Crazy Lightning

That's supposedly my Rollergirl name, as generated here. I much prefer the name I came up with: Mama Zooma's Revenge, Zooma* for short. I truly feel I was born to be a PDF, but, much like Malcontent Mama, I would look like one giant bruise on wheels. Once when I was staying with my grandmother for the summer, she took me to the doctor for a complete round of blood work because she was convinced I had leukemia. Another time, my gynecologist was ready to file a domestic violence report until I convinced her the 30 odd bruises on my arms and upper thighs were from moving into my new apartment. And once I showed up at church Easter Sunday with a huge shiner, courtesy of Peach and her lack of control of her baby noggin, and poor T-Bone had to endure the stares and quiet mutterings of the entire Altar Guild and the overly aggressive grip of the big cowboy next to him during the Lord's Prayer.

So, while I am nearly two weeks into my severance deal, and I have no leads or real inspiration regarding the career issue, I may have to give up my dream of the Derby before it begins. That said, I will kick the ass of any bitch who steals my awesome moniker. Putas por vida!!!

* No joke. I saved this as a draft this morning, and guess what the word of the day is on Peach's Cranium Kids' Club calendar? ZOOMA. Total sign.

Link a Dink a Doo

I took Peach to the Saturday Morning Kids' Club movie sponsored by this guy at this theatre. Guess who's learning how to create links?! It was a pretty disturbing Shirley Temple vehicle called "The Blue Bird", but the crowd was light because of the crappy weather, and the popcorn, slathered in butter, was tasty. They were running MGM muscial clips before the show, and because we have this, which I highly recommend to Karla May and Bookhart, Peach knows her some famous hoofers. We walked in, and she goes,"Mommy, look! It's Cyd! Look at that beautiful turnout!" Yeah - so I would love for her to be a dancer (this kind, not this kind, or this kind). So sue me.

Okay, one more for the hell of it - now I'm done.

It's Official

After pondering this whole blog thing for the past week, I am now ready to out myself. I have been trapped in the blogging closet up until today, and now I want to say, "I'm here. I blog. Get used to it." I have several very witty and interesting friends who blog, and if I knew how to set links to their blogs, I would do that here. I'm working on it girls.

This computer goes back to LawNerds tomorrow, and our laptop is in the shop after crapping out FOUR DAYS after our four year warranty ran out. Electronics Box Store was cool about it, but I don't know when I'll be back online. So, just when I make my grand entrance, the door slams shut, and, of course, I've lost my keys. I'll leave you waiting in breathless anticipation of my next post I'm sure.

7 days out (of work)

So, I've been officially out of work for 7 days now. Since I've known for a while that the end was near, I was really getting used to the idea - in theory, at least. But I don't think it's totally hit me yet. I feel like my cases are just piling up like usual, waiting to converge on me at about 9 pm Thursday night and hold me captive straight through to my deadline at 10 pm Saturday night. That was the usual routine.

But this past week has been different. Blissfully different. I hosted a kick ass game night Thursday and a perfect birthday party Saturday. I took a quick trip to Houston Sunday and Monday. And Friday was one of the best days I've had since I started working for LawNerds four years ago. We picked Peach up from school, and the whole lot of us went to see "Curious George" for Olive's first ever trip to the movies. Then we went to pick up the birthday cake, which Peach hadn't seen since I ordered it without her. She about lost her mind when she saw that it was one of those with a Barbie-ish doll body on the top and her skirt as the cake. The fun continued when we decided to stop and eat dinner before going home. T-Bone and I sat there, holding hands across the table, cracking up at the lively "conversation" the girls were having while they rocked out to the oldies blaring throughout the place. It was a great day.

So now LawNerds wants this computer back, and I have to swear on my mother's life not to compete with them for the rest of mine. As if. I have amassed the largest amount of useless, outdated legal information that only the dorkiest of book lawyers or the biggest ass-kissing 1L trying to get on law journal would ever even bother to look for it, so, I think I'm cool. Plus, I don't even know that I want to be a lawyer, but I would play one on TV.

The Party Circuit

Birthday parties, that is. We had one for Peach at her dance studio on Saturday - a whole ballerina-princess-fairy kind of affair. Her birthday is actually in December, but since everyone is usually gone or crazy busy over the holidays, we let her choose a different time to have her party. Last year was a farm party in October, this year was a ballerinapalooza in February. By the way, it's not about getting stuff - she just loves to see her friends and have some cake (just like her mama). Sounds simple, right? That's what I thought. But the concept is apparently very foreign to those chest-deep in the Birthday Party Circuit.

Case in point: although the invitation for Saturday clearly read "no gifts," half of the girls showed up with gifts - big gifts. And the social calendar of one of the girls is apparently so full that she just made a 15 minute appearance to drop off the gift she wasn't supposed to bring as she headed right back out the door and on to the next engagement. I realize it's not the kids' fault - they're not driving themselves to all of these events and they're not buying the gifts. And I'm glad they seem to want to spend time with my daughter. To a point. Part of the deal is that some kids, and more often their parents, can't stand the thought of missing anything so they will break their necks - and the bank - to be at every brithday party they've ever been invited to, only to complain about it later. I've heard TOO many parents say, "Oh - we were so busy this weekend! We had THREE birthday parties on Saturday!" My question to them is always, "WHY?! Why did you have three birthday parties on Saturday? Is your child so intimately familiar with every one of those children that it would really make a difference to either of them if your child wasn't there?" Sorry folks - it doesn't make a lick of difference to either one of them. When you start inviting kids you don't really know and expect everyone to bring gifts (which are never opened at the party anymore - what's up with that?), it takes on a really impersonal and down right greedy vibe that destroys the whole point of the thing - having FUN with your FRIENDS!

For the last three years, Peach has received birthday party invitations just days after the class rosters come out - before school has even started. Last year, I had to cross reference the phone number on the invitation with the school directory to figure out who the party was even for so I could call and give one of my standard excuses - out of town (for weekend parties) or denist appointment (for weekday parties). It turns out it was a party for two girls, neither of whom was in Peach's class that year or the year before, and they had invited ALL of the 4 year old girls in the whole school. Some might say, "How nice of them to include everyone." Yeah - maybe. But I say, "So we're supposed to get TWO presents for kids we don't even know and then I've got to hunt down the damn parents at the party so I can introduce myself and my kid to them and their kids since none of us know who the hell any of us is?!" I'm not anti-birthday party, I just think there's something very wrong with that whole Circuit scene, and I refuse to let Peach get roped into it. So, for our very fun, gift- and pressure-free parties, we only invite those kids we know she plays with, which she is totally cool with, and we only go the parties of the kids we know. And we always give books - the gift of learning, you greedy Circuit bastards.

Your Questions Answered

Who the hell are you? Good one. I am many things to many people. I'm mom to Peach, 6, and Olive, 2. I'm wife to T-Bone. I'm #240074** to the State Bar of Texas. I'm a good dancer, a bad speller, and I am deathly afraid of clowns. Seriously.

What's with the Spanish? I've decided that being a mom is, in some ways, like being a tourist. It seems like everywhere we go, we walk around in circles a lot, then sit on every chair, bench, step, or stoop, read every sign - aloud, stop and gaze at every animal, body of water, and varied point of interest, take a shitload of pictures, try the food, and buy the t-shirt. And don't forget the packing beforehand. I try to be prepared for all manner of sustenance-, potty-, and weather-related emergencies (not necessarily in that order). Who knows when we might run out of gas during a Central Texas blizzard and be forced to live off of Cheerios and raisins until help arrives. Or worse, have a blowout diaper at Foley's and have to haul ass to the other end of the mall to Nordstrom's and the lovely restrooms they have hidden there. I did finally make myself cull down the traveling medicine chest I've been lugging around in the diaper bag since Peach was born. I feel like it's probably okay to throw out that unopened and expired (and now practically illegal to possess) bottle of ipecac, and I think I can now leave home without the huge nasal aspirator they gave me in the hospital six years ago. You know the one.

Why should I read this? I don't know. I don't even know why I should write this. I'm in a transitional phase career-wise (see Uncle), which could be interesting, but I don't have a bone to pick, a flag to wave, a cause, a gimmick, or a product, which could be boring. I haven't quite decided where I'm going with this, but it seemed like a good time to start. So stay tuned. Or not.

Uncle

OK - I give. I will blog with you. Fair warning, though - it's not going to be pretty. I have no idea how to set links, post pictures, or any of that other fancy stuff, and I'll be surprised if this post actually shows up where it's supposed to be since I tried this once before, and I still can't get to my original blog. So, I'm very wary. But seeing that, as of tomorrow, I will be gainfully UNemployed, I think I might have some time to figure this out.

Yes, after 4 plus years of working from home for LawNerds (a crafty code name), the Project from Hell I was assigned to has come to an end. And believe me, I ain't too choked up about it. I've always compared the work itself to the first year of law school, which I've always compared to that scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where Indiana Jones is trying to outrun that huge boulder, and he's okay if he just keeps running and stays ahead of it. Yeah, it was a lot like that. Neverending, completely mind-numbing busywork that made my life incredibly stressful as I tried to shove 30 hours of work into two days in order to meet my Saturday night deadline. Every weekend. For over 4 years. The only saving grace, and the only reason I took the job, was that I was able to stay at home with my first and now second kiddo. And I didn't have to be in a cube next to the jackass that emailed me the Funny Pet Picture of the Week. Every week. For over 4 years.

So, later LawNerds - I'm a stay-at-home blogger now. At least until I figure out what I want to be when I grow up.