Some Of My Favorite Things Right Now...

*Quick side note: As I'm preparing to type this I hear the incessant squawks of a male grackle outside the window obviously trying his best to whoo a mate. I bend back the blinds to see him dancing about with his wings draped like Count Dracula's cape as he races around a perturbed female who is gathering the pieces of dried feather grass I weeded earlier. He's either so stoked to be shacking up with this busy little lady he can't contain himself as she collects debris for their love nest or he is totally pissed that she's not making a bed for him and is trying his best to get her to change her mind about the other bird. Ahh...the mysteries of Mother Nature.

This is my latest list of my current favorite things. This list doesn’t include the sentimental stuff like going for morning walks with the kiddo and the dog in this glorious weather, baking sweets with W, the satisfaction of yard work well done or dining on some grilled goodies al fresco every evening. Those are the other favorite things.

Dagoba Beaucoup Berries


Some of the all time best (and affordable) chocolate in stores. This flavor, however, sends me to the moon. Delicious.


Skinceuticals C and E


This one makes the list again. With turning 40 a mere weeks away, the war on staving off the wrinkles is officially ON.


Clarisonic


The Hubs actually owns this (in PINK!) but I use it as well. Seriously is the best face scrubber out there. Makes a huge difference in the “thorough cleansing” department. Over time I’m sure the results will be visible although right now I’m poking at a zit that is below my lip.


Emmi Lattes


Like to have these in the fridge for a quick boost without the extra cost, time or fuss. W likes to reuse the containers for other beverages.

iPhone iPod Shuffle Feature








Best when on walks and when the most appropriate tunes roll out organically. Then it becomes the “ipod del fuego”! Helps me hit my stride.

Surprise Roses


Came home from an Easter family reunion Saturday to find a box of roses from my dad with a card that said, “To my sweet daughter: a dedicated momma, and a loving wife. Love - Dad (Pop Pop)." How freakin' thoughtful it that?

Little White Lie

Okay, I admit it. The post before this one was a smoke screen, a weak attempt to convince myself that my relationship with Facebook was more akin to a giddy coffee date than a gluttonous multi-day orgy but orgy it was. I don’t actually linger there like a ne'er do well barfly but do check in possibly 20 times a day for a quick fix, a social bump, if you will. In my opinion, that’s over-commitment when there are other, more important activities to be done…like blogging (“Dear mom, I’m so sorry I made you look at that picture of those green cupcakes for so many days.”). So I’m solemnly swearing to fewer daily voyeuristic activities on Facebook and more engagement with the family, the pet, and the world around me in real time. I can do it. I can do it. I can do it.

My SXSW exposure was minimal this year, a stark contrast to when I once worked for the man behind the giant curtain of the conference. I didn’t see or do much but it was really just enough. Tuesday night we embraced our friends from Spain as their energy and enthusiasm engulfed us at Vino Vino. We sang, danced and drank bubbly until after midnight. W thought it appropriate timing to come down with a cold/cough/allergy-type bug that kept us home the rest of the week so for once I got plenty of rest, was hangover free and the bank account remained intact. Plus the Hubs got mucho attention as he bounced from gig to gig to gig while working like a rock n roll hound dog. Laundry got done, meals were on the table and the coffee crutch was delivered bedside in the mornings. Saturday was a double dip as the band played two shows and the kiddo and I saddled up for a full day of rock n roll hoochie cooin’. It was great to be back in the fray. W is well versed in the art of backstage etiquette and took to it like a duckling to water. Here, now, is a photo essay of the day…

Doesn't get much cheesier than this...
























On the hunt for the backstage catering like a baby shark...























"This is called a keg. You will appreciate this later in life."























Never too early to learn how to string a guitar.



















W misses the entire first show. This was good for his attitude later tho'.























Backstage at the San Jose. Great evening!



















"Hey, someone get that kid away from me. Scaaaaaaary."


















* Dear Bloggerdotcom, why do you have to be such a turd site? I've been trying to upload pictures for like EVER and now you're not letting me upload any more at all. What gives? Do you need a lap dance? Yours, K

Smash Mash Crash

Pile up on the Play-Doh highway. Yes, that's BROWN Play-Doh. As a kid I never had it so good. Brown Play-Doh in 1976 meant it ended up in the yard somehow.


W made a "cupcake" with the brown stuff after clearing the collision and knowing that he loves to blow out candles, I stuck in one of those candles that relights itself after being extinguished. At first W laughed his diaper off at the mysterious phenomenon but then it started to spook him. It wasn't long before he was standing on the other side of the kitchen and refusing to sing Happy Birthday one more time and blow the candle out.

What? You don't let your tot lie on the kitchen counter in his diaper with his head resting on a dish towel while eating a Funyun? Yeah, remember those? LOVE Funyuns. Onion flavored corn chip shaped like a method of birth control. Rock!


This is what I get to hang with at the end of a busy work day. I like him way more than Funyuns.

Little Jack White

So the "hammer, hammer, saw, saw" jelly candy bribery worked and I managed to get W in costume this morning. He just about jumped off the changing table with glee when I mentioned the sweet tooth opportunity. I had to pre-layer the shirts so in essence I was pulling only one shirt over his head and I had to pre-loop the belt so I could slip on the britches and velcro. He was almost aware of what I was making him do and started to protest but I was saved by the neighborhood street sweeper. The whole way to school he sang "Where is sweet sweeper, where is sweet sweeper, down the sweet, down the sweet..." to the tune of Farajaca.

Here are the little White Stripes. Getting them to stand together was like herding cats. Impossible.






































And this blue eyed fella is Z but the Hubs and I call him Bill Clinton because he's usually standing by the gate smiling up at you and you almost expect him to shake your hand every time he's there.

Crocodile Rock

W asked me if I would "nurse, nurse" Jelly Cat last night. For those of you who don't know, Jelly Cat is his favorite stuffed animal. Lately W has been somewhat obsessed with the idea of nursing and I can't figure out why. Is he secretly pining for a sibling? Hubs, you want to weigh in on this (insert sound of screeching car tires, here)?

W is seriously infatuated with his Crocs. He won’t wear any other shoes. I’ve purchased a couple of super cute pairs for him from Old Navy and Piperlime.com for the fall and I bet they will collect dust in the closet. I got his first pair of Crocs in Nashville back in June. I never, ever intended on getting him a pair of those ugly, rubber colander looking things but he was putting them on at the department store by himself. That's a pretty big deal. My girlfriend was nodding her approval with that “see I told you so” look on her face as she dug through the latest Croc style for her son. They were awesome shoes to travel with this summer. Easy on, easy off. Easy wash up, easy dry. They were great for walking on hot sandy beaches and parking lots that seemed to go on forever. One evening after dinner in Santa Monica, we were walking back to our hotel, W leading the charge. A lovely, leggy British speaking woman was walking in front of us with her tall significant other and two teens. W barreled past them and I jogged to keep up. The woman commented, “Look at his little Crocs. I didn’t know they made them that small.” I called out to “Shorty” to slow down and she repeated his nickname out loud. As I walked past her little group, I turned to see it was Minnie Driver (totally pretty in real life). Dahlia Malloy was talking about my kid!

Not surprisingly, several kiddos at W’s school wear Crocs. Interestingly enough, most are identical (same shade of blue) so it often happens that classmates go home with each other’s shoes. I imagine a 3 or 4-year-old cramming their dirty little sole in them like Cinderella’s stepsister as they hurry to leave with a parent knowing in their toddler mind that something isn’t quite right down there. I’ve put W’s name on his shoes but it rubs off on the playground gravel pile and sand pit.

Last week W was the last one at school (I hate when that happens…kinda makes me feel like a bad mom). When we went to put on his shoes, one was missing and all of the extra blue crocs were enormous on his feet. Frustrated, I stuck him in the car shoeless and took him to get another pair, a black pair. These are without a doubt his favorites and now shuns the blue ones. He proclaims “Crocodile shoes, black like mama’s truck.” He wears them with only his diaper on. He would wear them in the bathtub if I let him.

What I want him to wear…
















What W won't take off his feet...
















So damn ugly.

38 Done Over

So things are getting back to normal here at the Fantasy ranch. The Hubs is riding out the wobbly remains of jet lag but I think the trip has put him on an awesome schedule. The past two mornings he’s been up around 6 a.m. and I awake to both of my boys creeping into the bedroom, sleepy smiles on their faces, as they snuggle in next to me to steal the warmth between the sheets.

Yesterday the Hubs insisted that we pretend that the 2nd was my birthday so I came home from work to a plethora of little surprises. This after I had to go to the school to retrieve W because the Hubs forgot to reinstall the car seat (don’t cha’ know I reminded him several times) and found it missing when he went to strap in the tot. Then I had to take the long way home so the Hubs could race back to finish setting up the goodies. I found balloons (much to W’s delight!), flowers, a box full of homemade, handmade bath products from this place, yummy Italian cheese, salamis, chocolates, Prosecco, and a tape player with headphones attached and on top of a piece of paper that said “Play Me” on it. The Hubs had written me a song, a beautiful song, a “make you tear up and cry like a baby” kinda love song. The last time he wrote me a song, it was about my so called "Perfect World" and how I really needed to get my shit together. Yeah, so I was having issues then. I think that song could've been written for many. If you can relate, wave your hands in the air.

We continued the Italian-themed evening with a lovely dinner at Vespaio (*Personal note to my brother-in-law…I had the sweetbreads, oh yes, I did.) and returned home in the torrential rain completely stuffed and exhausted.

It’s good to have everyone back together, even if it’s for a short while. There’s a busy summer ahead, folks, more travelin’ and solo parenting. Yeehaw!

Say Yeah!

I awoke to the sweetness of normalcy this morning. The Hubs was flopped on my side of the bed, the birds were practically sitting on our windowsill singing directly in to our bedroom and W was shouting “Mahma! Mahma!” from his crib downstairs. Earlier in the week I was holed up with baby in the guest bed delirious with fatigue and fear as he fought his horrible viruses. Those were turbulent nights/days/hours/minutes, my friends, but all is well now.

After the Hubs climbed into the taxi this morning and headed to the airport, (an event that thrilled the diapers off of W, I mean, a real taxi was at the front door!) I finished the morning routine of getting us dressed and headed out the door. Behind our house is what used to be our studio/guest/rehearsal space/doghouse for the Hubs. It’s now been rented by a friend of mine who is quickly becoming a friend of W’s. While I was upstairs getting the last of our things together, I heard W's friendly little voice call out from the balcony, “Hi Hee-ewe!” as H was leaving for work. This is a first since W usually runs in the other direction when he comes through the back gate. As charming as the moment seemed, I flashed forward to a vision of a modern day Dennis the Menace bothering Mr. Wilson. I already have to keep him from looking in his windows like a minature Peeping Tom. There could be a rental discount in H's future.

Lovely weekend ahead. A good friend from back home is coming to spend the weekend with us. I’ve also secured a sitter for tomorrow night so I can be “just me” with my friends for a few hours and no one's mama or spouse. I got a manicure this morning after dropping W at school just to feel extra feminine and sassy but it took all of my wits to stay awake throughout. Still pretty frayed around the edges and I think I'm feeling something suspiciously tickly in my throat but I'm sure I can beat it with lots of vitamin C and vino. It’s been a very long and spooky week but, thankfully, we made it through and the weekend is looking really good.

Spring Flinger

I’ve had to take a couple of days to get my blogging brain back on course. It had been brought to my attention that I had offended a few family members with something I had written a while back and for that, I am regretful. Since I write for my own self-absorbed pleasure, I have a tendency to forget there is an audience out there and that this blog serves as a channel of familial info for some of its readers. And speaking of readers, did you know I know who you are? Thanks to certain Big Brother aspects of blogging, I am able to see where you live. What’s so amazing about this is I’m able to note that some readers are from across the pond, in Canada, and several in California, among other places. Truly awesome.

Life has been going at a clip and spring is spreading out before us like a huge welcome mat. I anxiously await the warmer days to swim in icy cold pools with W, slurp juicy raspas in the park and visit with friends over tangy, homemade margaritas. The trees have suddenly burst with brand new bright green leaves and the length of the grass in our yard has doubled in length after being dormant over the winter. Last night, we grilled salmon and asparagus on the patio (well, not literally ON the patio). W and the Hubs played ball or what really translates to W running willy-nilly, laughing wildly, and throwing the ball directly behind his petite frame. We sipped white wine, smooched and gave thanks for all that we have. And we meant it.

I received news last night that my boss has graciously given me two months off this summer, totally unpaid, but off nonetheless. I did six backhand springs and two toe touches in slow motion when I got the email. What does this mean? Ohhhhh, so many things! It means W and I can go see family and really start building a foundation for his roots to take hold, to know where he comes from. First order of business is to get to Kentucky to see my brother and his family (this means a night or two in Nashville, Wendielu!). They live on the edge of a beautiful pond perfect for fishing and swimming. There are horses to ride just down the road. His two toe headed daughters flank W in age, one is a tad older and one is a bit younger. Perfect ages to torment him as little girls can. Here they are…














The Hubs is off this evening and tomorrow night opening for the Old 97’s. If you’re in Houston tonight, go see ‘em. If you’re in Austin tomorrow night go see ‘em at Stubb’s. Buy some merch, drink a few and enjoy yourself.

Dramatic W

Can You See The Real Me?

We had a wildly successful wine-O event but W and I didn’t make it to the family reunion. It had nothing to do with the hangover that flirted with the edges of my brain and stomach lining and never really took hold but had everything to do with the fact that it was 37 degrees and raining out. Oh, and W took a glorious 4 hour nap. The Hubs made it out to see the kin but texted me to say “Dont come out.” Thankfully, due to one unexpected drop-in and one planned dinner, I got to see a couple of the family members in the flesh.

Yesterday was pure bliss. Sorta seemed like someone had added a couple of extra bonus hours to the day. We ventured out to Central Market for some vittles but found it closed. We headed, instead, to Whole Foods, a place I was putting off visiting for as long as possible because I knew I would walk in the door and pass out from the wonderfulness of it in front of everyone. I wasn’t so sure the place would be open but the Hubs reminded me that they are a publicly traded company and they’ve got a bottom line to eyeball. It was buzzing with people and when I say “buzzing” I mean like a pissed off hive of them. W and I were overwhelmed and over stimulated. I felt like I was at a gourmet food convention and there was no way I was gonna see all the sights in one visit. I suggested to the Hubs that we come back on date night sometime to graze at all of the feeding troughs and drink some major vino.

Does anyone really know how to do those damned Sudoku puzzles? I have tried and had to look in the back of the book for the stupid solutions every time. Most frustrating part is that the ones I’ve been attempting to do are the easy ones. I’m totally screwed.

So I did something this morning I have never done in my life…showered at the gym. I tripled the normal amount of gear I schlepped to the car (work clothes, personal items, towels, hairdryer, lotion, so on and so on), took W to school, and got my tail in there for some cardio and ab work. After the workout, I begrudgingly went through a modified version of my at-home morning routine but quickly began to realize how much I was enjoying the moment. Why? Why was I okay with strange women coming in and seeing my blinding white arse? Because no one talked to me, no one needed anything from me, no one was calling me Mama, or asking for a “Waffu, pwease” or fake crying or hanging on my leg. I rediscovered what time to myself felt like and it effin’ ROCKED! I’m so there on Wednesday.

Pimp My Blog

As you can see I have a brand spankin’ new masthead! It is the brainchild of Daddyshack who kindly offered to redo my page for free, for the experience. I think he did a wonderful job! If you are interested in having him do one for you, drop him a line.

Oh Lookie! Two Entries In One Day!

Since the weather has been so much nicer lately and the days longer, we’ve been taking advantage of the new yard (with 6-foot fence to keep the rugrat safely inside) and extended patio area. Last night we grilled out the same meal we cooked about this time last week but instead of vino, we drank cava and some frozen rum/banana/pineapple spooky frappe thing that the Hubs whipped up (needed more rum). I pulled weeds like a normal obsessive-compulsive “I can’t sit still ever” person while W watered the grass, his jeans and his shirt. He figured out that if he touched the end of the hose to his eye he could get water directly in it and this is good for I don’t know what but it amused him and that’s what counts. Since I got pregnant, the Hubs has been the sole meal maker when time allows and this is nearly always. I used to get off on cooking elaborate meals from scratch, spending time mincing, roasting, peeling, shredding but now I’d rather change several dirty diapers in a row. The upshot of the Hubs playing Julia Childs is that his culinary talent has really improved. He dices well, measures precisely and is patient to make sure everything reaches the proper temp but oh, the mess! The mess that looks like W and his entire classroom has been cooking us dinner and not an able-bodied adult! Shiny, sticky spots glisten on the floor, bits and pieces of squashed food frame the cabinets. The countertops become a gourmet landfill. Each evening I have to wonder if he’ll always be more Edward Scissorhands than the Naked Chef. That’s okay though. The clean up goes fast and the labor is worth it because the food is damn good.

While on the subject of food, I am actively making efforts to eat better. I figured since I never had time to eat during the conference and ate vegetarian-only in Marfa that the granola groundwork had been laid. Of course most of my meals are paired with some vintage of wine or other al-kee-holic beverage but I’m not willing to be completely healthy. Besides hooch makes bad food taste better. Earlier today, I forced myself to eat a salad full of weeds. It’s one of those bulk organic arrangements that was put together by the feet of a squirrel. There were giant random leaves and long grasses in there. There were green stems of what used to house cilantro but only suggestions of the leaves remained. Certain bites were pungent and some made me feel like a horse put out to pasture. I started to think that this was a joke package of greens that some funny little field picker had compiled. I do realize that the American edible mindset is a very limited one but I’m trying to branch out. I just don’t want to actually eat branches.

Marfa On My Mind

I had every intention of blogging daily during my recent trip to West Texas but I never had the energy or gumption to follow through. I needed more time to process, to weed out, to lighten up.

It’s a six-hour drive to Marfa from Austin. Five of them have to pass before I start to let go of the things that crowd my mind and fray my nerves. The hill country landscape shifts from low-lying mesquite and sage to massive buttes and plateaus as far as the eye can see. Your mind surrenders to the vastness. The road looms ahead of you in an endless straight line and you settle in to autopilot, the cruise control locked in at a legal 80 mph.

We got there in time to freshen up and check out an art opening. The usual and talented suspects were present…Julie Speed, Boyd Elder, Vance Knowles and more. The energy is always lively and friendly at these things. Later, we were thoroughly entertained by a band called Japanther. They began their set by laughing and shoving each other up and down two ramps flanking a small stage, sometimes causing spills and colliding bodies. Two guys and two girls. The girls performed a sort of dance routine that involved lots of jumping, a couple of bananas, hands covering bouncing boobs and disappearing moments into the crowd. You can always count on refreshing creativity here in this strange little town.

The next day we lazily walked our buns to the Pizza Foundation for some rockin’ pie and mild sightseeing. We spent the rest of the afternoon lazing around the casita, reading, napping, and gazing in to the horizon. Pure bliss. I laid out in the tiny yard most of the time and just looked up at the flawless sky while watching crows soaring in long, circular patterns, their wings never flapping. What an opportunity to empty the mind and refill it with things that need serious attention and thought.

Later, we staged a cocktail/nosh hour complete with Prosecco, a juicy New Zealand vino and lots of uppity snacks in our little yard. We invited our hosts to join us but only Tom and his sassy little RCA pooch, Clifford, came. What a fun we had telling tales, sharing a bit of local gossip, and laughing out loud in the open air. That evening we strolled back over to the gallery and watched Sam Prekop and Archer Pruitt perform. Kind, gentle, lovely. We mingled with old and new friends before heading home in a slight wine fog.

Sunday we drove to Big Bend. It was my first time. A Big Bend virgin. Man, oh man, what views! And Texas is freakin’ huge. Luann and I started out on a smallish hike, the Lost Mine trail, but it got cut short due to rain. One minute we were gregariously tromping through the woods and tolerating the droplets but as soon as we reached the edge of the summit, we found that wild weather was just on the other side, waiting like a preying tiger and it assaulted us with strong winds and heavy downpour. We drove further in to the park in search of a dry hike and ended up doing about three miles to what is known as “the Window” or something like that. Getting out, stretching our legs and breathing that sweet air was the best. We journeyed back to Marfa and whipped up a lovely vegetarian meal before heading to a get together on a nearby ranch. We drove in the dark thirteen miles north of Marfa in search of a cattle gate flanked by two reflectors. Looking for said landmarks in the pitch with no streetlights was no easy feat. After finding the gate and puddle jumping the aftermath of the earlier rainstorm, we finally arrived at a lovely house set way back on the land. Its windows glowed with the warmth of the candles burning within. We found dinner to be over and everyone lounging comfortably either at the old farmhouse dinner table or out back around the campfire. It was a motley group of artists, musicians, dreamers and doers. Liz Lambert was our most gracious host. We listened in on tales of her family, life in a small town, and the characters that made it so special to be there. After a while, we all converged in the dining room and cozied up as a guitar was passed. Beautiful songs filled the empty spaces of the room like warm syrup in waffle divots. It was organic, captivating, and just plain wonderful.

Our trip home yesterday was a wet one and we got back to Austin just in time for the drive time traffic jam. Reality of city life came crashing back much too soon as we tried to cling to the mental memoir of our fabulous mini vaca.

I have pics to post but have to find the cord to the camera first.

Nurse Nurse No More

A weekend in LA was exactly what I needed more than I could’ve ever imagined. After many days of ice, rain, cabin fever, not to mention16 months of raising W, a flight headed west to hook up with the Hubs couldn’t have come at a better time. Like a CODA candidate, I sat by myself at the airport coffee shop wrestling with feelings of child abandonment and unwelcomed inactivity. I imagined my son’s busy little body running between the tables and chairs of the groggy coffee campers awaiting their flights. I missed his energy and smiles already. He would be in the safe arms of his Gogo at the end of the day and I really had nothing to worry about. It was our first time apart with great distance in between and I wasn’t dealing with it too well. It probably didn’t help that I was reading Alternadad by Neal Pollack, a hilariously raw writer whose blog I read on a regular basis. The chapters were filled with the trials and tribulations of raising a youngin’ and many things hit home. On the plane, I sped through the pages, Bloody Mary in hand. No one sat on my row. I was completely alone and was quickly beginning to love it.

Laurie plucked me from the airport and we caught up on the details of her life…filmmaking, dating, living in LA and missing Austin... while we drove to Santa Monica. She took the scenic route to the beach (translation: sorta lost), which she apologized for, but I completely enjoyed the extra girlie time. We met the Hubs poolside at the hotel and dined on overpriced nibbles while soaking up sunshine. It was wonderfully warm and somewhere other than home. In a word…awesome.

That evening Laurie and I went to see the Hubs play at the Mint. They opened for the kick ass band, the Mother Truckers. I barely made it to the end of the Small Stars set before I was begging a cabbie to drive me back to the hotel as fast as he could. I had been feeling nauseous and it wasn’t letting up. Work-related stress, fatigue (of course W had to get up at 5:30 a.m. this morning…3:30 a.m. LA time), and the anxiety of leaving W behind had caught up with me. I barely made it to the hotel room before arfing in the loo. I curled up in bed in the fetal position and passed out with relief.

Saturday the Hubs and I walked down to the beach for some breakfast. He rented roller blades and I chose to sit on my duff and chill. Dolphins swam in the distance, surfers negotiated small waves and sailboats silently outlined the horizon. A sense of complete calmness easily washed over me, an unfamiliar sensation in the hustle bustle world of parenting, event planning, penny pinching and so forth. I wanted to just sink into the sand and disappear. Bliss.

We attended an amazing private party at a recording studio that evening. The Small Stars knocked the soiree out of the park. Guy Fantasy made every off color joke about LA that he could and made some new friends despite his salty rants. Jackson Brown was there. So was Lisa Loeb. The guy who wrote “Let’s Get Physical” was there, too. We mingled our minglers off and headed back to the hotel. We had an 8 a.m. lobby call. Yuck.

When we got home, W had just gone down for a nap so of course I woke him up. He looked at me squinty-eyed as if to say “Oh yeah, you’ve been missing, haven’t you?” When he finally came to, he repeated “Mama” over and over again and pointed at my face. It was so heart-warming. The rest of the evening was “Mama, Dada, Mama, Dada,” as if he had just learned how to say it. We could’ve eaten him with a spoon. I was concerned about how the next morning would go. In the past, that was the nursing hour. Leaving him for the weekend was dubbed “Project Cold Turkey” and, surprisingly, it worked. After retrieving him from a cozy night’s sleep the next day, we sat on the couch in preparation for “Melmo’s Wurd” as W calls it. He looked at my boobs and patted one of them as if to say “Thanks for all of the good times, old buddy, but your work here is done.” He then turned to watch his show and that was the end of that. 16.5 months later and the nursing is over. My nips are mine again! And the angels sang.

I’m back to the wildest time of year at work and it’s the best we can do to maintain a safe level of sanity that still borders on manic. The postings will be sporadic but I will do my best to get something in here daily.

Onward!

Holiday Week In Review

I’m going to write this one in reverse. It’s easier to pry out the historical content in the crevasses of my holiday soaked brain that way.

Today, I went to the gym. Day one. The beginning of the reversal of all that is baby fat. I slogged through a 30-minute cardio workout of make believe snowshoeing in Snoqualmie Pass on the elliptical machine. I barely made it and was disappointed that I couldn’t do the intended 40 minutes but at least I was there getting the heart rate above 20 BPM. I had an hour to myself at home to shower, dress and eat breakfast before work and, folks, it was TOTAL BLISS. Earlier, the Hubs had left the house to take W to school so I was completely alone. Alone, as in my hot tea stayed hot ‘til the bottom of the cup, I was able to put on all pieces of clothing at once without staggering around the house in single items during infantile interruptions, and I even had time to make the bed so tonight, I get to turn down the covers like a lady instead of burrowing my way in like a badger. This will be a four times a week event and I feel like I have won the lottery…sorta.

Yesterday, I went to the outlet mall in San Marcos. Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. The last time I was there, you could experience the whole retail raping in just a matter of hours. Then it was just a handful of shops but now it’s larger than several football fields and the loot is crap. And wasn’t I supposed to save some major dough on said crap? I also found that designers like Giorgio Armani would probably change their name if they saw the condition of their stores and the crap on the shelves. Surely this stuff was never on his drawing board or even part of a frustrated doodle he penned. Ugh. I had a list of shops to visit but after having to walk what seemed like miles and periodically move my car so it didn’t feel like I was hiking to Japan, I decided I’d had enough. Nobody should put themselves through that much retail H-E-double L. Never again.

New Years Eve. I stayed home while the Hubs played a gig. I tried to live vicariously through the gay duo that live in the townhouse behind us. They were throwing a little shindig. Every so often I’d peek out the window in hopes of spying some wild chandelier swinging in the buff but the whole thing was as boring as a Catholic mass. Buzz killers.

The always fun and painfully talented Small Stars opened for the legendary Joe Ely at Gruene Hall last Saturday. I enlisted Miss Jo to take care of W so I could partner up with my old college roomie and her fab husband for a night out of town for a few hours. Jen, the roomie, has kept her wonderfully sassy spirit despite being married for 10 years and raising a 4 and 5-year-old. She cusses like a sailor and drinks like a fish while maintaining a certain girlish poise and femininity. Oh, and she’s quite the Martha Stewart in the crafts department. Martha with a piping bag in one hand and a bottle of vino in the other.

We spent some of the holidays in Laredo with the mom-in-law. Thankfully she lives nowhere near El Chapo and his drug cartel. We stayed close to home and soaked up the extended fam. The Hubs and I ventured out briefly one day to get a coffee and go to the bookstore but when you ask someone where the bookstore is, they look at you suspiciously and tell you there is no bookstore. No, wait…there’s one at the mall. Evidently there’s not much reading going on in that border town and in her all knowing, blunt way, the mom-in-law confirmed it to be true.

Santa left some gifts for W under the tree and we got the whole scene of confusion and surprise on video. Santa knew the little sprout was wild about cars, trucks, and construction vehicles so now our house looks like a miniature impounding lot and it’s only a matter of time before one of us breaks our necks.

Speaking of W, he’s still growing too fast. He’s talking up a storm, understanding all we say and amazing us with his problem solving skills and when those fail, replacing them with some mad tantrums skilz. Thankfully, they usually only erupt when he’s trying to do something with a car or train or truck and we don’t have anything to do with it. Occasionally, a vehicle goes soaring through the air and we just juke and jive to avoid injury. On the super duper plus side, he’s totally in to giving major hugs and open-mouthed kisses all the time lately. He grips you like a sumo wrestler on the face or head and comes at you like a hungry animal, mouth agape. It’s the best milestone yet.

Well, that’s all I can remember for now. Seemed difficult trying to blog with so much family stuff going on but now that the routine is back, so am I.

Happy New Year all!

Christmas Pimp

I mentioned last year that I’m a holiday ho. This year it looks like I get to be a holiday pimp. Why, you ask? Because I’ve got the ultimate partner-in-crime to O-D on peppermint, twinkling lights and eggnog with…my son. Tears of joy! I struggle with getting the Hubs to take me and this time of year seriously, I encounter way too many Scrooges on the streets and I get fed up with my own half-assed attempts to “make the season bright” because the North Pole wind has been knocked out of my ho-hoing sails. Nevermore! I come from a very rich childhood history of Christmas cheer spreading. Many eves of yore were spent at my grandmothers’ with cousins, aunts and uncles buzzing about and drinking themselves silly. The photographer would show to take the family photo. We’d open the door to carolers and sit around the piano to sing our own favorites (I know, very Norman Rockwell). We'd plow through mountains of food, grandmother’s pies and pecan pralines. We’d tear in to gifts and then head out for midnight mass, when we could make it. In a drunken stupor, dad would play Santa in the wee hours of the morning and lay out a spread of toys turning the living room into Disneyland. It was outrageous! I want this for my son. I want all of the jingle bells and whistles to be a part of his memories. The pimping will begin this weekend.

Baby Ali

I’m eager to brag that this here mommy guiltlessly enjoyed two nights off IN A ROW this past weekend and got to bask in the glory of some fabulous estrogen and sassiness. Friday was a powwow with other mommy bloggers at a local watering hole. We downed Bloody Marys and beers while sharing tales of massages with perks and at what an early age little boys touch themselves. I wish I could’ve stayed out later but I’m a wimp and have to gradually build up a tolerance for the witching hours. Saturday night was Parents Night Out at W’s school so I dropped his butt off at 5 p.m. and spent a quiet hour at home getting dressed for a night on the east side. It was gloriously strange to have the place to myself without interruption. I was actually able to completely pluck both eyebrows, find a matching bra/panty combo and spend extra time deciding what to wear. People, it was glorious. I joined a girlfriend for dinner at a new restaurant complete with faux wood paneling, pleather walls and a huge Paint By Numbers horse head under pin lights. We then headed to a bar for more kibitzing. I was home with baby by 10 p.m. so, again, I have yet to get into a late night groove that doesn’t include breastfeeding or insomnia but I’m not complaining. It’s a start!

Speaking of starts, W has started coping with his frustration by using his dukes and has been taking swings at my face like a swatter after a fly. I swear I send him to a kind and gentle daycare each day, not the Mohammed Ali Boxing School for Tots. He’s also in to head butting but it’s the kind that doesn’t quite connect with its intended target. He stops short of impact. It’s more like faking whiplash and is hilarious to watch. I start laughing which probably isn’t the best way to help him deal with his dramatic moment. I’m wondering what’s going on at school though. He must be getting it from someone, some where. Must investigate.

Early Birdie

Daylight savings time has officially screwed our household. W woke up BEFORE five a.m. this morning and instead of immediately heading downstairs to his bedroom door to scoop him up, I paused for a moment and considered jumping off of the balcony (Dear brother, please don’t call me and ask me if I’m depressed. I’m not. I’m just tired.). To my surprise, however, the Hubs took matters in to his own hands and rescued baby. They hung out until the little rooster dozed off again about an hour and a half later. This never would have happened if I was up with him because he gets too distracted by boobs and the morning routine and boobs. I got to sleep until 8 a.m. which almost as good as getting diamond earrings for Christmas (insert subtle hint to the Hubs here).

Our time together this morning was short and sweet. As we were saying our good-byes, W decided to smack me in the face a few times with his tiny hand and as I turned to give him the business, he had a huge, happy grin on his face which immediately diffused the situation and was quickly replaced with giant, cheek puckering kissy sounds that he makes every time the Hubs and I smooch. He loves getting in on the act. Little fish face.

And so, we go. And it’s date night tonight. More tomorrow.

Someone Else's Kid

Read the latest entry of the following blog. I'm a big fan of Neal Pollack's writing and when I recently discovered he had a blog (I'm slow like that) I did seven backflips in a row. Seven. Enjoy.

The Maelstrom

Soft Core For Breakfast, Please

This morning I nominated Papa as school bus driver for W since I would be picking him up later today. I got up with the little rooster and went through the motions of the morning…nursing (I don’t know how to wean the boy…he throws a heartbreaking fit when I deny him the boobage), eggs and waffles, shorts and shirt, etc., etc. then I shook the hubs from his slumber and got them quickly out the door. By 8:30 a.m., I had the dishwasher unloaded, the kitchen clean, two loads of laundry started, one folded and some stuff pulled out for our trip to MARFA! this weekend. Afterwards, I hiked up the stairs to crawl between the sheets and ingested a chill pill. I switched on the tube and channel surfed before settling on a shirtless Spanish-speaking yoga instructor with caramel-colored gluteus sexiness just below his belly button. He cooed and breathed in Latin tones and slowly stretched his well-honed parts. I was riveted. Soft-core porn for stay-at-home moms! Too bad I couldn’t make a day of it so I drug my muffin soft parts out of bed and headed in the direction of the salt mine. Bummer.