School Bus Stop

Each morning, when I leave to drive the boys to preschool, the middle school kids are emerging from their houses to head to the bus stop.

Oftentimes I am late (three kids will slow you down) and the kids are already waiting at the bus stop.

I've taken to observing the species that is "Middle School Student at a Bus Stop."

The most curious thing to note--they don't communicate with one another.

One boy is always reading a fat book. He sits criss-cross-applesauce with his fat book in his lap, reading. I like him. I like people who read.

Another boy wearing socks up to his knees, carries his book bag in one hand and his lunch in the other. And he paces. Back and forth. Back and forth. It makes me sad to see him because I know he's picked on.

A girl at the pacing boy's bus stop--she simply stares at the pacing boy. She's as far away as she can be from him while still being at the actual bus stop, she wears a backpack, and always has her arms across her chest. And she stares at the pacing boy.

Another girl texts. I do not kid when I say she's been texting every.single.time that I can remember seeing her. She doesn't talk to those real live people who surround her, but she texts goodness only knows who, furiously, as if it were important state matters she was dealing with and not American Idol and who's dating who this week.

This his how the scene plays out, morning after morning. Come to my neighborhood at 8:35 on and given day and I guarantee what you see won't be far off. And so I'm sad. Because here in this microcosm of neighborhood children, I worry. Because short of the one girl texting (and really, can I really count that as a consolation?) these children do no communicate with each other. Face to face communication has been abandoned for Facebook, and talking is now replaced by texting.

I can't see how this can be a good thing.

Book Nook

I read a lot. My friend Kathleen reads twice as much as I do. (Did I mention she has five kids?)

This is very fortunate for me. (The fact that she reads, a lot, not the fact that she has five kids. That really doesn't benefit me much that I can think of.)

Follow my math here. Kathleen reads twice as me, and then recommends to me her favorites, which as a rough estimation are about 25% of the books she reads. I, in turn, for the most read only those books recommended by her, which makes her my very own filtration system and results in me reading truly wonderful works of fiction. Darn near exclusively. It's nice to not waste time reading crappy books.






At her recommendation, few months back I read The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. It takes place in a fictional country, Panem, which after subduing its revolting citizens several decades in the past created games where 24 of the nations' youth are put in an arena to fight to the death. You know, to remind them never to revolt again. Or else.

At first I was wondering how much I was going to like a book that a) seemed kinda depressing and b) was so sci-fi esque. I typically don't like books with so many "made up" elements, and in this one everything was straight out of the authors imagination.

So I was skeptical. But why? It came highly recommended by the great filter Kathleen!

Never doubt Kathleen, my friends.

This book was amazing.

I had to wait and wait and wait my turn for one of the three copies from the library of the sequel to The Hunger Games--Catching Fire.



Catching Fire was so superbly amazing, there aren't words. I read it in less than a day, laundry and cooking be damned!

I will warn you--the ending to Catching Fire is such a huge, looming, white-knuckler of a cliffhanger that it will hardly satiate the hunger (no pun intended) that The Hunger Games left you with.

But there is hope on the horizon--the third and final book in the series, Mockingjay, is being released in August.

I am waiting with bated breath. Practically dying from asphyxiation.

The Things They Come Up With: Chapter One

I typically don't stray far from home. On a regular basis, I go to three places:

1. The kids' preschool (about 1/4 mile from home)
2. The gym (about 1.5 miles from home)
3. Publix (also 1.5 miles from home)

As such, we (we being me and the kids) don't often to see the sights of town, if you will. But one thing they never seem to forget--the hospital.

Every time we drive by the hospital, which like I said is not all that great of a frequency even though it is a mere two miles from our door, one or both of the boys comment on the fact that I go there, I sleep there, and I bring home a baby.

(Or at least I did. I'm not planning on doing that again anytime soon.)

This evening, as we went on a great adventure that happen to take us that way, the inevitable conversation began. This time I got a little more than I bargained for.

It went a little something like this.

Cole: Look! It's the hos-i-pal! Look mama! The hos-i-pal where you go to get your baby!

Me: Yes, it sure it.

(This is usually the end of that, although sometimes they also comment on how Granny brings them there to visit me and they get to ride in the elevator.)

Mason: Do people also go there when they get dead?

Me: Silence.

Mason: Well do they?

Me: Yes, some people do Mason.

Cole: When people are getting dead, the ambulance picks them up and brings them to the hos-i-pal first.

Mason: Yep. And then they get dead.


Shortly after that delightful little conversation, Mason comes along to show me a card from a matching game he has. It's of the Earth with a caption that says, "God created the Earth in six days" (a feat, by the way, which never ceases to amaze me).

Mason: Look, Mom. It's the Earth. God lives there. (He points to the area of outer space in the picture.)

Me: Yes He does.

Mason: Yep, and so does Wall-E.



And lastly, tonight as Rey and Mason were playing a round of Mario Kart, I heard another little gem when both of them were defeated by the computer characters.

Mason: We lost. They banged us.

Rey: You mean they beat us?

Mason: Yeah. They beat us. And banged us.


It was a day of audio delights, let me tell ya. All this makes me wonder how many funny things I would hear if I paid better attention...

Happy Days Are Here Again

I am in a really, really good mood.

It is such a monumental occasion I figured it would behoove me to document it.

I have really good reasons for my really good mood.

1. Yesterday, I folded, hung, and put away ten loads of laundry. It was such an accomplishment.
2. Today, even though it was time to start laundry again, I only had three loads instead of my usual four.
3. This weekend, I'm going to a yoga training. Keri's coming along this time and we're going to dine on sushi.
4. I'm going to be spending two nights away from home, which (as much as I love my family) means I get to have two blessed and uninterrupted nights of sleep that culminate in mornings which do no involve me waking to the sound of someone screaming that they have to go potty.
5. I discovered the Arc Trainer at the gym. I used to think this was a pointless machine, sort of a reject elliptical or something. But alas, it is far superior! And burns like, twice the calories. I never was a fan of the elliptical, so this discovery is fantastic.
6. I have cooked dinner three times this week. And although sometimes it's stressful and most of the time Mason won't eat it, I feel very accomplished, and happy that Rey always helps clean up. The cleaning up is the worst.
7. Mason (I think) has finally given up napping. And while this might seem like a devastating blow, now that I have gotten used to it I'm really enjoying the fact that he and I have some time alone in a quiet house while the other kids sleep. At least I enjoy when he's contributing to that quiet house aspect.
8. Upon the culmination of my reading the Harry Potter Books 1-7, I was lent the five books of the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series, which is a completely delightful little collection of books.
9. The sun is shining! You'd think this would not be a novelty in Florida, but trust me, lately the state of the sun has been iffy in the Sunshine State.
10. I feel like I need a number 10 in order to have a nice round number, but I've got nothing else.

Soon we will be returning to our regularly scheduled negativity, including but not limited to, a nice long dissertation on why the glass is half empty.

Until then...

Doing Really Dumb Things a.k.a. Making Enchiladas with Your Kids

Tonight, in a moment of less clarity, I did several unintelligent things.


1. I, a woman with no cooking skills, decided to make dinner.


2. I, in typical me fashion, selected an intricate recipe for what can be a simple dish. (Why do in two steps what you can do in ten?)


3. I, in an attempt to get my 5 year old more adventurous about food, enlisted said 5 year old's help in preparing said intricate recipe.


4. I also enlisted the help of the 5 year old's brother. His little brother. You know, the three year old.


We were making enchiladas.


While I was in the thick of it, I was excited and having a grand ol' time. The fact that we were making a monumental mess in my kitchen was in the back of my mind, but I was too busy preventing my kids from scalding themselves or grabbing a cilantro knife that the mess couldn't consume me. At least not then.


They had a great time smuggling shredded cheese when my back was turned.


They were so excited that I really was convinced they'd at least give the enchiladas a try. I know full well that they don't eat meat that isn't chicken and they don't eat chicken that isn't in nugget form, but they were so earnest and proud about the process that I really thought they'd at the very least give it the old college try.


It wasn't pretty.


There was begging.


Please no food! Please give me a cookie!


There was pleading.


I can't eat the food! My Band-aid will get dirty! (The Band-aid is on his leg. I don't understand this one.)


Despite the fact that it was a labor intensive process, I thoroughly enjoyed my new enchilada recipe.


My kitchen? A mess.


My major mistake--I should have anticipated the screaming, crying and carrying on that would accompany it and make a margarita to cushion the blow.

Live and learn.

Ask Ashley - Sympathy vs. Empathy

It has recently been brought to my attention that it has been many months since I have posted an "Ask Ashley" question. So here goes...

Dear Ashley,

Since you're good with grammar, I figured I'd ask. What is the difference between sympathy and empathy? I never know which one to use, so I never use either.

Thanks,
Katie

Ah, Katie, I sympathize. It's tough getting ensnared in the enigmatic English language. I will try to simplify it for you.

Sympathy is for when you are talking about feelings that you yourself have not or are not experiencing. For example, "I offer my sympathy for the loss of your mother." Or "I am sympathetic to the plight of the people in Haiti."

Empathy is better used when you've "been there" yourself. "I empathize with you--I had Professor Smith's class last semester and he's a really tough teacher." Or, "I empathize about how miserable wearing a cast is. I had to wear one last year when I broke my leg."

I hope that helps!

Gotta question? Email steppedonalego at gmail dot com.

Pain to end all pain

I workout a lot. We're talking 5 days a week, sometimes six. I run, I spin, I lift free weights, I use weight machines, and yes, I yoga. I am fit.

But I met my match.

Tuesday, I took a Body Attack class. This is the kind of class I typically stay far, far away from because it's the kind of class where you have to be coordinated and jump around like a jelly bean until your sweaty, dizzy and perhaps about to vomit. Admittedly, it was a really great cardio workout. I made it through the class well enough, and even did a yoga class afterwards.

And then, the pain began.

At first, I thought I had pulled a calf muscle in my left calf. The pain began very shortly after I left the gym. Soon it spread to my other calf and I realized it wasn't a pulled muscle but muscle soreness. Rats.

When I do a new class, I expect to feel soreness to some degree or another. After all, using your muscles in a different way is bound to make you sore, even if you work out on a regular basis. But this? This I did not expect.

Tuesday night in my sleep, I was very aware of my calf pain. Wednesday morning when I attempted to get out of bed, the pain was so bad it nearly brought me to my knees. Obviously I took the day off from the gym, and spent the day shuffling around, barely able to put one foot in front of the other.

I was overly optimistic that I would be better today. Knowing full well and right that nine times out of ten you're more sore on Day 2 than Day 1, I was still hoping that today I would be recovered and be able to hit the gym again.

Not.

I'm a just as bad as yesterday. And it's miserable!

Seriously, I was not even this sore the day after the half marathon.

I discovered, sheerly by accident I assure you, that I can crawl faster than I can walk. If that isn't pathetic then I don't know what is.

The moral of the story is, never overestimate yourself, and never underestimate the reason the word "Attack" is in the name of the class. Cause I most certainly feel like something's attacked me.

The Bachelor

Hello, my name is Ashley, and I'm a Bachelor-aholic.

Hi, Ashley.

Don't ask me why, but I watch The Bachelor. (I've watched it since Season Two with Aaron Buerge--who is, incidentally, still single.) Each episode waits for me on my DVR every Tuesday, and every Tuesday I half way wonder why I still watch this ridiculous show.

And then it occurs to me--I watch it because it's ridiculous.

Jake annoys me. I hate his accent (I love southern accents, just not his), I hate his facial expressions, I hate that he stormed back like an ass on last season's The Bachelorette to tell Jillian secrets and lies. Assuming there were either secrets, or lies. Your guess is as good as mine.
But then, there are these girls. Or women, as Jake always refers to them. I'm sure ABC's casting call goes something like this:

Seeking gorgeous, shallow, catty women who want to compete for the heart of a pilot who is also gorgeous and shallow. Must be willing to be extremely nasty to fellow contestants. Desire to convincingly woo him and break up with him in a dramatic fashion shortly after the season finale preferred.

Last night he started with nine women who I can easily divide into two categories: Crazy and Crazier. I spent most of this last show cringing as some begged for him to keep him and others were literally throwing themselves at him. The lack of self-respect just astounds me...

I used to like Ali, but she is becoming increasingly, and uncomfortably bitchy, most notably to Vienna. I am no fan of Vienna's--by any means--but the only thing more disturbing than a catty bitch who talks about you behind your back is a catty bitch who talks about you to your face.

I have no idea who the heck Jake is going to pick, and my money is on their relationship being short lived. I don't know why people go on this show to find love since they have like a 3% success rate. AND you end up looking like an ass.

But last night, as I watched these desperate women do and say desperate things in an attempt to win over this desperate man, I had an epiphany.

Up until this point, my dreams for my daughter included her to be kind, charitable, smart, attend a good college, and to know the value of a hard work and perseverance.

I have simplified.

Now, my goal in life is for her to be smart enough to never, ever apply to be on The Bachelor. I feel that in this, I will have succeeded as a mother.

Anything else will be a bonus.

Sad

My grandmother has Alzheimer's. She has, for some number of years now, been declining in health. A few months back, she sustained an injury which resulted in a MRSA infection and required her to have 24 hour nursing care. And so the story begins.

Unfortunately, she did not have a Power of Attorney is effect, although she did leave a will that she had drawn up through a lawyer a few years back. It was now necessary that she enter a full time care facility, the cost of which would total $80,000 per year, a cost that none of her five children were about to shoulder. More lawyers were involved, infighting amongst my disfunctional family peaked, and in the end my poor grandmother's care and her assets went under state control since the siblings couldn't agree. The state would come in and cover the costs once all her of assets were exhausted. She had only one thing to her name--her house.

She lived in a row house in Baltimore City. It was built and purchased nearly 100 years ago by my great grandparents. I think they paid around $3,000 for it, incredible that at the peak of the housing boom it was worth 100 times that. My earliest memories of life are in that house, with my great grandma Rose's cooking of everything from roast beef to ramen noodles. Her food was the best. The house was full of turn of the century antiques--things Rose had bought at that time that withstood the test of time and aged with grandeur. At the risk of sounding like an old person myself, they just don't make stuff like that anymore. Most notably in my memory are her mahogany dining room table and the two bedroom sets--four poster beds, chests of drawers with dovetail joints, the works.

When my great-grandma Rose passed away in 1989, my grandmother moved into the house. Little changed there, it still to this day has the same pale blue and white wallpaper that was there when I was an infant. The house was and is so special to me--special because my great grandparents were poor, but they owned this home. Special because my grandmother was never a rich woman, but then she owned this home. Memories, far more valuable than money, were made there. We were all raised in that house, in one way or the other.

When we lived in Maryland I had a lot of sleepovers at grandma's house. We had a special relationship and I used to love to go there, especially in the summer when we would walk to the corner and buy snow cones. It was on one of these weekends that I noticed a tiny china set in her china cabinet, what used to by my great grandma's china cabinet. My grandmother told me about her little tea set--a real, bona fide china little girl's tea set--and how it's missing some pieces. When she was a little girl she decided to have a tea party with her dolls and was hauling it down the basement steps, which were mere feet from where I was standing, and she tripped and dropped a couple of pieces. I can understand, those were some treacherous steps if I do say so myself. But all those years later, 60 years perhaps, and my grandmother still had the remaining pieces of that tea set sitting in the china cabinet, their place of honor. It was so special to her, and so it was special to me.

My mother came by today and delivered a bit of news... The state auctioned off her house. This house that's been in my family since it was piles of concrete and plaster was sold to the highest bidder. All because one woman didn't have the proper planning in place and her children couldn't find a way to resolve it.

The antique furniture inside? Auctioned as well. Because it was too heavy and too much of a bother for anyone to figure out how to move it.

And her china set? Gone too. My uncle removed some items, but my father didn't want to make the trip from Florida. And I can't help but think about that tea set. I can't help but wonder if whoever comes to clear the house out they will know the value of that little tea set. I think I know the answer...

It's hard enough for me to wrestle with the fact that for all intents and purposes, the grandmother that I know is gone. But hearing that her house, her furniture, her life's possessions, and yes, that tea set, are gone... just disposed of in such an orderly, unemotional fashion.... makes me feel like I've lost a part of myself, of my family's history.

I've lost that tea set. And with it, I've lost another little piece of my grandmother.

Miss Chevious

I love my daughter.

I really do.

IloveherIloveherIloveherIloveher.

But oh my golly if she isn't the naughtiest little 20 month old I've ever come across then I'm a monkey's uncle. Monkey aunt, maybe. Monkey's uncle, definitely not.

Parenting Lila has been a most humbling honor. With your third child, there is definitely a sort of "I know what I'm doing, this is old hat" mentality. Of course factoring in that each child brings different personality traits to the table makes this mentality absolutely mental. She might as well be my first baby, because I know nothing.

My boys, by comparison, were so much easier at this age. They liked me to play with them, but they were content on their own as well. It was a beautiful marriage of together time, them having independent time and me having time to take care of, I don't know, the rest of our life's pesky little nuances like dishes and laundry. And maybe a little online shopping in between.

But Lila, my dear sweet Lila, will have none of this. She's happy to sit, so long as her seat is my lap. She's happy to play, so long as I play along side her. Which is all fine and dandy until there's seven loads of laundry waiting to be folded, a pile of bills to be paid and flies are swarming around the kitchen sink (no, not really, but perhaps there might be if the windows were open).

I try to load the dishwasher, she gleefully slams it shut. After which she pronounces her joy at its closure by shouting "Yay!" in a most adorable, albeit frustrating fashion.

If I sit down at the computer for five seconds, just five little seconds please to make contact with the outside world, she comes over, throws my hand off the mouse, shoots her hands in the air and says, "Uh!" (Translation: Up, she doesn't do the "p" sound quite yet.) I used to be able to hold her in my left arm and compute with my right, but then it dawned on her precious little blonde head that all those fancy buttons on the laptop actually do something. So that honeymoon is over.


Even trying to take a picture of her is not without its challenges, as now she like to reach out, grab the camera strap and try to wrench it from my hands. She finds this to be quite a jovial little wrestling match.

After a day of the gym, grocery shopping, a round of baby dolls, and hour of books, lunch, helping her try on every pair of shoes we both own, and playing a super fun little game where she pulled everything out of my bathroom drawers while I was in the shower, I finally sit down on the couch for a break. What does Lila do? Climbs up next to me, but instead of sitting down with me like Mason or Cole would have done at this age, she picks up the remote and clocks me in the head with it. Hard. Translations: Insolent woman, you are not done entertaining me! Get up!

And then, she reached down and with a look of positive glee on her cherubic little face, she grabbed a fist full of my hair. And as if she was a little vicious Gymboree wearing vice grip, she pulled my hair harder than it's been pulled since I lived in Baltimore and got into a fist fight in the street with the "Reverend Rickey's" daughter when we were 9 years old (and he wasn't a reverend, if you know what I mean).

I love her, immensely, but it's Friday, it's been a long week, and I'm two steps from crazy. Forgive me.

Lord help me now. Grant me the strength to raise this child to adulthood.

Preferably with both of us in one piece and with some hair left on my head.


P.S. One cute new trick? When she wants her diaper changed she fetches one and lays down on the floor next to wherever I am, and sticks her legs in the air. Well, I think it's cute at least.

Race Recap

As I posted on Friday, last weekend I ran Disney's Half Marathon. The entire week before I was worked up into a tightly-wound tizzy, not over the race, but over the weather.

What kind of weather you ask? Well, the start of the race was 27 degrees and what the weatherman called a "Wintry Mix" which I now know consists of a lovely trinity of rain, sleet AND snow. It was awesome.

I had assembled an enviable race outfit--a long sleeved Nike dry fit shirt, running tights, pants to go over top of them, a running jacket, a big Target fleece jacket that I planned to ditch along the race, two pairs of gloves (laugh if you will) a scarf, and a headband to cover my ears. I sounds ridiculous, but it kept me from freezing to death.

I woke up at 3am, necessary if I was to make it to the last shuttle from the hotel which was at 4am. I got to Epcot where the race started, checked my bag, and found a nice spot near a tent to block the wind while I tried to stay warm. That's right about when it started to sleet. As a horrified Floridian, I watched the little balls of ice land on my glove and roll around. Now I understand why the northerners look at palm trees like they're something special, cause ice from the heavens might as well have been a three-headed dog the way I was staring at it.

I made a friend by that tent, Vanessa, who happened to stop there to eat her bagel with the same hopes I had of keeping warm. It was all for not, but it did keep the wind at bay. But we started chatting, waited in the pre-race port-a-potty line together, went to the start together, and before I knew it we were at the finish line together.

Here we are at Mile 4.2 where we stumbled upon Rey.

Let's back up. I started in the last corral. Even worse, I started in the BACK of the last corral. This meant, I spent miles upon miles upon miles dodging walkers. You have NO IDEA how many people did this race intending to walk the whole thing. Walkers from the start! DROVES of them! And the ruder of the bunch would walk seven or eight across so it was impossible to pass. I had really taken for granted that in my typical running I am able to go in a straight line, one foot in front of the other. This was not the case here. I wish there was a way to calculate how much energy I expended and how much extra length I added to the race with all of this bobbing and weaving. Next time I think I'll turn on my GPS to see... I think Disney should reserve the whole last wave for walkers, cause they were a total pain in my ass.

I started running on the grass because then I didn't have to dodge the walkers, but there was a whole new obstacle there--thousands of articles of discarded clothing. Jackets, shirts, hats, gloves, ponchos and even trash bags.... it was however the lesser of the two evils and as long as the ground was flat enough I was pretty much on the grass. But all the bobbing and weaving and jumping over people's crap, my hips were screaming.

I decided to chronicle my journey with some high quality iPhone pictures. It was fun to run through the gates of the Magic Kingdom, and I couldn't help but think about how many times I'd been in that same spot, except in a vehicle.

Rey, bless his heart, was running from point to point on the race with my camera like he was the paparazzi. I admit it was really fun to see him in random spots on the race, kinda like a Rey version of Where's Waldo. And I handed him a bunch of layers of clothes at one point too so I got to keep the cheapo jacket I bought intended to discard on the race. I became rather fond of it.

Unfortunately, Rey is completely clueless on how to function my camera. He took tons and tons of picture--all on "Close Up" mode. So the majority are blurry messes. I will have to give Rey some rudimentary lessons before we try this again.

Somehow he got a good picture of this guy, running along in a surgical mask and rubber gloves, like he's about to perform surgery in the middle of the race a la M*A*S*H (which I now know stands for Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, thanks to last night's Quiz Night).

It was so cold that my Gu packets were in a semi-frozen state. That was really freaky. I'm used to being able to shoot them, swig some water and go, but I daresay I had to chew the buggers. And my Carmex was definitely frozen. And everyone knows how I can't live without my Carmex. The fact that I'm in Flordia, running, and small packets of things are freezing... well it's just not natural.

After 6 miles, we got to the Magic Kingdom, which was really a lovely sight. I had to pee since almost the beginning of the race. It was either stop at one of the water stations and wait in a ten person deep port-a-potty line, or stop somewhere in Magic Kingdom. Which would you choose? Tomorrowland it was. But I still had to wait in a line, and it was painful, painful to watch the walkers going by that I would have to start dodging again.



Then I saw Buzz Lightyear. And I thought I should take a picture of him, the boys would get a kick about it when I recapped my race to them.

Except then Buzz sorta charged at me. In a freaky, scary, serial killer kinda way.

So I took a picture of that, too.

And just like that, you were out of the Magic Kingdom. The race was roads, roads, more roads, five seconds in Magic Kingdom, then some more roads, roads, more roads, then five seconds in Epcot, then it was over.

To say I was cold afterwards would be a complete and utter understatement. It was below 30 degrees, I was sweaty, I was down several layers of clothes, and it occurred to me only then that I was soaking wet. When I took off my gloves my fingers were bone white and shriveled up like prunes. My feet were even worse. It took me over an hour to warm up, most of which I was shivering so bad I could have dang near bitten my tongue off.

Cold is one thing, cold and wet is a kind of pure torture.

Despite all that unpleasantness, I had a fun time. I met so many people it was amazing! It was like we were all banded together in this insanity of running a race in what can only be described as horrific conditions. I love meeting people, so it just added to my fun factor.

I am glad it's over, but I would totally do it again. I could only hope it would be minus the "Wintry Mix."

Goin' to the Mouse's House

The time has come.

Tomorrow is the Disney Half Marathon race that I stupidly signed up for.

I am a nervous wreck. 50% of that is because of the race and 50% of that is because of the weather.

The forecast? 27 degrees and rain. Some bold weather folks are even reporting snow.

Snow in Florida? It must be the apocalypse.

My question is this--when did the weather become a bigger obstacle than running 13.1 miles in this scenario?

But I am going, and I am running. And I will finish, because after all, I finish everything I start. This will be no exception.

In the meantime I will invoke the phrase used by a little train friend of mine:

I think I can, I think I can!

And when I DO, I hope I haven't lost any toes to frostbite in the process.

2010

Last year, I posted my resolutions.

The first on the list was to read one book a month. I have always been an avid reader, just waylayed by the birth of too many kids, so this was a safe bet. It just took me 75% of the year to get started... Yep, about September I started reading about one book every two or three days. So I guess without realizing it I have kept that one. I never have yet read The Hour I First Believed yet though.

The second was to get Mason to get a better diet. Um, yeah right. Them's pipe dreams.

The third was to finish potty training Cole. He is of course potty trained now, but I can't take credit really. It was bound to happen. How many kids go to college still wearing a diaper? He's almost four for crying out loud.

The fourth was to cook dinner four times a week, which I promptly amended to three times a week. Honestly, it's the stuff of miracles if I cook three times per month.

Then, a few days later after a few days of mulling, I came up another.

This last minute inclusion was to take more video of the kids. Well, this year we purchased a Flip Video Camera, and that certainly assisted with the cause. More video was most definitely taken in '09 than was taken in '08. Is there still tons of room for improvement to catch the kids doing cute things of having important moments? You betcha.

So out of five resolutions for 2009, I can say I kept one of them, defaulted into keeping another, and barely eeked by one keeping a third. The other two were lost causes from the get go.

In light of the fact that people don't typically keep these wretched resolutions, and I being included in the category of "people", these are my resolutions for 2010:

1. Gain a lot of weight and be really out of shape.
2. Have unruly, undisciplined children.
3. Sleep very little.
4. Maintain a very untidy household with tons of takeout food.
5. Learn gymnastics.
6. Never allow words to fail me.

Here's to 2010!

Best of 2009

All who know me, far and wide, know me as a product junkie. I love people, but I also love stuff. And stuff that makes dealing with people easier.



So today, as my last blogging act of 2009, I take a moment to pay homage to those items have come into my life and made me love them in the past year.






#1 - My Canon Rebel Xsi. 12.2 mega pixels of picture taking beauty. It will be wonderful when I really learn to work the thing. And of course it's left me salivating after about $1,000 worth of camera accessories, but that's besides the point I suppose.

#2 - The iPhone. My love affair declaration has already been confessed here.

#3 - The Rival Griddle

Purchased for Rey for father's day, this thing sees more action in our house than the toilet seat. We make scores of pancakes at a time, french toasts, bulk amounts of grilled cheese, you can even fry bacon on this sucker.

#4 - The Dex Baby Bib

This bib rocks the spot. If you have a toddler of solid food age, run out and get one. I promise you won't be disappointed! It stays on, thanks to some sturdy snaps, has a huge pocket that really catches everything, plus get this--it's dishwasher safe AND machine washable!

#5 - My water bottle. It is my constant companion, both in the gym and out. I love "ice cold water" as Cole calls it, and this keeps my water cold for 2 hours. It's leak proof, insulated, BPA free, and has a five year warranty. I got mine at Target for $8 or $9.

So there you have it. Off to pour my kids some sparkling grape juice, and maybe something a little stronger for myself.

See you next year!

Self-Fulfilling Prophecies

Remember this post?

I think it might have been the beginning of my demise.

The month of December conspired against me.

It won.

And I think I brought it all upon myself.

I couldn't find the holiday spirit, let alone get into it.

The holidays are always stressful, and they don't discriminate--everyone feels the pressure. I decided to hang on until the boys were done with school for most of our festivities. I thought it would be a wonderful idea to use the tons of time when school was out to fulfill many of the traditions--we would bake cookies and build a gingerbread house, we would tour the neighborhoods of decorated houses near us and I even found some great Christmas books at the library.

And then I got sick.

Last Tuesday, I woke up with a little bit of a sore throat.

By Tuesday night, the pain was bad.

By Wednesday morning, it was excruciating. I knew I must have been sick when Rey took one look at my sleeping self and woke me to ask if I needed him to stay home from work. I did. And it's a good thing too because I didn't wake up until noon. It's frowned upon leaving your children unsupervised that long.

My doctor is closed on Wednesdays, otherwise I might have gone in, provided I could have mustered the energy to drag myself there.

Thursday Rey went to work. He had to, he's a busy man. Mason woke me up that morning, crying because his eye had crusted and he hurt it trying to open it. It was immediately evident to me that he had pink eye. I thought we were out of the clear since Lila was all better for a full week and had been finished with her course of drops for five days. But I guess not.

He wanted to wear a pirate patch to cover his eye. (Don't worry, I have since thrown it away.)

I tried to hold out as long as I could, but by 10:30am the children were in full mutiny mode I had to text Rey and see if he was coming home early. It was Christmas Eve, after all. Thankfully he did, but there was still much Christmas work to be done.

The night before we got out my personally custom painted Cookie Plate.

And loaded it with cookies for Santa and carrots for his reindeer. (When you are deathly ill, Santa gets Keebler cookies. Knowing what other kind of fancy cookies are being presented for him out there in the world, I was a little embarrassed.)

Upon explaining that these cookies and milk were for Santa, Mason said, "Is he going to leave our glass when he's done?"

When we said yes, Mason said, "What about the plate? Will he leave the plate?"

I love that boy.

At this point I couldn't speak. All I could do was cry. We never got to do all those fun things, the cookies and the gingerbread and the stories. I hadn't even wrapped any gifts. Nothing was ready. It was an awful feeling.

I woke up at 2am Christmas morning. Swallowing made my whole body jerk in agonizing pain. I was so thirsty so I tried to drink some juice and I just couldn't get it down. I decided I needed medical care. I called 6 or 7 urgent care places in town to see if any would be open on Christmas. Four of them had messages that they would be closed Christmas day, and the others had their standard messages. I assumed they'd be closed too. I figured the ER was my only option, and I figured 3am was as good of a time as any.

It turned out I was right.

They made me wear a mask because of the strep suspicion. It made me hot and it fogged my glasses. But they were no busy and very efficient that night. I had a male triage nurse and then my nurse was male, which I found so interesting. Not that there are male nurses, but that I encountered two of them. In a row.

After my strep test the doc came in. Said it was negative but said he was sending it out to be cultured because I have no cold symptoms which makes it really look like strep. And since I have a heart murmur he said I needed to go on antibiotics either way.

While I was waiting to be discharged they brought in six people who were involved in an assault. I listened to the nurses try to work with them, but the people didn't speak English. There were EMTs and police officers everywhere and I was surprised not more people in this place spoke Spanish. I imagine the language barrier was a frequent one.

It was also so sad because there were several little kids in there. If I was able to speak I might have told them to go become patients of Dr. W--he leaves his cell phone number on his office voicemail and tells you to never go to the ER. It's comforting to know I won't likely spend a night sitting with one of my suffering kids in the ER... but I digress.

90 minutes later, I was walking out of the ER. That's gotta be some kind of a record.

I went to the closest 24 hour CVS and I kid you not I was the only customer in there at 4:30am. The pharmacist was this super nice young guy and I wished I was able to speak to thank him properly for the sympathy he gave me. Oh well.

I got home, took my first dose, had some Motrin for pain, and slept like the dead. For two whole hours.

The kids woke up and were super stoked that Santa had come. They fished all the presents out from under the tree and sorted them into piles, which I admit was very helpful.

We hauled Lila from her crib, gave her a donut, and started opening the presents.

The boys were so excited that they got what they asked for. Mason got his Toy Story video game and his Star Wars tent, and Cole got his Toy Story toys--a Buzz, a Woody, and a Slinky the Dog.

Every Christmas, Rey's grandmother Aya has a brunch. It's is hands down my most anticipated meal of the year. Even though we were sick, they still welcomed us over. You know people love you when they are willing to catch your germs.



Lila certainly enjoyed herself.

Aya has a houseful of the most beautiful Christmas decorations. It must take her a full week to haul them all out. And every year she swears she leaves a lot of them boxed up.

I love her village...

And her nativity scene is one of the most beautiful ever...

Including Baby Jesus, who was notably missing when I went to plug in the star. But we restored to his place for this picture. With all of the Christmas excitement, Aya forgot to put him there on Christmas Eve.



I tried to eat my delicious french toast and bacon, but every swallow hurt worse than childbirth. It was awful to WANT to eat something so badly but to be physically incapable.

We stayed there all of an hour, and retreated home so I could go back to my misery.

In summary, my Christmas was terrible. I really wish I had something else to say, some way to sugar coat my misery, some way to see the positives despite the overwhelming negatives. I feel like I missed out on so much with my children and that they missed out on so much Christmas magic because I wasn't there to facilitate it.

And I can't help but blame it all on myself because from the get-go I was Debbie Downer about Christmas.

So next year, when and if I bitch and moan again, refer me back to this post. Because Christmas passed me by this year, and I'm sad.

T'was the Night Before Christmas

T'was the night before Christmas
And all through the house
Not a person was healthy,
Not even my spouse.

No stockings were hung by my chimney at all,
I ran out of time for decorating or the mall.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
Sneezing and wheezing and spreading the dread.
With pink eye and sore throat and lost of congestion,
People want us to be healthy and give loads of suggestions.

Rey's off to the store for supplies in a hurry,
I doze on the couch and pray for some mercy.
I awake to the sound of an opening door,
And sure it's a robber I prepare for war.

When what to my watery eyes did appear?
But my dear husband with a Target bag full of gear.

On NyQuil, On Chloroseptic, On Motrin, On Vigamox!
Drink hot tea, with honey, and gargle and rest!

With none of these remedies working for me,
I lie on the couch and stare at the tree.

My children, though down, are definitely not out,
They continue to fight, and scream and shout.

This is not my idea of a very good Christmas,
And hope for the holiday is starting to diminish...

But I will go ahead and exclaim with my meager might,
Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Oh! It's my Blogiversary!

On this day, one year ago, my blog was born.

Sounds like a good excuse for me to eat some cake.

As if I needed an excuse.

Fun Facts

16 - Number of days the boys have off from school for Christmas vacation, including weekends

8: 14 - Time I stayed in bed 'til this morning since I didn't have to be anywhere as a result of this vacation

93 - Minutes it took for the kids to drive me insane and cause me to lose my gratefulness at being able to slow down and stay home since school was out

79 - Degrees of temperature for Christmas day

18 - Days I have until the half marathon

13.1 - Miles IN a half marathon

3 - People in my household who are sick with a cold, to one degree or another

1 - Christmas presents I still need to purchase (it snuck in there)

4,365 - Christmas presents I need to wrap (perhaps that one's a bit exaggerated, but I detest the wrapping aspect of Christmas)

FaLaLaLaLaJingleBellRockDecktheHallsSilentNight (Yeah Right!)

Just home from Bryan and Ana's wedding and I have a bazillion and one pictures on my camera. Time to catch up on my blogging...

Mason and Cole's preschool puts on a Christmas program each year. They have a play where some of the Pre-K4 kids act out parts and the rest of the Pre-K4 kids and the Pre-K3 kids sing in the chorus.

Mason was assigned the part of one of the Wise Men. Oh, how very, very appropriate.

Let me tell you something--those boys have been singing these Christmas songs, morning, noon, and night. Emphasis on MORNING. Now, I complained about this on Facebook and my mother-in-law commented on how lovely it is to be woken by the voices of angels. And I see her point--I should be a more appreciative mother of how sweet my boys are. But, all I could think was "It's 6:15AM! Why are these kids SINGING?" I don't think I'm very good at being appreciative.

Mason demonstrated during one of these Morning Song Sessions that he knows every word to various versus of songs like "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" and "Away in a Manger." It's impressive to hear a 5 year old singing

"You will get a sent-i-mental feeling... when you see..."

It made me do a double take, 6am and all.

But as usual, I digress.

I wanted good seats for the show, so we got to the church wicked early and I scored us the whole front row. My parents, Rey's parents, and Rey's grandparents came and we settled in to enjoy preschoolers sing as only their parents and grandparents can...

Lila was looking as lovely as ever.

Cole, coming in the processional with the kids. (Since Mason had a part in the play he didn't walk in the processional.)

And then Cole stood with his class and covered his eyes. He was a little shy I suppose. His motto is if he can't see you, then you can't see him either.

Mason and his fellow wise men, looking adorable as ever.

Mason carried the "coins" a.k.a. Gold. The other boys had the frankincense (yellow juice) and myrrh (yellow fluffy stuff).

And the boys--I mean men, pardon me--gave their gifts to baby Jesus.

They took their spots and began to sing "Away in a Manger" complete with choreography.

And in quick time Mason realized the microphone was next to him. So he picked it up and started singing into it. He thought he was a rock star. Rey swear he pointed out into the audience and winked but I missed that. But he and that microphone were hilarious, all the same.

At some point, Cole stopped covering his eyes and started covering his ears.

Afterwards, I got a shot with the kids. I like to be in a picture from time-to-time. I have the same shot last year! Except my children were a little less unruly in that one...

Be Real, People

Alright, so I can concede that perhaps most people would like to use their blogs to put better feet forward.

But sometimes life has some ugly, dirty, stinky feet. Feet that need a pedicure.

Why not put those feet out there and admit the need? Don't say, "Look how lovely and wonderful my ugly, dirty, stinky feet are! They are so glorious and wonderful and by the way I making lemonade from rotten lemons in my spare time." Cause I ain't buying it.

I just read a blog from a northern dweller where the temps are no doubt quite frigid this time of year. The blog said something to the effect of "It has been a deliciously rainy week. It's so cold at night that in the morning everything's covered with ice."

Seriously? Is there anything delicious about rain where it's so cold that it results in actual, honest to God ICE? I live in Florida, so perhaps I'm off base here, but don't we as humans sorta detest ice? Icy roads, Icy sidewalks, Ice caving in roofs and such? I'm really having a hard side seeing the upside...

I am going to revise an adage. Instead of "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all," I am going to abide by the following: "If you don't have something nice to say, don't try to blow smoke up people's asses."

I am going to work on being more optimistic. Maybe that will be one of my resolutions.


In the meantime, check out what winter looks like where I live. Eat your heart out.