tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-219609082024-03-13T21:09:40.528-05:00Crib NotesHumor designed with the mom and dad over 40 in mind.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comBlogger169125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-90745051454853676622013-04-22T21:05:00.000-05:002013-04-22T21:05:29.228-05:00Signs of Mommyhood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://blog.media-freaks.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/11/free-hidden-object-games-36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://blog.media-freaks.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/11/free-hidden-object-games-36.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="line-height: 150%;">There
are many signs of motherhood.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.08in;">
Today
you can tell I’m a mom because I have one green finger and one pink
finger. This is what happens when you are dyeing a few more eggs on
Saturday before Easter and those silly little scoop things fails to
pick up the newly dyed egg from it’s vinegar scented bath. When I
saw the look on my child’s face, the look that said “AAAAHHHH MY
EGG IS FALLING,” I was forced to dive into action, leaving me
slightly more colorful in the process.</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.08in;">
Another
sign of motherhood is goldfish debris. I don’t think I ever ate a
goldfish cracker until I had children. Now I’m more aware of the
level of the goldfish supply in our house than I am of the Dow Jones
Industrial Average on Wall Street. I have to admit it comes in handy
- f I’m ever not sure I’m in the right car, I just have to check
for a slight crackery smell and the tell-tale orange fragments in the
back seat.</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.08in;">
My
socks are another sign. Ever since I foolishly let my daughter raid
my sock drawer, I have stopped having matching socks. This happens
because I caved when I was in a hurry, and it was going to be dark,
and who looks down anyway, and I wore the spotted one with the
stripped one. That was it. It was over. Now I’m trapped in a
perpetually mismatched sock laundry cycle. There’s no way out,
short of buying new socks and hiding them in my purse. (By the way, I
don’t recommend this approach because it’s awkward when you’re
in the grocery check-out lane fumbling for your wallet, and the socks
fall out. You know right then the clerk is wondering if they should
alert security or simply look away. Consider yourself warned.)</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.08in;">
Another
sign of motherhood is the sheer number of things I carry out of the
car every single time we get home from going anywhere. It’s as if
an explosion goes off every time we get in the car. I can enter the
car with two fairly small children and a purse, and moments later
I’ll exit carrying three partially crumpled food bags, four water
bottles, discarded shoes, a mismatched pair of socks, a book, and a
small pile of broken goldfish.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.08in;">
Still,
I wear the signs of motherhood proudly. After all, it’s the best
part of my life in many ways. Although I have to confess, I’m glad
sandal weather is right around the corner.</div>
<div style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0.08in;">
<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-23331977867082644362013-04-09T08:23:00.000-05:002013-04-09T08:23:00.643-05:00I Got Nothin'
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://huenemanniac.files.wordpress.com/2011/11/absolutely_nothing_road_sign_lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="294" src="http://huenemanniac.files.wordpress.com/2011/11/absolutely_nothing_road_sign_lg.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have no idea what to write about this week. I knew this
would happen, when we’d finally have a fairly ordinary weekend and nothing
funny would have happened and I’d be scrambling for something amusing to say.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sure, there was the truck we saw pulling out of Bucee’s
hauling a trailer loaded with about a dozen port a johns. Such a sight can
never go by without comment amongst the Prosapio, of course, and we immediately
started shouting out possible collective noun options – was that a passel of
potties? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A jumble of johns? Or a
port-a-posse?</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Funny, sure. But trust me; a teetering trailer of toilets is
not enough to build a column on.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then there was the day when I realized that I can’t travel
with another group of adults without resorting to embarrassing parenting
behavior. I’m not just talking about throwing my arm out to keep someone safe
when we come to a sudden stop, either (although that’s pretty bad). I’m talking
about encouraging grown adults to use the “facilities” because it’s a long way
to the next stop. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But that’s barely a paragraph! I’ve still got nothing!</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Unless you count the time when we were in the checkout line
and we were bantering with one another about something when suddenly Sierra
stopped and looked at me and said “Do you ever notice that we are the only ones
talking in check out lines?”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes, honey. Actually I have. Not that that stops us,
apparently, much to the dismay of long suffering retail employees everywhere.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then there’s the moment when I’m trying to write my column
at the eleventh hour and in a total state of PANIC when some little person
comes up because she hasn’t been able to sleep. And a tiny part of me is hoping
something funny will come up while we’re trying to work through the things that
have kept her up, fretting about band practice.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nada! The entire experience was completely without value as
humor column fodder! It’s all I can do to refrain from shouting WORK WITH ME,
PEOPLE!</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granted, we watched a
couple of amusing YouTube videos, but what good was that? It’s not like anyone
wants to read about the video where the woman laughs for five minutes because
she’s making swishy faces with her computer program. But if you have a minute,
you really should <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z3xd8bXlzeU">watch it</a>, it was hysterical.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Because, frankly folks, I got nothing.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-91766287472400117252013-04-05T08:20:00.001-05:002013-04-05T08:20:04.797-05:00Number Please. PLEASE
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://printerinkcartridgesblog.printcountry.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/Landlines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://printerinkcartridgesblog.printcountry.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/Landlines.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lame. Lame. Lame.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was a pretty ordinary day. I was trying to make a call on
my landline phone when after a few frustrating moments, I realized something.
This phone is dumb. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really, really dumb.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To be fair, I wasn’t helping. I was trying to dial too fast
and entered in the wrong phone number over and over. But there was no way to go
back and correct the final number 3 when I meant to hit the number 6. When I
did it again, that’s when it hit me. Here’s this piece of technology that is
three times the size of my cell phone, has been around for 50 years more, and they
still haven’t thought to add an erase key to the thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talk about resting on your laurels!</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Granted, I should manage to dial correctly, but would it
kill landline phone manufacturers<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to add
an erase key so I didn’t have to redial<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>ten numbers? We’re not exactly talking about sequencing the human
genome, here. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I had to face facts <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>my phone dialing skills have severely atrophied
since everyone in my life is on speed dial. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s part of the downside to our smarty pants
phones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My phone may be completely
destroying my ability to not just dial, but to read maps, memorize strings of
numbers, or remember faces if they haven’t been added to my phone’s address
book.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As a matter of fact, don’t tell her, but I’m not even sure
what my own mother’s phone number is because I never dial it, I just ask my
phone to call her. These days <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ask my phone all kinds of things. She (yes,
she) answers silly questions like “how much wood would a wood chuck chuck?” and
“what is the airspeed of an unladed swallow?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She stores way too much information and has enough computing power to
send a man to the moon, and yet is perfectly satisfied with letting me play
scrabble for an hour. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our daughters have always lived in a world where phones
didn’t just sit there and wait to ring or to dial out. Their phones have been
personal assistants, music machines, game consoles, and cameras. I have a
feeling our landline phone won’t be one of the things we pass down to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But it will make a good conversation piece about the days
when we used to have to get the number perfectly right or else end up talking
to the Comal County Sheriff’s Department.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m just saying…</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-36909371039140063982013-03-27T23:31:00.000-05:002013-04-05T08:29:13.433-05:00Goodbye Cricket<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3YByTMhQJTM/StAO6UarC-I/AAAAAAAABOU/9YtWnu7j0m8/s1600-h/cricket.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390825149038267362" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3YByTMhQJTM/StAO6UarC-I/AAAAAAAABOU/9YtWnu7j0m8/s400/cricket.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a>
<br />
<link href="file:///Users/wprosapio/Library/Preferences/Microsoft/Clipboard/msoclip1/01/clip_clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link> <style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Times;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} </style> <!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, I’m sad to report that Cricket, our green anole, has gone to the big terrarium in the sky.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In case you’ve missed the Cricket saga, this was the lizard who jumped on the hood of our truck and who inexplicably refused to hop in the grass when I offered escape. Instead he took one look in our truck two years ago and leaped inside to the delight of the kids.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was, of course, horrified that now we had a pet that required live bugs for dinner.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cricket survived the demise of not one, but TWO pet stores in the area (so now I had to drive 20 miles for BUGS). He also survived the best efforts of our cat at assassination, and at least two accidental falls.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He was often carted off to the bathroom for tub time and every now and then I’d hear a scream and know that he had almost jumped out – or onto Mireya. Sierra, our oldest, taught him to jump through a pony tail holder, Mireya slowly got to the point where he could crawl on her arm without a total meltdown.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was a green anole that loved to be petted, he’d close his eyes if you rubbed his head. And although we toyed with the idea of releasing him many times, he never seemed interested in leaving. We worried about him being too much of a target in a world that wouldn’t really appreciate his poetic nature. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But when he stopped hunting crickets last week and stopped ducking from the water droplets, we knew the time was coming. We tried to make him comfortable in the sun. We petted him and he lifted his head to the touch, closing his eyes like always.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We got back from a brief trip and he was gone, his body half brown as if he was just in the middle of a final color change.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We found a box and filled it with cotton balls and tissue. We stood around a small hole where we set him and remembered all the funny stories. The time he jumped from my arm to my shirt and I shouted “He’s jumped! Where did he go?” and everybody was laughing, pointing at my shoulder where he hung on for dear life while I whirled around looking for him. Then there was the time he got tangled in Daddy’s hair. The time we snuck him into a restaurant because we wanted him to have an adventure.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What an adventure he was. Rest in Peace, Cricket. <o:p></o:p></div>
<!--EndFragment--> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-3368003398467102022013-03-07T22:39:00.000-06:002013-04-05T08:25:17.040-05:00Why bulletin board marketing is not a good idea...<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3YByTMhQJTM/St6Ch6rU41I/AAAAAAAABRE/WK864XHBTk4/s1600-h/thief.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394892922834707282" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3YByTMhQJTM/St6Ch6rU41I/AAAAAAAABRE/WK864XHBTk4/s400/thief.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a><br />
Yea. People. Check your flyers often.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-14736642318536792262013-03-04T20:59:00.000-06:002013-04-05T08:34:50.155-05:00Confessions of Mommy<a href="http://www.thehammer.ca/content/2005/0325/easter_bunny.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://www.thehammer.ca/content/2005/0325/easter_bunny.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 306px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 280px;" /></a><br />
Before Easter gets here, I realized that now is a good time to wipe my parental slate clean with a few… well, confessions.<br />
<br />
These aren't the big confessions, the ones that carry criminal fines or require significant time in pews. These are Mommy Confessions. Crimes which, in the big book of Good Universal and Loving Parenting (known as GULP), carry niggling guilt sentences of 20 years.<br />
<br />
This is the perfect time of year to face those little crimes, wipe the slate clean and restore our self-esteem in our parenting ability for at least a week. By merely admitting to these little missteps, you too can go Mommy Guilt-free just in time!<br />
<br />
<br />
In the spirit of self-sacrifice, I'll go first. Here are my 10 Mommy confessions for spring.<br />
<br />
1) I have tricked my children. I have taken advantage of my child's inability to count to get her to eat six more bites instead of two more.<br />
<br />
2) I have threatened my children with punishments I never intended to carry out. I never intended to not go to Grammy's house, even if they poured syrup on each other and rolled in bark mulch.<br />
<br />
3) I have agreed to things only because I was relatively sure they'd forget about it later or lose interest. I was secretly hoping against having to go to the top of that really big slide in Landa Park since that was the day I decided to wear a skirt and heels. (I see Paris! I see France! Do they still sing that song?)<br />
<br />
4) I have wished my children were older, if only because I didn't want to here those five little words shouted in the middle of a quiet library again: I HAVE TO GO POTTY!<br />
<br />
5) I have wished my children were younger, so that I could carry them to bed without getting a hernia.<br />
<br />
6) I have ignored the first yell for Mommy, hoping they'd find a way to work it out with each other if I just stayed out of sight. Note to self: crouching behind the couch is a lousy hiding technique.<br />
<br />
7) I have banned certain children's television programs from our household from the day they were born lest I have to listen to Barney's "I Love You" song. <br />
<br />
8) I have gotten my children hooked instead on songs from my favorite musicals, even though Les Miserables is not exactly the most child appropriate Broadway show.<br />
<br />
9) I have pulled out the cookies in a desperate bid to get my child to eat, lest she evaporate, despite the fact that she says she isn't hungry and probably isn't.<br />
<br />
10) I have explained that I'm too big to fit inside the fast food playscape even though I can squeeze in there if I exhale fully and practice some of the more advanced yoga moves.<br />
<br />
There. I feel much better now. Now it's your turn. Fess up. I can guarantee you'll feel better and from what I've heard, the Easter Bunny is very forgiving of these things.<br />
<br />
At least I hope so. I love those chocolate eggs.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-88992461618513289762013-02-28T19:20:00.000-06:002013-04-05T08:30:00.522-05:00Aging ungracefully. Damn it.<a href="http://digital-photography-school.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/08/movement-blur-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://digital-photography-school.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/08/movement-blur-1.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 147px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 197px;" /></a><br />
Something terrible happened in my kitchen. Usually a place of safety and predictability, something absolutely horrible happened.<br />
<br />
I couldn’t read the soup can. I needed to see if this soup required the addition of a can of water and out of nowhere the letters disappeared into a fuzz ball.<br />
<br />
I was not ready for this development. I mean, sure, I’d noticed it was getting tougher to read some things. I’d get some cheaters I’d bought primarily as a fashion accessory and read the fine print – named precisely because it’s hard to read, right?<br />
<br />
But this was a can of SOUP. A can that wasn’t particularly small or covered in fine print.<br />
<br />
Right at that moment I realized something.<br />
<br />
I’m getting old.<br />
<br />
Okay, not old. Older. After all, it’ll take a while to actually get there, right?<br />
<br />
Ha.<br />
<br />
I always imagined that I’d grow old gracefully, accepting my gray hair and wrinkles as they came along. I’d celebrate each one as a badge of honor, experience manifested on my body in a natural way.<br />
<br />
It’s amazing how delusional you can be in your 20s.<br />
<br />
The “aging gracefully” bit lasted about a year. To be fair I was going gray a little early, but I was no more accepting of the crow’s feet and wrinkles when they had to gall to show up.<br />
<br />
Out came the hair dye, magic lotions, and virtually any other product with the words “age” and “defying” in the description.<br />
<br />
I went from the “graceful plan” to the “kicking and screaming plan,” complete with hands gripping the doorframe.<br />
<br />
I suppose it came as a shock because we do have such young children. Our life is filled with kid pursuits, with soccer balls, trampolines, swings, slides and toys with much assembly required.<br />
<br />
You feel young with little kids around, at least until something rolls under the couch. Or you have to read the instructions to assemble some toy. Or you think all the music they listen to is awful.<br />
<br />
So I pulled out my fashionable cheaters (which my daughter loves to wear, ironically), and read that no water was required for the soup.<br />
<br />
Now I have to carry these things around with me. Half the time I forget my earrings – how am I going to remember these things? Isn’t memory the next to go?<br />
<br />
At least I think that’s what they say…<br />
<br />
Yikes!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-4500117762031610212013-02-19T20:51:00.000-06:002013-04-05T08:27:23.804-05:00Baskets. Why did it have to be baskets.<a href="http://www.dow.com/infuse/news/download/lowres/laundry-basket-clothes.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://www.dow.com/infuse/news/download/lowres/laundry-basket-clothes.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 247px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 270px;" /></a><br />
The Ever Filled Basket<br />
<br />
We live in an era where laundry is as easy to do as it’s ever been. No more rocks, no more icy streams, no more making soap from animal fat.<br />
<br />
Now if we could just get the laundry out of the basket.<br />
<br />
In our house, the gravitational pull of the laundry basket is so strong that it draws in every item of clothing, no matter what its condition.<br />
<br />
Here’s what happens: Laundry is done. Items are folded and baskets of items are distributed to the individuals who, theoretically, will wear them.<br />
<br />
The items rest in the basket, awaiting transportation to one of six drawers, which are about eight inches away from said basket.<br />
<br />
The items wait.<br />
<br />
And wait.<br />
<br />
Then, somehow, an item that is not clean gets placed on top of the clean items. It’s usually a sock. When discovered, great consternation breaks out and the offending sock is exiled to the dirty basket, most often without its mate which is under the bed at this point, cowering in fear of the rinse cycle (where most socks meet their doom).<br />
<br />
Half the clean items in the basket then make the move of eight inches and are put away in drawers when the individual is threatened with banishment. The other half of the clean items remain behind in the basket, part of the negotiated settlement given the late hour and the amount of homework remaining.<br />
<br />
Then after piano practice, sign ups for volleyball, and a mad rush for school, more dirty items end up in the previously clean basket. Time passes. The cry rises for clean socks and t-shirts.<br />
<br />
All of which creates the following questions I’d love to get a few answers to:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>How long does it take for dirty clothes to permeate the clean clothes? Is it a matter of weight, percentage of basket volume, or does it depend on the type of dirt on the dirty clothes?</li>
<li>Are the items at the bottom most layer of the basket still, technically, clean?</li>
<li>If you can shake off the fuzz, is that good enough?</li>
<li>If you’re just going outside to jump on a trampoline or swing on the swingset, can you wear items that your mother swore she was throwing out the next time she saw them?</li>
<li>And, lastly, when an individual clearly fails to place items in his or her drawer, should they then be called a basket case?</li>
</ol>
<br />
Let me know. I’ll be in the laundry room, trying to find my jeans.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-88528884248345315502013-01-10T22:53:00.000-06:002013-04-05T08:26:05.696-05:00Amusing sign in Austin<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3YByTMhQJTM/SwTPZFnyAHI/AAAAAAAABWs/WpE1LWsTVlc/s1600/IMG_0780.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405673482664149106" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3YByTMhQJTM/SwTPZFnyAHI/AAAAAAAABWs/WpE1LWsTVlc/s400/IMG_0780.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-style: italic;">Seen at Ruta Maya. Well, no WONDER he's choking.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-40207587691947503412012-06-15T00:59:00.000-05:002013-04-05T08:32:33.706-05:00AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!<a href="http://ace.imageg.net/graphics/product_images/pACE-961531reg.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://ace.imageg.net/graphics/product_images/pACE-961531reg.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 220px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 220px;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Why Daddy can never ever leave town again</span><br />
<br />
Many, many years ago when I was single, I lived in Chicago. A girlfriend had just had a difficult break up and passed on these words of wisdom.<br />
<br />
“Men,” she said, “are only good for one thing.”<br />
<br />
“Really?” I said.<br />
<br />
“Yes. And how important is parallel parking anyway?”<br />
<br />
We laughed. But this last weekend drove home yet another critical skill Dad brings to the house.<br />
<br />
He was out of town and we girls were left on our own for a few days. Everything was fine, until IT showed up. The one thing I totally cannot handle. The one thing that sends me running out of any room, screaming.<br />
<br />
Keep in mind, I have been a mouse rancher. I have handled garter snakes, rats, and even tarantulas, no problem. But there’s one part of the Texas Hill Country I cannot handle.<br />
<br />
Scorpions.<br />
<br />
Once, while I was eight months pregnant I completed a seven-foot vertical leap when a scorpion landed on my hand. I spent ten minutes stomping on it until it was completely indistinguishable from the dirt.<br />
<br />
I have hopped up on counters, chairs, beds, tables, and on at least one occasion, a person, to avoid scorpions. I couldn't even put a picture of one on this BLOG for god's sake!<br />
<br />
Sensing my vulnerability with our in-house exterminator 300 miles away, a scorpion slithered casually into our living room on Sunday. Fighting my abject terror, I managed to quickly grab the fireplace shovel and pin its tail.<br />
<br />
Now I had a squirming, clearly not dying scorpion by the tail and I couldn’t move, both because it would escape and because I was completely paralyzed with fear. Fortunately the battle had attracted Mireya who came over to watch.<br />
<br />
“Is it dead?” I asked, trying to avoid looking directly at it.<br />
<br />
“No,” she said calmly. “Do you want a stick so you can smash it?”<br />
<br />
My stomach turned. “Um, yes, I guess so.”<br />
<br />
As I worked to smash the scorpion, Mireya called Dad on the phone. “Daddy! Mommy is freaking out.”<br />
<br />
“Tell him he is NEVER allowed to go out of town again!” I said. Well, it came out more like a shriek. But if you’re ever trying to smash a scorpion with a stick while keeping its tail pinned and it’s squirming around like an evil monster right out of a horror movie, trust me, you’ll be shrieking too.<br />
<br />
So Happy Father’s Day, to all the Dads out there, who parallel park and smash scary things. This one’s for you.<br />
<br />
(By the way, there will be no more going out of town during scorpion season. Seriously.)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-21229657101710688892012-02-17T14:41:00.003-06:002012-02-17T14:46:24.219-06:00Mighty Heart UpdateToday, we went to the doctor to see if the efforts during the Cath Procedure paid off.<br /><br />To make a long, agonizing story short, they did. Sierra's pressures are holding steady.<br /><br />Someday she will need open heart surgery.<br /><br />But that day is not today. And it's not in the next six months.<br /><br />And I'm hoping it's not for several, several years.<br /><br />Thank you for your prayers and support, it's meant so much to our family. And let me tell you, prayer works.<br /><br />Remember when I said her ratio number needed to be under 1.5? And everyone was praying?<br /><br />It was .92. A miracle.<br /><br />You folks are an amazing blessing, our angels on this earth. Thank you!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-54617838073375134732012-02-02T02:34:00.002-06:002012-02-02T02:51:10.923-06:00In PICU, after some sleepOk, I've finally had some sleep, so I can probably be a bit more coherent.<br /><br />Sierra, when she was two, under went a procedure called angioplasty - you hear about it a lot for older folks with hardening of the arteries. Basically they needed to widen the area near her pulmonary valve and to do so they insert a ballon inside the catheter, inflate it, basically stretching that area.<br /><br />There's a good article with a great diagram here on all the anatomy around her kind of heart: http://med.umich.edu/Mott/congenital/services/patient_con_pul.html<br /><br />About an hour and a half into her procedure, they called us into the viewing room of the cath lab. On the screen was her heart, the dark thread of the catheter on the screen. They'd squirt dye and you could suddenly see the moving heart, Sierra's mighty heart, clearly on the screen. The pulmonary artery, The one marked as 1 on the image in the above article, kinked in severely, like a tight corset around a rotund woman.<br /><br />This is what they think is causing one side of her heart to over develop, the muscle to build up because it's having to work too hard.<br /><br />A bulky heart muscle, particularly bulky on one side, is a terrible thing, it's what used to kill tetralogy patients. The muscle gets too big and eventually fails.<br /><br />We left the room stunned, because if angioplasty fails, then we were in for valve replacements, and that means a lifetime of replacements.<br /><br />But so far the news is good. It looks like it worked, just as it did when she was two, after our first miracle.<br /><br />I'm here with her, grateful, grateful.<br /><br />It will be so nice to get back to normal - or at least as close as we get to it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-77716326466603428492012-02-01T20:26:00.002-06:002012-02-01T20:35:18.729-06:00In PICU, restingSierra is resting finally, having been pretty achy for the last two hours.<div><br /></div><div>We had a rollercoaster day today, first good news - the wacky vein didn't seem to be a problem. But there was a whole differ problem, a severe narrowing by the pulmonary valve.</div><br /><br />The problem is the pressure against that valve was 75% too high. Very long story short, the doctor ballooned it and he is cautiously optimistic.<br /><br />I'm as tired as she is, going to crash. Just wanted to get an update out<br /><br />Thank you for the prayers. Depending on the word we get tomorrow, it looks good. <br /><br />Almost home.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-79270162209799358862012-01-31T21:58:00.003-06:002012-01-31T22:07:07.969-06:00Through the prelimsToday we got through the prelims : blood work, x-rays, EKG. It was over fast and wonderfully uneventful. <div><br /></div><div>The family all made it in. I have a terrific family. I have to fight my desire to curl up in a tight ball around my girl and just be alone. At times all the attention is simply exhausting, I feel like a terrible host at the worst theme party ever. The tiniest things - making beds, getting drinks, dealing with food or such overwhelm me.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I do need my support system because the wind blows hard.</div><div><br /></div><div>Tomorrow we go in. Sierra says she's not scared, has her courage at the ready. I'm not scared either either, just a little worn around the edges.</div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe more than the edges.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-28081826807689496962012-01-30T19:46:00.003-06:002012-01-30T19:52:09.998-06:00Mighty Heart the night beforeIt's raining, that long draping curtain of rain that lays over the sky in a billowing arc, the horizon disappearing in the folds of gray.<br /><br />Seems like perfect weather for this night, seems each time we've had a big medical procedure it's rained. I appreciate the emotional symmetry of rain, it allows me to sink into thought. A wide blue sky would seem like a contradiction, or worse, maybe like what was happening here was being ignored.<br /><br />Silly to see the world this way. And yet the rain falls, the clouds bow their heads and reminds me we are all in this together.<br /><br />Our bags are packed, we're ready to go, as the song goes. Sierra is in good spirits, Adam and I are weary, Mireya is excited with all the company.<br /><br />I'm just tired. I'm looking forward to a nice long sleep. On Friday.<br /><br />I'll be updating here. Thanks for thinking of us.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-31969845866294705562012-01-29T08:49:00.004-06:002012-01-29T09:08:27.246-06:00Sierra In Hospital Next WeekEverything is set. We go in for X-rays and such on Tuesday, spend the night at the Ronald McDonald House (every time I buy french fries at McDonalds I remember the first time we stayed at the House in San Antonio). Wednesday we head over to the hospital.<br /><br />Sierra is late in the line up and isn't allowed to eat from midnight on. She'll be there over night.<br /><br />Family is all coming in, over a dozen people will be there, which is crazy, because it's not like this is the Big Thing, if the Big Thing even happens.<br /><br />But I'm very glad they are all coming anyway.<br /><br />I know, I know. This procedure isn't big or dangerous, yet I feel raw anyway. Inside her chest is the mystery that they will probe, then reveal what lies ahead for her, for us.<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">----<br /></div><br /><br />On the positive side of things, Sierra's vertigo is improving and the doctor has said not to worry about any of the scarier things often linked to severe vertigo.<br /><br />"It will resolve," he said to me, looking me in the eyes in that way doctors do when they are both emphatic and comforting.<br /><br />Resolve. Yes, I thought. Everything does, in the end, resolve.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-54236905500991723512011-12-27T20:08:00.003-06:002011-12-27T20:28:30.691-06:00Update on Sierra or how vertigo is driving me crazyThe date for Sierra's test has come and gone, thanks to her extreme attack of vertigo. In case I haven't mentioned it to you (I've lost track of who I sent a note out too), she had an extreme attack of vertigo, to the point that she couldn't walk. At. All. <br /><br />We tried numerous treatments, but nothing worked. Finally they put her on steroids and it was mostly gone in three days, but now it seems to be coming back a little bit. Vertigo is notoriously hard to get rid of, sometimes taking just a week or two, but sometimes attacks linger for months.<br /><br />The doctor wants to do an MRI. I want to try some alternatives first. She's already had a CT scan which exposed her to the equivalent radiation of 50 x-rays. Sue me if I want to try alternatives. <br /><br />I spoke to someone who talked about the US medical emphasis on expensive diagnostics that preceed general treatments, even relatively low risk treatments. It's interesting and not something I put much stock in before this experience. But now I wonder about the logic. When symptoms say you have a cold, they don't scan your bone marrow for luekemia. The fact that steroids worked indicates inflamation is a factor. Anti-inflammatories should help then.<br /><br />Anyway, with all that I cancelled the test. We agreed that we couldn't handle that stress. She was walking the Friday before and we just wanted to be normal after two weeks of having our daughter basically an invalid.<br /><br />Now they want to do the test in January, but I'm going to request we push it to February. Remember, they won't be able to do anything about this until the Summer anyway. What is the point of rushing?<br /><br />I am calling tomorrow. We'll see what they say.<br /><br />Thanks to everyone who has kept us in your prayers. Sierra is walking and somewhat normal (she is 13, afterall, one must be realistic). I'm hoping we can get through this relatively intact.<br /><br />My very best to you and yours...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-91000858624812562152011-11-29T10:02:00.003-06:002011-11-29T10:49:03.966-06:00Heart Cath Date Set<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.heart-valve-surgery.com/Images/angiogram-illustration-diagram.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 329px;" src="http://www.heart-valve-surgery.com/Images/angiogram-illustration-diagram.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Sierra's date for her cath procedure has been set (you can read about the procedure <a href="http://www.webmd.com/heart-disease/guide/cardiac-catheterization1">here</a>).<br /><br />We are praying that the wacky wrong way vein is just a teeny tiny coffee stirrer size one that we can just forget about.<br /><br />If you are focusing prayers, then the magic number is 1.4. The Qp/Qs ratio they are looking for has to be under 1.5 (if you want to understand more about these ratios and what it's about you can read <a href="http://ats.ctsnetjournals.org/cgi/content/full/82/3/978">here</a> or <a href="http://www.mgh-cardiovascimages.org/index.php?src=gendocs&ref=cv_february_2011">here</a>).<br /><br />The date for the procedure has been set for December 21st. There will be some things we have to do the day before and she may have to spend the night.<br /><br />...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bdBdPEdkQUM/TtUMyMlYAzI/AAAAAAAADHU/bVmeBc-2eNE/s1600/4-up%2Bon%2B2010-12-10%2Bat%2B19.56%2B%25237.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 230px; height: 172px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bdBdPEdkQUM/TtUMyMlYAzI/AAAAAAAADHU/bVmeBc-2eNE/s400/4-up%2Bon%2B2010-12-10%2Bat%2B19.56%2B%25237.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680460561508729650" border="0" /></a><br /><br />She's getting scared. I've talked her through it, put on my strongest face, acknowledged her fears, explained how it works and how this test is easy, very routine. She leans into my words and I hold her there, a rock against the winds that blow around us.<br /><br />...<br /><br />I have been doing really well, until yesterday. Then it hit me, when the nurse described the pre-test, the visit early in the morning, the waiting we'd have, it hit me like a freight train.<br /><br />I feel ridiculously childish, all I can think is I don't want this to be happening, that I don't want to go through this again, I don't want to, I don't want to.<br /><br />I broke down, and suddenly it was 1999 and I was holding her in the hospital the night before the surgery, the first surgery, as lost as a bird blown off course by a hurricane.<br /><br />...<br /><br />December 21st. I'll keep you updated and will live blog here on that date...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-67509728603113393262011-11-27T22:03:00.002-06:002011-11-27T22:12:48.387-06:00Thankful for the little things<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m7D8wyJiN4c/TtMKC8LvdBI/AAAAAAAADHI/5P9VLpbtjJ8/s1600/390805_151685988266754_100002760628193_195305_1670509841_n.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-m7D8wyJiN4c/TtMKC8LvdBI/AAAAAAAADHI/5P9VLpbtjJ8/s400/390805_151685988266754_100002760628193_195305_1670509841_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679894600675718162" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p class="Body1" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >The best thing about having kids is you find a whole different and bizarre number of things to be thankful for.</span></p> <p class="Body1" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Clearly, like everyone, I’m profoundly thankful for friends and family and community. But there are all these little things that only kids bring to mind.</span></p> <p class="Body1" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >I'm thankful for my youngest daughter at last outgrowing tick tack toe, since it's been tough to feign enthusiasm for the game for a few years. We have moved on to hangman, which is much more fun now that she can spell. Previously in kindergarten it was tough to play hangman since letters were largely decorative and I was certainly “hung” many times by a random letter Y.</span></p> <p class="Body1" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >I'm thankful for the resale shop, without whom I'd be tempted to horde all my girls old holiday dresses. Instead I keep one or two (okay, three) for sentimental reasons, then pass on a dress fit for another princess. </span></p> <p class="Body1" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >I'm thankful for the resale shop because apparently I'm growing weeds here, both of whom outgrow clothes at a pace no reasonable budget can deal with.</span></p> <p class="Body1" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >I'm thankful for the high pitch squeals ringing out all over the house (inside voice? What inside voice?). Sometimes they hit notes that cause the dogs to howl. Sure these squeals would send many people diving under the table, but I love them because I recognize a good time when I hear it.</span></p> <p class="Body1" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >I'm thankful for the company of exhausted mom friends who I both marvel at and commiserate with. I never would have met them were it not for our children. Just when I think I can’t possibly get one more thing done, I’ll run into a mom who has figured out a short cut for me to try.</span></p> <p class="Body1" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >I'm thankful for sneakers that light up because they are way too fun to watch as my daughter runs down the hall, literally aglow.</span></p> <p class="Body1" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >I'm thankful for a car full of carolers because it's wonderful to sing with your daughters even if you really don't want to sing the twelve days of Christmas AGAIN.</span></p> <p class="Body1" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >I’m thankful for pepperoni and goldfish, a Prosapio snack staple which I don’t eat, but my daughters would wither away if I didn’t keep them in reach.</span></p> <p class="Body1" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >And most surprisingly, I’m thankful for the collapse at the end of the day where I realize that life is ridiculously full, and that tomorrow I’ll have energy for more.</span></p> <p class="Body1" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><span style=";font-family:";" >Happy holidays to you and yours!</span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-38314521007555758142009-12-07T00:17:00.003-06:002009-12-07T00:21:46.000-06:00Dresses<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3YByTMhQJTM/SxyeNeh-oMI/AAAAAAAABd8/LjcZ9-f5Cvk/s1600-h/IMG_0936.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3YByTMhQJTM/SxyeNeh-oMI/AAAAAAAABd8/LjcZ9-f5Cvk/s400/IMG_0936.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412374806563561666" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><o:p></o:p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">This weekend it was time for Christmas dress shopping.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">Even Sierra, who is nowhere near the fashionista that her sister is, was excited to head out for our shopping trip. Usually she hates shopping. But after I bought her two outfits that she couldn’t even get over her shoulders, she realized she needed to make an effort.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">Plus there is something about the Christmas dress. It’s where we get to go all out. Velvet. Lace. Fake fur. Sparkles. Dresses that flare out when you spin. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">After making some preliminary selections we headed into the large dressing room. Mireya, who is seven and has inherited the glamour gene and raised it to the power of Prada, selected six stunning outfits. This was going to be a problem because for Mireya, picking just one is impossible and a guaranteed tear generator.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">“But how can I choose?” she whined.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">“Well, you just have to lay out your options and think of the what’s good about each one, then pick the one that has the most good parts.” Now who could argue with that logic?<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">Mireya.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">“They are exactly the same! They have exactly the same good parts!”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">Sierra, on the other hand, was having a completely different problem. Nothing fit. No wonder nothing I was buying her fit. She was no longer in the kid department at all.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3YByTMhQJTM/SxyeNAE3ApI/AAAAAAAABd0/y6MeaCtH29A/s1600-h/IMG_0941.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3YByTMhQJTM/SxyeNAE3ApI/AAAAAAAABd0/y6MeaCtH29A/s400/IMG_0941.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412374798388363922" border="0" /></a><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">When in the world did that happen? Sure, she’s wearing my shoes, but I thought I had another couple of years before she was going to be swiping things from my closet. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">So, after easing Mireya’s misery of having to select only one dress with the promise of Christmas shoes, we were off to the other end of the store for Sierra.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">Much like Sierra’s transition two years ago to the woman’s shoe sizes, moving over to the juniors section at age 11 doesn’t just mean bigger price tags, it also means a totally different kind of Christmas dress.<span style=""> </span>A Vegas show girl kind of dress. And that’s putting it mildly.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">Frankly I’m not prepared to have my little girl dress like she’s doing two shows nightly with a matinee on Sunday. Our new goal became finding something that was both festive and restrained. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">Talk about a tough fashion combo.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">Eventually we found a dress that worked.<span style=""> </span>It looks beautiful, even though there are no sparkles, velvet,<span style=""> </span>or fake fur. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt; text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">Maybe they’ll make a comeback in the juniors department in 2010.<o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-6856737846365395892009-11-26T12:54:00.002-06:002009-11-26T12:56:17.278-06:00Thanksgiving’s Culinary Sweepstakes<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://blog.pricegrabber.com/shopgreen/files/2007/11/lo-thanksgiving_humor_eat_ham_turkey-810472.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 333px; height: 500px;" src="http://blog.pricegrabber.com/shopgreen/files/2007/11/lo-thanksgiving_humor_eat_ham_turkey-810472.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><o:p></o:p> <p class="MsoNormal">Cooking is not one of my better skills. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I mean, I can follow a recipe, sure, just like I can put gas in my car.<span style=""> </span>But I always said, before I had children, that the only reason this house had a kitchen was because it was required by code.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So it is with some dread that I stare into the cranberry stained face of the mega-cooking holiday throw down of Thanksgiving. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Let’s face it. This is not a holiday that brings out the best in the cooking challenged. Take a look at my cooking repertoire these days as a harried mom on the go.<o:p></o:p></p> <ul><li>My specialty these days is mac and cheese.<span style=""> </span>Boil pasta. Add cheese.<span style=""> </span>Done.<o:p></o:p></li><li>We’ve been celebrating the return of the Hot Dog, previously a banned food, which has regained popularity with the princess of picky eating. <o:p></o:p></li><li>Broccoli, steamed. It’s the only green the thing the aforementioned princess will eat. So it’s become a staple.<o:p></o:p></li><li>And I do make a mean pancake. With cinnamon. Available on Sundays ONLY.<o:p></o:p></li></ul> <p class="MsoNormal">Unfortunately my comfort level with this repertoire was challenged when some check out person snuck in a rather large, coupon/cooking magazine into my grocery bag. It had a festive cover and I foolishly started to page through it.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It all looks so good. And easy! It all says it’s EASY in big red letters so you know it’s true. Then it’ll have an ingredient list that goes for two pages. But the pictures look so warm and inviting, I immediately imagine the memories possible with these incredible meals.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then, coming to my senses by the dinging of the microwave, I recall how wonderful mashed potatoes taste from the box if you add some garlic salt. And Voila! Garlic Potatoes A La Prosapio!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Fortunately I have finally gotten wise enough to know that our Thanksgiving memories will be less about dozens of creative side dishes and more about how many times Daddy had to run to the store for something we SHOULD have right here in the cabinet somewhere. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And how many times the smoke alarm went off. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And how the green beans got buried in overabundance of cream of mushroom soup and look more like anemic earthworms,<span style=""> </span>which is not really helpful when you are trying to make a perfect Thanksgiving memory here.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But it will all make you laugh so hard you almost spew your stuffing.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Instead we’ll be thankful that every year, we manage to get stuffed – with great memories, no matter what’s on the table.<o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-38188434269388234592009-11-18T22:19:00.004-06:002009-11-18T22:36:29.884-06:00Fly me to the Moon<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.ideagrove.com/blog/uploaded_images/stewardess-786875.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 356px;" src="http://www.ideagrove.com/blog/uploaded_images/stewardess-786875.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Vacationing with children, I’ve always said, is not the correct phrase. It’s hazardous cargo shipping.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;">I was reminded of this when I read recently about a <a href="http://aviationblog.dallasnews.com/archives/2009/11/loud-toddler-kicked-off-southw.html">mom who was kicked off a Southwest flight</a> with her unhappy toddler. Seriously. The pilot actually turned the plane around and went back to the gate to kick them off. Talk about a temper tantrum.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;">The only good part of that story is now she can actually tell the kid that if he isn’t quiet that Southwest Airlines will kick him off the plane – and he’ll believe her.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;">It reminded me of <a href="http://crib-notes.blogspot.com/2009/09/pop-go-eardrums.html">the time Mireya complained</a> about her ears popping on the plane and swore she’d never fly again. I swore she’d never fly again too.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><br /><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;">We’ve all been there. A friend described sitting in the plane with her son when the classic melt down began (fortunately they were airborne and the airline was forced to not throw its own temper tantrum). Tired of traveling and responding to a bit of a sugar rush, he began to crash, ugly.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;">And refused to sit down as the plane was preparing to land.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;">Now, at home we all have the tools to deal with this. You can place your child some place secure, walk a safe distance away, and allow the meltdown to run its course. Most importantly, there are no witnesses should you decide to have your own, quiet meltdown with a large bowl of chocolate ice cream and headphones.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;">On a plane, you are trapped. Along with 200 close, personal friends, who are also trapped and ready to kill you lest you ever consider traveling with your little bundle of raw emotional rage ever again. Not to mention there is very little you can bribe your child with on an airplane. Face it, those little plastic airline wings get you nowhere these days.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;">My friend ended up apologizing and most of the passengers averted their eyes as they ran for the exits once the plane landed.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;">We recently returned from a flight and I was struck that I now have children who are of traveling age. We can now go places and I can assure other passengers that they can sit next to us without fear of torture - other than a story about how <a href="http://crib-notes.blogspot.com/2009/09/pop-go-eardrums.html">we used to have 17 mice</a> because we couldn’t figure out which one was a boy mouse.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;">Which beats the heck out of toddlers with sugar crashes any day.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Next post - useful travel tips from a mom that flies way too much.</span><br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 6pt 0in;"><!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-28690470129293236222009-11-04T02:40:00.001-06:002009-11-04T02:40:00.376-06:00Super Mommy!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.womenpr.com/site/images/stories/super-woman.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 346px;" src="http://www.womenpr.com/site/images/stories/super-woman.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>
<br /><o:p></o:p><span style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;" >Usually I’m the one tapped for story telling in the car. But recently I got a real treat. <o:p></o:p></span> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Sierra has been telling stories of adventurous dogs an their intrepid trainer (who bear a remarkable resemblance to her dog Dyno and herself, except for their ability to fly) for years. So it’s not surprising that her sister decided to start her own story line.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">We were in the car alone, which allowed her to step out on stage on her own. “Do you want to hear a story?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Relieved that I was not being called on to be imaginative while negotiating traffic I responded with great enthusiasm. “Yes! Yes!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Do you want to hear the story about Super Mommy?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Definitely. I definitely want to hear about Super Mommy.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">She took a deep breath. “Okay. This is the story about how Super Mommy got her powers.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Oooo. I need to hear about that. Maybe I can get some super powers.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Once upon a time, when Super Mommy was just Mommy she ate a salad that had poison.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Oh dear,” I said, a bit worried we were off to a bad start, although at least Mommy was having a healthy last meal. “Poison?” Had there been a little too much in the news about food safety lately? <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">“Yes. Poison. And the poison gave Mommy her super powers. The fairies put in the poison and that was how she got the power to fly. And that’s just one power!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">“I think you mean potion.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">“No, it was poison.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">I decided against the vocabulary lesson, intrigued by the possibilities of fairies sprinkling flying powder in my Caesar salad. “Okay. What other powers did Super Mommy get?”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">She ticked them off on her fingers. “She’s faster than a cheetah. She can hear really good. She can be invisible.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Yes, but can she find matching socks from the every growing pile of clean but still piled laundry, butter and precisely cut a waffle into precisely one inch squares, sign 17 separate permission slips with tiny typing, AND get the dishes into the dishwasher in two minutes flat so we aren’t late for school otherwise everyone loses their Lone Star Yellow perfect attendance Star and won’t let you forget it until High School if even then?<o:p></o:p></span></p> <span style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;" >Super Mommy went on to save the world from evil cats all the way home.
<br />
<br />I don’t know about you, but I feel safer knowing she’s out there. Maybe she can come by and help me sort socks.</span><!--EndFragment--> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-18054174165688077942009-11-03T22:33:00.001-06:002009-11-03T22:33:00.694-06:00Amusing photo seen on vacation...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3YByTMhQJTM/Su-y0fBiwOI/AAAAAAAABS8/N2kR9otXOD8/s1600-h/thingies.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3YByTMhQJTM/Su-y0fBiwOI/AAAAAAAABS8/N2kR9otXOD8/s400/thingies.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399731092991426786" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I *knew* that's what they were called.<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21960908.post-76963730723551912032009-11-01T21:45:00.002-06:002009-11-01T21:54:15.033-06:00Halloween left overs<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3YByTMhQJTM/Su5XkM_SALI/AAAAAAAABSE/31V9Z29z5N8/s1600-h/halloween.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3YByTMhQJTM/Su5XkM_SALI/AAAAAAAABSE/31V9Z29z5N8/s400/halloween.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399349282737356978" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">two snow leopards, a banana and judo dog.<br /><br />Yep. It's a Prosapio Halloween.<br /><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3YByTMhQJTM/Su5XjzOrg6I/AAAAAAAABR8/bniDXdWpQZU/s1600-h/halloween2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3YByTMhQJTM/Su5XjzOrg6I/AAAAAAAABR8/bniDXdWpQZU/s400/halloween2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399349275822621602" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">A Halloween Prisoner.<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13104422629934443842noreply@blogger.com