Monday, March 28, 2011

The Drive By Glance

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I was wandering around an almost closed Target. The site that was before me was not ok. I suddenly realized I rushed out the door without one thought of my appearance.

-Disheveled pony tail
-Stained t-shirt
-Yoga pants (please note: I have done yoga twice in the last month...and they're a bit tight...probably because I have only done yoga twice in the last year...I mean month)
-Flip flops

It would have been embarrassing if I had the energy to care. But I just didn't.

I was in the clothes section, looking at all of the new cute spring time things they put on the shelves and onto plastic hangers and that's when it happened. The drive by glance. Ugh. Target, on purpose I am sure, hides their mirrors. They are nestled in between racks of mini skirts, too tight t-shirts, and shelves of cardigans. To make matters worse, I was in that front section of the Target clothes. If you're anything over a size 8, you know the section I'm talking about. The part of the clothes that is the closest to the door, you know...where all the cute stuff is?'s sized for one demographic only. The teeny-bops (that's what my dad calls them. It used to drive me crazy...when I was one of them. Now...I see his point. Well said dad!). I am a teeny-bop NO MORE! I have birthed TWO CHILDREN GOSH DARN IT! This girl's got some hips. So I shop from the middle back (you between the teeny-bops and the maternity), and I'm ok with it. But tonight, the long dresses were in that front section. And summer is coming. Let's be's my summer wardrobe option of choice.

And that's when the drive by glance happened. Just after I finished looking at the dresses. I wasn't feeling too bad when I left my house. How can one glance, into that darn mirror, change my opinion in a matter of seconds? I got over it. In a matter of seconds. But I was still very aware that I should leave the store immediately...before the townspeople came rioting...but I finished up my shopping with my head held high(ish). There were only like 3 other customers in the store...AND 1,000 workers who all decided to be nice and ask if I needed anything. They probably felt sorry for me. I'm pretty sure I heard one of them whisper "Ahhh...bless her heart"

I would like to say that I will NEVER go to Target like that again. But I am quite certain that I will :)


She's No Muerte...

Muerte was the name of our first dog. He was extraordinary...and part human. He understood full sentences. He knew when it was appropriate to bark and when it wasn't. He didn't need a leash. He knew our names. He was loyal. He was cuddly...but not needy. He was independent. He went everywhere with us. He was a "chihuahua" (in air quotes because he was very un-chihuahua in mannerisms). He was family. He was one of a kind. He was awesome and His name was Muerte. That means death in Spanish. We realize this. It's sort of an indicator of our sick sense of humor.

He passed away last June. I was 8 months pregnant. If you know anything about being pregnant you understand why this is an important fact to point out. He had liver cancer. Ugh. I hate cancer. He was only 8 years old. Poor dog. Poor us. It was one of the saddest days we've ever had.

The boy in particular had a very hard time with this. And still does. Every once in a while he will ask me, "Mommy. Has Jesus made Muerte better yet? Can he come home now? I miss him." sad. He was in LOVE with that dog. The first day that we brought the boy home from the hospital he was in his bassinet next to the couch. And Muerte sat on the arm of the couch right next to him and didn't move. He had immediately accepted the boy as family and had made a vow to protect least in my mind that's what he was doing. It was unbelievable. For the next month or so, Muerte did not move from the boy's side. He went everywhere that the boy went. Good dog.

So...when he passed it was VERY difficult on all of us. We weren't even sure what to do. The boy was so sad. We were sad. So...we thought getting another dog might help. So we did. Her name is Lola. And she is NO Muerte. She is the same breed...a deer head chihuahua. We got her for free (that story is crazy but not for this blog).

She's cute. She's sweet. She barks at inappropriate times. She's cuddly...and NEEDY. She's almost the exact opposite of Muerte. For months I called her "not Muerte" instead of by her name. Perhaps this played into her neediness and insecurity. She just has no self esteem. She crawls up to my face and looks at me with these "do you still love me?" kind of eyes. Perhaps she's not so different from a lot of girls seeking relationship? Is that weird? That I just took it there? Oh well. If you're reading this and you're one of THOSE girls. Just stop. Have some self pride and self worth...for the love of all that is good and holy! :)

I'm trying my best to love and accept her into our family. But she's no Muerte...

Poor Lola. She has no chance of matching up to him. She could try a little harder though...yeesh. She doesn't need a leash though! So that's good. Hmmm...



PS – maybe it’s because she used to be a showgirl…

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Cheese Chips

I ended the day with cheese chips. They are delightful. And somewhat embarrassing.

1 Handful of Lays Potato Chips
1-2 Slices American Cheese

Take that handful of tato chips (sigh) and place them on a plate, spread out evenly. Tear the american cheese into pieces and spread out on top of the chips. Microwave for 30 seconds. Eat it.

American cheese is the key to this super fabulous (and a tad bit ghetto) recipe. Good ol' american cheese. It's processed. It's yellow. It's melty goodness. You don't need to judge me! You don't even know me! :) Go ahead and judge...I love my cheese chips enough to ignore the judgmental stares...

It was a tasty end to a lovely day.

The day started off at 10:30 am. That's right. 10:30 am. I am happy about this. The boy had a sleepover with his best friend and the baby only woke briefly at 8:30 for a quick bottle and then went back to sleep...allowing the love and I to sleep until 10:30. Perfection. Sweet, lovely, NEEDED, perfection. The mom of the boy's best friend, called us at 10:45. This was either because she was concerned that we would not return to pick up our boy, or she was calling to see if we still wanted to go to the snow as we discussed the night before. Phew. It was the latter. I'm thankful we are such great friends or CPS might have gotten a phone call.

So...we went to the snow. The boy and the husband had a blast. I had a blast watching them. For a minute. Until...

*A brief side note to any other parents out there: DO NOT bring an 8 month old to the snow. There is no where to put them down (so that mommy can go sledding) and they get bored, cold and fussy pretty quickly. And my baby is practically a saint. Just trust me.

So. That was interesting. And now we know. But it was still fun. Because that's how we roll.

And then everyone crashed in the car. Except the love. He was driving. God bless Him.

Naps, dinner and a movie...was the rest of the evening for the boys.

Nap, dinner and a movie (Adventures of Sharkboy and Lava Girl...which kind of deserves it's own blog. Seeing it NEVER, would have been enough for me), made cookies for the boys and then I ended the day with cheese chips. You should try them. You're welcome in advance.


Monday, March 14, 2011


Poots. That's what we call poo, poop, poo poo, this house. It started with my nephew and has just kind of stuck. We all say it. All the grown ups included...

Two days ago, I arrived home in the evening. Pulled Baby Z out of the car like any normal day. And then it happened. I felt the warm squish against my skin and froze. Gross. And then I smelled it. Ick. And then I looked down. Yep. Poots. All over my hands. On this particular day there was poots on my hands, on my arms and a big hershey kiss left on my shirt. Husband was not home...thank you love! So my hands were covered in poots, I was carrying my purse and the diaper and bag, a baby dripping with poots and somehow needed to get in the house and shut the garage door. I was so thankful for the boy! He was a champ! He helped me get in the house, got a towel and washcloth for Baby Z and a big ziploc so I had a place to dispose of the mess...making faces and gag noises the whole time...but at least he helped :)

The poots was everywhere. Awesome.

So I got him cleaned up. Bathed. Clothes rinsed out...which in and of itself is a spectacular task. The chunks run down the drain and you feel yourself gagging...just trying to hold it together. Then I got myself cleaned up and both boys in hour and a half after we got home. Exhasuting.

So...last night. I arrived home and pulled Baby Z out of the car like any normal day. This time I was more cautious. The memory of the previous evening was still lingering in my brain. So I carefully lifted him out of the car. This time I smelled it first. And then I felt it. Ugh. Seriously? Two nights in a row? Two poots nights in a row...and both of them without the husband? How does he get so lucky? And tonight...the boy stayed with his daddy. help at all. Awesome. Poots everywhere. Again. And was all in the car seat too. So I did what any good wife would do. I decided that I would leave the cleaning of the car seat for my love. I wouldn't want to rob him the opportunity to bless my life. You're welcome husband :)

So...I got baby Z cleaned up. Again. It was fantastically gross. And smelly.

Off to eat lunch! :)


Monday, March 7, 2011

This is Just the Beginning...

Today was an amazing day.

Today was an extraordinary day.

Yep. It was.

Lately, the boy has been asking a lot of questions about death and how it relates to Jesus and heaven...all the normal questions. Our dog, Muerte, died last June and I think he is just now starting to process that death. He asks me periodically when Muerte will come home and I respond with the usual, "he's with Jesus buddy. He got sick and Jesus made him all better. He lives in heaven now." (Don't judge my theory that ALL DOGS GO TO HEAVEN...maybe not all of them...but certainly the awesome ones, like Muerte) He would usually respond with the usual "oh..." But lately, that answer isn't sufficient for him and he keeps probing for more answers.

It started a week ago when we were at the vet with Lola, our new "NOT MUERTE" dog. And the boy, out of the blue, said "Mommy, I miss Muerte. Did Jesus make him better yet? Can he come home now?" And I looked at him and said, "Buddy, Muerte is with Jesus...remember. He is gonna stay there. Jesus is taking care of him." And he looked at me with those melt your heart baby blues, tears welling up and said, "FOREVER?" (insert that high pitch, squeaky, holding back tears voice here...ugh).

We moved past it that day, but today the questions (and a few tears) started again on the car ride home. So I took the opportunity to really tell the boy about Jesus and what he did for us. Why we get to go heaven when we die. What it's going to be like. And that all we have to do is ask Jesus into our hearts and we get to go to heaven with Him forever. He liked this conversation and was very intrigued. So I asked him, "would you like to ask Jesus into your heart?" And he immediately replied with, "no...maybe when we get home." Which I thought was the cutest response. But I'm a mom. And I can't help myself. So we talked some more and then I asked him again. And this time the whole thing clicked in his little head. And he said, "ok mommy! Sure!"

So on the way home, in the car, my boy asked Jesus into his heart. I will NEVER forget the sound of his little voice asking Jesus to come into his heart.
Pure, sweet and innocent. I am so thankful God allowed me the opportunity to be the one to pray that prayer with him. After we prayed I told him that I was 4 when I asked Jesus into my heart and his smile filled his face as he said, "I'm 4!"

So at bed time tonight we were engaged in our usual cuddles, songs and tickles and I told him I was so proud of him. He smiled and said, "Cuz why?" So I said, "Cuz you're amazing, and you love Jesus, and you have a good heart and I love you." And he responded with, "I know something else. Cuz I asked Jesus into my heart today." Ahhhh...he got it. He actually understands. How amazing and cute is that? My heart melted. "Yes you did. And I am so proud of you for that." And then he smiled.

I pray every day that my boys will serve Jesus every day for the rest of their lives. This is just the beginning. They're gonna be world changers those boys of mine.


Sunday, March 6, 2011

Take the Plunge...and Shove It


That's what is on my mind today. Probably because I had to use one. Ugh.

I HATE plungers. They are gross. And disgusting. And make me want to throw up. I can't even think about how many germs and funk that has made a cozy home for itself on the inside and the outside of the plunger.

So you clog a toilet...I mean...we have all done it on occasion. You don't need to be embarrassed.

So you clog a toilet and reach for it.
You grab the handle and wince.
And then cry.
And then hold your breath.
And then that's when it happens. You take it and plunge it (see why they call it a plunger now?) and shove it into a rising mess of water, pee, toilet paper....and yes...something else (it floats and it's brown...eeeww). And then you pump that thing up and down until there's a release. And you stop holding your breath right about now, as you breathe a deep sigh of relief that the mess inside the toilet did not come spilling out and onto the floor. (This relief is particularly spectacular when you are in someone else's home). And then you wait for the know what I'm talking about...the sound the toilet makes as the mess descends into the plumbing abyss and you know it's gone forever. Sigh.

But're still left holding the handle of this thing, and you are suddenly very aware that this thing was completely engulfed in your *uh hem* and you have to do something with it. So you flush the toilet and give it a few pumps in the "clean water" and politely place it next to the toilet (trying your best to avoid drips getting on the toilet seat, wall, floor or your clothes...definitely not on your clothes).

*On a sidenote, public plungers are the worst! You reach for this thing in desperation and then realize that many other hands have touched the very same handle. And then you didn't wash your hands before you touched this thing. And you...just...went...and then wiped. How many other people have done the very same thing? Ugh. (insert gagging noises here).

And then you walk away...hoping that no one finds out that you had to use the plunger. You avoid eye contact with anyone entering the bathroom as you are exiting. If you're lucky enough to be in the privacy of your own home, you try to pretend that it never happened. Or you blame the 3 boys that live there...I mean...oops.