Words of Wisdom

My almost four-year-old often catches me off-guard. It's easy to forget that I'm talking to someone so young because he is the best company and a marvelous conversationalist. He's becoming a little man right before my awe-struck eyes.

Only Child asked me to play trains with him this morning. I said, "not right now" because I was trying to get my precious computer time in. (He hardly naps any more so I hardly blog anymore.) He said, "C'mon mommy, the computer will wait for you."

Needless to say, we spent the rest of the morning playing Thomas and Duncan, because, how could I argue with that?

Last week I took him to get a haircut and asked the lady to go a little shorter this time because its been so hot and his hair is 'fro-ing two weeks after a cut. She cut it WAY shorter than ever before. When he got home he looked in the bathroom mirror and feigned crying. When I asked him what was the matter, he said, (still acting for my benefit) "all my beautiful curls are gone!"

Interesting, how I disparage my curls and yet I love my curls on him. But more importantly, I'm glad he loves his curls. In fact, he seem to love everything about himself and that is an example we could all learn from.

Time is such an abstract concept to a small child. Five minutes. One hour. Next week...its a slow process to grasp the meaning of these words. And you can only learn these increments by experiencing them for yourself.

Last December, Mrs. Santa Clause came to visit Only Child's preschool and she asked him if he was excited about Christmas. He responded, "Yes, but its taking SO long to get here!"

Can he get an Amen?

He's been asking me all week, "How long until my birthday?" and "How long until we leave for the beach?" I keep saying, "Saturday, we leave Saturday," and then I rattle off the days until we leave.

So today he finally said with a sense of excitement and relief, "Tomorrow, that means after this night...it's going to be my birthday!"

"Well, tomorrow, after this night, we leave for the Galveston, but your birthday is not for two more nights."

Sounding just like his dad, he got all exasperated and threw his hands in the air, "Ahhh! This is taking forever! I'm so frustrated!" I was beaming inside at his commanding sense of self.

I love his little mind.

And a final nugget of proof that my little boy is wiser than men ten times his age: everyday recently, when I've been needing to hear it most, he remembers to say, "Mommy, you look so beautiful. I love you." And he hugs and kisses my big round belly.

I love that boy!




From a recent and rare dress up night

Salsa is Sexy!

True story, WI dreamt about salsa last night.

This was not some hormone-imbalance induced fantasy. This was the result of the sweet burn that lingered on my lips as I drifted off to sleep, belly full of everything that is right with the world on the Fourth of July.

Have I mentioned what a fun street I live on? 'Good people that love their families, God, and the old-fashion American block party.

I happen to live next door to the self-declared mayor of our street. Maybe we declared him the mayor; I can't remember. (My other next-door-neighbor.) His main responsibility is to organize everything fun that happens on our block. (That he stays on top of community business is just an added bonus.) And he serves us so dutifully, there will never be an election.

For the Fourth of July the Mayor organized a Kid's parade, cook out, and Salsa Contest! How fun is that?

I had to come out swinging because some have commented that my winning chili at Halloween was not really a "chili" but more of a soup in the eyes of the men.

This time around the Mayor declared that there would be two categories for our block party Salsa contest: traditional red and "other" for green, mango, pineapple, etc. (No, not the dance kind, sadly.)

If I may have lingered longer than necessary at the salsa table and if I sampled each salsas two or even three times, you know, to catch all the nuances, it was only out of respect for the game. And my fine opponents.

I have to admit, there was not a salsa I didn't enjoy! And in fact, there were a couple that were so incredible, I couldn't help but indulge in more than my fair share.

"Can't stop, won't stop" was my mantra last night. Might have played the pregnancy card as I was helping myself to obscene amounts of food.

There was the Chueys inspired creamy cilantro one. Wow!

There was a smooth green avacado-y sour creamy one that I could have sipped with a straw. (I never found out who brought that one.)

There was a delightfully fresh micro-hand chopped winner that came out of my neighbor's garden.

There was the smokin' hot chipotle one that taunted me to see how much I could take.

I wanted to take them all home with me. (At least the recipes.) No wonder I had such sweet dreams!I present to you, humbly, my first place entry in the "other" category. I did a ton of research and found this recipe at a favorite site. It's called Fire & Ice Salsa. Yes, that's watermelon, not tomato...

It's strange and delicious and just like the name implies. Luckily, the watermelon I bought was not the sweetest I've ever had, which made it perfect for this concoction. I also doubled (at least) the other ingredients and left out the garlic. I have one suggestion, salt just before serving, or the watermelon will weep and seep all the juice out.

I think this would be a nice light accompaniment to fish tacos or grilled chicken. Or to eat with a spoon when no one is looking.

Hope you had a fun 'Fourth!

House Beautiful and a Shining Star

Home Improvements:

OMG! This woman on HGTV just showed the up lighting in her house. (I don't know what you call it except up lighting where you have a ledge just below the ceiling in which you hide lights that shine up toward the ceiling.)

This brilliant woman took cheap gutters from the hardware store and painted them to match her walls. Then she had them hung just below the ceiling, threw in some lights where no one can see...heck, you could even use $3/strand Christmas lights and it would still look custom and expensive. Isn't that a great idea? (Someone out there with more initiative than I should really tackle this project and post pictures so I can brag and say you heard it here first.)

I want to put somethings out there so I can be held accountable. Ask me about my projects in exactly one month. Nesting instinct will kick in by then and I'll be moving forward on things that have to get done by September:

1. Finish my bedroom (paining, drapes, and pretty accessories.) I would love for it to turn out something like this. I also have to pick out light fixtures for the master bathroom and cabinet hardware, too.

2. Put together a nursery. The room is painted SW Blonde (which Girly Stuff says we will be changing.) All the furniture is white: crib, changing table, bookcase (5 ft tall with the cubes on top to put fabric baskets in and regular shelves on the bottom.) I'm thinking we'll buy a new upholstered club chair/glider. I have a chest in the garage from my parents' house that I wouldn't mind working in somehow. My ideas for this room are scattered and unfocused so GS taking me by the hand. Her first recommendation is that I should find white crib bedding.

More white? That's what I thought, and I wasn't seeing the all-white vision, but after I stumbled on to this pretty bit of inspiration, I'm going to trust her and go with it.

Entertainment:

In other unimportant news, does anyone else think Clint Eastwood makes the best "human suffering" movies on the planet? Hello, Million Dollar Baby? Mystic River. Unforgiven.

(You thought I was going to talk about MJ, didn't you? Hmmph!)

We just rented Gran Torino and I loved it! It had a strangely uplifting and sad ending; how is that even possible except for a genius like Clint Eastwood? Me thinks he was born to make movies.


I cried laughing every time Clint (playing a quick-tempered old racist) came out packing the heat against the neighborhood gangsters. The slurs were flying. Everyone knows an old bastard like that who has lived long enough that they just don't care anymore and "get off my lawn." Walt Kowalski was hilarious to me...the bigot with the heart of gold.

(I laugh when I'm supposed to be crying at movies...I've been told that's weird.)

I'm starting to feel like the last person on the planet who hasn't seen Hangover. The Micker saw it twice! Maybe I'll sneak out this weekend and see it by myself since MMA already saw it. Call me if you want to catch a movie!

Or not...I don't mind eating a whole bucket of popcorn by myself if necessary.

Birthday Parties and Labor

I've been hiding out from the extreme Texas heat. It's been sizzling (even by Houston standards) and its only June.

No one is showing up to feed me ice-cold grapes in the heat of the day. Or fan me while I lie on a hammock .

Sigh.

Keeping Only Child entertained inside all day (did I mention naps are dead?) means never a quiet moment. This high maintenance only-child racket is swiftly coming to an end.

My little boy will be four years old in July! We went to my nephew's birthday party this weekend. He also turned four and it was a perfect plan: a small crowd at a shaded, covered park pavilion. Chick-fil-A tray. Simple. Easy.

The heat was so oppressive that the birthday boy was threatening to heave by the time the clown was packing up.

I'm SO not up to throwing a big party right now! (Or even a little one.)

Our family alone totals more than 20 people. We live on a street full of kids, 15 kids to be exact. My good friends have 13 kids between them. Who to leave out when we love them all?

Decisions had to be made and so they were made.

Only Child thinks staying in a hotel is a great adventure. I figure we'll stay in Galveston and make a weekend out of it...take him to the beach on his birthday, lunch somewhere, order a cake...everyone is happy.

Isn't that a great plan? Who wouldn't like to stay in Galveston for their birthday?

And when did kid birthday parties get so out of control? I must admit, the cost of throwing a party at the usual places has tipped the scales in favor of my Galveston plan. I was trying to think of something different to do because parties at Chuck E Cheese and the bouncy place are so popular that I'm afraid my son doesn't appreciate how special they are.

And, I hate to admit it, but my kid has come to expect a nice goody bag on the way out the door after a hosting family has already dropped a nice chunk on the festivities. (And I am fully part of the circuit, don't get me wrong.)

No more. I'm starting a movement of Mom's breaking the cycle of extravagant kid parties...the MBCEKP, if you will. No more dropping the equivalent of a car payment on kid parties. My organization calls for a retro celebration, or none at all.

Who is with me?

Am I sounding like a scrooge yet? It gets better...

On to labor.

Mistakes were made the first time around. We didn't have a plan. I didn't know I would be cowering in pain and waiting HOURS for that epidural. My husband left the hospital with his mother to buy a hamburger while I was in labor and then he was too...nice to ask his family to leave when I begged it of him in his ear. I had to do it myself.

That is all unacceptable.

This time around, if "you" haven't had dinner before the show starts...there will be granola bars in my suitcase.

Also, we will receive no visitors until after the blood and gore.

I take that back. My SIL Julie, the shining star of birth I, who took care of me during the dinner-run has forever ingratiated herself to me. She was my comrade in the trenches. Julie may enter the room, if she would like. And I will be comfortable in saying, "OK, thanks for coming, bye now."

So friends and family, please don't be offended that I don't want to take center stage in my most vulnerable hour. Please understand why you didn't get an invitation to the big 4 year celebration and why you won't get an invitation to the next birth-day, either.

We'll take lots of pictures and fill in the colorful details here.

When I start to feel anxious...

I have been thinking about our future as a family of four and how much of a change Little Guy's going to bring. (And of course all the extra joy and love along with him.) I marvel at the thought of doubling my life's responsibility from one day to another.

I admit, I've thought about how hard it will be to start over with a new baby.

Things have gotten so much easier little by little, I hardly remember what it was like to change ten diapers a day, feed every three hours, sleep-when-you-can in short spurts. Then we reach an age where every corner is a bruise waiting to happen and regular household objects are potential choking hazards.

"How am I going to manage to do anything around the house when I can't seem to do it now?" I find myself wondering..."Can I juggle all this -- and be proud of the job I'm doing?"

Then I think about my neighbor who just had triplets on Thursday. That's right, triplets! And that's a whole 'nuther ball game. Another league, on another planet, I might imagine.

I've been thinking about them quite a bit lately. When a concern comes up in my mind about our family, I find myself praying for her family (including their four year old daughter) to navigate their way through their challenges.

The baby girls, identical twins and a third sibling, were born big (4 lb +) and healthy. Things are off to a good start!

Every time I feel anxious, I remember this precious family. If I'm in a marathon, they are embarking on the Ironman Triathalon. And every concern I have about our family (Is this baby going to be healthy? Do we have enough life insurance? How will we afford X,Y,Z?...) seems manageable in perspective.

Their story keeps getting more exciting: check out this article in the Houston Chronicle.

God is marvelous!

We can do this.

The Suits

Letting go of some old friends today really gives me pause for thought.

My work suits were taking up valuable closet space, but I loved each one of them and I refused to part ways (for years now.) When it was time to make room for maternity clothes a few months ago, I moved the suits to what will be the baby's closet as a temporary solution.

But I knew what I had to do.

I bought most of the suits in the first few years after school. In my young twenties and full of fire and ambition, I decided that if I was going to be taken seriously as a professional, I needed to stop buying clothes from the junior department. I cut off my long curly hair and started wearing it straight and shoulder length. I wore heels and hosiery 4 days a week (you already know that I love to torture myself.) And even though I didn't feel like a grown up, I made an effort to look like one.

In short, (and I am) I tried very hard to look older and take myself more seriously!

'Wish I could talk to that silly girl and tell her a few things about life. But here I am, and those suits were a tangible thing of hers that I held onto as long as I could.

I dropped the best ones off at a Dress for Success drop-off in the hope that someone else can use them before they get any more dated and dusty. I knew I was potentially "losing it" when, returning to my car, I thought for a split-second about going back in to get them.

There was the red Dana Buchman suit that I paid a small fortune for back when I believed the whole power-in-color-thing. (But I always did look good in red.)

There was the camel-colored pant suit from Talbots that still looks as sharp and tailored today as it did when I bought it. I felt about two inches taller in that one...but you won't see me in Talbots these days -- I'm way too young anymore.

There was my favorite navy short-sleeved suit (my first "summer" suit.) I loved it so much I had at least three different pairs of navy shoes to wear with it.

There was a black suit and a chocolate brown suit. So many different accessories. So many working lunches. So many memories of a simpler time that I made more complicated.

I don't know why I didn't get rid of the suits years ago. I have been a SAHM for three years now. And I had not worn suits to work for a couple years even before that. I think I was holding on to the hope that I might need an interview suit one of these days.

But as it turns out, I'm about to start a new job in a couple of months. It requires long, long hours and "dry clean only" is out of the question... And I'm not ashamed to admit that I have mixed emotions about taking on such a massive new project, although, I know how rewarding it will be.

I did keep one, a white summer suit. Because, in my imaginary world, I might be invited to a garden luncheon slash fashion show. I'll just need to throw on some strappy sandals and a big flowered hat and I'll be ready to go.

And I kept my black cocktail suit because... Well, just because.

A girl cannot survive on yoga pants alone.

Where do we go from here?

UPDATE:
UPS recovered our package (a week after it was delivered) from the couple who were guilty of nothing more than not being neighborly enough to walk the damn thing over. To my chagrin, we opened it up and there was no remote control inside!! (Just some other equipment that I don't care about.) So the man says he'll send the long-awaited remote right over...via UPS.

Enough wasted energy! I'm not going to try to wrap my mind around "why?"

Original post:

I'm frustrated and beside myself over the stupidest thing.

I spent 30 minutes tracking a UPS package that was "delivered" last week. The sender thoughtfully left an automated message asking how I was getting along with my new stuff.

I saw the UPS guy deliver the package to my next door neighbor last week. The driver was blocking me in as I was getting in my car to leave one day, so I walked down the driveway to see if it was the new equipment we were eagerly awaiting, namely, a remote control that works...a brand new one (you starting to understand how important this is to me/us???)

To my delight, the box was clearly marked Di$# Network; but instead of delivering the goods into my outstretched hands, he sliced right and left it on my neighbor's porch.

I fear this was a crossroad in my life, and I choked; chose the wrong path.

I could have said, "Excuse me, but I was waiting for a package from that same sender. Are you sure that's not meant for this house?"

Or I could have immediately called UPS Worldwide Headquarters and put them on the case.

Or, I could have (and in hindsight, should have) waited until the driver left, snuck up to the door and grabbed what was rightfully mine.

Knowing that my neighbors have the same, shall we say, master, I gave 'em the benefit of the doubt that just maybe, they too, were waiting for a box exactly the right size to fit my stuff. I let it go. I never doubted that if the box was meant for us, it would find its way to our porch.

That never happened and now UPS is on it and I'm not responsible for the loss. But I wonder...

Are they partying down with my new remote?

Was I intentionally wronged? (A teeny-tiny, perhaps naive, part of me wants to believe it is an honest mistake.)

And most importantly, where do we go from here as neighbors?

Do they suspect we know they took our sh--, our stuff? (Don't stand between me and the ability to pause and replay live TV. I'm from the barrio; it'll get ugly.)

These are Next.Door.Neighbors, for the love of all that is right in the world! This is not suppose to happen on my street. (Remember my wonderful street?) But that house, I'm afraid, has a spirit that attracts the weird ones... I'd better leave it at that.

I'm torn.

Our pastor was just preaching on Sunday that Christians give the benefit of the doubt. They don't bring up old trash. Or gossip. Or talk the way I sometimes talk onmyblogandinreallife. I'm suppose to set an example and love my neighbor as myself.

But myself wants to bang on their door and demand some answers. And get my remote, NOW, not five days from now when the man acknowledges my loss and reUPSes it.

Today, I am not only Woman Interrupted, I am Woman Scorned.

And when you hear from me next time, I'm going to be so over this petty diversion.