This fits T-Bone to, well, a T:
Nothing is so strong as gentleness;
Nothing so gentle as real strength.
Sigh.
June 18, 2006
June 14, 2006
The Girls of Summer
We're about one month into summer here at Casa de Bone, and what a whirlwind it's been already. Olive has had a lovely past few weeks scooting between swim lessons, dance class, and Gymboree, and Peach spent a week with each set of grandparents, all on her own. T-Bone's mom taught school for 25 years, so they always do lots of puppet shows, arts and crafts, and educational games. My mom is an interior designer and owns a store, so she usually takes Peach to work with her a few times where they wile away the hours making flower arrangements and helping people pick out paint colors, fabric, and accessories for their homes. Which probably explains this. For the next two weeks, Peach will be in swim lessons and going to two half-day camps. One week is Art Camp, and one week is Girls Only Science Camp. Finally! The girls get a chance to blow stuff up! We've been to Fiesta Texas and the Frio River; we've seen Over the Hedge and Cars. And we had what I'm praying will be some precious pictures taken by this gal. Whew ...
As for me, I had a complete emotional breakdown watching my baby graduate from Kindergarten, broke my toe, was the victim of a crime, and only lost 7 of the 50 pounds I need to lose by my GD high school reunion in August. And I'm turning 38 next month. Shit.
As for me, I had a complete emotional breakdown watching my baby graduate from Kindergarten, broke my toe, was the victim of a crime, and only lost 7 of the 50 pounds I need to lose by my GD high school reunion in August. And I'm turning 38 next month. Shit.
June 8, 2006
Won't Get Fooled Again
Every time I've been inspired to post the last couple of days, Blogger was totally not cooperating, so now I fear my moment has passed. However, there is this one thing ... probably considered Too Much Information, but it's all I've got today.
I am not very brand conscious - I buy something, and if it works or tastes good or whatever, I'm sold. I buy stuff in every price range, but I tend to stay in the low to medium area. That said, I have learned the hard way this week that you get what you pay for, especially when it comes to lady products. After accidentally giving myself TWO Brazilian bikini waxes because the damn things keep flipping over and depleting my underwear drawer at such a rapid pace that I'm down to my maternity bloomers, I have to say that the Target rip-off of Always lady products DO NOT measure up to the real deal. So, when it comes to your lady parts, and the accessories needed therefor, take my advice: Don't be cheap. Splurge on the brand name stuff. Go on, live a little. Your lady parts will thank you. I, on the other hand, must go ice mine down. Now.
I am not very brand conscious - I buy something, and if it works or tastes good or whatever, I'm sold. I buy stuff in every price range, but I tend to stay in the low to medium area. That said, I have learned the hard way this week that you get what you pay for, especially when it comes to lady products. After accidentally giving myself TWO Brazilian bikini waxes because the damn things keep flipping over and depleting my underwear drawer at such a rapid pace that I'm down to my maternity bloomers, I have to say that the Target rip-off of Always lady products DO NOT measure up to the real deal. So, when it comes to your lady parts, and the accessories needed therefor, take my advice: Don't be cheap. Splurge on the brand name stuff. Go on, live a little. Your lady parts will thank you. I, on the other hand, must go ice mine down. Now.
June 5, 2006
Tiny Dancer
Today was Olive's first ever dance class. The child has been walking since she was 9 1/2 months old, and she's been dancing just about as long, so it was only a matter of time. She's grown up watching Peach's classes, so the whole concept is pretty familiar to her, but I was still a bit nervous about how she would react when she actually had to walk the walk. She left me at the door to the studio and never looked back. And she never quit smiling the whole time. The teacher even commented on what a happy dancer she is. And considering that the class was full of two year olds, they all did remarkably well, and not one tear was shed. When they came out, we all clapped for them, and Peach yelled, "Olive! I'm so proud of you!" Okay, maybe a few tears were shed ...
Also, I want to say thanks for all of the support and concern regarding Thursday's events. We've put some extra measures in place to hopefully prevent or at least make it harder for any other crackheads who decide to invade "my hairspace" (big props if you can ID that quote), and I think my anger is now just at simmer. I didn't sleep at all Thursday night, bolting upright at every little noise and replaying every scenario I could think of as to how this happened or how I could have prevented it, and I just ended up exhausted on Friday. Later that afternoon, Olive and I took a power nap together, the kind where you wake up and your head is totally sweaty, and I actually slept fairly well that night. I pray that this was our one and only brush with crime and that the crackheads either get a real life or bleed to death the next time they try to kick in my back door.
Also, I want to say thanks for all of the support and concern regarding Thursday's events. We've put some extra measures in place to hopefully prevent or at least make it harder for any other crackheads who decide to invade "my hairspace" (big props if you can ID that quote), and I think my anger is now just at simmer. I didn't sleep at all Thursday night, bolting upright at every little noise and replaying every scenario I could think of as to how this happened or how I could have prevented it, and I just ended up exhausted on Friday. Later that afternoon, Olive and I took a power nap together, the kind where you wake up and your head is totally sweaty, and I actually slept fairly well that night. I pray that this was our one and only brush with crime and that the crackheads either get a real life or bleed to death the next time they try to kick in my back door.
June 1, 2006
This Is Why I Don't Own A Gun
Our house was burglarized today. I was only gone about an hour and a half, and when I got back from Olive's swim lesson, I came in to find the back door molding on the floor. We've been having our front door refinished, so my first reaction was, "Why did they take that off? And how did they get in here while I was gone?" Then I thought, "Did that crazy cat knock that molding off or did it just fall?" Then I saw splintered wood around the back door, which was closed, and I thought, "That ain't right. Must get out. NOW."
The girls were still in the car because that's how I roll - I usually come in first to drop off the stuff and scare off any crackheads who may be in the house (really, I am that paranoid) - so I just grabbed the diaper bag and walked right back out, got in the car, and drove up the street. I called T-Bone to see if he thought I was crazy, and he said no and that I should absolutely call the police. I apologized to the 911 operator and to the police when they got there moments later - I'm sure that this is probably nothing but I do have my children here so I wanted to be positive that no one is in the house and yes I am completely neurotic especially when it comes to safety, etc.. My neighbors were now all out and coming up the street to see what all the fuss was about, and I explained what I had found and what my suspicions were, and about that time, one of the officers came out to say that they had "cleared" the house but that it looked like someone had been inside. Great. They wanted me to come in and see what if anything was missing, and I'm thinking, what ISN'T going to be missing, sure that the whole house would be wiped clean.
It seems that the crackheads kicked in the back door with ease, and without breaking the glass, and went straight to our bedroom downstairs. At first I couldn't tell if anything was missing, partly because I was a little keyed up and partly because I was horrified that I hadn't made the bed this morning. Sorry, cops. Then I saw a candlestick out of place on the dresser, and I was totally creeped out. I even said so. In our bathroom, they went through an old girlie ashtray I keep my throwdown jewelry in - a few pairs of earrings, a stray bracelet, and the like - as well as my very nice men's TAG Heuer watch that needs a battery. Stupid crackheads missed that. I ran to the closet where I've hidden the lion's share of my good jewelry - stuff that isn't necessarily expensive but that I would absolutely lose my shit if it ever got lost, and it was all there. And so was the pair of granny underwear that I threw on the floor when I changed into my bathing suit earlier. Which I was still wearing by the way, with a wet t-shirt and towel wrapped around me. Had to apologize to the cops for that, too.
I went upstairs to check about the obvious electronic stuff, and I really don't think the crackheads had the time or the sense to even go up there. I brought the girls in, and T-Bone arrived shortly thereafter, his eyes quite wide and his voice a little shaky. It's not everyday you come home to three police officers in your house, dusting for prints, and asking if you own any weapons. No, no I don't. And this is a perfect example of why I don't. If I did: a) it wouldn't have helped in this situation because I wasn't even here; and b) the crackheads may have found it and stolen it and killed somebody with it. Not to mention the fact that I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn without my glasses on anyway.
The cops kept asking about different items that I might have forgotten about, and when one of them said, "engagement ring," my heart sank. My ring is a little silver band with a heart-shaped amethyst stone from James Avery, and when T-Bone and I talked about getting married and rings and all that, I told him I didn't want a RING ring, because we were already borrowing money for law school, and I didn't think we needed to go further in debt for a ring, and I'm not a grown-up jewelry kind of gal anyway. So, we settled on this perfect, precious ring, and he gave it to me on a glorious night in New Orleans at the Old Absinthe House. I took it off recently to clean it, and with the swim lessons and all this week, I had put it in the girlie ashtray. And the fucking crackheads got it.
I held it together until the cops left, and then T-Bone and I had a "moment" in the garage. The girls were blissfully unaware and not at all afraid that there were police officers in the house. Peach was most impressed that the one in charge was a woman, and she told her about the time she met two female firefighters on a school trip to the fire station. I know she knows that something is up, but I'm not going to say any more than she asks.
I have spent the rest of the day Cloroxing anything I think the crackheads might have touched and running many different scenarios through my head. What if we had been home? Were they here when we got here? Were they watching the house? I am so mad and so creeped out that strangers were in my house, in my bedroom, where I sleep with my babies, that I can hardly see straight. Yes, it could have been much worse, and stuff is stuff, and all that, but I am still furious. Which is another great reason why I don't own a gun.
The girls were still in the car because that's how I roll - I usually come in first to drop off the stuff and scare off any crackheads who may be in the house (really, I am that paranoid) - so I just grabbed the diaper bag and walked right back out, got in the car, and drove up the street. I called T-Bone to see if he thought I was crazy, and he said no and that I should absolutely call the police. I apologized to the 911 operator and to the police when they got there moments later - I'm sure that this is probably nothing but I do have my children here so I wanted to be positive that no one is in the house and yes I am completely neurotic especially when it comes to safety, etc.. My neighbors were now all out and coming up the street to see what all the fuss was about, and I explained what I had found and what my suspicions were, and about that time, one of the officers came out to say that they had "cleared" the house but that it looked like someone had been inside. Great. They wanted me to come in and see what if anything was missing, and I'm thinking, what ISN'T going to be missing, sure that the whole house would be wiped clean.
It seems that the crackheads kicked in the back door with ease, and without breaking the glass, and went straight to our bedroom downstairs. At first I couldn't tell if anything was missing, partly because I was a little keyed up and partly because I was horrified that I hadn't made the bed this morning. Sorry, cops. Then I saw a candlestick out of place on the dresser, and I was totally creeped out. I even said so. In our bathroom, they went through an old girlie ashtray I keep my throwdown jewelry in - a few pairs of earrings, a stray bracelet, and the like - as well as my very nice men's TAG Heuer watch that needs a battery. Stupid crackheads missed that. I ran to the closet where I've hidden the lion's share of my good jewelry - stuff that isn't necessarily expensive but that I would absolutely lose my shit if it ever got lost, and it was all there. And so was the pair of granny underwear that I threw on the floor when I changed into my bathing suit earlier. Which I was still wearing by the way, with a wet t-shirt and towel wrapped around me. Had to apologize to the cops for that, too.
I went upstairs to check about the obvious electronic stuff, and I really don't think the crackheads had the time or the sense to even go up there. I brought the girls in, and T-Bone arrived shortly thereafter, his eyes quite wide and his voice a little shaky. It's not everyday you come home to three police officers in your house, dusting for prints, and asking if you own any weapons. No, no I don't. And this is a perfect example of why I don't. If I did: a) it wouldn't have helped in this situation because I wasn't even here; and b) the crackheads may have found it and stolen it and killed somebody with it. Not to mention the fact that I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn without my glasses on anyway.
The cops kept asking about different items that I might have forgotten about, and when one of them said, "engagement ring," my heart sank. My ring is a little silver band with a heart-shaped amethyst stone from James Avery, and when T-Bone and I talked about getting married and rings and all that, I told him I didn't want a RING ring, because we were already borrowing money for law school, and I didn't think we needed to go further in debt for a ring, and I'm not a grown-up jewelry kind of gal anyway. So, we settled on this perfect, precious ring, and he gave it to me on a glorious night in New Orleans at the Old Absinthe House. I took it off recently to clean it, and with the swim lessons and all this week, I had put it in the girlie ashtray. And the fucking crackheads got it.
I held it together until the cops left, and then T-Bone and I had a "moment" in the garage. The girls were blissfully unaware and not at all afraid that there were police officers in the house. Peach was most impressed that the one in charge was a woman, and she told her about the time she met two female firefighters on a school trip to the fire station. I know she knows that something is up, but I'm not going to say any more than she asks.
I have spent the rest of the day Cloroxing anything I think the crackheads might have touched and running many different scenarios through my head. What if we had been home? Were they here when we got here? Were they watching the house? I am so mad and so creeped out that strangers were in my house, in my bedroom, where I sleep with my babies, that I can hardly see straight. Yes, it could have been much worse, and stuff is stuff, and all that, but I am still furious. Which is another great reason why I don't own a gun.
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