter in the background. See how she's decided to take matters into her own hands and document her childhood where she can?

Peace

As much as I like to be funny, sometimes the serious things bully the funny thoughts right out of my brain. All I'm left with are big burly negative observations while the funny ideas are off pouting in the recesses of my mind.

Take today for example. I woke up in a foul mood and things that I normally find amusing made me want to throttle someone. The cat batting at my eyes for instance.

So, I take Savannah to dance class. Her instructor is a Nazi and if you don't believe me try being three minutes late ONCE and see how she looks past you like a blind person whenever you try to talk to her for the rest of the season. Anyway, of course I'm running late, which makes me start to cry a little in the car as we race over there - one hand on the steering wheel, the other swinging Savannah around in the backseat by her hair trying to fashion it into the required "ballerina bun".

We arrive two minutes late and while it is apparent that this has not gone unnoticed by Ms. Dance Fever, she is still acknowledging our presence; a good sign. I wrestle Savannah into a waytoosmall costume since all of the larges are taken and go wait outside with the other moms. (I could make this post about how the other moms act like I'm a leper, but I'll save that for a day when I actually give a shit.)

So, as I'm standing there at the glass still buzzing with race-the-clock anxiety, I start watching my daughter follow the instructor.

I slowly feel myself relax. I watch her little body awkwardly attempting the tough dance moves. She 'plies' and 'glissades' and does a 'pas de chat'. Her eyes never leave the instructor. Her face is set in concentration. She is off beat and out of step. She is stamping her foot heavily when she should be touching it down lightly. She is clumsily skipping at an angle instead of gracefully gliding.

And she's never looked more beautiful to me.

She doesn't know that she is being watched and this makes me well up. She is trying so hard and it isn't for me or for her father. It's for herself. She wants to do this so badly. And the fact that she has the confidence at four years old to push through these difficult moves over and over week after week trying to get it perfect, fills me with pride. I'm not only proud of her, I'm proud of us as parents.

I look at her back as she stands in line waiting her turn at the 'pas de deux' with the instructor and I see myself as a little girl.

I remember the way I would feel in class settings. My mother would have been crying as she dropped me off at school. She would have smiled through her tears as she kissed me goodbye, told me to have a good day. I would have run to my class as we would have been very late. As I stood at that window looking at my daughter I suddenly recalled so vividly what it felt like to be me then. I would have sat in class unable to hear the teacher, unable to relate to the other kids, my head full of the hateful words my parents had been spitting just moments before. The sound of my father yelling, my mother screaming at him over my head as she brushed my hair. The way he looked like he hated us when he was angry. The screaming. The crying. The threats. The hate. I remember feeling so lost. So different. So out of place. So incompenent. So invisible. So worried.

Although I did well in school, it was only due to the schoolwork being an excuse to not interact with the other kids. I don't recall ever making a concerted effort to make myself proud. To push myself. To keep trying after I failed. The last thing I wanted was to stand out.

So, to see my daughter push herself; to know that her little mind was clear of distraction, of self-loathing, made me fight tears.

If Chris and I mess up a million times as parents (and we're pretty close, I'm sure) I have at least given my daughter peace in her own skin. And I am incredibly proud of myself for that.

Magic

So, last night as I crankily made a mocha with my new Tassimo (not all it's cracked up to be) Savannah danced around me peppering me with questions. You know, just making annoying yet endearing conversation as four year olds do.

As I cleared off the counter I noticed an empty cardboard paper towel tube. I picked it up, peered through it, and started acting like a ship's captain scanning the horizon for blonde little girls.

I rarely am spontaneously playful, so Savannah immediately lit up and started leaping around the living room avoiding being "caught" by the telescope.

"Hey, why don't we paint it?" I suggested.

Even as I said it, I thought 'Well, there goes my bath. We'll probably make a mess with the paints..." But, I pushed through.

It sometimes feels painful to me to be a good mom.

We spent the next half hour painting large bold metallic stripes around the tube. I told her that now that it was painted with sparkly paints we would be able to see all kinds of magical things when we looked through it again. Her eyes danced.

"Like what?" she asked, intrigued.

"Like castles and princesses. Waterfalls and horses. Mermaids."

"Mermaids?" she was amazed.

"You'll be able to see whatever you want to see" I assured her.

An hour later, after dinner, we took the new telescope upstairs and used it to stare into the sky. I went first and excitedly told her all the wonderful things I saw. She grabbed it from me hardly able to contain herself and had a look.

When (of course) she saw nothing more than the L.A. smog, I said "No. You have to see it up here", tapping her head. She gave it another try and squealed, "I see it! I see princesses! And a carriage! Being pulled by six horses! They have bows in their hair! And there's a waterfall!"

When she looked at me again, her eyes were so full of gratitude that I felt guilty.

How often do I make my daughter feel this way? How often do we use our imagination together and make her feel special? It is such an overwhelming responsibility when you know that you set the tone for your child's night - for their life - that sometimes you want to avoid it all together. They're so precious that you don't want to mess them up. You are so afraid of failing them that you do nothing - and fail them.

Sometimes I look at her and it hurts - it's actually painful because I love her so much that I can't bear to consider not doing this mom thing right. But, I know that she's not going to magically be a happy adult with a great adult relationship with me unless I make that happen now.

As moms, we have to make our own magic. She deserves to have the perfect mom. But, all she wants is me.

And all I want for her is to be able to always look through cardboard and see castles.

Is This Thing On?

Okay, now that Blogger is back up my life has meaning again! Vi came over yesterday to work on our Cafe Press designs (just wait for it people, it's going to be fantastical) and when we found out our sites couldn't be accessed we were downtrodden. We were lost. We were confused. We were bitter.

(The following dialogue I am shamelessly lifting from my own comment in my comment section)

VI: My site's not coming up!
ME: Mine either!!
VI: For all that is holy, what is going on!!!
ME: What do we do???!!!

(We stare at each other)

ME: What did we do before blogging?
VI: I don't remember. Did I even like you?

After spending countless hours as refresh button monkeys, we finally turned to each other and agreed we would need to find a new interest for the day. Inevitably, Tivo followed. Then pizza. Then, inexplicably, Nintendo.

Now, its Super Bowl Sunday and my family and I are off to the Mormon's house for some good clean fun. Without coffee. Without alcohol. How ARE they so joyous all the time? It's inhuman. I better go if I have to find that 32 Ouncer from 7-11. You know, for my "water". Riiight.