This Mother’s Day was one for the books, that’s for sure.

This year Bro & I had talked about skipping out on Mother’s Day and my birthday later this month so that we could get our patio done.  I’m tired of having a dirt back yard.  SO TIRED OF IT.  We’re going on our 4th year of it being unusable, and I’m about as over it as I possibly can be at this point.  I daydream about backyard bbq’s, kids sliding down the deck slide and jumping on the trampoline, and parents hanging out on the patio around the fire laughing over drinks and toasting Marshmallows.  We’re like thisclose from getting it done, but life keeps getting in the way (i.e. unexpected $460 vet bill for the frappin’ Min-Pin to learn she has “soft tissue damage” in her neck, probably from wrestling with the cat.)  Anyway, I made him promise. 

Sunday morning at about 9:00 my little fuzzy-headed toddler sprinted down the hallway towards my bedroom, climbed up on the side-rail of my bed and smooched my cheek.  I pretended to be sleeping.  Her squeaky little voice whispered “Happy Mother’s Day Momma!”  (She says the word “mother” EXACTLY like Bambi says it in the movie.), she giggled and she booked it back out of my bedroom, back down the hall and into the living room so that she could report to her daddy that she’d come in, but I didn’t wake up.  I heard her say something about doing it again so that they could give me my presents.  Scowl.  Presents in the form of a patio?  Before I had too long to process, I hear her booking it back down the hallway.  Why she insists on running everywhere and never walking is beyond me.  She’s back at my side of the bed again, perched on the rail, leaning in for another cheek smooch when I burst out from under the covers, scooped her up and rolled her over with me for a snuggle.  She wriggled into me and giggled and told me it was time to get up because it was Mother’s Day. 

I agreed, headed for the bathroom and then out to the living room.  She could hardly contain herself.  Her eyes were dancing with excitement.  She was hopping up and down in front of Bro hardly able to wait to go downstairs with him to their hiding place to get my prizes.  I slide a sideways look towards him and he says “What?  It wasn’t me!  It was all her!  This was all her idea!”  Louie gets away with anything at my house.  Especially with the big guy.  All she has to do is look up at him with those giant eyes and those puffy cheeks and he’s done.  16 is going to be rough, I know it already.  He gets up to follow her, and she giggles all the way down the stairs and chatters with him about what she’s going to carry back up.  10 seconds later hot-pink azaleas bounce up the stairs ahead of her, held high above her little bed head.  It reminds me that she needs a haircut like nobody’s business.  Thursday maybe – I don’t think I can do it before then.  She bursts past the top of the stairs, Daddy trailing behind – and she runs to the front of the couch where I’m sitting to present me with my flowers.  I love them.  Every year “she” has given me a plant or a bush or flowers that are living, that I can keep forever.   At least that’s usually the goal.  The raspberry bush she bought me my first year died that winter.  The jasmine vines she bought me the second year got eaten alive by a certain precarious little yellow lab.  I don’t remember what it was last year, but I still have the pot – I’ll put the Azalea’s in that one so they can grow…  the intent is to keep them all alive, but we have to have a back yard where I can put them, first!  Eh hem.  Bro sets down a giant canvas bag on the couch next to me as Louie climbs into my lap to help me explore the contents of the bag.  Marc Jacobs and daisy’s… my FAVORITE perfume!  On top of the perfume box was a jewelry box… Louie had picked out a diamond/amethyst set for me.  A necklace and earrings.  Her face lit up when I opened the box and she squished into me and said “Do you like them momma??”  Shes’ so delicious – I love that kid.  Inside was the perfume set – a huge bottle of the new Daisy Eau So Fresh perfume, which is YUMMY, 2 rollers and a lotion.  Within 10 minutes she had sampled all of them, and you could smell her across the house!  She also picked out 6 seed packets so that we can grow our own flowers for her garden out back.  This kid loves flowers like nobody’s business!!!!  The cards Bro picked out were spot-on.  I’ll save those ones forever.  Louie’s made me laugh until I cried and Bro’s made me keep crying.  Exactly perfect. 

For a split second I was disappointed that he’d broken his promise.  I know they love me and that they both appreciate me.  I know they are thankful for what I do for them.  I know this.  We don’t need a greeting card holiday complete with the unspoken rule that we must spend a large chunk of change to drive home the message.  The money could have been used to buy the stuff to form the patio though.  It could have, but he can always make more… plus, diamonds, flowers & perfume?  What girl is going to say no to that?!?!?!  Not me!  It was thoughtful and considerate and precious – from both of them. 

After I put her in the tub and scrubbed the Daisy off of her, we hung out.  We spent the rest of the day not doing much.  We went up to the hospital to visit Bro’s Grandma, and we came home to make Chicken Parmesan and to weigh in for the week.  I’m down 6.2 pounds for the week, and Bro lost 8!!!  Woo hoo! 

At bed time as I tucked her in and calmed her down from the hysterics she works herself into at bedtime because she’ll be alone, I kissed her cheek, tucked her once more and snuggled her in.  As I walked out of her bedroom and back down the hall, she says “Hey momma?”  “What baby girl?”  “Happy Mother’s Day!  I hope you had a good one.  It was extra special to me, too.”  She made me tear up a little.  I turned around for another “one more” smooch and a hug, and as I did, she tells me “Know what else, Momma?  I always keep all your hugs extra close.”  Holy crap. 

BEST. FREAKING. KID. EVER.  She warms my heart and she melts me.  She is an incredible little soul. 

I literally could not have asked for a better Mother’s Day.  It was PERFECT.

President Obama today affirmed his evolving belief that gay & lesbian individuals should be allowed to marry one another.  I just watched the interview, read the article and then I read the first page of comments by the readers/viewers of that piece.   The comments were disgusting.  They were slamming him and his “flip-flopping” (Despite the fact that I’ve only ever heard him say that his views were evolving), saying that this was a stunt to help him win his election.  Well, maybe it is a stunt, but it still took some giant cojones as the President of the United States – the leader of the free world to say for the first time EVER on national television that he supports gay marriage.   He’s a smart man and I’m sure he recognizes the risks associated with making that statement.  I’m proud of him for doing it, no matter where the outcome will land him. 

Last night, the Civil Unions bill was struck down in the Colorado House, having not even been put to a vote because time was not cleared for it in the agenda.  The bill is dead now, and I think that is deplorable.  It really is. 

I’ve written about this subject before, back when I said I was going to do that whole 30 days thing, which I stopped because it was stupid.  I digress. 

 In 2012 it is appalling to me that every American citizen is not equal in every definition of the word with regards to our civil rights.  Gay people are treated as second class citizens in our country and for the life of me, as a straight, white, upper-middle-class woman (the demographic who’s supposed to oppose this) I do not understand it.  A threat to the institution of marriage they say.  A desecration of the vows we all hold so sacred in our hearts.  An insult to christianity and religion.  Really?  A committed, monogamous couple who happens to have the same plumbing, who wants to vow to spend the rest of their lives with each other - to have the right to make life changing medical decisions, to share health insurance, to file taxes to gether – those people area  threat?  They’re a threat, but Kim Kartrashian who marries for publicity and the millions she rakes only to file for divorce 72 days later in isn’t?  My (at the time) 19-year-old sister-in-law can marry because she thinks she’s in love, only to be separated from her husband and skanking it up less than a year later isn’t a threat to those principles?   The divorce rate in our country is hovering at 50% because STRAIGHT people don’t take seriously the vows they make to their spouses.  because they bail on each other when times get tough, or they use the b.s. cop-out excuse that they’ve “grown apart,”   or they’ve got wandering eyes or wandering whatevers that land them in hot water and eventually in divorce court.  I realize there are legitimate reasons for divorce.  I’m not painting ever person who separates from their spouse with the same brush, but I am absolutely saying that a lot of people cop-out because the going gets a little tough sometimes, or because they want to trade up for a newer model.  To me, therein lies the threat to the institution of marriage. 

So you oppose it from a religious standpoint.  A marriage does not have to be a religious ceremony – it can take place in a courthouse as a civil ceremony with no church involved whatsoever.  Church & state are supposed to be separate anyway, no?  You can become ordained online for a few bucks and perform a marriage for your friends in your back yard, or at the bar in your basement without any form of God being present.   I just don’t understand why it has to be such a big deal.  I understand why it is a big deal, I just don’t get why it hast to be.  It shouldn’t be.  A gay couple or a lesbian couple have absolutely no bearing on what goes on in my home under my roof in my marriage.  It’s not a threat to the relationship I have with my husband.  It doesn’t make it mean less, or anything different.  Love is love, no? 

I commend President Obama for taking the public stance he took today, even if it is a publicity stunt to help tip the polls in his favor.  I think it took a lot of courage to say those words in a public  way.  I still don’t know if I’m voting for him again this year – I don’t know who I’m going to vote for, but he has my support in having made that statement, that’s for sure!

This past weekend we snuck away for a quick weekend vacation to meet up with some friends.  I should have known we were doomed from the beginning when plans changed no less than 1800 times before we finally got in the car.  I think my husband was thoroughly stressed about taking on the task of both making the hotel reservations & renting the car, too.  See, we have 2 vehicles at Mi Casa.  Well, technically we have more than that, but for driving across the country purposes, we have 2.  My husbands behemoth truck that reigns in a whopping 11mpg’s or my teeny-tiny slightly more economical, albeit 11-year-old car that has almost 150,000 miles on it.  Paying for gas in the truck was out of the question, and he didn’t want to put the extra miles on my car.  Because my husband is terrified to fly, we decided renting a car would be the best way to go.  Le sigh.

After many lengthy discussions about which establishment we would rent the car at, and finally finding a place that would work for us, we found ourselves loading a newer (probably ’11 or ’12) Nissan Altima up with our belongings needed for the weekend, and heading out a short time later.  The car was mostly clean and pretty comfy, having  just come in from a trip from New Mexico – at least, it had New Mexico plates on it.  It seemed to have the space we needed.  TV’s were set up on the backs of the headrests, Louie & Bro’s mom were happy to be heading down the road with us and we were out.  We stopped and had a some-what early dinner in Green River Utah.  Bro wanted to eat before the sun went down, and Green River was the last stop on the map where we could make that happen.  We had dinner at a quaint little mediocre restaurant, hit the bathroom did some seat switching and headed back out.  I handed over the shotgun spot to my mother in law so that she could stretch her legs and take a break from being on kid duty for a while. 

Baby-Wipe Barricade!

90 miles down the road as the sun went down, Bro noticed a moth in the car.  Gross, but really no big deal.  They trapped it and shooed it out of the car and we went along our merry way.  Not too much further down the road, another moth was suddenly fluttering it’s nasty dusty wings against the window.  Maybe the didn’t get it out of the car the first time – it was dark out… who could know?  For sure though, this time the moth was out of the car.  I wonder how he got in?  We never had the windows down.  Strange… he must have snuck in at the restaurant when we were getting back— ANOTHER ONE!!!  What the heck?  I trapped it under a baby wipe and smooshed it.  Gross indeed, but I wrapped it inside of another wipe and stuffed it in the trash bag making mental notes to empty the car trash next time we stopped.  Five minutes later my daughter is in complete and utter hysterics.  There’s a moth on her window, fluttering around like mad and she is LOSING HER BEANS.  There are exactly three types of “bugs” she’s willing to allow inside of her bubble 1) Butterfly 2) Lady Bug 3) Earth Worm.  HELL NO was a moth going to be that close to her, so I went into moth-eradication mode and a I trapped that mo fo inside of another baby wipe and added him to my collection.  WHERE ARE THEY COMING FROM????  In the process of catching this second moth, before I crushed him in my baby-wipe-death-grip, that sucker made a bee-line for the point where the back deck meets the glass over the trunk AND CRAWLED DOWN THERE!!!  Vengeance is mine!  I stuffed that crack on both sides full of baby wipes.  Surely I had him trapped now!  Well, if by surely you mean all I did was piss off an infestation of moths and make them crawl out of every other orifice in the car, then yes, surely I had him trapped.  Him and all his fluttery nasty mothy friends.  Before we knew what was happening, they were coming out of everywhere.  They were crawling out from under the headliner, along the front pillars, behind the rear-view mirror, they were everywhere.  Bro screamed and swerved as one crawled up the leg of his shorts.  Louie was beside herself, huddling under her blanket in her car-seat, Bro’s mom & I were laughing so hard we were crying, and the little bastards just kept coming like stealthy little rogue ninja moths dive-bombing our hair in the darkness.  We didn’t dare turn the lights on, because you know the whole thing about moths and lights, and if Louie saw more than one fluttering around the cab light in the center of the roof, she’d likely be left drooling and babbling something about moths in an incoherent state for some time.  I was hot pissed.  How gross?  How gross, and slightly dangerous, as your reaction no matter how big you are is to FREAK THE EFF OUT if one touches you in the dark, causing you to swerve a little on the road.  It’s a perfectly normal, natural thing.  Even if you are 6’5″ and huge.  It was bad, and I decided that the following morning, the company was going to give me a different car.   Bro didn’t think I could get them to do it, but hell hath known no furry like a woman who has to spend 100 miles in the dark squashing moths.  I knew I’d be getting a new car that next morning.  AND I wasn’t cleaning out the moth carcasses, either. 

We get to our hotel to spend the night and by 7:30 the next morning I was on the horn with the rental car company explaining our conundrum.  My husband just wanted to go, but I wouldn’t allow that.  I couldn’t handle the thought of watching my child flip out like that for another night in that car.  Even though we only had about 4 more hours ahead of us that day, there was still going to be more night-time hours spent in that car.  We had to handle business.  Dude says (and dude was the manager, no less) “OK, well it wasn’t like that when I gave it to you, but let me call and see what I can get you and I’ll call you back.”  Really?  You’re gonna go there?  How do you know it wasn’t like that?  Not only was it daylight when I picked the car up, but you also didn’t take the headliner out to see if there were any creepy-crawlies under there.  I mean, I usually travel with an infestation of huge moths, but I purposely left mine home this time.  OK fine.  So we sat in the parking lot for 15 minutes with no call back.  I called again to have him tell me “Oh, sorry – they don’t open ’till 8:00 and I have other customers in here.  I’m not going to be able to help you, but you can call yourself.”  Oh swell.  So we’re off to a good start.  I call the next guy.  He tells me he’s only got a mini-van and to head on over.  I hesitate in sharing this little gem of information with my husband, because you have to paint your man card like, lavender or something if you willingly drive a mini-van  - at least in his eyes.  I knew it wasn’t going to fly, but I let the cat out of the bag anyway.  As expected, his response was laced with profanities and general statements about how I had to be kidding.  I told him we could just go to Laughlin, but that before we left there, we were changing that car out.  He agreed that it was probably best to just go handle the situation and get it out-of-the-way, so we headed out. 

We arrived at the local branch to the car rental company and were met by a nice guy who really didn’t know what to make of our moth problem.  Regardless he was sympathetic to our situation and switched us into our newly vacuumed white mini-van.  Bro decided it wasn’t all bad, and that we would have a lot more space for the duration of the trip.  20 miles down the road as he was working to convince me that we should buy a mini-van because they were “sweet,” his phone rang.  It was the guy from the car rental place we had just left.  Evidently I had left my iPad in the moth car.  This didn’t sit well with my husband, but I pointed out that we were in Utah, where people usually do the right thing.  Not only that but he wouldn’t have called us to tell us we left it if he was trying to swindle us.  He gave me his address and told me I could pick it up on my way back through on Sunday.  We had planned to go through Arizona, but you know what they say about plans…  so we finished up our drive and arrived in Laughlin with plenty of time left over to allow Louie & Grandma to ride the river taxi’s about 8 times, to go on their cruise and to color all over the windows in the room with window crayons.  It left us plenty of time to indulge in copious amounts of alcohol, and to make ‘ol Don Laughlin and his descendants a little more wealthy.  You know – because we’re givers.   

My favorite part was later Friday night when we were at a Blackjack table with our friend and his dad.  Someone had asked where we were from, and my husband decides then would be a good time to make stuff up.  Before long, his friend was from Maine, his dad was from San Francisco and we were still from Denver.  We were in town for an indian-wrestling competition that my husband was allegedly competing in, and his best friend was his trainer.  (I don’t know either – don’t ask.)  The guy told us he was a neighbor of ours, having driven in from Albuquerque himself.  The words no sooner left the poor guys lips when my husbands eyes glimmered with that little twinkle only a trained spouse like myself would notice.  Without missing a beat, he says “Hey you guys havin’ a bad moth problem down there lately?”  “YEAH!”  The guy says!  I was cracking up - no one else got the joke of course, but to me, it was a classic example of my witty husband. 

We spent the rest of the weekend hanging out with old friends and making new ones.  We left Sunday and drove home via I-15 through Utah so we could pick up our iPad, and we made it home safely yesterday afternoon, with enough time to get me to the rental place leaving 7 minutes to spare.  I got the guy to credit me back $75 worth of car rental and he gave me a 10% off coupon for a future rental. 

Last night as we were winding down for the night, Bro said one of the best things he’s ever said to me.  He said “Broad?  Promise me something.  Promise me that if we ever go somewhere that far away for just a weekend, we’ll fly.”  Music to my ears. 

You never know, I may need to rent another car some day, but I certainly will make sure it’s not from New Mexico if I’m doing any night-time driving!!!

1. If I order a “NUMBER 19″ from you, Carl’s Jr. Worker, that means I want the whole number.  Don’t ask me if I want the combo or just the sandwich.  I said number.  That implies I want the whole shebang.  It really would be no big deal since I could tell you were kind of new, but this is not the first time that situation has occurred at said eating establishment, and you were not the first offender.   Also, “light sauce” is not a flavor of sauce.  It just means I’d like to please have less of it.  I’m just sayin’.
2. The same goes for the kid’s meal thing.  Firstly, saying “cheese only” does not translate in any way shape or form to “Swiss Cheese.”  Louie insisted it was mayo and refused to eat the burger.  You can’t just go randomly assigning cheese flavors to a toddlers burger.  They’re uber picky and if you throw them off, they’re traumatized for life.  Secondly, if I say “I want a kids meal” don’t waste your time asking me if I just want the burger or if I want the whole meal.  I said meal and I just told you which sides I wanted her to have.  To me, that sort of implies that I’d like her to have the whole kids meal.  Just a thought.  Keep pluggin’ away at your minimum wage job there, buddy.  It’ll get better, but not before you hone your listening skills.
3. Dear office co-workers,  Can we please stop sharing all of the information about all of the personal things?  It was bad enough when a few years ago one of you burst through the door with your hand cupped over your butthole, rushing to the bathroom, and then 25 minutes later asked me if I had any extra underwear with me because you just shat in yours.  It’s equally bad that your husband frequently makes whiz-puddles all over the bathroom floor and never wipes them up.  I know it’s him, too, because he’s always got pee all over the front of his pants.  Then there was the time that he was dropping a deuce in the only office bathroom we have but he didn’t feel it necessary to not only not lock the bathroom door, but close it all of the way so that I would think it was vacant.  I really enjoyed seeing you wide-eyed with your legs sprawled out while you were mid turd.  That was fantastic.  But this last gem that you two bestowed upon me yesterday - that one’s really priceless.  You come barreling through the front door all Kramer-esuqe and your wife asks how your physical went.  You can just say “it went fine.”  You can even share that you had low blood pressure, or that your cholesterol was in check.  You don’t have to say “I even wore underwear for it!” with the pride of a toddler who just spelled cat,  so that all of the office (meaning specifically ME since no one else was here) can hear.  And then, also, your wife does not have to say “God, I’ll bet you can’t wait to take those off, huh?”  COME ON!!!  I don’t want to know those things.  I really don’t.  Please can we stop with all of the sharing?  Please? 

That is all.  I just needed to get those things off my chest.

 Bloggies, meet Hank.  Hank the Tank.  Hanky Spanky.  Moose-Man.  Frank.  Frankie-J.  Mush-Face.  Buddy. 

Hank is going to be 7 this fall, me thinks.  We got him when he was a wee 10 week old lad.  He’s my pal.  Hank is an oaf.  His favorite activities include lounging in the air conditioning, preferably on someones bed or at least on a couch, mooching for food,  avoiding the outdoors at all costs, swiping food off the counter, crunching on an empty water bottle or straw, and sniffing butts. 

That last one’s a doozie, too.  Let me tell you.  If you come to my house – and let me qualify that this does not only apply to newbies, but also people who have lived with him for the past nearly 7 years, such as myself – Hank screams with delight.  He screams with delight.  Literally a high-pitched-yelpy-scream, his butt wiggles at speeds barely detectable by the human eye, and he volleys himself into a position through multiple-point-maneuvers so that he is positioned directly behind the visitors rump.  I am not making this up.  You can back yourself into a corner to protect your behind if you want to, but he’ll wait and he’ll strike when you least expect it.  You may think the coast is clear 10 minutes down the road, but he’ll do a rump-by and you won’t even know what hit you.  Perhaps his worst offenses are aimed at those visiting for extended stays, who are foolish enough to think they can walk from the shower to the guest bedroom in a towel, instead of getting dressed in the bathroom, no matter how hot n steamy it may be in that room.  Imagine fresh out of the shower and a cold, wet dog nose gets rammed right between your cheeks!  NOT GOOD.   If you ever have the need to shower at my house, do yourself a favor and get dressed in the bathroom, no matter how much your clothes may stick to your skin, or how sweaty and stressed out you’ll be by the time you emerge.  At least your kiester won’t be violated in bare-form! 

So I tell you all of that to set the stage.  To tell you a delightfully hysterical story that occurred on my own front door step of all places, only a couple of weeks ago.  See, I had been working long hard hours, and I was exhausted.  I also haven’t been to Costco to buy chicken in weeks, so we were down to spaghetti, which isn’t great multiple nights in a row.  We had to implement the back-up plan, which was the $10 dinner from Pizza-Hut.  We tried to coral Hank outside before she showed up, but the doorbell rang, and he lost his beans.  “A butt!  A new but to sniff!  Oh I’ll bet the visitor can’t wait!  LET ME OUT THERE!!!!”  Before we could get him into our bedroom or out back onto the deck, the following scene unfolded before my very eyes:

(Screaming chortling Hank, wiggling, maneuvering into position, young pizza girl at the ready, holding our pie in that warm bag thingy while Bro signed the receipt in the kitchen… dog nose goes up the butt.)

Me:  “HANK!  Inside!  You go inside!!  I’m so sorry.  I’m so, so sorry.  He’s friendly, he’s just embarrassing.”

Her:  “Oh my!  He sure is friendly, isn’t he?  Gosh, it can’t be the pants, I just bought these and I haven’t even washed them yet.” 

Me:  *blinks*  “Well, if it’s not the pants, consider what you just admitted as the alternative…  I’d stick with it being the pants.  For sure.” 

She gives me a half hearted mostly confused smile, clearly missing my point AND my sarcasm, checks to make sure the receipt has a tip noted, thanks me and walks back down to her car.

Poor dear.  I wonder if she’s figured it out yet. 

So for those of you who know my husband and me, you’d know that he’s covered in tattoos.  Full sleeves are eventually the goal, and probably a big back piece and he has a cute pin-up girl on his right calf.  I have been involved in the artistic process of all but one of the pieces he has.  A quick count tells me there are 8, but I may be wrong.  I’ve drawn a few of them, or at bare minimum I’ve been there to help dictate color placement, etc.  I love to be involved in the process even if it’s just to sit there and watch.   I have two of my own.  The first one I got in Las Vegas the weekend I got married.  It’s a “Tramp Stamp” by definition, but really on me, it couldn’t be further from the truth in that A) I’m probably the least trampy person I know and B) it’s full of all kinds of family meaning, etc., even though if you look at it without knowing me or my history, it just looks like a seahorse.  A couple of weekends ago I got “love.” tattooed in my own handwriting on the inside of my left wrist.  A couple of couples we know have split the sheets, and it breaks my heart.  I take my committment to love my husband and my family very seriously.  I got it as a reminder that love has to be there.  It’s the cornerstone on which everything else is based.   It’s done in lavender ink as a nod to Louie’s birthstone (and because also my skin is FAIR, and I thought black ink would be pretty harsh on my skin).  It’s on my left side because that’s the hand we associate with our committment to love.  There’s a period at the end, because to me, it’s final.  Because it’s all we really need.  Because with love, everything else will fall in place. 

When I was in high school, I was fortunate enough to have an INCREDIBLE art teacher, all 4 years.  She was amazing.  I learned more from her in the 4 years I attended her classes than I did in the $26,000 year I spent at an art college after I graduated high school.  Before I worked full-time and had 897,212 things always on my plate, I used to draw all of the time.  I used to be pretty good, and I feel like I can say that with confidence.  Here are a couple of pieces I did:

They were done while I attended that pricey art school, but they were all things I could have easily done on my own, without having blown a bundle. 

In watching my husband get piece after piece tattooed on his body, I always toyed with the idea of taking the time to learn that craft on my own.  I think it’s awesome, and I think it’s incredibly flattering to be able to tattoo something that will likely be there forever on someone’s body.  I think getting to hear the stories and the reasons why, and then also getting to meet all of the different people would really be awesome.  I love people, and I love, love, love me a good story.  I’m sure the throngs of sorority girls who would come in wanting to all get matching tattoo’s would get annoying after a while, but still… it would be kind of cool to get to be a part of that persons history. 

On Friday night, Bro got 2 new pieces.  He got an old vintage style gas pump to fill in a huge space on his fore-arm.  He’s got a hot-rod theme going on, and it was a good natural fit.  It looks amazing.  AMAZING.  I drew a Sinclair dinosaur onto the top of it as a nod to his cousin and her husband.  They’re two of the people we’re closest to, and I thought it would be a cool little touch.  He also got a wishbone on his wrist to fill in another spot to commemorate his Grandfather – the man who was very much responsible for molding my husband into the man he is today.  His nickname was Wishbone.  I’ve been with my husband for more than half of my life.  I’ve known since we were kids that his nickname was Wishbone, but until this weekend, I never knew that it was because when they all would go camping back in the day, he always did all of the cooking.  I had no idea.  I thought maybe it had something to do with luck.  I like what it really stands for a bit better. 

So I’m sitting in the kitchen at our friends house (it was a tattoo party, not at a shop, which is MUCH better than doing it at a shop, let me tell you!) watching Bro’s gas pump come to life and I said “Man I’ve always really wanted to do that.”  The guy said “What?”  I said “That.  I’ve always really wanted to tattoo.”  He scooted back and handed me the gun!!!!  I grabbed a glove, wormed my way into position and took a couple quick pointers.  I tattooed 4 bubbles in the gas and most of a line on the right side.  It’s a little squiggly, but that’s because someone told an off-color joke about a weenie and it made me giggle. I had to stop after that because A) I didn’t want to mess it up since I have ZERO tattoo training and also B) that gun was heavy and I felt like I was having to force it too much to stay where I needed it to stay.  Still though, it was one of the coolest experiences I’ve had in a very long time.  Bro says he loves the squiggle in the line, because I got to do it. 

Having that experience sparked something in me for sure.  I think I’m going to break the old sketch-book back out and start drawing a little bit here and there so I can get my chops back up to where they once were.  I miss drawing.  I miss being creative like that.

1. 19 days and a wake-up until vacation time!!!!!!  We’re going to Laughlin for the weekend to meet up with some friends of ours.  Vegas was the initial plan, but Vegas takes all of our fun money and sinks it into a hotel room, which isn’t as fun.  So we decided on Laughlin instead.  I am really looking forward to the trip.  My Mother in Law is coming with so that she can babysit Louie, because no, I won’t leave her at home yet.  They are going to have a few days of much deserved time together and this makes me incredibly happy. 
2. Things that are happening later this year that are incredibly dear to my heart:  1)  The Great Labor Day Cruise in Costa Mesa.  Check us out at www.occa-inc.com.  2)  The Wounded Warrior Project, which is the charity we’ll be supporting at The Great Labor Day Cruise.  Our goal is to reach $20,000 this year.  Go check out either of those websites and make a donation to WWP if you find it in your heart to do so! 
3. Louie has a photo shoot next weekend for a major western-wear comapny.  She’s done a couple of print pieces for them in the past.  2 or 3 of them, I think.  She did a onesie when she was a baby, I think she did another shirt later one (I can’t remember), and she’s done a hat.  This year I think she’ll be in full head to toe stuff.  I saw the sample product to make sure she was the right size, and she looked ADORABLE.  I can’t wait to see how the photos turn out. 
4. I had a random dream the other night that my husband was cheating on me with some goodie goodie mousy-looking brunette who kept holding on to this cross necklace she wore, and who was worried about being home on time so she had to leave an hour before curfew.  He kissed her right in front of me WHILE I WAS HOLDING HIS HAND as she left go be home on time so her dad didn’t get mad.   He told me in the dream as he was sitting next to her in a boot at a restaurant where we like to go have breakfast, that the reason why he cheated on me was because I was mean to Lindsey Lohan at a party.  *blinks*  I got pissed off in the dream, dragged his little girlfriend into a random cellar that was in the restaurant all of a sudden (cellars are reoccurring themes in my dreams whenever there’s violence… I don’t understand why.), kicked the beans out of her, turned on a filthy dirty sink (I know – I don’t get it either) and walked out.  Just then in real life a dog-fart wafted into my nostrils AND I got a text message at 6:25 am from my hairdresser, snapping me into reality.  I tried to go back to sleep so I could find out what happened next, but it was too late.  I sent this text to my husband this morning, I think before I was fully awake:        
   

   I am sure this makes zero sense to him and I will certainly have some 'splaining to do later on....

           5.  I need a new book to read.  Recommendations?  Who’s read 50 Shades of Grey?  Is it as good as they say it is?  I had a friend call it “Mommy Porn.”  In my mind, that  equates to not having to get up at dinner time to wipe a toddler butt, and coming home to a spotless house and dinner on the table.  What?  It could happen… 

Last summer I looked into the local store of a nationally based learning center.  It helps kids who are both behind in school, and a little bit ahead.  A cousin of mine enrolled her daughter and they had tremendous success.  So I called the owner and scheduled a meeting to have Louie assessed to see if she would benefit from their early readers program.  One thing lead to another and life got in the way and I had to cancel my appointment. 

A year passed, and I decided maybe we’d try again.  I scheduled another meeting and an assessment of Louie.  It was ok at best.  I certainly didn’t leave there feeling warm and fuzzy, but I figured even at a tw0-night a week committment (20 minutes a session), and $135 per month, we’d give it a try.  I scheduled the meeting to come in and set everything up, and then, again as life would happen, I got busy and forgot.

That night while I sat at the dining room table working on vendor stuff for our car show, my cell phone rang.  I answered and received a scathing lecture from the owner of this “center,” ripping me a new one for missing my meeting.  I apologized profusely  – it was not my intention to stand him up or flake out on the meeting.  I just simply – forgot.  In my defense, if he would have sold the place and the program a little bit better, I would have been beating the doors down to get in there, but he didn’t, and in all honesty, I left there feeling a little… meh.  He went on to lecture me and make sure that I knew that other families were waiting to get in there and that the time-slot I had requested was in high demand.  Let’s never mind that it was simple for me to get it, and that calendar he showed me appeared to have LOTS of blank spaces on it, but that’s semantics, I reckon.  THEN, he made a massive mistake.  That douche-rag told me he had to reassess whether or not he wanted my child to attend, because I seemed to have committment issues and he didn’t feel like MY DAUGHTER would get the support she needed at home regarding her education.  Oh no he didn’t.  Now most of the time if you’re going to run your mouth at me and make yourself look like an idiot, I’m going to be quiet and let you.  No snappy retort from my own self is going to be needed.  If, however, you’re dumb enough to bring my child or my husband into your idiocy, I’m gonna rip you a new one.   I interrupted his tirade and told him I’d make his decision simple – we wouldn’t be attending his “Center.”  I thanked him for his time and I hung up the phone.  I told my husband what happened, we swept it under the rug and called it good.

Well wouldn’t you know it, later that evening I was sitting on the couch with Bro when my iPad chimed that an email had come in.  Guess who it was from?  Yep.  The little pin-head himself.  Stupid, stupid man.  He wanted to take a moment to tell me how disappointed he was in the context of our phone conversation.  He wanted to remind me that there are tons of families who want my spot, and then he reiterated again that he didn’t think my child would get the support she needed.  Mother Effer. He told me it was unfortunate that she wouldn’t be attending because he thought his little “center” would have been beneficial to her.   He then proceeded to open his mouth a little wider so that his entiref oot would fit inside, by asking me not to contact him or his “center” again.  I read the email to myself one more time, and then I read it aloud to my husband – you know, for good measure. 

He just leaned back and chuckled and said “Huh.  Well, I’ll bet he’ll be hearing back from you!”  I had just hit reply.  Because I’m a giver, I thought I’d share that email with you fine people.  Names have been changed or altered to protect myself from the potentially – albeit highly unlikely lawsuit: 

Dear Dillhole,
First and foremost, how dare you insinuate or even come out and say directly for one moment that MY DAUGHTER would have inadequate support regarding any aspect of her education or otherwise. Our child is first and foremost always.  I fail to recognize the part in her life where it is any of your business to make decisions regarding her education.  Unless you’ve already forgotten, your hired service is to tutor – not to criticize parenting.  You need to mind your place.
Second, I apologized profusely for missing our appointment this evening.  It was not my intent to skip the meeting.  If it was, I wouldn’t have answered the phone. I’m glad to know that your life is lived based on what’s on the calendar from moment to moment and that clearly you’ve never forgotten anything or missed an appointment.  I wish I could say the same for myself. Unfortunately, I cannot.  Every now and then I miss one.  To err is human, no? We can’t all be perfect. Things happen.  (Right here is where I wish I would have put something about how I clearly don’t walk the same moral high-ground as he does, but you know what they say about hind-sight. Dang it.)
Frankly, if this is how you treat potential “Center Families” – with arrogance and disrespect, I consider my daughter better off without the whole Center experience. 
You won’t have to worry about me contacting your center again.  I think you’re an ass.

Heather

About 40 minutes passed, and the iPad dinged again.  Dillhole wrote me back with his tail tucked between his legs.  He wanted to apologize for any misconceptions I may have had regarding the wording he used, and blah blah blah.  I didn’t respond because he gave me what I wanted. 

Like I said – I’ll usually stand there and let you run your mouth to me without any feedback so long as you’re doing a good job on your own of making yourself look like an idiot.  I will of course interject if I don’t think you’re doing a good enough job.  Like I said – I’m a giver.  Strike one will always be bringing my daughter into your idiocy and strike 2 will always be regarding my husband.  Don’t go there with me, or I will rip you up one side and back down the other, ever single time. 

I’m still irked by the whole thing, but now mostly because I thought of some way better insults to sling his way AFTER I clicked send.  It never fails!

Some time ago a reader of mine emailed me or left a comment (I can’t remember which, but I think it was an email) that said something to the effect of: “Why do we always stand in our own way?”  It was one of the most poignant things I think anyone has ever said to me, and I think about it constantly.  That sentence reverberates inside of my brain a few times a week at least.

Why is weight such a struggle for some of us?  When I was in high school, I thought that my 130 pound 5’9″ frame was fat.  I begged my dad to buy me slim fast, because there was enough belly fat to push my finger in 1/4 of an inch or so and I thought I was horrid.  Good grief what I wouldn’t do to be “that fat” again.  Funny to say that sentence right there though – “What I wouldn’t do.”  Apparently, as I am now enormous, there’s a lot that I wouldn’t do, because I’m fat and I haven’t done any of it.  You know, like eating right and exercising regularly. 

I am the largest I have ever been in my life, and I am 30 years old.  In the past 9 years, I have managed to put on probably about 120 pounds, and I am so ashamed of myself.  It’s a horrible thing.  I had to buy the largest size jeans Old Navy sells a few weeks ago, and my consolation prize was a Twix.  Are you kidding me?  Sad because I’m huge, so I eat a candy bar?  In front of my daughter no less?  What the hell kind of example is that???  Idiot.  How’s that for standing in my own way? 

Last night I was standing outside chit-chatting with a girlfriend of mine while our husbands did lawn stuff.  We were having this conversation – this constantly reoccurring conversation about weight.  We were saying that it’s time to do something about it, because we’re both miserable.  I am physically uncomfortable all of the time now.  Tying my own shoes makes me want to barf.  The thought of painting my own toenails sounds like pure torture to me.  Nothing fits right.  I am physically uncomfortable all of the time and I have no one to blame but myself.  I told her that in my head, I should still look the way I did when I was 20 years old.  I know that’s not entirely possible because of age and childbirth and all of that, but I said to her that I feel like I got robbed.  That I robbed myself of the time I should have had to have that body.  I don’t feel like I had enough time to appreciate it and enjoy it before I let it get sucked away from me.  Then when we got home, I was talking to my husband about my weight.  He said Christina Aguillera was starting to get pretty heavy.  I’m thinking, “Well, at her heaviest, she’s probably a size 6.  At my heaviest, I’m a 20.  If he thinks she’s pretty heavy, what does he think of me?”  I told him I don’t understand why I’m having such a hard time with this.  It never used to be hard for me.  He reminded me that I used to exercise all of the time.  I used to eat healthy most of the time.  I used to go to the gym at lunch, because that was the only time I truly had to myself.  He’s right.  I used to do all of those things.  I don’t anymore. 

This morning I was having this same conversation with my friend The Grammar Nazi.  She has made incredible strides in taking control of her weight.  I think she’s lost 50 or 60 pounds in the last year and I am so incredibly proud of her.  She asked me what part of me was uncomfortable.  I told her all of me.  I said I feel like I’m 80′ under water with concrete cinder blocks around my feet and all I get to breathe out of is a really long, pinched bendy straw that barely pokes over the surface so that sometimes water gets in and chokes me.  I don’t know what to do and I am mentally and physically miserable.  Being thin is all I want for myself right now.  Not so much so I can wear a smaller size or look hot again anymore.  Now those things are secondary.  Now I want to be thin so that I can be comfortable again.  I want to be able to tie my shoes without having to hold my breath.  I want to not have a canyon cinched into my waist from the band of my jeans.  I want to not be maxed out on the size chart in stores where I like to shop.  I just don’t understand myself. I want it so bad, but what am I doing to get it?  Bitching about it online certainly isn’t going to cut the mustard, now is it?

I had this revelation the other day, too.  I am a busy, busy woman.  I work my hind end off at my paying job 40+ hours a week.  Most of the time in a sales team of 5, I account for over 35% of the sales generated in this office.  I’m doing way more than my fair share.  I take work home if I need to and I come here on weekends every so often if there’s too much to get done Monday – Friday.  My Planning Commission job is volunteer.  In fact, everything else I do is volunteer in some sense of the meaning.  Honestly, it requires the least amount of my time and effort and is no problem at all to tackle.  Still, I do what I can to bring new ideas to the table.  I am also the Vendor Coordinator for an insanely massive nationally recognized and attended charity event that takes place every Labor Day Weekend in Orange County, California.  I bust my butt to do whatever I can to get the vendors to sign on for the show so that our attendance is stronger.   This year is the first year I’ve done this specific job, and already I can see what changes we need to implement to make it easier and more successful for next year.  I am a mom, a wife, a home-maker, a taxi driver, a grocery shopper, a house-keeper (though I’ll admit part-time on that one – it’s not my strong suit) a personal events coordinator for my family, a chef, a laundry-woman, and all of the things that come with the territory.  In mostly all of these areas, I kill it.  Granted, I always have laundry to do and my house is NEVER spotless, but I pour my heart and soul into every one of these things when it is required.  Most of these things have a demand so great that the effort is always required.  Even in the middle of the night, I don’t get a break.  I try not to complain. I try to be thankful and grateful for the opportunities that come my way, and I try to do a good job across the board where ever I can.  You’d think that I would be able to put that same level of effort into myself.  You’d think, and yet I don’t even have myself on the to-do list unless my moustache needs to be nair’d off, or my nails need to be done or my roots are too long to manage.  I don’t understand why that is.  I scour pinterest all of the time and I find these awesome weight loss motivation photos and quotes and I save them.  They motivate me that second in my life, but then I forget about them by the time I wake up the next day. 

I just can’t do this to myself anymore. 

So I’m going to attempt yet again to heave myself back up on the band-wagon and try again.  In January, when I mapped out all of the meals, packed a lunch every day, drank water like a fish and exercised on our sucky elliptical regularly, I lost weight. Funny how that works, huh?  I’m going to rejoin the gym across the street from my work even though I HATE the facility.  I hate it there, but it’s close by and it allows me an hour, 5 days a week to have some time to focus on me.  I need to, because if I don’t, I won’t live to see 55.  It’s in my genes, so I have to take charge. 

Wish me luck.  Tips & Suggestions greatly appreciated. 

Thanks for your tolerance in letting me complain about this yet again.  I’ll find my way.  I promise you that.

1. I have been working like a mad-woman to boost vendor attendance at the charity event/car show we do every year over Labor Day.  I’m excited to tell you all more about that as we get closer to the event.  I think this year is going to be AMAZING. 
2. Sunday morning I wake up to a squishy toddler smooshed up against me in bed.  She said she had a bad dream.  I scooped her up and asked her what it was about.  She tells me without hesitation that Ninja Bananas had attacked Princess Avocados and she didn’t like it.  Snuggle in baby girl, snuggle in.
3. The Bunny has been hiding treats for Bro at my house, much to my delight.  Last night I thought for sure he’d feel the chocolate & peanut butter egg he was laying on in bed.  After several minutes of him not noticing it, I decided I’d better mention it so that we didn’t wake up with Chocolate all over.  Too late.  He had it on his side, his arm, the pillow, the sheet and his chest.  I was laughing to hard to help him clean it up.  The Bunny is good clean fun at my house.
4. The weather has been incredible here.  I can’t even contain my excitement.  I’m thinking a zoo trip may be in order for this weekend, because it might just be too gorgeous to not go. 
5. Because this makes me snort, I thought I’d be a doll and share it with you