La Turista

The Great Escape

2012-01-31T22:09:00.006-06:00

So I'm plotting my departure from The Job. For real. Actually, I've been plotting it since the day I got there, over three years ago. JimiNEE, has it been that long? See, that's how they get you. The fluorescent lights, the Goody Days, and the GD banality of it all finally wear you down until one day, you look up, and 20 years have gone by, and they're planning some brisket plate (dessert's extra) retirement party for you in Conference Room 3. Well, not me, sister - no thanks. I'm OUT.

Not quite yet, but soon. The plan is to wait until Peach has finished kicking cancer's ass, and my officemate gets back from maternity leave (I couldn't leave them two warm bodies down. I'm not a total bitch.), and then it's adios, mofos. Somewhere around mid-May? Sounds good to me. And where am I going, what am I doing? What all bright(?), young(?) attorneys-at-law, esquires do - I'm hanging out the proverbial shingle.

I know, right! Me, the lawyer who really doesn't like practicing law. Here's what happened: I was at The Job a couple of months back, cursing my work and the asshole lawyers and their asshole clients who make my days so very unpleasant. I found myself saying, "How can you not get this right? Anyone can do this! Even I can do this!" And then I thought, "Yes, as dumb as I am, even I could really do this." Meaning, the same boring work I do now, but for the little guy, instead of The Man. And do it right, and make everybody happy, for roughly the same check each month, but over fewer hours and with exactly NO CRAZY. So T-Bone and I have been mulling over the logistical aspects of "opening" a practice and deposing law school friends about their experiences in the biz. I've done a lot of research on the procedural and practical aspects of this very narrow area of law and how I can get a case from Point A to Point B - and get paid for it. Also, I've spent a fair amount of time trying to grow the balls to actually do this.

Yes, it's risky, but it's also very necessary. As good as they've been to me during Peach's treatment, I'm going Nowhere Fast, personally and professionally, if I stay in that place. I'm really feeling called to the non-profit arena, so the short-term goal is to work to support my Cancer World volunteering habit. The long-term goal is to break all the way into a non-profit career and leave this fucking powdered wig behind for good, but I've got to get my foot in the door first. You know, the foot I've had out the door at The Job since orientation three years ago.

So, baby steps. But it's a start.

Wrapping Up

2011-12-31T22:08:00.004-06:00

I'm backdating this post because I didn't want to end the year on a down note - especially since I'm writing you so few notes these days. Also, 12/31 is Peach's diagnosis anniversary (as well as the day two crazy kids I know went and got married 14 years ago), so I think a more celebratory post is in order, don't you? Yes.

Two years. TWO. Can you believe it? I'm sure I've said it before, but sometimes I feel like we've been doing "this" forever, and other times, I feel like just yesterday, we were sitting in the pediatrician's office and being told to go directly to the children's hospital, do not pay on your way out, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. And then all hell broke loose.

When I think about the sheer amount of information - in all forms - that has passed in front of us since that day, my mind truly boggles. When I think about the physical and mental toll that "this" has taken on Peach, I am in awe of her resilience. And when I see the light at the end of the tunnel getting brighter every day, and our family emerging on the other side of "this" healthy and intact, I am so proud. And grateful beyond measure.

If Peach continues at the rate she's going, we'll be having a big 'ol party on April 29th, her last day of treatment. And you're all invited. Until then, Happy Healthy New Year, y'all. It's gonna be a great one.

Sigh.

2011-08-31T22:12:00.009-05:00

Sigh.

Papa Turista has leukemia. Stage 0 Chronic Lymphoblastic Leukemia, so we're in "watch and wait" mode until he needs treatment, if ever. It's about as common in adults as Peach's leukemia is in kids, but being that it's chronic vs. acute, many folks live with it for years and years before needing treatment. He's like the poster boy for CLL: White, Male, 70. Looking at past blood work (thankfully, he's very good about going to the doctor), it's likely it started developing in 2009. Again, like Peach. And of course I asked and the answer is: NO. Just a big fat fucking coincidence.

We found out about a month ago, and other than immediate family and about four friends, he hasn't told anyone. We won't tell Peach and Olive either, unless we have to, so keep it under your hat. I think if I hadn't been working on my De Facto Residency in Hematology Oncology over the last year and a half, I would be much more upset. And afraid. But as it is, I'm just really, really mad.

I tell you all this today because Peach is marking 20 months in treatment tomorrow. With, hopefully, about eight more to go. This kid of mine: Amazing. She just keeps plugging along - stiff joints, steroid weepies, and all - smiling every step of the way. Since we last spoke, she brought the house down at GGMS's graduation ceremony (don't get me started), she raised over $3000 for childhood cancer research, and she designed a freaking Hermione Granger video game. She made it through two weeks at sleep-away camp, and last week, she stared down Middle School - and won. Whatever the challenge, she takes it on and does incredible things. And sweet, sweet Olive is her biggest supporter. Truly, I'm about to burst over the both of them.

Which is why I feel guilty when I complain, like when I unloaded on Karla May the night I found out about Papa Turista. Even though cancer has become part of our daily conversation (and that of this neglected blog - I know! I said I was going to ease up on the cancerspeak!), we are still so very blessed. As difficult as it is, especially for Peach, this trial isn't near what some people have to endure every day, forever. And while I wouldn't ever choose it, wish it on anyone, or want to repeat it, we have learned so much, met some unbelievable people, and watched our baby rise to her fullest, best self. So there are some gifts to be had, and things to be thankful for.

But I'm still mad as hell.

Gratitude

2011-04-30T18:16:00.008-05:00

Really? This is what it's come to? Quarterly reports?! I mean, I told you last time that I wasn't going to be quite as cancer-y going forward, but I certainly didn't mean to leave hanging the teaspoonful (smaller than a handful) of you who actually stop by here every day. My apologies!

That said, it's been five years since I started this blog. Huh.

I scroll through old posts every now and again, making myself laugh. Or cringe. Or just reflect. And I find something new every time. It occurred to me recently that when I wrote this, I neglected to mention that I made it through that MRI by thinking about how many times my friend's daughter had powered through the many MRIs she had - and hated - while battling a brain tumor. Then, when I wrote this, I didn't say that the real impetus for my giving blood for the first time was because of a family friend's recent lymphoma diagnosis. And then, of course, there is the irony of all ironies in this post, where I mourned the loss of both of those precious souls. A post that I revisited at this time last year.

I'm a big believer in The Cosmic Connection, so I look at those events as not only my attempts to pay tribute to Bailey and Sharon, but also as my preparation for what was to follow. I had no idea that nearly a year to the day after that blood drive, I would be encouraging my own family and friends to donate blood in honor of Peach. I could have never dreamed that after following Bailey's family through the world of pediatric cancer, I would be helping Peach navigate her own journey.

But here we are, on the eve of another blood drive in honor of Peach, and nearly one year away from the end of her treatment protocol. And we are so grateful. This child continues to amaze and inspire all of us with her attitude and her fortitude. Not only is she tolerating her ever-fluctuating med schedule without complaint, she's even been "reminiscing" about different moments from the past year - like, "Remember that time after my 13th spinal tap, and we got yogurt in the rain? That was so fun!" And because her ticket did in fact get pulled for The Most Awesome Secondary School for Girls in the History of the World, I'm sure world domination is imminent.

No, I couldn't have predicted any of this, but we landed here just the same. And we're doing great. So thank you, Bailey. Thank you, Sharon. Thank you, Universe.

In Which I Go to 11

2011-01-30T18:37:00.010-06:00

I think y’all have a pretty good handle on all of that for now, so let’s start anew.

Since we last spoke, the family and I thoroughly enjoyed the holidays and our trip to Florida. Again, I am amazed at how many “Pooh size” folks there are in Mouse World. I don’t even know how they make it from the parking lot to the gate, not to mention through acres and acres of parks for days at a time. It’s quite painful to watch, actually. I did notice, though, that Mouse World and its progeny seem to have revamped their menus so there were many “healthy” options available, and I had at least one good salad a day. Lots of fruit, too. Of course, they also added something that, in all my years, I have never seen at Mouse World – turkey legs. Eight dollar turkey legs. The sight of someone eating one always unnerves me, but it’s that much more upsetting to see a 3-year-old in a princess costume gnawing away on one right in front of It’s a Small World. Yech.

On the home front, Peach and Olive are happily ensconced in their beloved GGMS, while all hell breaks loose around them in the AISD. Thanks to Governor Hairdo and a host of other factors, public education in the Great State of Texas is in a world of hurt, and the Capital City is facing a major, major school budget crisis – one that the brain trust in residence thinks could be solved by closing some of the most successful, most active elementary schools in town. One of which Peach and Olive would be happily ensconced in were they not at GGMS. My limited faith in the AISD is rapidly disappearing, even as we help Peach apply for The Most Awesome Secondary School for Girls in the History of the World – which is public. Gulp. And where class spots are determined by lottery. Double gulp. If she doesn’t get the golden ticket this year, we have the wonderful option of having her stay one more year at GGMS, the symmetry of which I rather like, and we can try again next year. But the lottery pool is weighted 75% for girls coming from Title I schools and 25% for everyone else, including us, so either way, it’s a long shot. That said, I seem to recall Peach’s ticket being pulled from the smallest percentage for a lottery we never even signed up for, so I think karmic justice requires that she gets something she actually wants and deserves this time. Thank you, Universe.

On the job front, I’m still at The Job, for better or worse. Everyone was incredibly supportive the past year, allowing me to work from home when I needed to and adding a ton of paid sick time to my tally. But, but, but, I’m still pushing paper, which, especially now, seems so mind-suckingly(?) insignificant, I really really need a change. Since the day I started The Job, I’ve been looking for another one. I’m not even sure I want to practice law (was I ever?), and after seeing what I’ve seen this year, I’m just embarrassed to get paid for what I do. I’m not knocking The Law, just The Job. Rah rah rah, Atticus Finch and all that, I love him. Really. But I doubt Atticus ever got Employment Manual updates clarifying that t-shirts, caps, and shorts are not appropriate work attire and that colored ink, bouncing emoticons, and pictures of pets are not to be included in the signature block of work emails. REALLY. We have to put this shit in writing, y’all. Now with all the budget mess, even historically secure state jobs may have to be cut, and maybe mine will be one of them. And maybe I wouldn’t be too broken up about it. For now, I’ve got about seven different versions of my resume being sent to the four winds, and we’ll see what turns up.

Finally, it’s official – I Kick Ass. Earlier this month, the lovely Karla May (and her evil minions) set me up for a big surprise in the form of a 2011 Spike Gillespie Kick Ass Award, commemorating the helluva journey we Turistas have recently been on (did I mention?). I was shocked, very moved, and very appreciative. I love the award and what it stands for, but I love the gal that gave it to me – and the rest of y’all – immeasurably more.

Now let's get out there and have a Kick Ass New Year, y'all! Hi - YAH!

The Girl of The Year

2010-12-30T11:01:00.002-06:00

Happy Everything, my Peachy Pie

Me and My Big Cliche

2010-12-22T20:24:00.003-06:00

We’re closing in on the one-year mark, and I have no idea where the time went. I’ve told Peach that I feel like this was the fastest year of my life, and she agreed that most days moved so quickly, but some lasted forever. True. So, as a reward for her hard work, we’re celebrating her birthday, her diagnosis day, and a brand new year at Disneyworld, courtesy of the Make-a-Wish Foundation.

When we were checking out of the hospital way back when, the Child Life Specialist had all sorts of information about special programs Peach was eligible for, including Make-a-Wish. It was all I could do to hold it together and take that GD pamphlet, which I quickly stuck in the bottom of the pile, destined for the first recycling bin – or fireplace – I could find. Six days into this thing, I refused to “go there,” so I had no intention of discussing it with Peach any further.

About a month later, we were at the clinic for a long day, and the Child Life Specialist there asked Peach if she had made her wish yet. Shit. Peach said no, so, bless her heart, the CLS went into great detail about what Peach could wish for, and "here, let’s look at their website, and that kid over there did this, and that kid over there did that" … I was cringing. That is, until I caught a glimpse of their FAQs page, and the post for “Are wishes only offered to kids who are terminally ill?” And the answer is NO. Exhale.

After that, the process began in earnest, and we knew within another month or so that Peach’s wish to go to Disneyworld was granted. I say *we* meaning T-Bone and me. I didn’t want to tell Peach in case I needed “something” for incentive on a really rough day. Which, thankfully, we didn’t have that many of, and I was able to keep the surprise until our grand Back to School Feast. We’ll be going to Universal Studios, too, so the big reveal was done via owl and an official letter from Hogwarts, inviting Peach to enroll the day after her 11th birthday. She is beyond excited, but she told me last night that she doesn’t know what she’d be thinking right now if “all that hadn’t happened last year.” Me neither, my love.

If I did a word search of my posts for this year, I realize there would be a handful of buzzwords and catchphrases that are repeated ad nauseum. You know the ones. The words that everyone uses to describe cancer and treatment and people going through it. The phrases that every non-profit uses to promote their cause and tug at your heartstrings and encourage you to open your wallet. I don’t know how it happened, but I just slipped into that language (Cancerspeak?), and the clichés flowed like water. Or wine. You choose.

But here’s the thing: Cancer IS a monster. Treatment IS a battle, fight, journey. People going through it ARE brave, amazing, inspiring. And we MUST raise awareness, funds, and hope to find a CURE.

So, no apologies. Just immense gratitude for Peach’s success and for the love and light surrounding us. And for this disease? A lasting hatred that I’ve been told is – yes – inspiring.

Deja Vu

2010-11-30T21:41:00.004-06:00

Has it been a month already? Hell, a whole year? Although my brain is working daily overtime, processing too much information that is way beyond my limited intelligence, I've tried to cobble together one focused post a month (with all apologies to July). Without loading you down with details, I just wanted to share a moment or an aspect of this experience and maybe get it out of my head, to make room for the next day's news. I hope you've been entertained (is that the right word?) or learned something or done something. Or something. I've been grateful for the friendly ear at least, so thank you.

Now as we barrel ever-faster toward the first anniversary of Peach's diagnosis (we celebrate these things in Cancer World, did you know? Oh yes.), I am nearly overcome by the enormous sense of deja vu. Me, who is ALL ABOUT the calendar, and special days, and traditions, and memories, and generally making a big GD deal out of everything, I can't help but recall every second of the last time we did this or that. Especially since this fall, when Peach was gearing up for her triumphant return to school and "normalcy," I have been struck by how quickly the time passed, how far we have come, and how much everything feels exactly the same and completely different.

When Peach was in the hospital, I came home on the third night to stay with Olive. I walked into the kitchen, and staring me in the face was the perpetual calendar we've had since we got married. It was still stuck on December 30th. Peach's birthday, the day everything changed. Again. I walked straight to our bathroom and quietly fell to my knees. But only for a moment, because Sweet Olive was close behind, wondering if I was hungry. The Amazing Mama Turista knew the problem in an instant, and that calendar was changed by the time I came out of the bathroom. If it were up to me, it might still be on December 30th, but what good would that do, really.

I am not dwelling in "the past," not any more than in your run-of-the-mill "they grow up so fast" sense, and I am beyond hopeful for the future. But I can't ignore the seismic shift in our lives since the last time we put up Christmas decorations. Will it get easier as the years go by? I think so. And I also think it's okay, at least this first year, to struggle with the New Normal's impact on the Old World Order.

Give thanks.

And Now, a Word About Olive

2010-10-31T21:23:00.005-05:00

Outstanding.

Lest you think the talk around here is All Cancer, All the Time, I can tell you it is most assuredly not. In our never-ending quest for normalcy, we have had many moments of laughter, levity, and downright joy, but one of the brightest moments has been The Blossoming of Miss Olive.

Absolutely remarkable, this one. Olive hates everything to do with the doctor, and at first, I was so worried that she would be forever traumatized regarding all things medical after watching Peach go through treatment. In fact, I caught myself thinking, God forbid, if this were Olive, it would be a whole different story - compliance-wise. But now? I'm not so sure.

We have all been pleasantly surprised by, and immensely proud of, the way Olive has handled herself and made her way through all of this. She cried the very first night because she didn't want Peach, T-Bone, and me to spend the night at the hospital without her, but after that, and a few heartfelt, age-appropriate conversations, she has been solid as a rock. Pink granite.

She is so empathetic, just patting on Peach and cheering her on at every turn. She is a huge helper, bringing Peach a cold rag when she's not feeling well and making sure we're all quiet when Peach is resting. She was genuinely more excited for Peach to get back to school than for herself, and the first time we saw one of the American Cancer Society's "Happy Birthday" commercials, she reached over to pat Peach and just smiled at her. It was just the sweetest thing. She so GETS it, but she's not afraid of it.

So in the waning hours of this, her birthmonth, I want to celebrate my brave, beautiful 7 year old girl and say Happy Happy Birthday dear Olive. I love you!

Genesis

2010-09-20T19:56:00.008-05:00

I had A Moment at the dance studio the other day. To promote the upcoming Nutcracker auditions, the lobby television was playing a DVD from a past production. It took me all of three seconds to realize it was last year's production. The one Peach was in two weeks before her diagnosis. Try as I might, I couldn't look away, and as the time for her number grew closer, the knot in my stomach grew, too. As per usual, the few other mothers that were there were too busy bitching and kvetching to even notice the TV, so I stood up right in front of it, put on my sunglasses, and cried as I watched Peach dance. And then I went out to the car and called T-Bone. And I bawled.

I haven't cried that hard in a while. I just don't have time for it, really. But seeing Peach doing what she loves so much, smiling and enjoying herself without a care in the world - it just undid me. "It" was all there, and we just had no idea. She wasn't showing any of the signs that ultimately led us to the doctor two weeks later, but It had already started.

I have spent way too much time and energy trying to pinpoint the exact moment this all began, and the truth is, we will never know for sure. I look at pictures from weeks, days, even hours before diagnosis, searching for the tiniest indication of change - any evidence of what was to come - and I can't find it. And it drives me crazy. Even though I know we caught It as early as we could have, and much earlier than many people do, I can't get over the fact that there was A Moment when a cell in Peach's perfect little body decided to wreak havoc, and I didn't have the opportunity or the capacity to stop it.

In the first few days and weeks after we came home from the hospital, I had a hard time seeing healthy children, out and about in public with their happy parents, enjoying their holidays. I wasn't envious or angry, just very sad. For them. I thought how blissfully ignorant those parents were of the fact that their baby could get cancer. I wondered if it ever occurred to them that their healthy child could ever get so sick, seemingly in an instant. And, of course, the answer is NO. Because I used to be them, and as much as I worry about everything, real and imagined, it never truly occurred to ME that this could happen. And that's saying a lot.

People ask me questions all the time about leukemia and blood cells and chemotherapy, and they often apologize, saying, "I'm sorry. I just don't know much about all of this." My answer is always, "Of course you don't. Why would you?" I didn't know much about all of "this" either before now, and I'm learning all the time because I have to. I need to. I want to. And with all the learning and emoting I've been doing, maybe someday I'll be able to let go of my obsession with Its birth. Even better, maybe I'll finally be able to accept (without having to remind myself first thing every morning) that this is actually happening at all.

September is National Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. Please consider supporting CureSearch's efforts to fund life-saving research for all childhood cancers. Peach thanks you.

I'm Beginning To See The Light. I Think.

2010-08-16T15:49:00.006-05:00

Peach has one more week of treatment. Well, one more week of primary treatment plus two years of maintenance, or "chemo light," as the nurses call it. Somehow, almost eight months have flown by, and my girl has kicked serious ass nearly every single day. Besides (almost) feeling relief, I am consumed with pride. Peach has amazed us with her strength and humbled us with her grace. And Olive? I can't even tell you how incredible she's been - so brave, so empathetic, so on top of it all.

So now, like most survivors and their families, I'll take my place atop the razor's edge and pray like hell (um ...) that when she's done, she's really done. For good. I am not a pessimist, but I am a huge worrier, and I'm quite sure I'll never rest completely until there's an absolute, bona fide cure for this evil. Because the only thing that scares me more than having to go through all of this is having to go through it all again. The chances of a recurrence are small, but so are the chances of getting childhood cancer in the first place. So because of the worrying thing, and the fact that I am very superstitious, I shy away from grand, all-encompassing words like "last" and "forever." Everything is qualified with some grey-area BS, if only in my head. Even the night before Peach was diagnosed, the night before her birthday, when we had NO idea what was to come the next day, she started to say something like,"This is the last night I'll sleep in my bed ..." and I actually knocked on wood and said, "As a nine year old." Turns out, it was the last night she slept in her bed for nearly eight months. And counting.

I am confident that Peach has received, and will continue to receive, the best care possible. Again, the fact that there was a proven treatment plan ready for her, one that has worked so well for her, is a HUGE source of comfort. But when the answer to most of my (many) questions about any of this is "it depends," it's hard to be completely comfortable. For now, however, I'm stepping back and marveling at our family's journey and feeling grateful for the love and support we've been shown. We will continue to take it day by day and keep on fighting, raising money, and celebrating Peach's victories because, thankfully, there are many.

Father's Day

2010-06-20T20:09:00.006-05:00

When this whole thing started, when we were on our way from the pediatrician's office to the hospital for an actual diagnosis, I called my dad. I was in the car by myself, trying to process what just happened, and what was about to happen, and when he answered, all I could get out was, "Dad. We're on our way to the hospital, they want ...," and he cut me off with, "I'm coming." The more I tried to get the words out, he just kept calmly saying, "I'm coming. I'm coming. I'm on my way right now." And he did come. And he was there with us every minute, even when we went to "the little room" where the doctor gave us "the news." As a father, and a grandfather, I know it was one of the most important, most difficult moments of his life, and I still haven't found the words to thank him for being there. I love him, and I'm so lucky he's mine.

As for T-Bone, y'all know how I feel about him. And so does he. Honestly, they broke the mold.

Mother's Love

2010-05-09T21:50:00.000-05:00

About a year ago, I wrote this post. The irony, I know. So today, Mother's Day, I find myself thinking about Stacey waking up without a mother and Amy waking up without a daughter, and my heart is heavy for them.

When Peach was diagnosed, I was encouraged to reach out to these people, and I didn't (still haven't) because I knew, even in the first confused moments of this nightmare, that Peach's journey would have a different outcome. And I felt incredibly guilty about that. I thought it was too soon for these people to be supporting anyone but their own families and how selfish it would be to drag them back into this world when they've barely begun to crawl out of it themselves.

From Day One, we were given a plan, a proven, successful plan, and all we've had to do is follow it. We haven't had to experiment or "best guess" anything, and the clinical trial Peach is enrolled in just tests the administration options for a certain medicine, not its success or effectiveness. There are no Hail Marys here. Not medical ones anyway. Truly, the only surprise we've had is that Peach was ever diagnosed in the first place. How lucky we are.

I am in NO WAY diminishing what Peach is going through, but every time we visit the clinic or the hospital, we see families with much harder rows to hoe. Some have little hope for recovery or they have life-long, life-altering effects and disabilities to manage. Many have few resources and no support outside of their treatment team, and just to get their child to appointments is a monumental feat. These families are fighting just as hard as we are, even with the deck stacked against them in one way or another, because what else can they do? No one will ever care for their child as much and as well as they do, and somewhere inside, they know that, and so they press on. And on and on. It's inspiring and gut-wrenching at the same time.

Of course, nobody wants to do any of this. You do it because you have to. You watch as your child gets pumped with medicines with "toxin" in the name because what choice do you have? You consent to procedures with page after page of risks and potential side effects (some that won't surface for YEARS) because how can you not? You focus on the here-and-now or you will come undone. And still, I am thankful. I know Peach will get better and this is what we do to make that happen.

Today, we spent a few hours at the hospital, where Peach was getting the last two of 12 shots she's had over the last 12 days (two, every other day). The shots take only a few minutes, but we have to stay for observation for two hours in case she has an allergic reaction. While we waited, we snuggled up in the hospital bed together, watching the rain outside. I held her close and kissed her fuzzy head, and we decided that this was the best Mother's Day gift ever. And it was.

Born Again

2010-04-20T18:39:00.003-05:00

This experience feels so much like having a newborn. So very much like that. When we were first leaving the hospital, I was so glad to be going home but so scared to be leaving the people who actually know how to do all of this. Since then, there's been a constant reporting of All Things Peach: Did she sleep? Did she eat? Did she poop? Is she cold? Is she hot? Wash your hands! Wash your hands! Wash your hands! And now, I can't believe how it feels like we just started everything but also like we've been doing it forever.

Little by little, we're making our way along - always learning. And Peach is just the champion of all champions. This past month or so has been the hardest so far, and she has 10 pounds less of herself to show for it. She had a severe allergic reaction that required a night in the hospital a couple of weeks ago, but other than that pretty big hiccup, she's progressing as expected for this protocol (which I've been told by those in the know is as highly successful as it is highly miserable). She is still engaged and interested, and I know her cooperation makes it so much easier for the treatment team. They often practically fight to get to her first because she's such a joy to work with. Her hair has started to grow back (for now - will likely come in and out several more times), and it has that peach fuzz texture I remember from the first time I watched it come in. I am, again, amazed by and enamored with this beautiful creature.

A lot of people have told me a lot of things about a lot of stuff recently, and just like with a newborn, you have to filter through all the "advice" and find what works for you and yours and just do that. Of course everyone means well, and I know it's hard to find the right thing to say, and I am the MOST guilty of saying things that don't come out right at the worst possible moment. That said, the other day, a friend was tearfully talking about Peach's "character" and how this experience will "really build her character," and the whole conversation just didn't sit right with me. I understand what my friend was trying to say, but I thought, NO. Just NO.

Addressing that fucking monster in her blood, I thought, this child already has more character than any grown person could ever dream of having. Any 100 grown people. She didn't need this experience to build character, she's there. She's been there since the day she was born. Will this nightmare impact her life going forward? Yes, unfortunately forever. But it will not change who she is and what she's made of because that is what's getting her through it right now. It's what's getting us ALL through it.

There will never come a moment where we say, "Remember that time you had leukemia?" But as much as we search for and drain every drop of positivity out of all of this, Peach will not be defined by it, not now, not ever.

From the moment we got the diagnosis, I told the doctor that we have to fix this. That Peach is a special, special girl and anyone that knows her will tell you that. That she has many great things to do and that we just have to fix this. And we are. So as I feed her and bathe her and watch her sleep, I think about how far my baby has come, and I'm confident that this is all leading to the greatness she was already destined for.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

2010-03-16T16:35:00.003-05:00

I'm shaving my head tomorrow. On live television. Holy hell.

We've been fundraising for St. Baldrick's, an amazing organization, and the big event is this Saturday. Individuals and teams volunteer to shave their heads to support childhood cancer research, and one of the local organizers contacted us about doing an interview/live shave as a promotion. Ever the drama queen, I said YES, so off it comes tomorrow morning.

Compared to everything else she's been through, losing her hair hasn't really bothered Peach in the slightest. When she first heard that it would happen, not having any experience or even a passing knowledge about cancer, she got a little upset. But when I explained that her hair would grow back, and that Daddy's hair would never grow back, she laughed and hasn't given it a second thought since.

I'm excited to see what it looks like when it grows back - maybe the Shirley Temple ringlets of her babydom. As for mine, I'm confident that the silver mini-fro will be the next big thing in coiffure.

Also, somehow my FOUR year bloggiversary was in February. The hell?

Remission

2010-02-03T13:12:00.002-06:00

Yes, you read that right. That's apparently how leukemia treatment works, when it works really well. Peach is in remission a little over four weeks after she was diagnosed. Amazing. Now comes the hard part.

The thing is, I can talk about all of this all day long (and I do, sometimes), and I can hear the words "cancer" and "chemotherapy" and "Peach" all in the same sentence, and still. STILL. There is a little part of me that can't believe, won't believe, this has happened. A little part that is just sure the next time we go to the clinic or talk to the doctor, the jig will be up, and they will know we've blown this whole thing out of proportion. When T-Bone was shaving her head the other night, I actually thought to myself, "Oh, here we're doing all of this, and it isn't really even necessary. It's all just a big mistake."

I know that "little part" is named Denial, I know. And try as it might, Denial's voice is very small and has absolutely NOT kept me from forging full-steam ahead on the treatment plan from Day One. But I do think Denial has kept me from losing my ever-loving mind at times because I have decided this: If a parent in this situation ever completely processed what was happening, they would be rendered useless. It's just too huge to fully comprehend and still be able to function. There's a disconnect in there somewhere. The first thing I said to the doctor when she gave us the diagnosis was, "Are you sure? Because I really feel like you're talking to someone else." And I still feel like that.

But she was sure, and she was talking to us, and now, it's been four weeks, and the leukemia cells are gone. The problem is, they have a habit of not staying gone, so now we begin six months of IV and spinal chemotherapy, followed by two years of maintenance therapy, during which Peach will take oral chemotherapy and have regular visits to the clinic. She should be able to return to school in the fall, and her hair will start coming back once she's through with the harder IV meds. She's tolerated everything really well so far, and the main thing we have to watch out for is any type of infection. We're lucky that she and Olive both are normally very healthy kids, without any chronic health issues (allergies, asthma, etc.) to manage on top of treatment. We have every confidence in her doctors and the facilities here, and we are surrounded by loving family and friends. We are truly blessed in many ways.

The biggest blessing of all? Peach. At diagnosis, I told the doctor that we had to fix this because Peach has many great things to do and anyone that knows her would say that she is a special, special little girl. And she continues to prove me right every day. She is confident, engaged, and actively participating in her treatment. She knows she will be cured but will have to fight to get there, and she proceeds as the thoughtful, quiet warrior that she is. How lucky I am to be her mother. I am amazed by her courage and happily bear witness to her incredible grace. And while I have my quiet moments of doubt, I am buoyed by a strength that is not my own, and I have never seen more clearly that God is good.

New Year, New Normal

2010-01-01T23:48:00.003-06:00

Two days ago, our precious, precious Peach turned 10 years old.

Yesterday, she was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.

Today, our entire world, and everything in it, looks completely different.

Luck o’ The Irish

2009-12-28T21:51:00.004-06:00

T-Bone is one lucky, lucky so-and-so. Really, he is. And I don’t mean just because he got me for his bride. HA. I mean he is lucky in contests, sweepstakes, and all-around games of chance. Basically, he wins shit all the time. And as his aforementioned bride, I often reap the benefits of his aforementioned luck.

His latest Major Award? A week for two in Steamboat Springs for the Music Fest! He entered ONE time on the Shiner website, and he won the whole damn shootin’ match. They pay for airfare (which includes First Class on the way back! How obnoxious is that?!) and the hotel (which is right in the thick of the Fest), plus ski rental, lift tickets, and Fest tickets. We just have to pay for grub and extras, but since the only “extra” I’m really interested in is SLEEP, guess who’s coming out ahead on that deal?

Now, I will have to buy some stuff to protect my delicate constitution from the Arctic Elements, but judging by the weather we’ve had lately, I may actually get some use out of it around here, too. I’ve got to wrap up a couple of things at The Job, but Peach and Olive are set for great adventures with Mama Turista for the week. So, other than an appropriate anniversary gift for T-Bone (it’s lottery tickets for Year 12, right?), I think I’m ready to go. In one week!

An Oldie But A Goodie

2009-12-25T21:13:00.002-06:00

What a wonderful day we had over here. I hope you and yours are as fat and happy as we are.

I love Christmas carols, and while I'm pretty familiar with most of them, I've never read the full lyrics to this one, nor did I know it was based on a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Thanks, Public Education. Anyway, it really spoke to me the other day, so I wanted to share. Peace, y'all.

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."

Till, ringing singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

High Gear

2009-12-21T23:51:00.002-06:00

So I just survived hosting three very festive parties in seven days. And I've got the random leftovers to prove it. As well as the "sour stomach," as Abuelita Turista says. I just can't resist ANY of it.

Tomorrow afternoon, I'm off to Mama Turista's to fetch Peach and Olive, who have been encamped there since Thursday. Before we hit the road for the ATX however, we're surprising them with tickets to The Lion King! Peach has seen it, but Olive hasn't, and I know she's going to love it. Who doesn't, really?

When we get home Christmas Eve, all the presents will have magically appeared under the tree since they've been gone, and the enchiladas and tamales will be ready and waiting for dinner. And the Traditional Christmas Lasagna will be on deck in the icebox for Friday.

Basically, I think we're all set, save for the Annual Christmas Light Pilgrimage around the neighborhood, wherein we drive around in our pajamas and look at lights. Not sure how that started, but it's always a big hit.

So if I don't talk to you before then, have a Merry Merry Happy Happy! And please pass the Tums.

Making a List

2009-12-14T22:17:00.002-06:00

The tree is done. The other decorations are done. The outside lights are ... well, if I have the energy to tackle the one tree that refuses to work (which is currently residing in the garage), then they're done, too. And the shopping is thisclose to being done, I think, as Peach and Olive have finalized their respective lists.

Olive is sticking with the old standby (horse/unicorn stuff), as well as a set of break-your-own geodes and a play rabbit hutch for the farm. But you know what her Number One Item is? With a bullet? That barely-functioning Snoopy Snow Cone Machine we all had for about two weeks until it split in half whilst trying to "crush" ice cubes or got overrun with ants when we failed to get all the Blue Dye #666 flavoring off of it before leaving it outside for three days. Yes, they still make those, and yes, we are soon to be the proud owners of one. And yes, it's going to fall apart.

This year, I'm pretty sure Peach is just playing along with The Santa Thing for Olive's (and my) sake. Thankfully, she's still wanting actual "toys," not just clothes, or, for heaven's sake, MONEY. In a nutshell, she's after various medical-, detective-, and fashion design-type items, plus two very elusive Barbies. There's always something, right?

I'm trying to remember what I wanted at Peach's age (almost 10), and I'm pretty sure my list started and ended with "Rabbit Fur Coat." Oy. Papa Turista picked it out himself, and he was so excited when I opened it. It was soft and quite warm - and totally scared the shit out of me. While it seemed like such a wonderful thing in theory, the reality of having Peter Cottontail's little pelt on my back was very disturbing, and that's when I decided that maybe the Cool Girls at school weren't so cool after all. That is, until 7th grade, when I just HAD to have that Space Bag purse. So The Coat didn't get worn a whole lot and eventually went the way of our neighbor's tiny maid, Manuela. And ya know what? I think we all learned a little something that Christmas. Indeed.

Lo siento, Pedro. Lo siento.

Ho Ho Huh?

2009-12-07T23:38:00.002-06:00

Pretty short on time, but I had to share this with you, my loyal reader(s?). So in the spirit of giving, and to further illustrate my completely justified fear of people in red noses, stop by here.

Anticipation

2009-12-01T22:18:00.002-06:00

Well, Happy Advent to you! I love this time of year because Peach and Olive jump, nay LEAP, out of bed every morning to open their Advent calendars, without any objection whatsoever. And these are the same Advent calendars we use every year (from Playmobil), so it’s not like there’s candy or any actual “surprise” involved. I will not question the logic, however, and will just enjoy the next 24 stress-free mornings. Which is okay by me, because the rest of the days and nights are gonna be BEARS, y’all.

I have so much to do this month, it is Certifiably Insane. This week, I have but a few moments of peace (including a haircut/color, Peach’s first guitar recital, and Olive’s teacher conference), because starting this Saturday, it’s all Nutcracker, all the time, for the next week, including FOUR performances, all of which I’m going to. If I make it through that week, I’ve got my annual ornament exchange that Sunday, then two parties at The Job and two school assemblies the next week. That weekend, we’re hosting T-Bone’s work party on Saturday and a neighborhood party on Sunday, then I’m surprising Peach and Olive with tickets to The Lion King on the 23rd. And then it’s all downhill from Christmas Eve, straight through to Peach’s 10th birthday on the 30th, and our anniversary on the 31st. Dang!

In the meantime, I have: to finish decorating (entering hour 15 on The Tree. Yes, just the TREE. It’s the illness, y’all.); shoot off some Christmas cards; schedule the handyman, piano movers, and the carpet people; clean up after said people; clean up after my OWN people; buy everything for Christmas; and, oh yeah, WORK. So, tis the season, and all that jazz.

P.S. Overheard from the back seat this morning:

Olive: Mommy, there’s someone at school who says that Santa Claus isn’t real.

(Peach: Silence, with a look of panic. See here.)

LT: Who said that?

Olive: Well, someone asked me if I thought Santa was real, and I said, of course, he’s real, how else could you ever get the first thing on your Christmas list? And then he said that someone else said that Santa wasn’t real.

LT: Well, I think that’s sad because that person is going to get coal in his stocking, and how fun is that?

Olive: (pause) But wait – coal is a rock, right?

Me and big mouth, forgetting I have a stone-cold rockhound sitting behind me.

Muchas Gracias

2009-11-25T10:47:00.005-06:00

So we're off to the in-laws for Thanksgiving. They're actually moving here in two weeks, so this is the Last Hurrah in the old house. They've been talking about moving since I was pregnant with Peach, so yeah. It's time.

Also, we've got this going on:

Fort with Cat and Books

Somewhere, I'm sure the Pilgrims are smiling. And probably coughing, because that first Thanksgiving? It was wicked cold.

Happy Happy to you and yours!

Clean Sweep

2009-11-19T20:08:00.003-06:00

Why oh why do I always choose the holidays to reorganize the house? Right in the middle of decorating? Yes, I started last weekend. Shut it.

Actually, it’s the perfect time to tear the house apart because I’m already dragging everything out of the closets to get to the decorations anyway. AND what better time to go through the toys then right before we’re about to add some new ones? So really, it makes a lot of sense, no?

Peach and Olive are pros at the Keep/Pass game – we play it so often around here. Certain things I’ll keep forever no matter what, but, por ejemplo, they decided they were ready to let go of Strawberry Shortcake and her posse of fruit-flavored friends. Also, about seven blond Barbies are hitting the road – including the three that “talk,” praise Jeebus – them and the Volvo station wagon they rode in on. We’re left with Cinderella and Tinkerbell plus a multi-cultural rainbow of gals and, of course, the fabulous Ken. Peach is really my Barbie girl – Olive has this thing about doll hair, specifically blond, in that she says “it stinks” and it totally makes her gag. It’s the weirdest thing. She really cannot be around that “stinky hair” or she gags to the point of almost puking. Sweet Peach always warns her if a blond is coming out of the box, so she can busy herself elsewhere, but if it were me and my brother, back in the day? I would SO be using that to my advantage. He HATED Barbies, any Barbies, so evil little La Turista would chase the child down with them, line the doorway to my room with them, and once, even put some in his bed for a joke. I seem to recall Mama Turista not thinking it was so funny.

Anyway, we’ve got seven bags of stuff for the women and children’s shelter, two bags of stuff for the kids’ resale place, and a couple of bags for the book resale place. AND we may have a buyer for the piano. Long story. But now where in the hell are all my Santa lights going to go, hmmm?

Where’s Waldo

2009-11-05T16:31:00.002-06:00

In this Age of The Internet, and especially the social networking explosion, I find myself wondering how it is that some people can still remain completely hidden from view. And I mean people who would seem to have some access to a computer or, at least, other human beings. I’m thinking specifically of people who were once part of my life and now I have absolutely no idea, not even a general sense, of how or where they are.

Obviously, as we go through life, our inner circles bend and even break over time. People move on, move away – but it would seem that that “thing” that brought us together in the first place still remains. Somewhere. Right? And it would seem that through common friends, places, or interests that we would have to cross paths at some point, virtually or otherwise. Right? It’s a small world after all.

I realize losing contact with people is a fact of life, but when I can find out in an instant what my second grade teacher ate for breakfast this morning, I would think I could find that girl I took ballet with for eight years who was destined for New York and The Great White Way. I mean, did she make it? And what about that guy I went to school with who said, every day, K-12, that he wanted to be President of the United States? Does he still say that? Because that’s the kind of guy that actually does it.

So random, I know. But T-Bone and I discussed this over beers at The Highball the other night, and I’m still trying to sort it all out. He, BTW, is on Facespace but is perfectly content to never update his status or request friends or do anything other than share music with his regular cronies. And even though I’m not on Facespace myself, I’m in regular contact with plenty of people who are, as well as many other living, breathing human beings, so if any of The Missing I’m thinking of really wanted to find me, they totally could.

Blur

2009-11-02T20:58:00.002-06:00

Friday, I awoke with what I thought was more of The Strep Throat, but it just turned out to be The Sore Throat with the Hacking Cough. Which the crisp night air at our block party did wonders for - by 10 pm, I was voiceless. But we met some cool new neighbors, and I was able, through sign language, to say how much we enjoyed having them all over.

Saturday, I took Peach to Nutcracker rehearsal and tied up some loose ends in preparation for Halloween and T-Bone’s birthday. After Mama Turista’s homemade cheese ravioli dinner, costumes were donned, and battle stations were manned. Peach was dressed as an obstetrician, with regulation scrubs, cap, stethoscope, and a newborn baby doll with the standard-issue hospital knit cap. Olive was a bumblebee, although she was very tempted to wear her pony costume from last year – apparently once a week, every week, is not quite enough.

We usually have quite a few trick-or-treaters, including some truckloads from points beyond the neighborhood, and this year was no exception. We ran out of candy around 8:30, but that didn’t stop the boldest of the bold from ringing and knocking until 10 pm. BTW, isn’t the International Sign for “No More Candy” a pitch-black porch? Thought so. And when did the ringing of the doorbell become accompanied by the immediate beating down of the door? Back in the day, we NEVER went to houses without porch lights on and we rang the doorbell ONCE, NEVER knocked on top of that, and LEFT after patiently waiting about 30 seconds. So what’s with all the urgency? Also, to those of you parents who insist on dressing up your babes in arms (fine) and strolling them around to “trick or treat” (please), I just have to say – really? We’re not giving out stacks of money here, y’all, it’s effing CANDY. Which, from the looks of things, many of you have a year-round relationship with anyway, so quit using your baby to extort Smarties from me and just calm the hell down. P.S. I love Halloween.

Sunday was T-Bone’s birthday – the Big One – and Peach and Olive made him breakfast in bed (cinnamon toast). I gave him a certificate for a Level Nine tour at Space Center Houston this spring. Fingers crossed, we’ll break bread with some real astronauts, for whom I’m sure he’ll have muchas preguntas. After that, Mama Turista and I ran some errands and went to see “This Is It” – which I LOVED. I wore one of my MJ pins even. Later, T-Bone and I met the Televisions for a joint birthday dinner at Lambert’s (meh), and stopped by The Highball* for drinks afterward (hoppin’ for a school night). The Boyz have big plans for Friday night (it’s Mr. Television’s birthday, too), after which I’m sure they’ll feel officially “in their 40s.” Lord knows I do, after this weekend.

* Note to Temperance Society girls – the fries and rings are now “reduced” to 7.50 a bowl. Think of the savings! And we saw Karrie having drinks with the chef and presumably discussing the difference between chicken and dumplings and matzo ball soup. Ahem.

I See Dead People

2009-10-29T21:58:00.001-05:00

Y’all, is Kelly Rippa okay? Because I had the most realistic dream last night that she took a flying cell phone to the noggin and bought the farm right there. Regis was taking it really hard at the press conference. So sad. I could swear it was true, but the night before last, I had a dream in which three different mermaids (three!) told me I was pregnant, so, grain of salt and all that.

Anywho. Los muertos. Today was the annual Ghosts of the Past assembly at GGMS, and you had your usual suspects: Einstein, Galileo, Lewis and Clark AND Sacagawea, and, of course, Maria Montessori. Then there are always a few wild cards – sports figures I’m not familiar with, random inventors, and the odd musician (this year, we had Elvis, Johnny Cash, and a very nervous Michael Jackson. Sweet angel.). It’s quite a thing to see, I have to say.

After previously reincarnating my great aunt Ruthie, Rosie the Riveter, and Lady Bird Johnson, Peach made the next most logical choice for this year – John Muir. Of course. Not that she was the only transgender ghost, but she was certainly the only one with a giant Billy Gibbons beard. She handled it well, and I’m just sure everyone in that muggy auditorium was inspired, educated, and entertained by her portrayal.

What else? Well, in the next three days I have to prepare for, endure, and clean up after a neighborhood potluck I had the big idea of throwing at our house on Friday, the Great Halloween Extravaganza of 2009 on Saturday, and T-Bone’s Big 4-0 on Sunday, which mostly just involves dinner that night because he’s got Big Plans with The Boyz for the next weekend, which include AC/DC and Mojo Nixon and not ME. Which is good because I think I feel something coming on (NOT FLOOO! NOT FLOOO!).

No Mas

2009-10-27T21:02:00.001-05:00

Ten words or phrases I could go the rest of my life without ever hearing again:

1. hoax
2. swine
3. vampire
4. ear bud
5. fist bump
6. fauxhawk
7. 80s-inspired
8. statement game/style points
9. suck, sucks, sucked
10. Kardashian

Hurts. To. Type.

2009-10-25T17:56:00.004-05:00

Y'all. I can barely lift my arms, I'm so sore. I spent the better part of the past two days trimming the bushes, and I think I might croak. Never one to boast about any amount of upper body strength - like ZERO upper body strength - my shortcomings were only too apparent as I grunted and groaned my way through 10 bushes, some of which had grown to be taller than me. I know. I let it go too long. But it was HOT this summer, y'all. And we've only recently had rain, so the bushes had massive growth spurts in the last few weeks. At any rate, this plus four lawn bags is only a fraction of what me and my flabby guns took down:

Those ain't twigs either. Big-a-round as your thumb.

Lucky me, though. The neighbor urchin across the street entertained me for several hours with a recorder "concert" while she jumped on her trampoline, her little Bad Seed head bobbing up and down behind the fence as she screeched. Lovely.

All In The Family

2009-10-21T19:45:00.003-05:00

We were given the first Harry Potter book when Peach was about 2. Seeing as I could barely stay awake for three pages of People magazine, I put it away, intending to read it with her when she was older. As the subsequent books came out, I was either knee-deep in reading 24/7 for LawNerds or dozing off after Olive’s umpteenth request for Goodnight Moon, so we never bought any more of the books or saw any of the movies.

Then, when Peach was in her first year at GGMS, she found the first book in the school library and recognized it as “that book that Mommy always says we’re going to read together,” so she scooped it up and finished it in two days. Without me. After that, it was game on, and she blew through the rest of them in a matter of weeks. Without me.

The good thing about waiting as long as we did to even start the series was we never had to endure the agonizing wait between books – Peach just went one to the next, right through to The End. However, she read them SO fast that I, her weary mother, am still on Book 5, and she so wants me to finish that she can barely contain herself and keep from spoiling anything. Still, I’m lucky that I have such a wise and enthusiastic guide because that’s a fat lot of characters to keep up with. I’ve been reading the series aloud since Book 2, usually during bath time, so both Peach and Olive have been tutoring me in all things Hogwarts and just think it’s hysterical that I can’t get it all straight in my feeble Muggle mind. And as for the movies, once we determined that they weren’t tooooo scary (because, let’s face it, they kinda are), we’ve screened them all at home, with the exception of the latest release, which we ventured out to see on my birthday.

All this to say, I love these books* and these characters so much, I wish they could continue on forever. And live next door to me. And while I bit the bullet and saw the Book 6 movie before reading the book, I was still surprised by The Big Event therein because while I already knew it was coming (thanks to some a-hole DJ who blurted it out as I was flipping by his station one day), I assumed it was coming in Book 7. So I cried anyway and was in no way disappointed in the semi-lack of surprise – other than that The Big Event had to happen at all. Sniff.

And so it was that this morning, Mama Turista, the most ferocious of all readers, called me in tears on her way to jury duty. She just finished Book 6 in the wee hours last night, and I had to put Peach on the phone to talk her down.

* OK, J.K., I just have one criticism. Sometimes, your wonderfully imaginative descriptions tend to run on and on and on – all in one sentence. Which is difficult to follow if a: you’re dumb, like me, and can’t keep it all straight; and/or b: you’re trying to read aloud and not pass out in the middle of a most-critical Quidditch play or self-aggrandizing monologue by You-Know-Who. Just sayin’.

Of Antiquities and Infectious Disease

2009-10-07T20:36:00.004-05:00

I spent Friday and Saturday debit card-deep in field after barn after circus tent of antiques and crapola. Love! My taste level is always much bigger than my wallet, but I seem to be able to find some small bits of affordable grandeur – all about the illusion, doncha know. Like, I found this so-called “Bejewelled House” that has no idea the amount of embellishing I have in store for it:

Sweet, right? But it needs some attention, mainly of the German glass glitter variety. Big plans.

And I have lusted after this woman’s jewelry for several shows, and I finally found The Piece that spoke to me the loudest:

It’s called “Upward - the best place to look for guidance.” She displays everything on old photographs and then puts the name and what items she used on the back. Mine includes a crucifix from a Victorian rosary, for which I bent my no-rosaries-as-jewelry edict because it was just the cross after all. I wish she had a website to share, but I did find this. I predict more purchases in my future.

I also bought Peach a long-desired GIANT electric red petticoat, which I would photograph for you if she weren’t twirling around in it (again) as we speak. The search continues for a smaller one for Olive – all they had was pink, and I’m pretty sure we’ve got that covered.

So there I was, having a very successful solo outing Saturday morning, as the rest of my crew (wisely) hit the road before the impending deluge we all knew was coming. I was armed with my umbrella and mucky shoes, ready for the rain. And I made it through eight or so tents, no worse for wear, in about two hours. I’m fast like that. It was all going swimmingly, until … until. I got back to the car and couldn’t, for the life of me, find the GD key.

When I tell you I am anal retentive about losing, well, ANYthing, I’m talking Outer-Limits Loca, y’all. I’m still lamenting a baby sock of Peach’s that T-Bone lost at the laundromat almost 10 years ago. (It’s yellow, if you see it). So to say that I have ever, EVER, lost my keys, in 25 years of driving? Never even “misplaced” those sumbitches.

After frantically searching my bag (which only had four things in it to start with – sunglasses, wallet, lip balm, and car ke… shit), my pockets, and the surrounding area, it hit me. In my uber-preparedness, that of donning my mucky shoes as I sat in the back cargo area, I must have locked the car, set the key down to change, and left it there when I shut the hatch. I think. Right?

Fortunately, I was parked in the front row, right across from a gaggle of local gents who collect the parking/ticket fees. Included in the group was a local sheriff’s deputy, who I approached about a “tool for unlocking cars,” thinking it wise not to ask for a “Slim Jim,” lest I sound too “street.” Seriously. That’s the kind of shit I think about. Fast forward 90 minutes, during which time I’ve called T-Bone 17 times and become close personal friends with every member of The Gaggle (“I sure wish I could help you, darlin’. If your husband gives you any trouble about this, lemme talk to him.” As if.), and two more deputies show up – on horseback, of course - with “the unlock tools.” After a few kisses for the Appaloosa I was holding on to, they got it open, and all three of them converged on the car, looking for that GD key. Which, by this point, I had decided was in fact NOT in the car, but lost somewhere amongst the rows and rows of pretties I had spent two hours wandering through. And indeed, I was right. No GD key in the car.

They suggested I try the Lost and Found in the show office, but really, what was the point? That key was literally like a needle in the haystack because guess what they put all over the ground in the tents? And add more of when the first layer gets muddy because of all the rain? Yup. NOT needles.

But because I had about two hours to kill before T-Bone and las ninas could get there, and because it was across from the café tent where I intended to drown my sorrows in a basket of fried potato, I stopped by the show office. And as I was going in, an official-looking woman with a walkie-talkie was coming out, and she asked if I needed help. I said, “Well, I’ve lost my car key, and did any…” And she said, “Was it for a Kia?” And had it IN HER HAND. I almost started crying.

It’s all a blur now, but I just keep saying thank you and she kept saying it was her pleasure and something about she had just gotten it or something, meaning, even if I had gone straight there two hours earlier, the GD key wouldn’t have even been there yet. I think I hugged her, too. Not sure. Anyway, I galloped off, and when I got back to the top of the stairs leading down to the parking lot, I just stopped and held up the key. And The Gaggle erupted in cheers. Thanks and hugs all around, and I got the hell outta there.

And after all that excitement, imagine my delight when I woke up Sunday morning only to discover that I have The Strep Throat. Actually, I didn’t know it was The Strep Throat at first because I’ve never had it before, and I thought I was probably reacting to the flu shot I got on Friday. But by Monday, when my main symptom was that it felt like someone was shoving their fist down my throat every time I tried to swallow, and their fist was on fire and shooting needles into my neck, I decided to call in the professionals. The rapid test said “way positive,” so I’ve been on antibiotics ever since. No longer contagious, but you may want to wash your hands after reading this. And maybe I should have told you that to begin with.

Miss October

2009-10-01T20:55:00.006-05:00

Okay – ready? Riiight NOW. 12:11 pm (as I write this). Six years ago, at this moment, Olive came bounding into the world, and she’s been trailing our hearts behind her ever since. What a funny, precious, funny, smart, and funny girl she is. And “big,” too, as of today. She told me herself this morning.

As per usual, we started the day with a tiny heart-shaped chocolate cake in bed, then moved to birthday cards and a boot-shaped gift bag I threw in while ordering party favors for next weekend’s Cowgirl Extravaganza 2009. The bag came pre-packed with a few treasures, and I added some extra horses and cupcake lip gloss to the mix. I’m sure you’ll agree with Olive, as I did, when she pronounced this particular item “so creepy:”

We hauled Birthday Circle Treats to school and will have a celebratory dinner of veggie corndogs later. We’ll follow that with another cake, presents, and the Annual Treasure Hunt, at the end of which will be Olive’s own personal music player, loaded with the same 60s Dance Party tunes and Christmas carols as Peach’s. I mean, how cute is this thing?

So overall, a pretty awesome day, one that I know Olive will really enjoy. Thank Jeebus. After refusing to turn five last year, until I tempted her with riding lessons that you have to be six to take, she has talked of nothing else these past 12 months – so now I have to “pony up” (whaa, whaa) on my promise. We’re starting with four lessons, and we’ll see where it goes from there. Me and my big ideas.

Happy Happy Birthday My Love!

Yawn

2009-09-28T21:04:00.002-05:00

That’s me. Right now. Exhausted, y’all. It was all I could do to get out of bed this morning. I’m just beat.

Mostly because I got exactly 26 minutes of sleep Saturday night, out at the ol’ GGMS campsite. Barely. Controlled. Chaos. Start to finish. We’ve been before, and we’ve had fun before. But I think we’re done with the camping portion of the weekend. From here on out, we're going for the potluck and the sing-along and then we're gettin' the hell outta there.

First of all, there are a ton of kids. TON. And lots of space for them to run. And rocks to fall over and fireant beds to step in and puke-inducing berries to eat. All of which I’ve seen happen at least once in our past adventures. Plus there’s water, out of sight and way down a rocky hill, so the potential for danger is pretty good, in my estimation. And before you say it, I’m a sport, I really am. I love to go camping, and I don’t expect Peach and Olive to be tethered to my body at every moment when we’re in the Great Outdoors. It’s just that there’s a lot going on at every moment, and it’s hard to keep track of everybody amongst the throngs.

And for a community so focused on respect, it’s amazing to me how many parents let their kids run buckWILD all day, and leave it up to the rest of us to tell their mouthy urchins that 12:30 is a bit late to be screeching at each other around the campfire, especially since the great majority of the rest of us (including, conveniently, their parents) turned in around 9. Honestly.

So between the screeching urchins, the shushing parents, the overnight lows in the 50s, and the giant GD rock in my back that followed me wherever I rolled, I didn’t exactly wake up reborn. That said, I'm hitting the biscuit early. 'Night, y'all.

Mother’s Little Helper

2009-09-25T20:48:00.001-05:00

Seventeen times a day, I hear Olive say, “Can I help you in any way?” Really. She LOVES to help. She always has. In the kitchen. With the laundry. Scooping the cat poop. The list goes on.

I always have a little shadow following me around the house, dusting and straightening right along with me – even RE-dusting and RE-straightening things I just did! I am so ill with the OCD, this we know, but I think I may have met (birthed) my match.

The child’s feet have barely touched the floor in the morning before the bedsheets are pulled up, the quilt straightened, and the menagerie placed. Nearly every day, she painstakingly arranges her various treasure boxes and can recall in an instant where every rock, shell, and coin can be found. And the folding. My God, the folding. When I ask her to pick up her clothes or invite her to help with the laundry, it’s like observing an origami master class. And the other day, she sighed after spotting the stack of cloth napkins in the pantry because “somebody didn’t face them all the same way.” This after she proclaimed that “Daddy needs a lesson on how to load the dishwasher – this is a mess.” Okay, so maybe she overheard and just repeated that last one. Maybe.

And I know she’s the same way at school. This year especially, she’s been pouring on the assistance, helping with everything from extra gardening duties to Official Condolence Card-making for a series of pet losses the school staff has endured. She’s even taken to reading to “the little kids” before their departure, while the other “big kids” prepare for lunch. Her teachers have both pulled me aside to say what a huge help she is – always volunteering, always happily.

So this weekend is the GGMS campout, and knowing Olive, she’ll have the tent pitched, the fire built, and the marshmallows roasted before we can say “Kumbaya.”

Last Week in Random Pictures

2009-09-21T19:25:00.008-05:00

Ta-dah! I wanted “the one that flushes a bucket of golfballs,” and by God, we got it. And for a particularly disturbing video demo of its capabilities, go here.

Peach and Olive have magnetic notepads on the icebox for any lists or musings they need to record. For whatever reason (and who needs one, really?), this is currently on Peach’s:

This box used to contain four delicious cupcakes from Sugar Mama’s, which we devoured last week in celebration(?) of my One-Year Anniversary at The Job. The box now houses Olive’s paper airplane collection – that’s “Cherry Bomb” there on top.

Yeah, I decorated this weekend. Six weeks early. Shut it.

And finally, for Bookhart:

Two months later, and still flying high. I’m terrified it’s going to pop and deafen us all.

Growing Pains

2009-09-14T21:32:00.002-05:00

Right before school started, we did a routine closet overhaul and discovered that none of Peach’s tennis shoes fit. In fact, unless she could wear flip-flops or cowgirl boots to school, she would have to go barefoot. Like I did. In the snow. Uphill. Both ways. You, too?

So we set out to shoe this child and ended up with three pairs of Converse – two pairs of One-Stars (one brown, one black glitter - thanks, Target for the BOGO deal) and one pair of Chucks. She really wanted brown Chucks, but they didn’t have her size, which is 7.5(!), so I came up with the brilliant idea of getting white ones and letting her – as a one-time deal – draw all over them with fabric markers. She was sold, and we now have a darling pair of Special Edition Peach Chucks, which she ties up with a pair of my old rainbow shoelaces from junior high. Because I was cool like that. And they matched my Mork suspenders. You, too?

I see this rapidly growing flower of mine, and while she may look like she’s 12, she’s every bit of almost-10. When she isn’t buried in a book, she still plays – really plays – with Olive. They create the most awesome games and stories, and you can’t believe the outfits that go along with them. She plays with her dolls and other toys, none of which ever have to be plugged in. She’s not parked in front of a computer or asking for a phone or otherwise behaving any differently than I did at that age, despite our current culture’s best effort to turn her into a mini-adult.* She is just a joy to watch. And watch her we do, all the time, giving her the time and space to be a kid who is genuinely excited by the simplest things – like getting to draw on her tennis shoes.

* BTW, Big Media, I will fight you. I will fight you to the death if you keep this up.

Stinks Like Team Spirit

2009-09-11T18:29:00.002-05:00

Look, I love the Longhorns as much, if not more, than the next gal. I bleed burnt orange, and I truly revel in the knowledge that the Eyes of Texas are forever upon me. Really, I do. HOWEVER, I refuse to sell out my beloved alma mater (or my soul) every Friday during football season for “Jeans and Jersey Day” at The Job. Yeah. And are we going to have a GD pep rally in the quad, too?

First of all, somehow I think the team would be less-than-inspired by the sight of you in your burnt orange tanktop with the Longhorn head Bedazzled across your sagging, 60-year-old boobs, even if you pair it with your burnt orange spray tan and jaunty, bootleg baseball cap. Yes, a CAP. With a TANKTOP. At an allegedly professional place of BUSINESS. That TAXPAYERS are paying for.

Second, I realize that the thoughtful creators of Jeans and Jersey Day took great care to not limit the acceptable attire to just Longhorn gear, which allows my thriftier, fiercely independent co-workers to snatch up whatever NFL knock-offs happen to be on sale at Walmart that week. BUT wearing your torn-up “I’m a Buckin’ Broncos Mom” or “My Kid plays for the Screamin' Meamies Tetherball Team” t-shirt is really pushing it. Especially when your “kid” is now old enough to be serving in the military.

Finally, and probably – no, definitely – the most important point, how exactly is Jeans and Jersey Day different than any other GD day for you people? The only distinction I can see is that you actually dress UP for Jeans and Jersey Day, as a welcome break from those constricting sweat pants and glorified yard clothes you wear every other GD day.

Hear me now – I am no fashionista. I could give a flying fig, to a point, about other people’s fashion choices. I think Casual Fridays are a great idea, and I’m thrilled beyond measure that I can have a job in The Law and not have to wear pantyhose everyday. But the range of what constitutes acceptable and unacceptable work attire is far and wide over at The Job, and I’m telling y’all, having to witness the constant parade of “Business Slothful” roaming the halls, as a matter of daily course, just may be the end of me.

Hook ‘em, indeed.

Back To The Future

2009-09-03T17:51:00.002-05:00

One, ONE, good thing about The Job is that when I leave for the day or the week or for lunch even, I can turn “it” off and not think about “it” again until I return. Sometimes until well after I return. This makes for a clear mind while I’m away and makes it feel like I’ve been gone much longer than I actually have.

Por ejemplo, I checked out on Thursday, August 20th and checked in on Tuesday, September 1st, and I could swear I was gone a month. I was met with about 47 emails, most of which fell into the Someone Died, Someone Retired, Someone Was Promoted, Cake Party, Cake Party, Potluck, Cake Party categories. The one voicemail I had was counteracted by the one substantive email I had telling me to disregard the voicemail because it was misdirected to me. Of course it was. So other than the fact that one person was transferred to another department and a couple of new temps showed up, it seems to be business as usual at The Job.

At La Casa, however, we are in full-swing Back-to-GGMS mode. Peach and Olive started on Monday, and Peach’s review of the first day in her new classroom was, “It was so fun sometimes, it was like a dream. It’s going to be a great year – I’m going to have so much fun with math.” With MATH, people. And she likes Barbies, too, so there. Olive jumped head-first into her leader role and has decided to make it her personal mission to ensure that “the little kids” understand “the lunch protocol.” That girl.

During our little staycation (aren’t I trendy?), we had a jam-packed week of swimming, shopping, crafting, and lounging. We (re-)organized closets, filled our recycling cart with old school work (what little I could bear to part with, that is), and planned lunch menus from here until Christmas. We got the front door refinished (Praise Jeebus), bought a new toilet (glamorous!), and shopped for a new couch (maybe leathah?). And after all of our hard work and general busy-ness, we were rewarded on Friday with the arrival of our new sista-cuzzin, Baby E (named after my grandmother, Sweet E). We’re going to meet her this weekend and gift her and Opie with the tie-dye t-shirts T-Bone and Co. made for them. I mean really, is there anything better than New Baby Smell?

All in all, I had a wonderful time, reminiscent of the Good Ol’ Days – which are now almost a year ago! At this time last year, I was recovering from the Near-Deadly Seashell Incident and just generally kvetching about starting The Job and this new chapter in The Book of Turista. It’s turned out much better than I could have imagined, all things considered, but when I see folks around The Job getting their 20-year plaques and Cake Parties, all I can think is, “God help me. Don’t let that be me.” Stay tuned.

Peach and Olive’s Big Adventure

2009-08-19T18:09:00.002-05:00

Our First Summer Without Mommy At Home has almost come to a close, and I must say, it was a huge success. And nearly-pain-free, to boot (Emotional pain, I mean. Mine, to be exact.).

To recap: Peach and Olive first enjoyed a couple of weeks of dance camp and one week of Information Bible School. They kicked ass in their first horse show. They spent lots of quality time with both sets of grandparents and both great-grandmothers – the latter of which included assisting Mama Turista in the complete dismantling, painting, and reassembling of Abuelita Turista’s kitchen and living room (No small feat, that.). They traveled by car, boat, train, and Mule. And finally, they swam and swam and swam some more in the ocean, several rivers, and the nearby pool we joined for the summer.

They were on the go quite a bit, to the point that Peach told me she felt like “such a mommy” this summer, happily “taking care” of Olive when they were away. But thanks in large part to Mama Turista and my MIL, I was able to work 3- and 4-day weeks most of the time, without using vacation time, which means I’ll able to take off the WHOLE week next week to prepare for the Great Back-to-School Calf Scramble of 2009.

Peach is beyond excited about moving up to the Upper Elementary class (4th grade) this year, and Olive is more than ready to embrace her role as a Third-Year Leader (Kindergarten) in her Primary class. When I think we could potentially be darkening the doors of GGMS for six more years after this one (if Olive went all the way through Upper El), I am so thankful. Because beyond the loving arms of that place, I have no idea where we’ll end up, and I am, as they say, scared shite-less about it. I’ve got one year of peace, and then the work begins for finding the next perfect place for my precious little hearts and minds, and I pray (quite literally) that there is such a place. Even still, I’m mentally girding my loins as we speak.

For now, however, I’m just going to grab my girls and enjoy these last few lazy, hazy, crazy days. Stay cool, y’all.

You And Me Both, Sister

2009-08-17T23:56:00.004-05:00

As Peach and Olive and I squeezed onto The Tiny Couch upstairs (as opposed to The Window Couch in the kitchen or Mommy's Big Nice Couch in the living room) for a viewing of last night's Design Star, Olive plopped her little tootsies in my lap and said,

"Mommy, will you massage my feet? (pause) I need proper care."

KinderSpa, anyone? I'm looking for investors.

I Heart Big Government

2009-08-03T19:51:00.004-05:00

Thanks to President Rock Star, my Dogs in the Lege, and my 12-year old, 16-MPG-gettin’ Jeep Cherokee, T-Bone is the proud owner of a new coche.

We had to go to Big D to do the deal, but it was worth the headache and the AC-free drive up there to save a bunch of dough. See, The Bandit had been suffering from some age-related and cosmetic maladies for a while now (aren’t we all?), but when the AC went kaplooey, to the tune of several hundred dollars more than she was actually worth, we had to face facts. And then, Jeebus heard our prayers and created the CARS program (T-Bone gets mighty offended by the earlier “Cash For Clunkers” nomenclature), instantly raising The Bandit’s value to $4500. So how could we refuse?

Even still, I have a lot of sentimental value attached to that car – shocking, I know. I bought her right before we got married, and we traveled a lot of literal and figurative miles in her. We moved to our first three homes in her, and we brought Peach home from the hospital in her. In fact, The Bandit was our go-to car until Olive was born, and Papa Turista gifted us with The Beast, his behemoth Ford Expedition, which I love so much, I will drive until the wheels fall off – 14 MPG, be damned. Since then, The Bandit has served mostly as a commuter vehicle for T-Bone, just another in a long line of hand-me-downs he has happily driven over the years. He has never EVER had a brand new car of his very own – when I met him, the doll baby was driving his grandmother’s giant 1976 Buick, with a bumper sticker that said, “I’m an Aggie’s Grandma.” Instant love, I tell you. And that was only the FIRST grandma car he had, because later, he drove his other grandmother’s car for a while, which was in between driving my dad’s old company car and … The Bandit.

So we’ve all come a long way to get to this moment, and I was reliving a lot of it on the long, sweltering ride up to Dallas. I felt much like you do when you have to take a beloved pet to the vet for, you know, and they have no idea what’s about to happen, but you know it’s the best thing for them, and while you’re totally torn up about it, you feel a tiny bit of relief, too. Well, imagine that your pet has no AC, two jacked-up front windows that don’t roll down anymore, and a hatch door with blown-out hydraulics that keep it from staying open so that it literally tries to eat you every time you go to put something back there. Time to go that great Jeep Jamboree in the sky? I think so.

So, RIP dear Bandit.

And welcome to the family Soul Train.

P.S. Having just been through this experience, guess who's looking SO forward to seeing The Goods? Now, Used Cars is the gold standard when it comes to car biz movies, really any movies, so they Better. Bring. It.

Headin’ For The Hills

2009-07-30T21:07:00.001-05:00

Well, we made it through the birthday party, and it was so much fun, I could do it all over again this weekend. T-Bone transformed the backyard into a magical fairyland, and Karla May gifted us with some delicious food and her unique vocal stylings. You had to be there. We had a nice mix of old friends, neighbors, and new friends from T-Bone’s work, all of whom enjoyed a break from parenting for the evening. It all just felt so grown-up, but in a good way. Let’s do it again real soon, shall we?

This week has flown by, and now we’re blowing this popsicle stand for the Hill Country tomorrow. We’re going to Fredericksburg, by way of Dallas (yes, that Dallas – long story), to meet up with a smattering of the Turista Contingent for the weekend. Then next week, I’m taking a couple of days off to just hang out with Peach and Olive. No real plans as of yet, which is awesome. They’re both so excited about school starting, but we’ve still got a whole month to go, so I’ve got to keep this party going a while longer.

In other news, it’s HOT. The End.

She’s 41 And Her Daddy Still Calls Her Baby*

2009-07-23T08:04:00.002-05:00

He really does, all the time. So I love that song.

After not really wanting to celebrate the Big 4-0 last year, I’m over it and gearing up for a fun-filled weekend. First off, yesterday, the ladies at The Job made me a cake and got me the BIGgest birthday balloon you’ve ever seen. Like, weather balloon size. It requires two of those balloon weight thingies to hold it down. That big. I left work early to get my hairs did, and then we had an early celebratory dinner with my MIL. And it was Mama and Papa Turista’s 46th anniversary, so here’s to them as well.

Today, I’m gettin’ this birthday party started by refinancing our house! Whooo! Do I know how to throw down or what? Afterwards, Peach and Olive and I are going to hit the mall for a bit, where I’m thinking a Double Doozie cookie with icing may be in order. Later, we’re meeting T-Bone for dinner at, wait for it, Chuy’s, and then we’re off to see Harry Potter at the Drafthouse, with Butterbeer and the Hogwarts Express Candy Cart. Peach and Olive planned the whole evening themselves, and I think it’s perfect. I heart them so. And Dumbledore.

Fast forward to Saturday, and we’re having a real live grown-up party at the house. We haven’t had such a soiree since I was pregnant with Peach, so 10 years later, I thought we were due. All your favorites will be here – Karla May and BH, the Bookharts, the Televisions, and new homeowner, and now my neighbor, Miss Jaye. Las ninas will be spending the night with my in-laws, and while they’re looking forward to playing with their sista-cuzzins, they do love a party and want me to take note of all the goings-on. And because we’ve spent a lot of time preparing, when the (figurative) smoke finally clears on Sunday, I imagine I’ll be pretty spent, fat, and happy.

Hmm. Spent, fat, and happy. Words to live by, my friends.

* Delta Dawn. Obviously.

I Want Your Text. Not.

2009-07-20T17:52:00.003-05:00

While not exactly a Luddite, I am very technologically-challenged. Mostly by choice. Or out of laziness, whichever. Short of Internet surfing, emailing, and work stuff, the most “high-tech” thing I can do is send an evite. I know. I don’t have a smart phone. I don’t do Twitter or any social networking. And I don’t text. Call me crazy, but if I want to TALK to someone, I, um, CALL them on the PHONE. And really, just when did everybody get so GD important is what I want to know.

Again, it’s not that I’m against technology per se, and I can see the value in some of those things, but it’s all just so time-consuming. And the minute you learn one thing, they “improve” it, and you’ve got to buy/learn a whole new thing. I can barely work our DVR, and I’m still fascinated by Call Notes, so honestly, I think my plate is full.

Por ejemplo, Saturday, T-Bone went to Big D for his aunt’s funeral (the third person we’ve lost to cancer in as many months – however, Aunt J had been kicking lymphoma’s ass for 10 years. 10!). He left his phone behind, and while I was making breakfast for las ninas, it buzzed or chirped or whatever, and I saw that he had a text message from Rudy From Work. I haven’t met Rudy From Work yet, but I’ve heard a lot about him, and apparently, he loves T-Bone and considers him his Work Dad. Ouch. Anyway, the message was asking about an event they had on Friday that Rudy From Work missed. I thought, I don’t want him to think T-Bone is ignoring his message, surely I can figure out how to respond. Yeah. No.

First of all, it was not my phone, so I could hardly open or activate it, let alone find any kind of menu button. Next, it doesn’t have a keyboard that shoots out anywhere, so I had to find everything on the number buttons. Finally, I had to compose and re-compose the message in my head several times because, sometimes, I tend to be a little long-winded. Ahem.

Anywho, here’s what happened:

RFW: How was the event yesterday?

LT: Okay, I’ll start with “Rudy.” Now where are the punctuation buttons? Should I put a dash or a period? Maybe an exclamation point? How do I capitalize? Wait, what’s this button? Shit! All I sent was “Rudy.”

RFW: Is that a question?

LT: Dangit! Okay, starting over. “Sorr…”

RFW: And yes, it’s Rudy.

RFW: I can’t believe I’m gone for a few days, and you’ve already forgotten who I am.

By that point, with all the rapid fire buzzing and chirping, I was so flustered and laughing so hard, I was a crying mess in a heap on the floor. With Peach and Olive standing over me, surely considering if they should implement their 911 phone training. A few seconds later, T-Bone’s phone rang – how novel is that?! – and yes, it was Rudy From Work calling. I had to pull myself together to answer, and I know I confused, and probably frightened, the hell out of him as I explained the situation. He laughed and was very sweet, but his first impression of Work Dad’s old lady is probably not the greatest, I’m thinking.

So there you have it, children. Tune in next time for “Reasons Why I Hate Facebook.”

Sweatin' To The Oldies

2009-07-16T17:45:00.003-05:00

Here's how much I love my children. And musical theatre. We're heading off right now to see the OUTdoor production of The Music Man at the Zilker Hillside Theatre.

Current temp in the ATX: One-OMG-Two.

To The Victor

2009-07-13T18:02:00.002-05:00

Goes the golden trophy. Actually, two golden trophies and two big ribbons. The horse show was a great success – albeit a four-hour test of will and personal constitution as we were sitting on backless bleacher seats in a sweltering roping arena for most of the day. It was covered, and there were fans, but still. Sweat dripping down into all my nooks and crannies. The time really went by pretty fast, considering, and Peach and Olive had a ball watching the other classes, especially the DRIVING classes, where they hook the little minis up to carts and grown people in costumes drive them around. It was awesome.

Olive took first and second place in her classes, and Peach took second in hers – which was really amazing since hers were open classes, meaning she was competing against adults with a lot more experience. The horse they showed was a total hambone, so he ended up taking Grand Champion in several classes, and they covered him with ribbons and kisses. I was so proud of them, and I swear Olive would have slept with her trophies if I let her. God help me, I even entered a raffle for a horse, which is about the only way we’ll ever become the proud owners of one. They come with live-in stablehands, right?

I was so glad Abuelita Turista could join us for the weekend, and we took our trophies and our tales over to my other grandmother, Sweet E, Saturday evening. That girl – 97 years old – and still sharp as all get out. As soon as she saw me, she said, “Well, how do you think Sotomayor’s going to do in the hearings?” Amazing. Honestly, how lucky am I that I have these two wonderful women in my life and that Peach and Olive get to know them and love them as much as I do. Methinks we’re all winners here.

Over. It.

2009-07-09T21:40:00.001-05:00

Enough with the heat, already. I mean, 106? Really? 100 plus for several days – weeks, even – and rain is just a distant memory. So yeah, we get it. It’s HOT. Move on.

One of the worst by-products of all this heat, besides my absolutely pathetic yard, is my extremely PUNCHY mood. While Peach and Olive have been living it up with Mama T at Abuelita T’s the past week, T-Bone and I have been trying to tackle some things on the Never-Ending Home Improvement List, most of which are, of course, outside. So it’s been a real crapstorm of fun up in here, I have to say. We get one thing done, but then it only makes something else look like hell, so there’s hardly time to bask in our accomplishments before I’m raging about our corner-cutting builder and their all-star team of incompetents. Seriously – did you really think the grass would grow where you laid the sod on top of leftover concrete? Because it’s thriving so much more over there, on top of the broken glass and re-bar. And I really love, LOVE!, your keen ability to get overspray on every inch of trim and window on the house – such a joy to clean! All of this to say, I am out for BLOOD, y’all.

The good new is, Peach and Olive are coming home today, just in time to gear up for their Miniature Horse Show this weekend. Yes, MINIATURE. And honestly, I may just scrap any further plans for the backyard and turn that mutha into a pasture. With a tank I can fill with shaved-ice, 24/7. Ahhh.

Still Processing

2009-06-28T14:16:00.010-05:00

I've tried writing this post several times over the past few days, but I just couldn't decide what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it. I still can't decide.

I've loved Michael Jackson since I was a little girl, sitting in Abulelita Turista's den, listening to my aunt's Motown 45s. I've grown up with him - sang with him, danced with him, screamed for him, cried for him, and through it all, I've marveled at his talent, his passion, and his power.

I remember skating to Off the Wall tracks and later watching MTV all night just so I could pick up a few more steps from the Thriller video. I wore out a Jacksons Live double cassette (yes, children, cassette) when I first started driving, and I paid $20 for a ticket STUB from the Victory Tour:

Yeah, so the face value was $28, but I was at camp and so sad to miss the show, so it was worth it in 1984 dollars. A few years later, though, I finally got the chance to see him live, and it was better than even I, the one crying in the cheap seats, could have ever imagined:

Songs that I had heard at least a million times sounded fresh and new, and the whole place was captivated by the spectacle. "Human Nature" still really stands out in my mind - mostly because it was never one of my favorites, but it became one that night. And as much as that other MJ, Mick, works the stage from start to finish every night, Michael worked it AND transported you. It was truly awesome.

I'm still not sure what to think - or how to feel - about all of this, but I've made a point to watch exactly ZERO coverage of anything remotely related to it. T-Bone was the first to alert me of the news, and besides reading a couple of initial reports on CNN.com, I've tuned out the rest of the bloodsuckers. Which is odd for me, because up to this point, I've probably seen every interview, report, and special that's ever aired. But now? I've got my own memories and my own favorites, and I don't need to be reminded of the equal-parts circus and tragedy that his life had become.

In my most fervent fan days, when my best friend P and I wanted to marry MJ, I wore one or both of these pins nearly every day:

So talented, so handsome, so seemingly normal. I've been missing him for a while now, which makes this new development that much more upsetting. And confusing.

My Two Cents

2009-06-23T22:23:00.002-05:00

Y'all know I've had my problems with Kate, right? I mean, homegirl has changed a lot in the last year or so. I used to love it, back in the day, in that tiny house, when she was SO anal about organization and schedules, and there were post-its papering the walls. I LOVED that.

Then came the book deals and the obnoxious product placement and the tanning and the heels with every outfit and, as always, The Hair - now with more spikes! Even so, I genuinely believe she is hurting, and after The Announcement episode last night, I am totally on her side.

As for Jon, good luck with that mid-life crisis at 32. And nice diamond earrings, douche. Also, you're bald under those plugs.

Stunted

2009-06-19T11:40:00.002-05:00

That’s how I’m feeling at The Job these days. Of course, I’m so happy to have a job in this market and am thrilled to be working part-time. But the actual work itself? Meh, with a capital MEH. I pretty much learned everything I’ll ever need to know within the first two weeks. After that, it’s just rinse, repeat. For close to year now, can you believe it?

Now, if they were paying me a boatload of money, I might not be complaining. I could just punch in every day, keep my head down, and wake up 20 years later and be ready to retire. Which is what a lot of folks do around there. The air is thick with complacency, let me tell you. And that’s why I think, I hope, that even if they were paying me a boatload of money, I would still feel restless. I mean, if I’m going to do this whole Working Mom thing, I don’t want a Job, I want a Career.

To that end, I’ve never quit searching the job postings and putting out feelers for a Career. I kind of fell bassackwards into legal writing, so Drama degree and awesome courtroom antics aside, legal writing is my thing, specifically appellate law. I always did well on my writing assignments in law school, but I wasn’t on law journal, and I graduated nowhere near the top of my class. Even so, I somehow landed my first job based on my writing sample and jovial interview, and I loved every minute of it. I quickly learned that there are a lot of crappy writers making bank in the legal world and that, quite often, prisoners are better writers than attorneys. See, legal writing is not that glamorous, unless you get to present oral arguments, so most people do it begrudgingly, for better or worse. Which is kind of funny, actually, because oral arguments are really just a big show, a chance for judges to ask questions about what you or other people have written. What’s written is what gets laws made, not the dog-and-pony act. So I decided that if a person has any aptitude for good legal writing, they should do humanity a favor and pursue it. And that’s how I found my wheelhouse.

And that’s what led me to LawNerds. And that’s what led me to The Job. And that’s what, hopefully, will lead me to The Career. Actually, I’m a bit frustrated with that last part because there have been some opportunities over the past few years that I feel like I wasn’t properly considered for, especially since my area of expertise is so specific. At the state level, there are really just two Top Prizes in this type of law - one of which I've already worked for, and one, perhaps foolishly, I’ve had my eye on for years. Again, wasn’t on law journal, wasn’t in the top of my class, didn’t go to a “top tier” law school (however, we are nationally-recognized for our social justice programs, which I find makes for a very low Future Asshole Lawyer Rating, which really should count for something). BUT I can write my way around anything and managed to land a pretty prestigious gig right out of the gate, so gimme a break. I’ve applied a handful of times over the years, as have millions of others I’m sure, and I can’t help but feel like my transcript is what does me in every time. Not so much what’s on it, but what’s not on it. It doesn’t bear the crest of some ivy-covered institution or even my beloved undergraduate alma mater, and it sure as hell doesn’t say “cum laud” of any variety. But, really? That’s all you’re looking at Top Prize Prize Patrol? Not my PUBLISHED writing sample? Not my STELLAR references? Not my resume of TWICE the years of DIRECT experience preferred for this position? And I don’t even get an interview to charm you with my nerdy legal anecdotes? I know they have to cut down the field somehow, but I defy you, Prize Patrol, to find someone who will work harder, work faster, and work better than me. NOT possible. And while my crippling lack of self-confidence usually keeps me and my crazy aspirations pretty well in check, I ain’t playin’ around on this. You will have me, Top Prize. Before I am old(er) and gray(er), you WILL have me, and you will see what you’ve been missing. And I will laugh my ass off.

Okay, Universe. Make it happen.

So Far, So Good

2009-06-15T19:43:00.002-05:00

We made it through the First Week of Summer ’09 with flying colors. Dance camp was a great success, we hit the pool a couple of times, and we enjoyed a quick but violent dousing of rain Thursday night. My crunchy grass was so thankful.

Speaking of, I hate Bermuda grass (which the builder planted in the green space that butts up to our yard). I also hate St. Augustine grass (which the builder did a craptacular job of planting in our front yard and which I would love to set fire to). So you can imagine my disdain for the effing Bermuda that has invaded my GD St. Augustine and now has designs on my flower beds. Really, I’m all about organic gardening, and we’ve had great success with it up to this point, but I will not hesitate to go hardcore chemical on that shit if it doesn’t BACK OFF. We’ve pulled, we’ve dug, we’ve covered, we’ve cursed, and STILL, it wants to get up close and personal with my roses and lantana. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit back and let it happen. So, you’ve been warned, Bermuda grass.

Also, T-Bone has been working his little patootie off getting our porches ready for painting. Because June in Texas is the perfect time to undertake big outdoor projects. We’re just doing the floors at this point, but it takes a lot of prep work, so my BIL lent us his powerwasher to make semi-quick work of it. That thing is awesome! I’m just looking around for more things to powerwash before we have to give it back.

So between yard work, porch work, and a ninja cleaning of la casa on Sunday, this old gal is hurtin’, y’all. My MIL is here helping us out for a few days, and I may have to defer my pool duties to her this week. As great as the water would feel, I literally don’t have the strength to wrestle with my bathing suit, which is a whole ‘nother story. Nightmare, really.

Summer Job

2009-06-08T17:27:00.004-05:00

So today marks what I consider the first day of summer and the first summer EVER that I haven’t been home with Peach and Olive. Even when I was working for LawNerds, I was at least working from home, so this is the first time that I’ve really felt like a Working Mom since I started The Job in September. Up until now, they’ve been at school while I’m at work, so I had a pretty good idea of what they were doing every minute of the day. But for the next three months, not so much.

We’ve started off The New Normal(?) with a week of dance camp – Disney Princesses for Olive, Broadway Divas for Peach – which culminates in a “show” on Friday. Next week, “Information” Bible School (per Olive), which wraps up with a family picnic after Mass on Saturday. Then, the REAL fun begins.

With a schedule more managed and obsessed over than Obama’s, Peach and Olive are hitting the road this summer, with stops in all parts of the Lone Star State. They’re spending time with grandparents, great grandmothers, brutha- and sista-cuzins, and a brand spanking new cousin, due to arrive in August. Part of the time, they’ll be here entertaining their visitors, and part of the time, they’ll be living out of suitcases. And they couldn’t be more excited. Luckily, since the Powers That Be at The Job let me cut back to 30 hours a week (which I’m still thanking my lucky stars for) AND they’re pretty flexible on when those hours are, I’ll be able to condense my weeks, and then join them for 3-day weekends wherever their tour happens to stop. We’re not going to Colorado this summer (sniff), so I’ll be taking days off here and there instead of in a clump. And the way it looks now, I’ll be working, at most, 4-day weeks for the majority of the summer, without using much vacation time, which is kind of awesome I have to say. But of course I’d rather be at home with Peach and Olive, planning fun-filled days on our wide open schedule, but duty (and law school debt) calls …

And The Painted Ponies Go Up and Down

2009-06-04T20:22:00.002-05:00

Well, it’s official: Peach is a 4th grader and Olive is a Kindergartner. Yesterday was the last day of school and the annual GGMS “Gates of Life” ceremony. Every year, we gather in the auditorium, a group of parents form a tunnel for the “graduates” to run through one at a time while the rest of us chant their name, and then they land in the open arms of their teachers. After everyone who is “moving on” goes through the Gates, the teachers serenade us with Joni Mitchell’s The Circle Game. And everyone weeps. It’s adorable.

Olive will be in the same class next year, but Peach is moving upstairs with the “big kids,” so she actually took a stroll through the Gates this time. Her teacher called her name last, and a roar came up from the crowd as she made her way to the front. I really thought she might cry because she LOVES her teacher so, but she was just too excited and probably taken aback by the reaction when her name was called. I got some cute pictures and video (natch), and then we waved goodbye to GGMS for the next three months.

T-Bone and I took the day off, and Mama Turista came up for the festivities, so by noon, we were ready for a celebration. First stop, Molly’s Sno Cups! Yeah, it was lunchtime, so what? See, we had to kill some time before our 1:45 movie, and we didn’t want to spoil our popcorn appetite with anything stupid like LUNCH, so shaved ice covered in sugar syrup was an obvious choice. We hadn’t hit this particular stand before, mostly because their parking situation is horrendous, but I have to say, they know what they’re doing over there – nice texture to the ice, judicious amounts of juice all the way to the bottom – I’d give ‘em a top score of Five Brain Freezes. Plus, they donate all profits to the Children’s Hospital, so swing by sometime this blazing hot summer.

Next, we went to the Drafthouse to see Night at the Museum II. I loved the first one, and I think I love this one just as much, if not more. Plus, before the show, the Drafthouse always shows random clips somehow related to the movie, so for this, they had several sketches from the old Ben Stiller show, including B-Minus Time Traveler with Janeane Garofalo – hilarious.

After the movie, we hit Hobby Lobby for some craft supplies and the teacher store for some summer workbooks. Honestly, is there anything more awesome than a store full of school supplies? I didn’t think so. In fact, Peach and Olive were so excited, we had the lady at the counter sharpen their new pencils so they could crack open their workbooks in the car on the way home. THAT excited. A mere three-plus hours after school ended for the summer.

We ate an early dinner at the delicious Hyde Park, and dangit if those french fries aren’t still some of the best you’ve ever had. I don’t know how they do it, but God love ‘em for it. We left there fat and happy and ready to settle in for the night.

After such a full day, I expected to have some late sleepers and lazy bums at home today, but as I left at 6:45 this morning, there was Peach, in her bed with her booklight on, tackling another page in her new workbook. With Olive looking over her shoulder.

And the seasons they go round and round.

MIA

2009-06-01T17:28:00.002-05:00

Our home phone is apparently on the fritz, which I found out last night when, while talking to his mom on his cell, T-Bone informed me that MY mom had called his brother and his mom looking for us because she hadn’t been able to reach us for two days. I realized then that I had turned my cell off at Mass yesterday morning and forgot to turn it back on, and T-Bone had left his cell in the car for most of the weekend. Anywho, the whole thing set off a Turista Family APB because if you ever want to throw my people into a tizzy, appear to be missing for a few hours.

I have to say, however, part of it stems from the fact that my aunt was actually kidnapped when she was 18, so nothing sets off Abuelita Turista more than not knowing where you are, or where she expects you to be, at any given moment. (As for my aunt, she escaped from the guy, unharmed, about 12 hours later, and when they finally got him, her testimony helped put him in the pen, which happened to be in the exact same town the genius was taking her to. Oh, the irony.).

The other part of it stems from the fact that I talk to Mama Turista at least once a day, and Abuelita at least once a week (she’s got a tight schedule, y’all, what with Bridge, Chicken Foot, Kiwanis, and Altar Guild), so if they can’t get me by home phone OR cell, that could be considered cause for alarm. Especially if you’re a worrier Drama Queen like me. Plus, Peach has been ailing with unexplained stomach pains for the past week (no, it’s not her appendix, and the doctor just recommended that she throw back some Tums for a few days – thoughts?), so when I finally talked to my mom last night, she said her first thought was that we might have gone to the hospital. And as she had been on the Hotline with the rest of The Clan throughout the week, as per usual, everyone was on high alert, and there were NINE messages on our Call Notes, just from Mi Familia Loca, from the past 24 hours. Three of which were from Abuelita, all of which sounded something like this:

Peach? Peach, this is Abuelita. I was just looking for your mommy. I’ve been trying to get in touch with y’all. Are you ever home? Tell your mommy or your daddy to call me. This is Abuelita. Okay. Be careful. Love you. Be careful. Okay. Bye bye.

Peach’s voice is on our message, so every time Abuelita calls, she addresses her message to Peach. Much like she did to T-Bone when his voice was on our message. Every time. I know she knows she’s not really talking to them and that she’s leaving a message, and I’ve told her on MANY occasions that I’m pretty much the only one who ever actually listens to the messages, but do I ever get a shout-out? Hells no.

But we’ve got it all straight now. Everyone is present and accounted for, all being careful. Now all I have to worry about is those two “solicitors” who were roaming the neighborhood this weekend, who I didn’t entertain when they rang our doorbell on Saturday, who were probably casing the joint as I stared at them through the upstairs blinds, and who probably cut the phone line and are cleaning us out as I type this at The Job, knowing the alarm will alert no one since the phone line is down. Perfect.

Hairstory

2009-05-26T21:14:00.002-05:00

For the most part, Peach has always had a chin-length bob, save for the last couple of years when she grew it out over the school year for Perfect Ballet Bun purposes. As soon as she came off the stage at her recital on Saturday, she declared, “I can’t wait to get my hair cut!” So off we went the next day, and she returned home with the Hairdo of Her Youth.

As a baby, she was pretty much bald until she was 2. Then, when her hair finally came in, it was in ringlets. We’re talking Shirley Temple, folks. It was adorable and quite surprising, at least to me, because I always just assumed my children would have stick-straight hair like I did (until this very unfortunate Ted Nugent thing happened a few years back. Gah.). Turns out, T-Bone was one of those pretty-boy babies, with the big eyes and the big curls, who was constantly mistaken for a girl. So Peach got those genes (plus the dimple in the chin), and we went about our days with people always commenting on her curls.

As she’s gotten older, her hair has gotten thicker and more relaxed, so we’re down to a nice amount of body and twice as much hair as I could ever dream of having. When it’s longer, she mostly wears it in a ponytail or headband, but she’ll still indulge me when I want it up on one side with a big ol’ bow, just like the old days. She’s good like that. And it somewhat distracts me from the sobering fact that the child is officially 5 feet tall. Have I mentioned?

So Sunday, after much fixing and admiring and tossing of the hair post-cut, Peach came to me and said:

Mommy, when I look in the mirror now, I see the girl in all those pictures in my old scrapbooks. This is the girl on her first day of preschool. This is the girl riding her little pink scooter. This is the girl holding her newborn baby sister. This is that girl!

Could you just weep? Well, apparently, so could Olive, because at bedtime that night, she started to get upset, and when I asked her what was wrong, she said:

O: Well, (sniff) I’ll tell you. I was just looking at Peach, (sniff) with her new haircut. And well, (sniff) I just started remembering (sniff) when I was younger, (sniff) when I was a baby, (sniff) and she had that hair. (sniff) It just brings me back to memories (sniff) of my younger days, (sniff) when she would hold me, (sniff) and it just makes me cry.

LT: Oh, me too, sweet angel. But happy tears, right?

O: Yes, (sniff). Happy tears. (sniff) It just takes me back to memories.

What to do with these sugar lumps of mine. What to do.

Mad Granola Love

2009-05-21T21:17:00.002-05:00

We’re in End-of-the-School-Year mode around here, as are many of you, I’m sure. Last weekend, Peach had a ballet demonstration, and this weekend, she and Olive have a dance recital of the more dog-and-pony show variety. And guess who volunteered to be the Backstage Mom? Yup.

This week, we had two Cultural Challenges at GGMS. Olive’s class program was “inspired by the presidential election, and the promise of change,” so they sang “This Land is Your Land,” an MLK song, and, a GGMS favorite, “We Shall Overcome,” with the handwaving and the swaying and everything. Individual performances included a cello piece, counting and naming the colors in Chinese, a jump rope routine, and several gymnastics demos. They tied the whole thing up with a square dance to “Zippity Do Da” and a conga line out the door.

For her class, Peach chose to recite “I Carry Your Heart With Me” by e.e. cummings in honor of her last year in Lower Elementary. We also enjoyed stilt walking, jokes with puppets, a traditional Indian folkdance, “The Lion Sleeps Tonight” in French, and, my favorite, a brother/sister duo opening the show with “Redemption Song.” How cool is that?

Do you see why I LURVE this place so? Sigh.

Yes, It Goes Without Saying

2009-05-11T20:25:00.004-05:00

I hate cancer.

Last month, we lost a dear friend of the family to lymphoma. Sharon was a vibrant mother and grandmother who literally lit up the room, and she hugged you like she meant it.

Yesterday, one of my oldest school pals lost his beautiful daughter after an 18-month battle with a brain tumor. Bailey was smart as a whip and so funny, and she loved to dance. She was 12.

I know all of us have been touched or, more likely, hurt by cancer, and on a day like today, that just makes me so goddamn mad.

The Week In Bullets

2009-05-08T22:05:00.004-05:00

Not that anything THAT exciting has been going on the past week or so, but I feel that my latest experiences and ponderings can best be delivered in bullet point format. Also, I’m lazy.

Last Wednesday, we hosted T-Bone’s parents the night before they were due to leave for Ireland for two weeks. The morning of their departure, at 5:30 AM to be exact, my MIL realized they had left their PASSPORTS at home. A mere 3.5 hours away. Each way. And their plane was at 11:50 AM. Long story short, my FIL met their neighbor about halfway there and beat it back here just in time for them to board. It was all quite exciting – albeit a tad baffling. How do you NOT have your passports with your tickets? – but it all worked out, and they’re so enjoying the Emerald Isle. God bless anyone within earshot of them though, because they’ll have to listen to that whole story, over and over. And over.
GGMS was closed Friday – not because of the Swine Flu, relax – so Mama Turista kept Peach and Olive at her house for the weekend. After work, T-Bone and I hit some of our old haunts, worked in the yard, and caught a movie at the Drafthouse. We picked up las ninas on Sunday at Opie’s belated birthday party. Baby pool + slip-n-slide + post-cupcake sugar crash = two tired and dirty birds.
Lots of action at The Job this week. Some of which was planned, some of which was not. None of it really effects me (does anything at that place?), other than that I might have to move out of the Fortress (which, except for the frostbite, I would actually miss). And it stings a little when we get dogged in “that GD liberal media of ours” (or, so I’ve heard in the breakroom). Whatevs.
Peach and I spent Tuesday at the lake with the rest of the GGMS 3rd years, celebrating the end of school and their last weeks in Lower Elementary. Peach LOVES her teacher something awful, so even though she’ll just be upstairs next year, I know she’s going to miss Miss C a bunch. We had a great day, swimming and running about, and at the Official Nicknaming Ceremony, Peach was christened, “Grasshopper.” I can’t imagine why. The tradition includes some sailing, but after great effort was put into assembling the sail and readying the boat, the boom fell off and snapped in half, right in the middle of The Safety Talk, which quickly turned into The Lesson About Flexibility and Perseverance. In the end, we decided on “parade rides” around the campsite, which looked a little something like this:

See that blue stuff, kids? That's called a "lake."

This weekend, we’re gearing up for a Beatles cover band show tonight and Peach’s ballet demonstration tomorrow. Sunday is Mama’s Day, so be sure you do something sweet for yours. And if anyone’s asking, yes, a tub of vanilla icing would be perfect.

My Big Fat Fiesta Weekend

2009-04-28T21:47:00.002-05:00

Well, we did it and we did it up right. We ate more Mexican food in three days than I have in several weeks – and I loves me some Tex-Mex, y’all, but DANG. On Sunday, M and I snuck in one last beany, cheesy lunch before I put her on the plane, and my teeth actually hurt from crunching so many chips. THAT much Mexican food.

We started at Chuy’s (natch) for lunch right after they landed on Thursday and then wrapped up that night at The Oasis. I haven’t been there since The Fire, and my stars, that place is huge now. The food still stinks (whatever, new “chef”), but the view is still worth the drive – even though the lake is SO low. We saw lots of little sandbars that are normally underwater, and I thought, who KNOWS what kind of stuff surfaces out there when the levels are down like that. Especially considering we were a stone’s throw from Hippie Hollow (NSFW, that one). Eww.

Friday, we stopped by to wish Opie a Happy 2nd Birthday and to rub my SIL’s belly for luck. We followed up with lunch with one of our old crew (always good for a laugh) before a drive around town, the Memory Lane Tour, if you will. We cruised the old neighborhood, the old schools, the old haunts, and recalled the old characters we used to know. It was fun, if not a little sad, and at times, it felt like we had just been there. Weird. We took a few minutes to decompress and then girded our loins for the evening’s trip to NIOSA.

Having M and T here reminded me of two things: how much fun we have together and how much I heart Sand and Stonio. The city is so beautiful and the people are so friendly – granted, most of them were about half in the bag the entire week, which may have affected the vibe a wee bit. But with as many people as there were crammed into downtown, and with as much cerveza as there was a-flowin’, it’s pretty amazing that we didn’t see any fisticuffs or other nefarious activity. We did see one pretty gnarly lovers’ quarrel going on right next to one of the 8 billion Roasted Corn booths at NIOSA, and M alerted the rent-a-deputy standing nearby because we really weren’t sure which one of them was going to start swinging first. We also nearly lost our lunches (and our lives) in a human traffic jam somewhere between the Anticuchos and the Churros – it was like, out of nowhere, everybody in La Villita decided to hit this particular intersection at the exact same time, and we literally could not move. And how lucky that we were nose to nose and privates to privates with half the city right in the middle of the Swine Flu outbreak. We left soon after.

Saturday, we spent the day at the King William Fair, which I haven’t been to in a month of Sundays. It’s like a daytime NIOSA, but with dogs and crafts. And every fabulous guy in town. It’s awesome. That neighborhood reminds me a lot of the Garden District in New Orleans, so I just walked around pointing at houses, “I want that. I want that. I want that, too.” Even among the throngs, we ran into one of my best friends from high school, so it really felt like old home week.

After a spin through El Mercado (You can all relax. I finally found that plastic papel picado I’ve been looking for. The one with the horse!), we hit the legendary La Fogata to celebrate T’s birthday (she’s 29 – again. And again. Plus 10.). Mama and Papa Turista joined us, and I swear, those two had more fun than anybody, just hanging out and catching up with their prodigal daughters. Plus, they really are a comedy show themselves, what with Papa and his food issues (I have never seen ANYone have so much trouble at a restaurant. He’s so predictable, I could make big money betting that something will be “wrong” with his food. EVERY time.) and Mama and her patience of Job. We shoveled in some chocolate cake back at la casa and called it a night after that. Come Sunday morning, it was time to face facts and pack up for home.

Olive has been singing that “Make new friends, but keep the old …” song at school, and it is so fitting for M and T. We live states apart, and only see each other every few years, but we can pick up right where we left off and laugh and laugh until the cows come home. When I woke up Monday morning, I really missed them not being here, and I’m already looking forward to our next adventure. Because while I do love silver, these two are my gold.

They're At It Again

2009-04-22T19:10:00.002-05:00

Tomorrow, M and T, of Vegas fame, are coming to town for the weekend. We haven’t seen each other since that fateful trip, but we keep in regular(?) contact via email. In the interim, T had a baby, M started a catering business, I went back to work, and we’ve all turned 40, so we’ve got a lot of kvetching to do.

We’re headed to SA on Friday for Fiesta, and we’re staying at Casa Turista. Mis padres couldn’t be more excited - two of their “own,” returning to the nest. Now the last time we all did Fiesta together, it was 19-8-frickin’-4(!), and I seem to remember that one night, after several contraband wine coolers at NIOSA, one of us flashed passersby from the car as we were driving home. I believe one of us was still sporting a sweet rattail at the time, and one of us was marching in a parade. I'll leave it for y'all to sort through that.

Can't wait to see how it all shakes out. Viva Helio Vasquez!

Love Your Mother

2009-04-21T21:06:00.002-05:00

In honor of Earth Day, an original poem by Peach, age 9.

Magic

The trees are magic
They can change colors.
Gray in winter winds,
Brown in summer sun,
Red in autumn fun.

The birds are magic.
They sing sweetly, shrilly,
Angrily, tenderly, sadly.
Clouds are magic.
They can be circles,
Wisps, or large masses.

The sea is magic.
It will crinkle, wrinkle,
Bump and rage.
And now, yes now, I shall
Reveal the point of this poem:
Mother Nature is magic -
Keep her alive.

What she said.

Weekend Re-Cap

2009-04-20T22:16:00.002-05:00

Peach had a change of heart about the big musical audition – and I can’t say I blame her. I HATE musical auditions. Really, auditions in general are worse than job interviews, even though that’s kind of what they are. There’s a lot of secret science to it, most of which is totally beyond your control, and you are fully aware of that every time. So why in the hell do we do it? “They” know within about 10 seconds if they’re even going to pretend to listen to you for the next two minutes, let alone give you a part in their precious production. It’s very adversarial if you ask me. And at no time has anyone ever in the history of the theatre been as afraid about a performance as they have about an audition. Okay, maybe if they were about to be thrown to the lions as part of the “show.” But otherwise, never. Anyway, if she had gone through with it and gotten a part, we would have spent the majority of our summer living The Music Man everyday, so it’s probably for the best.

Seeing as we had more free time on Saturday than I had planned on, we had a craft extravaganza – lots of painting and drawing and gluing – while I dismantled the Easter decorations. GGMS’s annual spring campout was this weekend, but after the rain we’ve had, we decided against going out there and setting up our tent in the knee-high mud. I’m a sport and all, but gimme a break. Plus, I had plenty to do in preparation for a very special event later this week, which I will save for another post.

We spent yesterday celebrating the Television Twins’ First Communion. When we got to the house, they ran out to greet us in their fancy duds. I asked the first twin (the sensitive sugar bear), “Were y’all waiting for us to see your suits before you changed?” And he said, “Oh, no. I don't mind.” (even though you could tell he did) While the second twin (the all-boy whirling dervish) answered with an emphatic, “Yes! Now we can get out of these clothes!” And they had the coolest little ties I’ve ever seen – instead of the old clip-on, they have a zipper hidden in the knot, so you just put it on and zip it up – perfect knot every time. How awesome is that? I played with one all afternoon. The end.

The Old Man is Snoring

2009-04-17T18:35:00.002-05:00

And I ain’t just talking about the raining and the pouring that we’re finally getting today.

T-Bone, God love him, snores. Not like a rattle-the-house snore, just your typical sawing logs snore. If you happen to be using a chainsaw on said logs. Usually it happens when he’s sleeping on his back, so if it wakes me up, I just tell him to roll over on his side, he does, and it stops. Usually. Last night, however, it woke me up, I told him to roll over, he did, and it didn’t stop. So then I told him to roll over again, he did, and it still didn’t stop. I didn’t want to totally wake him up with all the orders and the nudging (okay, pushing), but after 15 minutes or so, I was wide awake. At 3:15.

So, I got up to get a drink, went to the bathroom, walked around a minute, and even thought about reading, but then thought better about that, what with the bright light it would require, thus guaranteeing I would never go back to sleep. And I LOVE to sleep, y’all. I could drop down and give you 20 Zs at just about any moment of the day. Not that I’m a walking zombie, perpetually exhausted. It’s just that if I quiet myself for a few minutes, I can drift off like nobody’s business.

Some of the best sleep I’ve ever gotten was in the library during law school (probably in a few contracts classes, too, for that matter). I could put my head down for just 15 minutes and feel like a million bucks after that. Also, when T-Bone and I were in summer school in Austria, I could hop on a train and be out in matter of seconds. Even on trains full of drunkass soccer fans on their way to Munich. The sleeping was that good.

I used to sleep so soundly that one time, my mom locked herself out of the house, and she banged on the window right next to the couch where I was sleeping, and I never heard a thing. Not even when she had the neighbor break the window so she could get in and retrieve my crying toddler brother, which also did not wake me up. I used to fall asleep walking upstairs, sitting upright at the dinner table, and once, even at a horse auction. I just bent over in my chair, put my head in my lap, and zonked out, right in the middle of the ring. All of which probably explains why I’m such a GD giant - the good sleeping - because did you know that you grow during REM sleep? I didn’t either until a friend of mine had her son’s tonsils taken out when he was three because his snoring and sleep apnea was so bad, and that little dude shot up over four inches in a matter of two months. The doctor said it was because he was finally getting good, uninterrupted REM sleep. That Michael Stipe is a damn genius.

I ended up bedding down on the couch, listening to the beginnings of a lovely, much-needed, rain. Which, as you know, is great sleeping weather. If only it hadn't been 5:30, and I didn't have to get up at 6:15.

Everything Has Its Season*

2009-04-14T21:10:00.002-05:00

And so it begins. Peach is auditioning for her first musical this weekend. Oh. My. Stars.

Truth be told, I brought it up to her because she happens to love the show, knows all the songs, and has been itching to test her vocal prowess for some time now. That said, she ain’t no Broadway Baby – thank Jeebus – and would thoroughly enjoy being one of the many nameless townspeople who sweep on and off the stage throughout the show. She understands that not everyone gets a part and that the audition itself is a great learning experience, yada yada yada. But of course, the drama geek in ME hopes she totally kicks the asses of all those nose-singing, jazz hands-flashing, over-emoting junior “triple threats” that will undoubtedly be there. So we’ll see how it all shakes out.

We had a great Easter, starting Friday with a two-hour walk around the lake, picnic, and snowcone (rainbow, natch). Saturday, my parents came, and we dyed eggs, hunted eggs, and ate eggs. Repeat. Sunday, after cooing over The Baskets, we beat the rain to Mass and then beat the crowd to Threadgill’s for brunch. Later, T-Bone and I spent five hours staring at the garage ceiling as we installed some storage shelves above the garage door. Holy hell, my neck still hurts – but my garage? She is beautiful! One more Hyloft, and she’ll be as fine-tuned as possible. Assuming, of course, we’ve installed them right, and I don’t come home to find that the weight of my BigAss Christmas tree up there has caused the ceiling to cave in. Fingers crossed.

* Pretend I found a clip of the brilliant bit about Corner of the Sky (Most. Annoying. Audition. Song. EVAH.) that Judy Gold used to do back in the day. Then pretend I embedded it here.

Easy Peasy

2009-04-10T21:09:00.003-05:00

Peach and Olive are so easy to please. Take last night, for instance, when Peach came bounding into my bedroom:

P: Mommy, can I have a privilege? Can I pleeeeease have a privilege?
LT: What do you mean by "privilege?"
P: Well, at school when we do something like help a friend or do a great work, we get a privilege like eating lunch outside or being first in line for the library.
LT: Yes, that's right. But I mean what are you asking me for, specifically?
P: (wringing her hands) Can I please wear one of your t-shirts to bed? And Olive, too?

That's it. That's all she wanted. They think it's so crazeee that I wear t-shirts and pj pants to bed, they want to do it, too. When I said yes, you would have thought I told her we were moving to Mouseworld. She covered me with kisses and took off, shouting, "Olive! She said yes! She said we could do it!" And from somewhere upstairs, I heard a faint "Woo hoo!"

I'm pretty easy to please, too. Like, I could just watch this clip a jillion times and be happy as a clam.

Happy Easter, y'all.

Just Like Starting Over

2009-04-06T20:34:00.002-05:00

Everyday, I walk into The Job and say, “Good morning. How are you?” to the same 8-10 people, and they say, “Fine! How are you?” And that’s as far as it goes. Every. GD. day. Going on seven months now.

Not that I’m all that interested in the intimate details of their lives. Truly, other than the fact that we work together and we’re human beings, I have nothing in common with those people. And I’d really rather NOT know everything about them. But it might be nice if we could get beyond the weather and the traffic and some version of “TGIF!” or “I hate Mondays, don’t you?” I get enough of that shit from stupid morning radio.

Here’s the thing though: they don’t get me. And they never will. I’m totally on my own. I’ve tried to find some common ground, but really, it’s futile. I’m the youngest woman in the office, by at least 10 years, and of the four attorneys, I’m the only girl, the only one who’s married, AND the only one who has children. Our frames of reference for, say, pop culture are so far and away different, it’s like we’re speaking different languages. Politics? Religion? Out the window. And don’t even get me started on the food thing again. I'm a freak of nature to them. So any of those things you usually gab about with your co-workers? Even the bitching-about-work-stuff? They don’t fly because we don’t really do the same things, and in fact, sometimes, their bitching could rightly be about stuff they have to do for me.

Here's a quick example: I have this quote as my screen saver - “I believe virtually everything I read. – David St. Hubbins.” One of the gals came into my office one day and saw it and said, “Oh, I’ve never heard that before. Is he an attorney?” Painful as it was, I said, “No. It’s from Spinal Tap.” And she said, “Yeah, I’ve never read that.” You see my problem.

And so, when I leave at the end of the day, I’ll say “Goodnight.” And they’ll say, “Have a good evening.” And I'll say, "You too." And none of us will mean any of it. And we’ll start all over again tomorrow. Yay.

Cluck Cluck Cluck

2009-03-27T21:14:00.002-05:00

I'm off tomorrow to, if not the biggest, certainly the LOUDEST, Hen Party around. Picture this: me, Mama Turista, her two sisters, Abuelita Turista, my sistacousin, her SIL, and two of Mama's best girlfriends all locked up in a lil house in the country, a stone's throw away from the greatest antique/crapola shopping experience in the world - all talking at the same time. In action, the Turista contingent alone is quite something to behold, so God help the new girls and anyone else who can't keep up.

Why, yes, I'd love to find that perfect something for my front porch, some beautiful old table linens, or a cool piece of religious folk art to add to my stash, but I'm mostly going for the spectacle of it all. And if I walk back in here with one more dish or vintage Christmas decoration, T-Bone is (rightfully) going to send me AND it straight on to The Funny Farm, post haste. It's an illness, really.

See y'all on the other side ...

Shape Of Things To Come

2009-03-23T20:24:00.002-05:00

T-Bone and I had a glimpse into our future last week as Peach and Olive spent their Spring Break with Mama Turista in San Antonio. They left last Saturday, with a trunkful of craft supplies, and I had to just about drag them back home with me Friday evening. In between, they enjoyed the aforementioned craft extravaganza, touring the Riverwalk, shopping for Westernwear (really, Olive came home with one of these outfits), and "training" for a Miniature Horse show they're going to participate in this summer. I met the little furballs on Friday, and I have to say, if a Barbie horse ever came to life, Miss GG would be it. She's a light Palomino, with blue eyes, about 30 inches tall, and I briefly pondered which corner of our tiny backyard would best suit her jewel-encrusted stable, just big enough for her and the tiny foal she's carrying in her tiny womb, who will surely be pink and able to fly ...

Wait, where was I? Oh yes, my future. Which doesn't involve horses, winged or otherwise (a girl can hope). No, the point is that T-Bone and I were "on our own" for six days, and as weird as it was to not hear Peach and Olive chattering in the backseat or see them rolling out of bed each morning with the most awesome bedheads in the history of the world, we did pretty well. Much better than I did that first night in New Orleans on our anniversary trip. THAT was pitiful.

We didn't do a whole lot, but it was nice. We rode to work together like a couple of old coots, me saying "Don't forget your lunch, Daddy!" as I dropped him off each morning. We used some coupons and gift certificates we had for restaurants las ninas would have no interest in. We worked in the yard and spent two hours wandering aimlessly around Home Depot. We talked about work and mortgages and my aching back. We laughed about work and retirment accounts and SXSW hipsters. And we went out on a school night for St. Patrick's Day, only to shuffle off to Buffalo after two beers. Between us.

Good gawd, we sound old already. I always thought that when we retired, we'd be the kind to pack up in a badass RV and tour the country, the world - join the Peace Corps even! And we may still do that. But I am happy to confirm that even if we spend our golden years never leaving the Happy Casa for Silver Foxes, we're going to have a good time, all the time.

I highly recommend this Snapshot of Senior Citizenry Staycation. Next time, we're getting matching shirts and Rascals.

I'm Not Even Going to Say It*

2009-03-05T16:04:00.003-06:00

I'll just tell you what I saw when I popped into Walgreen's this afternoon:

A dude in the parking lot playing "A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes" on his sax. Right up against the building actually, better acoustics ya know.

A truck advertising "The Paint Wizard: For your residential and commercial needs." I almost took down the number, in case I need some color magic in the near future, and then (I'm assuming) The Wizard him/her-self stepped out of the car, and I was frozen in awe. He/she must have been the long-lost brother/sister of Leslie because the resemblence, and fashion sense, was uncanny. UNcanny, I tell you.

And an entire section devoted to "Hispanic Products"(?) - including this:

I'm still smiling.

*It's already been said here, here, and here. Also here. And, most recently, here.

It's Gettin' HOT in Hee-yah

2009-03-02T16:33:00.002-06:00

After being felled by a particularly nasty migraine on Tuesday, I was up most of Wednesday night with a restless, feverish Peach. Somehow, she awoke fresh as a daisy on Thursday, but about two hours later, I got The Call from school – Peach is clammy, shivering, and clearly "not herself." So I hot-footed it over to GGMS to pick her up, and she spent the rest of the day in bed.

Like Florence Nightingale herself, Mama Turista swooped in that evening to sit with Peach Friday and on through the weekend, as we had planned to go to Small Town, Texas to visit T-Bone’s folks. But just as we were packing up Friday afternoon, Peach rallied and decided she really wanted to go with. So I threw in some more clothes and we were off.

By the time we arrived Friday night, Peach was, literally, a Hot Mess. Her fever was back up, she was sneezing and wheezing, and she had a near-constant hacking cough. I was up all night, tending and consoling, and somewhere around 3 am, the fevah finally broke, and she drifted off into a sweaty slumber. She took it easy the rest of the weekend, and besides the much less constant hacking cough, she seems to be on the mend.

I, however, am a little hot under the collar, with nerves all a-jangling, because when we got home yesterday afternoon, our neighbor informed us that our smoke alarms had been going off earlier and he heard them when he was out walking his dog, so he called the fire department and they came and banged on the door and looked in all the windows, and because they didn’t see any smoke or anything, they left.

Ummm, the what now?

I absolutely could not fall asleep last night, what with all the wondering and conjecturing, and I have come to this conclusion: If, in fact, our house is not haunted, though I have long suspected it IS, I am convinced there is someone living in our attic and they set the smoke alarms off whilst cooking some food (scavenged from our pantry) on a hotplate behind the ductwork. I’m going up there when I get home today. I’ll let you know what (or WHO) I find.

Twofer

2009-02-21T19:42:00.003-06:00

One of the biggest changes in my life since having children, besides the obvious, is I don't get to go to the movies as much as I used to. I've always been a movie buff, and in law school, T-Bone and I skipped many a class or study session to catch the latest and greatest flicks playing down the street. Sometimes we saw two in one day! At two different places! That's love, my friends. And probably explains why I didn't graduate anywhere near the top of my class. Ahem.

As you know, tomorrow is The Greatest Night in Television Ever, and in my pre-maternity days, I would have seen all the Best Picture nominees, as well as most of the acting performances. Never been big on the shorts and documentaries, mostly because, until fairly recently, they weren't showing anywhere outside of film festivals and/or LA and NYC.

That said, yesterday I found myself with some free time and a hankering to see a good show, so I headed for the art house right after work. My choices were limited by start times and whether or not I thought T-Bone would be interested, and because I loves me some Meryl, I went with Doubt.

Can I say how much I loved this movie? THAT much, y'all. You can tell it was based on a play and written for the screen by the playwright himself because it's wordy, very play-y. And even though there's not a lot of "action," I was literally leaning into the screen, completely immersed in the story. It was brilliant. My Meryl was brilliant. And - Holy Mother of Mercy - Viola Davis was BRILLIANT. I wasn't familiar with her work before, but I'm a huge fan now. She just broke my heart.

As it happened, I used my frequent flyer card when I bought my ticket, and I guess I hit the right number of points or credits or whatever because a FREE ticket popped out with my receipt. When was the last time you got a FREE movie ticket? For me - never. I took it as a sign. So guess what I did today?

Slumdog Millionaire. Best Picture, indeed. And that Dev Patel is quite the little dancer. Maybe he and Viola can come over for dinner together. But NOT tomorrow night. I need to concentrate.

A Day at The Office

2009-02-19T19:07:00.003-06:00

This morning, I literally "got served." By a uniformed constable, packin' heat and all. That's a first for me. Actually, I was just signing for another attorney - he's the one getting sued. Sweet.

Later, as I was passing an office that has a lot of inspirational and religious decor strewn about, I overheard the woman who works in there telling another gal, "I mean, I try to live in a Godly way, and dammit if that little shit doesn't bring me down every time." I nearly shot Diet Coke out of my nose.

After lunch, I noticed a group of young male trainees gathered outside for a dip break. DIP, people. Not a smoke break or a liquid lunch, but nastyass, "minty fresh," will-eat-a-hole-in-your-gums snuff. Standing around scratchin' and spittin', the lot of 'em. Guh-ross.

Next, I got to thinking - if I were an office supply, what would I be?

You Are a Post-it

You have a good memory. You're memory is so good, in fact, that it can be down right annoying at times.

You don't mean to nag, but you like to remind people what they're supposed to be doing.

You may be a bit of a pest, but you're awfully cute. So no one minds it all too much when you pop up.

You would make a good manger, salesperson or attorney. You can cram a lot of info into that head of yours.

What Office Supply Are You?

And then it was 2:15, and I left. The End.

Three Times a Blogger

2009-02-17T18:50:00.003-06:00

Well, the rest of my week turned out much better after the Texas Cage Match I had last Wednesday. I had a romantical dinner con mi esposo on Friday, and we had a joint Valentine’s Day/Family Cat’s Birthday celebration on Saturday. Peach and Olive spent their Friday off from school with Mama Turista, tending to the ever-busy Opie, who, have I mentioned, is going to be a big brother in August. My SIL is just getting to the point where she can almost think about food without hurling, so that’s nice.

Sunday was bea-u-ti-ful here in the ATX, so we spent the majority of the day in the front yard, where I repeatedly scratched and punctured myself while trimming the roses, and Peach and Olive "rocked out" as they helped T-Bone detail The Bandit in the driveway. They apparently rocked out SO hard that nobody noticed the interior light was left on – that is, until Monday, when T-Bone tried to leave, in the cold and rain, and the damn battery was dead. Me and my big mus-kulls helped T-Bone push the car up the driveway so we could get my car out for the jumping, and I was left feeling very strong, like crazy strong. I moved a GD car. Uphill. OK, up an incline. But still.

And then yesterday evening, as I stared blankly at my computer, trying to will myself to be creative, I realized it was my 3 year blogiversary. I do so enjoy talking with y'all and hearing about your adventures - I should post more often, I know I should. And I will. Try. I will try.

Thanks for reading, and stay tuned!

Heavy Lifting

2009-02-11T18:39:00.002-06:00

Today I really had to earn my keep at The Job by going toe-to-toe with a blowhard from East Texas. You know the day's going straight to hell when you're met first thing with a voicemail that says things like, "I just can't imagine how you can find grounds for appeal on this." and "I don't want to have to file for sanctions against you." and, my favorite, "I mean, I'm not threatening you or anything ... but ..." Yes, you are, you asshole. Yes, you are.

When I got him on the phone, it started out pretty calm, and then he lit into me. I could actually feel him puffing up more and more as he ranted. I stuck to my guns and tried to explain my position (which is, basically, following the GD law, by the way), and he just continued to spit and sputter until he finally said, "Why do you even CARE?" You have no idea how much I don't care, dude, but if you're just going to berate and insult me, all bets are off. Especially when you're obviously out of your element on this one - which was clear when you mentioned "sanctions" three more times to try and scare me, and I asked you how that would even be possible when 30 years of statutes and several Supreme Court decisions (which I named) say I WIN, YOU LOSE, and you said, "Well, I really didn't want to get into a LEGAL thing right now." WTeverlovinF are you saying? Aren't "legal things" what you DO?

Overall, I made my points, repeatedly, and only yelled a little bit. By the end of it, when he could see I wasn't budging, and I could see he was finally out of gas, he said, "Well, you've got my number." And hung up on me. Because nothing says confidence in your case more than hanging up on the other side. Perfect.

Silver, Pink, and Purple

2009-02-02T18:59:00.003-06:00

Overheard from the backseat after I fetched Olive from school today:

Mommy, I love you more than all my favorite colors.

And what a joy it was to be zooming down the road at 2:15 to get her! Wheee!

Place Your Bets

2009-01-31T20:01:00.002-06:00

Tomorrow, we're watching The Stupor Bowl at the Televisions' lovely new abode. As per usual, Mr. Television has all FIVE TV sets warmed up and ready, and Mrs. Television has been busy cooking and staging, while trying to convince herself that the 4' x 4' patch in her new ceiling is only barely discernible to those who actually SAW Mr. TV come ass-first through the attic floor the first week they moved in. We can laugh about it now, but 1100 bucks wasn't so funny at the time. Neither was the 18 foot drop, or so says Mr. TV. Anyway, I told him I was bringing some sheetrock mud and tape, just in case things get out of hand.

My favorite part of The Televisions' Stupor Bowl parties is the most awesome pool Mr. TV put together some years ago. Especially for someone like me, who could give a flying fig about the game, it keeps it interesting. He's got the usual stats and points and all that, but he also throws in categories like, "National Anthem: Over 1:45 min; Under 1:45. Lip Sync; No Lip Sync." One year, I think it was Mariah or some other tart, and he included, "Midriff; No Midriff." I totally guess on the technical stuff, but I'm feeling pretty confident that there will be No Dance after the first TD but there will be a Spike after the last TD. Also, the Head Referee will be wearing an Odd Number Uniform, and The Boss will sing "Born to Run" but not "Glory Days."

And lest you doubt my skillz, I actually won this mutha two years ago, only to be dethroned last year by the youngest Television. I demanded a recount.

Lucky Duck

2009-01-29T21:35:00.002-06:00

That’s what I am. I’m so lucky to have had my own Marian Robinson living part-time in my own White House for the past four months, helping tend to las ninas and keeping me from losing my ever-loving mind. The transition into The Job has been nearly seamless, and that is due in large, GINORMOUS part to the ever amazing Mama Turista. As always, she has done nothing but make things easier for all of us, and I could never thank her enough. Plus, we had a lot of fun in the process, as usual. I am quite sure I could have never made it to this point without her, and starting next week, because I am the aforementioned Duck, I will actually be able to go it alone, working just during school hours four days a week, with T-Bone taking the reins on Fridays. How awesome is that.

For once, I can’t wait until Monday.

Much Love for The ATX

2009-01-26T20:07:00.003-06:00

OK – I know I’ve said this before, many many times before, but I love this town. I love it so much, it hurts. If you’ve ever lived or even visited here, you understand the pure unadulterated joy you feel upon waking up here everyday, confident in the knowledge that this is the Most Kick Ass Place To Be On The PLANET. Yes, it’s weird, but it’s also hip and progressive, yet family-friendly, with lots of cool stuff to do outdoors and in. Great restaurants, parks, museums, and more musicians per capita than anywhere else in the world. We’ve got Big (Tech) Industry, Big Gubment, and Big Academia, but we’ve also got small business and a commitment to protect and support Mom and Pop. We have people of every color, class, faith, and orientation - Freaks and Geeks, the lot of us. I could gush for hours, but I'm on the clock at the moment. Ahem.

My relationship with this town has lasted the better part of 22 years, and though some things have changed, as they unfortunately do, for the most part, it’s the same place I fell in love with lo those many moons ago, and I can’t imagine living, or raising my children, anywhere else. Fellow bloggers over there on the right have agreed with me countless times, but I’ve got to add one more Reason Why I Love This GD Town:

On my way to The Job everyday, I pass a particularly gnarly intersection that has been under construction for, I don’t know, 78 years. The belly of the beast is actually off to the east a bit, but it causes logjams near and far anyway. Today, as I was approaching, I noticed the giant light-up traffic sign said, "The End is Near!!!" I glanced at the construction and thought, "well, that’s great, I guess, but it looks like they still have a helluva way to go, so I’m not sure three exclamation points are necessary." Next, the sign said, "Run for colder climate." Again, I thought, "huh, I guess they’re just running the sign to see if it works because it’s cold today, but 50 degrees isn’t really that cold, it’s been colder recently and the sign worked just fine, but maybe it’s a new one, or …" And then the sign changed again and said, "Caution: Zombies Ahead."

See what I mean?

40.5*

2009-01-23T17:27:00.002-06:00

Today is mi hermano's birthday, which means it is my half-birthday. We are exactly four and a half years apart, both born on a Tuesday even. How did I celebrate being halfway through the Big 4-0? By taking a sick day from The Job, seeing as yesterday I was quite sure the right side of my face was going to explode from all the pressure in my noggin. I love a good headcold, don't you? Especially when it moves down into my chest and causes those righteous from-the-toes coughing fits. I'm really looking forward to that part, but for now, this:

I had a woman come to the door today selling "art." Door-to-door. Well, I say "art" because she had a giant portfolio containing what I assume were sketches or prints or whatever, a bag of unidentifiable shit, and a gargoyle statue. As soon as she started in on her song-and-dance, I just said, "No. I'm sick." and shut the door. And then she skipped away.
Peach and Olive came home today singing "We Shall Overcome" - in Hindi. I heart Montessori.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I've recently caught myself - several times - singing Beyonce's "Single Ladies". I love that GD song. So there.
Lost is the best show in the history of the world. EVER.
"I" have been nominated for an Oscar. For reals.
My car is so filthy. Could you detail it for me?
I'm hungry.

* This post brought to you by Tylenol Cough and Cold. Lots of it.

New Day, New Digs

2009-01-20T21:18:00.003-06:00

What with all the change in the air, I got the fevah myself and decided to change the look of things around here. Work in progress, though. I may actually shell out some dough and get someone who actually knows what they're doing to pimp my ride. Who knows, that may encourage me to visit more often, and wouldn't YOU be happy about that?!

Speaking of happy, I AM! Change has come, y'all, and I love it.

Mouse Memories

2009-01-16T18:29:00.003-06:00

As I prepare for a quick trip to Big D tomorrow, I realize I’ve neglected to tell you about our trip to Mouseland last month. In a nutshell, it was perfect.

Of course, Peach and Olive were totally shocked when we woke them up the morning we were leaving. I think we were all pretty shocked, actually. Later that day, as we were standing in Fantasyland about to ride the carousel for the third time in a row, I had to ask T-Bone, "Are we really here? ‘Cause I’m kind of freaking out." It was such a whirlwind to begin with, and the two hour time change didn’t help, so we were all pretty done that first night by about 6 pm. Besides, we had our extra special hotel rooms to get back to.

When I was confirming our reservation, I found out about some "suites" (really just adjoining rooms) that were themed-out in Mickey or Princess décor. Truly, it looked like the Mouse Store threw up in there. Our Princess room had just two twin beds, for two little sugar lumps who proclaimed the whole thing "magical." Olive was most fascinated with the shampoo and lotion bottles with Mickey ears on them. I told her that if we put those away, the housekeepers would give us more tomorrow. That was all I had to say. She tore through both rooms, gathering up every freebie and giveaway she could find and threw it all into a drawer in her Princess nightstand. Every time we walked in that room, she would say, "Did they bring us more bottles?" She would even ask first thing in the morning and I had to tell her, "No, my love. They did not come in IN THE NIGHT and bring us more bottles." All told we had about 40 lbs of toiletries, stationary, and laundry bags to lug home with us. It was like she was on a mission. I can’t imagine where she gets it.

As for the park, it was a tad bit more crowded than we’re used to, but we went two weeks later than usual, and it was an Annual Passholder weekend, which brought out lots of locals. Like, LOTS of locals. Almost all wearing varying shades of black, with at least 17 people in their group and at least one stroller, covered with blankets. It was coldish at night, and what a killing I could have made if I was in the Cheap-Fleece-Blankets-With-Bootleg-Characters-On-Them Trade. DAMN, y’all! All I’m saying is I’m pretty sure that one with Donald peeing on Mickey (a la Calvin and Hobbes) was not Official Mouse Merchandise.

Mouseland overall is much smaller than Mouseworld, so it tends to get congested in spots pretty quickly, especially after a parade or fireworks. Which causes all kinds-of Un-Mouselike behavior in some, like the beastly woman who was trying to swim upstream to get to the Fried Shit-on-a-Stick Shack after the Holiday Parade. When she was met with 50 bajillion people all going the other way, she just stopped and screamed, "God Dammit!" I half-expected the Mouse Police to appear and haul her off to Mouse Jail for Behavior Unbecoming to the Happiest Place on Earth. Other than that, we had a wonderful time. We did everything we wanted to do, at least twice, and Peach and Olive both told us thank you, repeatedly and voluntarily, at every turn. You should go sometime. Really.

Also, we saw Dennis Franz eating a hot dog in Tomorrow Land, and we waited in line for California Screamin' right next to Kurt Russell. The End.

Today's Mail

2009-01-14T18:31:00.002-06:00

Dear Charity Donation Worker,

I know it’s cold outside, and I know you’re busy, what with all the texting and whatnot, but I could really use a hand out here unloading these many items for The Cause. And, I don’t know, I think standing there, without offering to help (or even looking up from your phone for Pedro’s sake) is a bit craptastic, and shouting, "Holy shit!" when you saw the 20" flat-screen monitor I’m donating (which works almost all the time) doesn’t count as conversation. Finally, I’m worried about your sinuses because the earnestness with which you tried FOUR times to "hawk up a loogie" in our short time together will probably do you more harm than good in the end. I recommend a good expectorant. And a swift kick in the ass.

Peace,
LT

Dear Fellow Gubment Employee,

Granted, it’s 27 degrees outside. And granted, it’s usually 27 degrees inside our building, too. However, neither is a good excuse to wear your huntin’ coveralls to work. Especially not the camo ones. I know you don’t believe me, but this is actually a place of business, and dressing like you’re about to go track and bag dinner is distracting. And effing ridiculous.

Have some pride,
LT

Dear Ghost In My House,

Could you please stop making mysterious puddles of water appear in the garage? I’ve nearly busted ass at least twice thanks to you and your little hijinx, and I’ll be darned if I can’t figure out where you’re getting the water from. The walls are dry, the ceiling is too, and the suspected pipe is sealed – it’s almost as if it’s seeping up from under the floor. But that only works with blood, right?

Just curious,
LT

Dear Antonio Banderas,

I’m not sure where it is written that celebrities are the experts on personal fragrance, but frankly, I’ve had enough, and so has Walgreen’s, apparently. One entire section of the cosmetics "department" at my local store is currently devoted to unloading signature toilet waters at rock bottom prices, right next to the leftover Farting Santas and stockings for pets. Yeah, I know you’re a Latin Lover, and yeah, I would have had your children back in the Desperado days. But now, you’re sharing shelf space with the likes of Shania, Britney, and Barbie and Ken Beckham, and the whole thing feels so dirty. I don’t know if that Swamp Thing you’re married to talked you into it or what, but dude, you’re competing with Tim McGraw. Tim McGraw! He has about as much business in the perfume game as he does in the acting game, and he’s trying to do that, too – so watch your back, amigo. Just leave the potion peddling to the losers, and get back into that Zorro mask. Rowrrr.

Con amor,
LT

Dear Wrinkly Saggy Skin Under My Eyes,

Where in the hell did you come from all of a sudden?

FOAD,
LT

So Far, So Good.

2009-01-07T19:38:00.002-06:00

In the first seven days of this new year, here's what I've done:

Rang in Aught Nine at home with T-Bone, Peach, and Olive. And Bob and David. And Jack and Kyle. And Little Ricky.
Dismantled a shit ton of Christmas decor and frou frou and voila.
Had a nice, quiet day - alone - at The Job on Friday.
Had 27 conversations about blue paper with my legal assistant at The Job on Tuesday.
Paid 600 clams (actual giant clams) to get T-Bone's ride (The Bandit) fixed.
Watched the Horns beat the Popeyes. Fiesta, indeed!
Donated blood for the first time evah AND signed up to be a marrow donor.
Finally wore down my boss to the point that he agreed to let me cut back to 30 hours a week, starting (fingers crossed, red tape be damned) next month. And I narrowly avoided Ponytail and her GD sign-up sheet for January Goody Day. Serenity now ...

And you?

Here's The Story

2008-12-31T14:36:00.002-06:00

I met T-Bone 13 years ago at a Christmas party celebrating the end of our first semester of law school. I had picked him out of the button-and-suspenders crowd that dominated our class (bunch of gunners - so annoying) about two weeks into the year, and I dutifully stalked him for the next three months. My best friend was in his section, so I knew his schedule and could conveniently park myself outside of his classrooms and catch a little lookie-loo as he passed by. God forbid I ever try to actually talk to him - it was sooo much easier to pester my friends with daily (hourly) reports of what he was wearing, what he was eating, and what I overheard him saying in the cubicle across from me in the library as I pretended to be reading my Con Law assignment. See, I am not, nor have I ever been, one to flirt. I don't know how and am sure I would fail miserably should I ever attempt it. The Junior High Approach to Dealing with Boyz (TM) (heart-sparkle-heart-lips) was working just fine, thank you, but I had a sneaking suspicion that if I never actually met him, I would just D-I-E DIE, y'all. I knew in my heart that, at the very least, we would be great friends. I just knew it.

So after months of listening to me go on and on and ON about him, I think everyone around me was looking forward to the Christmas party where, it was hoped, I would get a few drinks in me and maybe finally - gasp! - end the suffering and talk to the guy. In all my stalking, I had literally run in to him a couple of times - once in the cafeteria when I had a mouth full of pizza and once when I was exiting the bathroom, still struggling with my zipper. Sweet. Not exactly the right time to introduce yourself to the love of your life. Anywho, I was so nervous about the possibility of meeting him, I called for back-up, and Karla May, living in Alabama at the time, came to my rescue. She too had had "just about enough of this shit," so I knew something was going to go down if in fact T-Bone made an appearance at the party.

After a few pitchers of margaritas for courage, she and I arrived at the party, only to find a group of about six of my so-called friends lined up at the door, all saying, "He's here! He's here! He's here!" Oh shit. I swear to you, not five minutes later, my best guy friend, Fox, who didn't know T-Bone from Adam by the way, followed him to the bathroom and said, "Hey - you're T-Bone, right? Follow me." Then the rest of my alleged compadres grabbed me and quite forcefully PUSHED me into him, after which Fox quickly made the introductions and stepped back to view the carnage. I want to throw up just thinking about it even now. But, after a couple of shaky "Hi"s and me saying something gay about my idiot friends being off their meds, we started talking. And we talked and talked and talked. Until 6 in the morning. There were a couple of times in there, when we were back at my parents' house (oh yeah - cuz did I mention I was living at HOME at the time? Gawd, I'm so awesome.), I started to nod off, and I was telling myself, "He's here! He's really here! Wake up!" We hit all the big topics, including music, God, and even marriage. Just in general, but still. And it didn't even seem weird. The best part was when he went to leave, and he asked - asked! - if he could kiss me. Still my favorite kiss of all time. Ever.

Two weeks later, we broached the topic of marriage again - this time, quite specifically, and a year from the day we met, we got engaged in New Orleans. A year later, we got married on New Year's Eve, and 11 blissful years later, The Story has just continued to unfold.

My mom has asked me on more than one occasion, "How did you know he would be so perfect for you? Just from looking at him?" and the answer is, I don't know. I just did. Which is especially surprising for someone who never EVER thought about getting married or dreamed about what my wedding would be like. I just couldn't really picture that happening to me. But then I saw him, and I thought, we need to know each other, and the universe made it happen.

I often tell T-Bone that he is either easily impressed or easily amused, I'm not sure which. Either way, I'm glad he is who he is, and I'm so lucky to get to be who I am with him. So Happy Anniversary, babe. I love you.

And Happy New Year to the rest of y'all.

Post Christmas Post

2008-12-29T21:15:00.003-06:00

Oh what a time we had. Christmas went off without a hitch, and that night, we had about 30 people crammed into my kitchen, feasting on tamales and my award-winning chili (Really, there's a bigass silver bowl with my name engraved on it in the trophy case in my - wait for it - sorority house! Zeta Tau Alcohol, y'all! WHOO!). At one point, we had everybody here, from 20 month old Opie to 90 years young Abuelita Turista, so, Circle of Life and all that. It was fun.

We spent the weekend near Houston with our bruthacuzzins and their new wee kitten, and now we're in full on prep mode for Peach's (9th) birthday tomorrow. And our (11th) anniversary the day after that. And a whole New Year the day after that. I forsee lots of calories in my immediate future.

See, if it weren't for the non-stop action we've got going on around here pretty much from October 1 on, I would be one of those post-holiday blues people. It makes me sad to have to take down all my pretties, etc., but lucky for me, right about the time I've got everything put away, I'm staring down the next most wonderful time of the year - Awards Show Season!

Right now, though, I have to go outside and kick some delinquent ass - your no-good nephew and his heathen gang are shooting off fireworks over the creek next to mi casa. It's only the 29th, dipshits.

I Win.

2008-12-24T20:00:00.002-06:00

In a Who’s Got the Greatest Old Man of All Time Contest, I mean. Really, truly.
Example # 4,637: Peach and Olive have spent the last few days with Mama and Abuelita Turista in San Antonio while T-Bone and I finish up The Christmasing and work to pay for The Christmasing. Anywho, when I planned on them going down there on Saturday, I casually mentioned to T-Bone that maybe Saturday night we could go hear some music somewhere, like back in The Day. He said to leave it up to him, and I did.

So, as I’m packing las ninas for their trip Saturday morning, T-Bone says that I might want to pack a small bag for me. So I say, "For what?" to which he says, "All will be revealed." And did like some spirit fingers or something. "As long as I can wear jeans," I say, and "Yes, that would be appropriate," says he. So in the tote went the jeans and boots, with the requisite turquoise jewelry thrown in for good measure, and we were off. We spent the afternoon with my other grandmother, and after a delicious meal at one of my favorite old haunts, we hit the road again. I-35 Northbound, to be exact. Towards Austin, to be exact.

However, just as we pass through New Braunfels, T-Bone takes the exit for Gruene, and I realize we’re going to one of my favorite live-music venues in the world: Gruene Hall. He hands me an envelope that says, "Happy Merry Chrismaversary," inside of which is a pair of tickets to see Bruce and Kelly, the Second Cutest Married Couple Ever, in their Holiday Show, and a reservation for this historic inn. Well, totally surprised and pleased was I, to say the least. That guy.

The show was so fun – lighter on the holiday songs than I expected, but I was so glad to hear some of my old favorite Kelly songs. And they had a slideshow of their four (FOUR!) redheaded angels that nearly brought me to tears, it was so cute. Gruene Hall is sort of an open-air honkytonk, but thankfully the crowd was a little more well-heeled and civil than the usual drunken fratboy a-holes that infest the place sometimes. The accommodations were quaint and comfy, and we couldn’t even hear the military dudes whooping it up til all hours in the piano bar downstairs.

After a lovely breakfast, we hit the road on a quest to complete our shopping, and dammit, if the Project Runway stuff at Demons ‘R Us hadn’t been on sale all weekend and was completely picked over, if it was even there at all. Yeah, we went to three Devil’s Spawn ‘R Us on Sunday, on the opposite ends of the world, and it was only at the last one, out in BFE, just shy of Hell, that I found one of the two items we were looking for. And it was only after we got home that I realized Peach had edited her list down from two PR items to one, to make room for the American Girl knock-off doll bed from Target. Thanks be to Jeebus we found the one item that made the cut.

And on the Ken front, we looked, y’all. We really really looked, and unless you want some prince dude, who’s strapped on an electric guitar(?) for some reason, or a surfer dude, who’s wearing a not-at-all-gay tanktop and super short swim trunks, there are NO Kens to be had. And no Ken clothes either. Unless you frantically search the interwebs, and find Fashion Insider Ken, who normally retails for $75 because he’s one of those "collectibles" that you keep in the box forever and put on the No-No-Touchy Shelf in your mauve and emerald green guest room, but who, shockingly(!), is now 50% off and available for shipping and can arrive on or around 12/29, just in time for a 12/30 birthday. Hopefully, Peach will be too distracted by the rest of her haul to notice that Barbie didn’t get no man for Christmas and then will be pleasantly surprised when she opens the dapper little dude on her birthday five days later.

So, to recap:

T-Bone – the winner and still champeen of the Most Awesome Husband Texas Cagematch Finals.

Bruce and Kelly – please come over for dinner and bring all those little carrot tops with you.

Mattel – I have a new concept for your pisspoor Ken line: Just a Normal Family Guy. See here and above for inspiration.

Peach and Olive – Christmas is coming, and Mommy’s getting fat. Please to put your pennies in your old man’s hat.

To the rest of youse - Here's hoping you have some merry and bright of your own tomorrow. Happy Holidays, y'all!

Yes, Peach. There is a Santa Claus.

2008-12-18T22:50:00.003-06:00

So my Peachy Pie, I’m pretty sure, is having quite the crisis of conscience over this whole Santa Claus thing. Although she would never say so and would never EVER blow it for anybody else, especially Olive. That would just break her heart, I can assure you.

I think she might have heard some rumblings about it last year and maybe some full-fledged confirmations this year, but I haven’t broached the topic other than to ask about making a Christmas list. Usually, she wants to discuss the many choices she’s seen in stores or catalogs and lets me "help" her narrow it down to four or five things. This year, she’s either said, "No thanks. I’m fine." - with a noticeable quiver in her voice - or "I want to give Santa a holiday this year." - again, with the quiver. However, when pressed, I have gotten her to jot some things down and have found a couple of discarded lists, one of which asked Santa for "a chance to see you" or "anything you wish." So precious.

I’m treading very softly here because what if I decide to have The Talk with her, and she’s not even close to being a non-believer, and I ruin her childhood and drive her into early therapy? I’m trying to read her as best I can, but as it’s gotten closer, she seems to be either humoring me by getting on board the Santa Express or she genuinely still believes. I can’t tell.

That said, she has made her final selections and typed her list and Olive’s list on the computer, with lots of fonts and colors and the usual embellishments. Ever the budding designer, in the top two slots, she wants some Project Runway sketch books. Next up, a bed for her knock-off American Girl doll, and a Scuba Barbie. Also, the Kit Kittredge DVD, and finally, "a boy Barbie for my house." Hmmm …

Anybody shopped for a boy Barbie lately? I mean NOT of the HSM3 variety? Because the pickins’ is slim, my friends. The choices are pretty much: The Gay Ken; The Gayer Ken; and Queen Ken.

Now, if she wants a boy Barbie "for her house," as in to look at fabric swatches and rearrange furniture, I think we’re good. But if she wants him to propose to Barbie and raise babies together, we may have a problem.

Olive’s list? Par for the course:
Big stuffed horse for my bed
Tack for my horses
Horse Sense game
New Cowgirl Nanny doll – no stinky (blond) hair, only brown
Scuba Barbie – no stinky (blond) hair, only brown OR red
Horse Shrinky Dinks

All of which I have to get THIS weekend, because other than a few stocking stuffers and a couple of things I ordered online, I have NOTHING. Stupid work interfering with my shopping.

Oh Goody

2008-12-16T22:29:00.002-06:00

You wanna know what’s awesome? Waking up with a raging case of PMS when it’s 29 degrees outside. THAT’S awesome. I should know. Right on the heels of the Mouse Flu, too. Beautiful.

However, what else is awesome is going to work with the above afflictions on December Birthday Goody Day – which I was shamed into participating in by The Lady of Many Falls (seriously, a different ponytail everyday), who showed up in my office with the sign-up sheet yesterday, gently reminding (berating) me that I missed (dodged) the November Goody Day and that it’s really fun (wrong) and everyone participates (lie) and couldn’t I bring some "finger food" OR pitch in $5? OK, but only because I happen to have some frozen shit left over from my ornament exchange that I can whip up in 20 minutes. So suck on that, Peggy Sue.

SO I whipped up the frozen shit, took it in this morning, in the FREEZING cold, with the cramps and the almost-barfs and the beginnings of a migraine, and here’s how my day started, with tongues wagging on all sides of me:

7:45-8:30 am – Did you bring that for Goody Day? What’d ya bring for Goody Day? Did you see what she brought for Goody Day? She brought this (frozen shit) for Goody Day, and it looks wonderful! I can’t wait for Goody Day! I wish it was my birthday month so I could line up first for Goody Day, because everyone knows that the BEST stuff on Goody Day goes first, but you have to wait until your birthday month to line up first, so then YOU get the best stuff on Goody Day! Is it 9:30 yet? Because Goody Day starts at 9:30. Who else brought something for Goody Day?

8:45-9:15 am – They’re setting up for Goody Day, y’all! They got them snowman plates that’s so cute, and the food looks DE-licious! I sure hope (some random women) brings that (nasty casserole involving tater tots) that she brought for October Goody Day because I missed that since my birthday is in June, and I was on the phone when the line started forming, so by the time I got to Goody Day, that (nasty casserole) was gone, y’all, and all I heard about the rest of the day was how good it was. I was so excited for the November Goody Day, but (random woman) was out of town, so we didn’t have (nasty casserole), but I heard that she’s making it for December Goody Day. I’m going to go help them finish setting up for Goody Day so I can get in line right behind the December birthdays. I love Goody Day!

9:21 am – Is it 9:30 yet?
9:22 am – Is it 9:30 yet?
9:27 am – Is it 9:30 yet?

9:29:57 am – Y’ALL! The food’s out! Line up behind the December birthdays!

9:42 am – They(?) just called from over there and said the line’s down, so you better hurry up and get over to Goody Day. And see if they got anymore of them Lil’ Smokies – could you bring me some if they do? I didn’t want ‘em mixed in with my Bacon-wrapped Asparagus, covered with Tamale Queso. This is the BEST Goody Day ever!

Holy HELL, I wish I was kidding. If I heard one more grown ass person say "Goody Day," I really might have gone postal. Or finally barfed. All over their GD Goodies.

Mouse Flu

2008-12-15T20:39:00.002-06:00

So whatever barfy bug struck Peach last week - up until the very night before we left for Mouseland - must have struck my happy ass yesterday morning. Which was LOADS of fun to deal with while spending the better part of the day traveling. Thankfully, I never actually barfed per se, but I was plenty bugged nonetheless. I still feel like crapola today, so I'll have to postpone the trip report. Which I know you're dying to hear. Until then, enjoy this little mouse tale.

Goin’ Back to Cali

2008-12-09T21:46:00.002-06:00

Mouseland! That’s where we’re going on our super secret trip Thursday morning. And Peach and Olive have NO clue that we’re going anywhere, let alone The Happiest Place on Earth. We’re not telling them until we get them up to go to the airport, so keep it under your mouse ears.

It’s been touch-and-go the past 24 hours because, of all times, Peach was battling a little barfy bug yesterday. Could have something to do with all the Nutcracker cast party treats from Sunday afternoon, followed by the rich party food she happily indulged in at my annual ornament exchange Sunday night, but she did have a bit of fever, too, so who knows. Luckily, she rallied today for her Cultural Challenge at GGMS. In one hour, the child recited two poems, one of which was her own work inspired by Shel Silverstein, played in a guitar ensemble and accompanied a classmate on his vocal performance, AND narrated the class play based on Greek mythology. T-Bone said it was more like a Cultural Smackdown because she totally "dominated the thing." Thanks to The Job, I will have to relive the event through the magic of videotape, assuming of course T-Bone got something other than the pole in the middle of the school auditorium, which we have plenty of footage of from past events.

So tonight and tomorrow night I have some stealth packing to do, as well as the usual Pre-trip Freakout Jamboree. But I will leave you with this:

Olive: Mommy, did you know Daddy used to have a lot more hair on his head?

LT: Yes, I did know that. Like in this wedding picture.

Olive: Well, I’ll tell you what happened. He used to have a lot of hair until he got married. And then it all started falling out … because of all the kissing.

Fortress of Solitude

2008-12-04T19:04:00.003-06:00

That’s what I call my office at The Job. A: because it’s friggin’ freezing, 24/7; and B: because I close the door, and I am in my own little world. I could go all day and not see another human if I only had a port-a-potty up in that mutha. Several times, I’ve been in there, working "late" (which, in gubment terms means, "after 4"), and when I come out, everybody’s gone. Split. Outta there.

I don’t have a lot of interaction with the support staff (mostly because I still can’t figure out what it is that they DO, exactly), and of the three other lawyuhs, there’s only one I regularly talk to. And even him I can go for days without seeing. Other than T-Bone, I’ve gotten four phone calls in the almost three months I’ve been there. And other than administrative BS and birthday/retirement/quinceanera/food-related announcements, I’ve gotten two substantive emails. TWO. And they were both replies to actual work-related issues I brought up. It's so bizarre. It’s like my office is some kind of timewarp/vacuum/CrissAngelMindFreak zone.

Not that I’m complaining. Not really. But I just feel like I get in there, and every time I come out, I have to get my bearings and remind myself, "Oh right. I’m at ‘work’. This is my ‘job.’" And it’s not like I go out of my way to avoid people or be ugly to them. It’s just that they’re all in their cubes, doing whateverthehell, and I’m just passing by on my way to the loo or to the Kick Ass Ice Machine in the breakroom (truly, one of the top two best things about The Job. That and the paycheck. Not the amount, per se, just the fact that there is one.). Several of them have little mirrors up on the shelf so they can see when people walk up behind them. They’re tiny little rearview-type mirrors, just big enough to see their eyes dart up at you as you pass by. It reminds me of the jails and prisons I’ve been to (as a visitor, not a resident), where the inmates fashion mirrors out of anything reflective and put them on the end of a toothbrush or chair leg or whatever and stick them out of their cells so they can chat with their neighbors or see who’s coming to shank them. It freaks me out, y’all. Seriously.

So I scurry back to The Fortress and decide which wall to stare at for a few hours. The grey one, the other grey one, or the other other grey one with the door. Behind me is a wall of windows, which would be lovely if they didn’t look out on the parking lot and the machine shop, with a nice view of the dumpster where old cake party stuffs go to die. And they have those GD vertical blinds. Which I loathe. I haven’t brought anything personal from home yet, not one picture or desk-sized Zen rock garden. Mostly because I’m still in denial that this is actually happening, but also because I’m supposedly getting "new" furniture that has been "ordered" and is being "constructed," as is all gubment office furniture, by some of the state’s finest "craftsmen," who just so happen to be "jailbirds" who have nothing but "time" on their hands and a great interest in being "busy" instead of being "dead" in a yard riot. Which means, I ain’t getting no furniture anytime soon. And when I do, dollars to donuts it’ll be missing some sharp metal components that were mysteriously lost in transit. I do think I’ll bring up my office chair from home though. My work chair is way too complicated, and it’s blue. Electric blue. So not my color.

Goodbye, Sleep. Hello, Grind.

2008-12-02T23:34:00.003-06:00

Man, it’s hard to get back into The Swing after a few days off. Especially when it’s chilly in the mornings, and you just want to be the cheese in the middle of a Snoozing Children Sandwich. Toasted, of course. I say being responsible stinks.

But oh what a wonderful break we had. T-Bone stayed with las ninas while I brought home the bacon on Wednesday. Thursday, we had the perfect Thanksgiving dinner for four, and Friday was Operation Decoration/OMG-we-have-a lot-of-ornaments-palooza. I ran out of steam before I got to the tippy tip top of the tree, but I’ll throw something up there before this weekend. Everything else inside was already done, and Sunday, T-Bone and I tried to do the outside stuff until the galeforce winds finally got the better of us. But I’m not giving up – there WILL be light.

Saturday, we spent the day "in the country" with my sistacuzin and her boys. They have a little house in a nearby antique mecca, and we hauled ourselves up there to play games, make s’mores, and throw stuff in the burnpile. Fire good! At one point, a small faction stole away to this awesome spot, and who should be holding the door for us when we got there? Frank! I recognized him right away, what with the Santa Claus beard and the fairly creepy way he said, "My pleeeeeasure" when I thanked him for holding the door. Quick! Grab the children before he tries to paint chickens or wine ephemera on them! Or distracts them with an "art" project made with spray paint, broken mirrors, and MDF! That guy.

So now we’re in a holding pattern for the rest of the week. Peach has her holiday dance performance this weekend, and I have my annual ornament throwdown on Sunday. Then NEXT week, next Thursday, to be exact, we jet off on our super secret surprise trip to … aww, wouldn’t you love to know? Stay tuned!

2008-11-27T08:09:00.004-06:00

Overheard when Olive was cracking pecans for pie:

The cracker is mightier than the nut.

True dat. Off to make the toast, popcorn, and jellybeans.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!

His and Hers

2008-11-24T20:51:00.003-06:00

T-Bone and I don't do that adorable little thing some couples do - that precious "keeping tabs" on every blessed thing they do as individuals in order to make sure nobody gets more nights out or weekends off or less trips to the grocery store or the birthday parties or whatever the hell. I swear I know a couple that kept track of diaper changes, and not because they were nervous new parents (as we all were - I still have a legal pad full of feeding and poop charts for each bambina. Aww.), but because they wanted it to be FAIR. And EQUAL. And to make sure they each took the same amount of TURNS. Gawd. How old are you?

These are the same people who are all, "Well, Hubby got to play golf last weekend, so I'm planning a girls' night out because it's my TURN and he OWES me and it's only FAIR." Shutupshutupshutup. Aren't you both parents? And aren't you both (allegedly) adults? Then get over yourself and get on with it, jackass.

Here at Bone Industries, I'm the CEO (shocking), and T-Bone is the CFO (cuz math is hard, y'all). I'm in charge of day-to-day operations, scheduling, and wardrobe. T-Bone handles sustenance. I head up the art department. T-Bone runs building programs and landscaping. We split transportation duties (currently, with an assist from Mama Turista) and incidentals, and we all fall in to one big, happy heap at the end of the day. We have a great natural rhythm, and it just kind of happened on its own, not because we assign duties or keep a tally of who took out the trash last time. We just jump in whenever and wherever something is needed. I know I'm lucky to have such a true partner, and I realize T-Bone does more than most of his peers, but it just never occurred to either of us to do "it" any other way. We do it this way because we want to. Which is one reason my normally very mild-mannered esposo gets really bent out of shape when he's with Peach and Olive somewhere and some idiot says, "Oh - you babysitting today?" "No, I'm parenting." he says, through gritted teeth. Really, it's happened on several occasions. Hello? 21st century? Care to join us?

All this to say, this weekend, I was reminded again of how great I've got it. T-Bone had a beer-and-football marathon planned for Saturday, and I had a lovely brunch and shopping trip planned for Sunday. To the casual observer, it probably looked like some of that My Turn-Your Turn BS, but in reality, it just so happened that both events fell on the same weekend. I know some of his boyz were saying, "Man, I'm gonna owe my old lady big time for this." (or something to that effect - his friends aren't hillbillies after all. Most of them, anyway). And I overheard more than one fellow shopper bitching about her husband bitching about how long she'd been gone that day even though she didn't call him every hour last weekend when he was at that tailgate party with all those assholes from his work.

Sigh. I just don't get that. And I'm so happy that T-Bone doesn't either.

Carnivores and Sugar Fiends

2008-11-19T18:40:00.002-06:00

I’m surrounded by ‘em. So far, every week I've been at The Job, there's been at least one food-related event – usually two. Every time I turn around, there is some sort of bake sale/sausage wrap fundraiser/silent auction/costume contest going on somewhere in the building. In the first month alone, there was a pie eating contest, a blindfolded Jello eating contest, a Project Runway wacky dress-up contest, and a crazy co-worker costume contest. And when I went in this morning, I was nearly felled by the sights and smells of the barbacoa tacos being shoved down every open piehole. Damn, people, ease up. Then there was much talk of the vast array of donuts, muffins, and heat-and-serve tartlets just begging for a coffee chaser. It’s absolutely non-stop around here.

And don’t even try NOT to indulge because 47 people will come by your office to make sure you know that they’re about to run out of the chicken-on-a-stick so they’re slashing prices and you better haul ass to the break room if you want one. "It’s for a good cause." Yeah, and so were the make-your-own-ice-cream-floats and design-a-funny-hat-out-of-office-supplies contest we had last week. Doesn’t anybody ever work around here? Besides me, I mean?

Oh, and guess who opted OUT of the potluck Thanksgiving free-for-all/cake party tomorrow? Yup. And I loooves me some cake.

Sleigh in The Shop?

2008-11-17T21:58:00.002-06:00

Spotted today at a bus stop:

The season's first Dipshit in a Santa Hat.

Congratulations, jackass.

So It Wasn't All Just A Dream

2008-11-11T21:06:00.003-06:00

It really happened! A week later, and I’m still so excited about the New Guy. Every time I see a picture of him doing something President-Elect-ish, I smile. Maybe I even wink and give him a thumbs up. I just love the whole idea of purging and re-organizing and preparing to finally Move On. I am so ready, I can’t even tell you.

To add to the euphoria currently enveloping my house, I had the best conversation with Abuelita Turista the other night. She called me to say, "Girl – we did it!" and then to say, "Can you believe That Sarah and all those clothes? She didn’t even look that nice!" She told me she went to Mass to pray for Our New President because "he’s inheriting one helluva mess, idn’t he?" and because she’s worried about the "kooks and the crazies out there" that might try to hurt him. She says she can’t believe that at 90 years old, she was able to help put an African-American, and "an outstanding man," in the White House – something her father would have loved to have seen. Overall, she’s very positive about the outcome, but she can’t exactly share her enthusiasm with the rest of the family down there as they, for whatever reason, went with The Other Guy. And will give her no end of grief if she brings it up. Family. What are you gonna do?

We closed the conversation with our identical thoughts on the New First Daughters – and how much they remind us of Peach and Olive. Nearly the same age, and seemingly the same dispositions. The graceful older sister and the spunky younger sister, both appreciating and enjoying every minute of all this hoop-di-do. When that sweet family walked out together to claim victory on Election Night, THAT is when I lost it. We know that family. We are that family. And I am thrilled for all of us.

C’mon everybody. Group hug.

A Whole New World

2008-11-05T20:52:00.003-06:00

So we did it, y'all. HE did it. And I couldn't be happier. Really, truly. I think the sky was a bit more blue when I woke up this morning. And the drive to The Job not quite as painful. And T-Bone's excellent enchilada sauce just a tad more saucy. Amazing what restoring one's faith in The Hearts and Minds of My Fellow Americans can do. That and splitting a split of some old champagne last night with the best looking guy in the place.

USA! USA! USA!

God Bless America

2008-11-04T23:32:00.004-06:00

As seen on People.com:

Barack Obama Makes History!
Audrina: LC "Cool" With My Moving Out