After posting my week 1 spar in the Roller Girl diaries, I have received various messages from family members about Brynn.  She is getting so big and so incredibly rotten.

SO…

I took a few pictures this evening and thought I would post them for those family members who are missing out on LOTS of amazing, incredibly rotten moments.

We miss you all and love you TONS!!

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Lately I have been promoting ritualistic behavior, as if something dark has been my driving force.  I’ve noticed a parade of days with similar patterns, and a eerie fog lingers in my little world.

 It is something dreaded and fierce has entered my perfect family portrait; something that makes most “sane” men and women scream out in the middle of the night… the terrible twos!

At the crack of dawn, my sweet angel, Brynn wakes (that’s about 5am here in Arizona).  She doesn’t wake happy and smiling.  She wakes screaming for me and requesting that not only I carry her into the other room, but I should gather everything that is precious to her in the first trip.  With multiple blankets and pillows, as well, as my beloved two year old, we trek into the living room to settle on the couch and begin our morning ritual. 

Starting out with chocolate milk, which she insists screaming at me for… if we so happen to be out of chocolate, she will scream juice and stomp her feet.  We have made some progress in this area; she has begun to ask me instead of yelling at me… well unless we are out of chocolate, which just pisses her off.

Most days I am fairly alert, but in the last week or so I have been feeling like I am getting sick; congested.  Fearing the worst the last couple of days, I have taken a bit of benedryl before bed to ward of this ever creeping allergy/cold.  Benedryl helps me sleep, but it lingers in the morning making it difficult to really wake up when needed.

Brynn takes full advantage of these groggy opportune moments.  Her favorite has to be the cereal dump and crunch, which covers the living room rug with bits of whatever she was screaming for half an hour earlier.  What started as a small amount of nutritious goodness, easily transformed into a substance quite like shards of glass to the bottoms of my bare feet.

The other day as I was arousing from a somewhat sleep-like state on my comfy couch, I noticed Brynn wasn’t close by.  I immediately sat up and looked around… nothing.

“Brynn,” I said, not shouting for the other two were still asleep, “Brynn.”  I heard a noise in the kids’ bathroom and carefully walked the long hall, and peered inside.  There she was by the toilet, smiling at me.  In her hands were several colorful sticks, which looked a lot like crayons.  Oh they were crayons, thankfully they were bathtub crayons which she retrieved from her cabinet under the sink.

Now don’t make the mistake of thinking that bathtub crayons make this alright.  She hadn’t only colored the bathtub.  She colored the toilet, the cabinet, the floor AND the bathtub.  I believe she even managed to scribble some on that MOST heinous toilet plunger.

ANYway, I managed to clean up most of the mess. Bathtub crayons are meant to be used IN a bathtub full of water, so there is a lingering stain on the outside of the tub, which will require bleach…. keep your fingers crossed that it will take care of it, otherwise when we move out of this apartment the end of the month…. well… I don’t want to talk about it.

(I managed to snap a few photos of the above stated incident…. I will post them later. ) 

I know my mother will read this, and I hope she feels bad for wishing this on me :-P.

~2 

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I think I originally posted this on The Blue Doodle… not sure if I posted it here or not… so I am going to give it a go

The Beauty of Age

I remember being a child and wishing for nothing more than to be grown up.  I am sure we all did this when we were younger, and now wish we could take it back.  Maybe spend a little more time being a kid.

 

I wanted to drive so badly.  I remember just aching at fourteen to get behind the wheel of a car.  If I was lucky, on the trip back from Grandmother’s house, my mom would let me drive some… what a feeling.  Driving 25 mph on a 55 mph highway… trying my damnedest to keep from swerving all over the place; that woman had nerves of steel. 

 

My son talks about driving now, he’s eight.  Like that is EVER going to happen.  I am never letting that kid have the wheel of my car, and just sit in the passenger seat and watch.  That is crazy…

NO WAY

!  He wants to grow up and drive.  He’s even talking about getting married.  He’s EIGHT!!!  What are they teaching these kids in school? He’s a super smart kid, but we have the same dumb conversations I had with my mother…”Why can’t I just be grown up now?”

 

“Gabe, it’s not that great being a grown up,” I have to say.

 

“You get to drive and stay up late… you even get to eat ice cream for breakfast.”  He is upset with me because I do occasionally eat ice cream for breakfast.  That is one of the many perks of this grown up bit that I am happy to say I actually dig.

 

“Well, it’s not all that great.  Besides you spend your whole life wishing for more.  I wished I was sixteen too, so I could drive.  Then I wished I was eighteen so I could smoke…”

 

“But you don’t smoke…” he interrupts.

 

“I know I don’t smoke… but I could if I wanted to, and that is the beauty of it.”

 

“I still don’t get it.”

 

“Well you are eight, y’know? After eighteen you have twenty-one. Oh man twenty-one… good times.  You can drink..”

 

“I can drink…” he says.

 

“No… alcohol,” he is looking at me very puzzled, “Like beer…”

 

“That’s a drug!  Why would you want to drink that?”

 

“Man… I don’t know why you would want to; you just do.  ANYway, at twenty-five your insurance drops, and I think you can rent a car.”

 

“Insurance?  What is that?” I really didn’t think I was going to have to go into premiums and plan choices with my son, but you’d be amazed at the questions he asks, and if I can’t answer them… I fake it.  Surely he will forget before he hits therapy in a few years, right? Skip ahead several minutes later, “Well…”

 

“After that it’s pretty much down hill… I think maybe all you have to look forward to after that is AARP.”

 

“What’s that?” again with the questions. Damn it, kid… can you give me a moment of peace so I can think clearly for a moment?  Can you stop talking long enough for me to remember why I wanted kids in the first place? Yeah I can’t wait till you’re grown up too… so you will know everything; or at least THINK you do.

 

“Well,” I look into his eyes and see that unconditional love he has for me.  I see the spark… curiosity that makes up his brilliant mind.  For a moment I grasp a hold of that childhood that quickly raced past me, and I remember exactly how he feels… that ache to be like my parents, because they were my world; I am his world.  I smile and feel the spirit of my youth dancing in my head… answering the best I can, “you get free coffee at the gas station when you fill up…”

 

“But you don’t drink coffee,” he interrupts.

 

“I know I don’t drink coffee… but I could if I wanted to.”

 

~2

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******This morning my new neice entered the world.  A whole whopping 7 lbs 1.5 oz and 20 inches long.  My good friend/cousin went by and took a few pictures for me… and was nice enough to email them to me this evening…  I couldn’t wait to share them with you.******

WELCOME ELLA ELIZABETH

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Tonight my heart is heavy… I am sure it’s a combination of many things, but one in particular:

Tomorrow my sister has her baby.

I am totally going to miss it, and it just breaks my heart.  This is her third child, the first almost 10 years ago this week was miscarried about a week before her due date.  The second, my beautiful Danni, is almost a year older than my precious Brynn.

When Danni got here I was so excited, my sister’s pregnancy was full of stress, and we were really fearing the worst.  We were all so relieved when she arrived here absolutely perfect.

ANYway… I was able to see her almost everyday.. it is totally killing me that I won’t be able to see this baby.  I have to be with my job for like 6 months before I can even request time off… she isn’t going to know me.

Is it stupid that I would consider moving back to Oklahom JUST for that?

Danni

These silly girls can accessorize (Brynn and Danni)

Man, it feels good to be a gangster.  (Danni)

Brynn’s not picky.. she’d eat anything as long as Danni gave it to her (this the house before the trim)

Band practice

Tub Time at Papa’s house

Damn being a girl.. and these damn hormones.. bleah
~2

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Wow, another year came and gone, and all I have to show for it is old age spots and the beginning of a wrinklier me.  I started blogging here on myspace in April, and I have made some of the best friends a girl could ask for.  A few I even met, and have crossed over from net friend to “real life” friend… I am such a lucky girl.

Tonight, after DH (Dear Husband for those of you just now tuning in) gets off work, we are heading back to Oklahoma to spend the holidays with our family.  I am extremely excited about going home, and can’t wait to see everyone.  We thought it would be best to drive all night, so the chillin’s can sleep… making the drive waaay more tolerable for the both of us.

I love Phoenix, but it just doesn’t feel like it’s Christmas time here.  The houses are decorated, but the feeling just isn’t here.  I want to be able to walk out side and see my breath and feel the cold kisses of the night air bless my nose, ears, and cheeks.  I want to smell wood fireplaces blazing, and taste the hot cocoa in the air.  Christmas carolers stage left, and I want to see them brightly colored in traditional Christmas garb… with bells on dammit.  Bring in the snow… lots of it, and maybe a slight wind.. carriage rides… que the laughing children and kissing couples. 

Enter the cozy home… smell of cookies, cakes, and pies fills the air.  I want to warm my pink hands over the furnace and wrap up in that beautiful quilt my sister made last year… thawing my toes slowly.  Welcoming hugs from those loved ones that always warm my heart, and just breathing in… home.

I have never been so homesick in all my life as I am this holiday season.

I will probably be away most of the next couple weeks, due to my mother’s crappy internet, but know I am thinking of you and wishing you the HAPPIEST of HOLIDAYS!  I should be back in full force on the 6th of January… I hope to see you all then.

If you’re bored, go back through some of my old draws and write a piece or two for me to read when I get back.  I will start a regular draw after the first of the year… and I promise to write too. 

~2

*******TAKE A LOOK AT THIS CUTIE*******

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!!! BE SAFE, STAY WARM, AND DON’T FORGET TO LEAVE YOUR PORCH LIGHT ON IF YOU’RE STAYING OUT LATE ;-)     HAVE A HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Love,
~2

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I originally wrote this for the Blue Doodle, when I first started writing over there.  I want to share it here because I have new readers who don’t read the doodle (you really should www.thebluedoodle.com), and I am strapped for time because of this move.  I am still in  the hotel and our stuff should arrive at the apartment tomorrow — hopefully in one piece.  My kids are driving me nuts, thankfully #1 starts school tomorrow.  I am starting to miss home a little, and if you have the number… call me.  I am not changing the old cell number just yet.

ANYway… here it is, I will try to get something new out next week… if we have our internet that is

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When I think of veterans, my ex-step dad comes to mind.  Ex, yes, now removed.  My poor mother will never be happy – she takes OCD to a whole other level.  I have decided, and actually told her at one time, she is destine to be alone and miserable… yeah I think that wasn’t my finest moment.

 

ANYway, my ex-step dad was this incredibly awesome person.  He always did things for me and my sister, like help coach our softball teams, take us fishing, and was very active in our school, etc.  He did, however, have a way of freaking all my friends out by showing off his war wound.

 

He was honorably discharged from service after being shot in the Vietnam War.  The bullet had pierced his abdomen and exited out his back, leaving him with this hole that looked like someone just dug out flesh with a spoon.  Unlike most draft dodgers during that time, he willingly went off to war; he wasn’t even of age – had his folks sign the necessary paperwork to ship him off, because he couldn’t wait to protect and serve.

 

I can only imagine what it’s like from his stories and the many movies I have scene.  War changes you.  I don’t think he was diagnosed, but I am sure he had post traumatic stress.  You couldn’t touch him while he was sleeping, or try to tap him to wake him up, or you would likely lose your head… he would wake up swinging, ready for the fight… very sad, but humorous to a young teenager.  I think I perfected the art of tap and run… just to catch a glimpse of the man in the act of self defense.  Yeah, I am probably going to go to hell for that… one of the many things on my list of BAD things.

 

Even though he had been to

Vietnam, he was still more laid back than my mom.  He caught me ditching school at the lake one nice April afternoon.  He was conveniently fishing close to where we were semi-naked cliff diving.  Yeah we weren’t too smart… all stoned out of our gourds and drinking wine (we were young and would drink prune juice if we thought we’d get a buzz).  I saw his truck on the horizon and made a mad dash to my friend’s car… dove into the front seat and laid there, eyes closed… like it made me invisible.  I heard him stop… questioning all of my friends.  Eyes closed I lay there in the seat, practically holding my breath. I hear footsteps and then the tapping of glass… I gather my composure and glance up.  There he stood, with a very irritated look on his face and he gave me the finger.  Not the one you’re thinking… the “come here, I’m not EVEN going to say anything” finger. GULP.  I get out of the car and follow him over to the truck and he said few words — told me he was disappointed in me, but he didn’t make me leave.  I’ll be damned if I went back to school… no way.  I think we spent the rest of the day BAH-HAWING in my friend Aaron’s Datsun.  The awesome thing… he never told my mom.

 

I did get in trouble though.  My mother found a check I wrote to Pizza Hut for eighty bucks that day.  Yeah, I know, not too smart.  She ratted me out to the principal of my school and I got in-house suspension.  Thanks MOM!

 

Even though my mother and he divorced right after I graduated high school, I still see him.  He takes Gabe golfing, and even lets him drive the cart; he brings gifts at Christmas and birthdays for the kids; he calls from time to time to see how everyone is; and I even talked him into coaching our Coed softball team a couple of years.  War may make men tough, but I think it gave him an appreciation for things that we tend to take for granted.  I love my mother dearly, but she never took an interest in what we did as kids, he seemed to genuinely appreciate the time he spent with us, making the most of it.  My mother may have removed him from our family, but my sister and I… we kept him.

~2

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Being a parent makes you do evil things.  We constantly lie to our children about stuff, and it’s overlooked.  We tell them it’s not right to lie to us.. but sure it’s ok if we mislead them.  They are young and believe anything we tell them… anything.

Santa, the Easter bunny… every year we find a handfull of things to decieve them with.  I am sooooooo guilty of doing this.  It is so much fun.  Every year we draw out the Santa thing to our advantage.  You better clean your room, or Santa will not bring you that new bike.  You better do your homework because Santa will know you’re making bad grades.

Oh I have a smart kiddo.  He’s eight and I am not sure how much longer I can pull off the Santa thing.  He’s already asking questions and I have a hard time coming up with the answers:

“So Mom, we don’t have a fireplace… how does Santa get in?” he asks.

“Um…. he has a special key he uses just for those families who are too poor to have a fireplace.”

“But Mom, if Santa rides in a sleigh, and his reindeer are only capable of flying 55 miles miles per hour… Really I think he would have to travel much slower being that his sleigh is more like a convertible… and it’s cold… not to mention he has no windsheild… How can he cover the distance possible to leave presents for all the boys and girls in the world?”

“Ask dad.”

SO… anyWAY… I am guilty of the best deception… and one I am sure he will mention in therapy in years to come. The Toilet Fairy.

AH yes.. the Toilet Fairy.  I have managed to convince my son that there is a  fairy that flushes the toilet for you in public places. Yes it’s creepy, and I think it’s one of the most brilliant things I have EVER come up with. 

Depending on the place, I sometimes make him go in the women’s room with me.. because one - I don’t trust him in the men’s room alone, and two - there are lots of freaky child molesters out there… and I don’t want my kid to take some weirdo’s candy or help someone find their puppy…

SO… I go in the stall with him… and he makes me turn around… cause he’s a boy, and I might see his “private parts”… he finishes… and the toilet automatically flushes.

“Wow! Hey Mom, How does it know I am done pee-ing?” he asks me.

“Well… there is a little fairy in the wall that sits and waits for you to finish…”

“What? You mean there is something in there that watches me pee…”

“A Fairy”

“One of those little things with wings?”

“Yep”

“Mom… that kinda freaks me out!”

“Yeah me too… but it’s just one of those things you get use to, you know?”

“Well I don’t like it,” he says.

“Yeah well wait till you get older… life is full of disappointment.”

He’s gotten use to it now… does a little dance to put on a show for the toilet fairies. Man, being a parent is awesome!!

Yeah I know I am going to hell… better on my terms though

~2

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Well today is the big day, I’m off to Phoenix with DH.  Kids are staying behind and it’s going to be a week of driving each other crazy. Encase I haven’t told you, we’re probably moving there, so we have to scope the area and find a cool place to call home. 

I am going to be away, but may get a little myspace time in the evening - nothing like I have now, so it’s going to be bittersweet.  I have drawn from the jar and posted it in the Green Room of Collaboration group board for those of you are a member already… those of you interested : Click Here.

I had a ton of things I was suppose to do before I left around here… but I have been busy with all sorts of craziness:

Really… I know that’s no excuse, so I apologize.  I will be on and off but expect me back in full force Saturday evening.  I am going to be writing on paper until then so all I will have to do is translate my chicken scratches when I get back… easier said than done.

SO… message me, leave me a comment, sing me a pretty song… I can’t wait to hear from you. DAMMIT!! I miss you already.

~2

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I watch a lot of HBO, my favorite just happens to be Entourage.  It really gets me to thinking. Really the people we surround ourselves with help define us.  Albeit Vince is the hottest one… the rest of the guys have a little something that makes them loveable, likeable… good TV.

The entourage I roll with is not anywhere as cool as HBO’s.  We don’t go to fancy parties or shopping in extravagant places like the guys on the show… usually it’s a trip to the grocery store or Wal-Mart…. that’s about the most excitement we get in “White Trash America”.  Just me, the eight year old hyperactive “sugar-rock” addict, and the wailing 14 month old.  I’m like the coolest of the bunch, but I don’t get laid almost every episode by some tight-ass hotTEE that I meet out and about. OK… Vince doesn’t get laid in almost every episode, but I had to throw that in.. cause it cracked me up… sorry.

It is definitely more fun if I try to relate my pathetic life to something of some significance when I am on my lameASS routine.  I seriously hate taking kids to the store.  One wants everything he sees, and the other is just PISSED off.

I think Gabe will touch everything because he knows it drives me crazy… the whole time I am threatening him.  “If you don’t stop touching stuff, you can forget me getting those ______________” fill in the blank.  It’s something every time we go.  He gets quiet for a minute and then he’s back at it.  He can’t seem to walk next to me either.. he’s always way out in the middle of the isle… trying to stand on the side of the basket.. he bumps into everyone.  It really stresses me out.

Our Wal-mart isn’t a super Wal-mart, but it is open 24 hours and it has some extra stuff like milk and frozen pizzas.  I get some of these things here so I don’t have to make a trip to the grocery store too… because the heat and kids wear me out quick.

SO… I go to the store; I try to have a list so I can get in and out as fast as I can.  The last isle I go down is the one that has milk, bread, and cereal.  I grab milk and tell Gabe he can pick out ONE kind of cereal.

OH GEEZ… that is a mistake in itself.  He takes 20 minutes looking at what the box of cereal has to offer him.  He doesn’t care what it tastes like… it’s all about the “surprise inside”

I shouldn’t complain too much, because I remember doing the same thing.  My mom would take us to the store… bless her heart (and I think MY kids are a handful).  My sister and I were like some bizarre sugar fiends ricocheting off the walls and ceiling… we did whatever we could to embarrass my mother in public, yet she seemed to keep her cool…. maybe I will get some “cool” in the next few years, or I’ll reach my limit and explode.

ANYway, we had two step-brothers, and could go through some cereal.  One of the step brothers is the same age as me… so we were at each other constantly.  Cereal was sacred.  The first person to open the box and get the prize was like the master.  We couldn’t open them when we got home… we would have to wait until the morning to stake our claim.  We would even go as far as to write our name on the top of the box to call “dibs”.

I was vengeful… watch out for me.  If my step-brother called “dibs” on something I wanted… I would unleash my wrath.  I remember once opening a box of lucky charms in the middle of the night and leaving the prize, because it was claimed, but I ate every single marshmallow in the box.  I distinctly remember being ill for a couple of days after that… but it was well worth it… just seeing his face as he poured himself a bowl of marshmallow less goodness… aahhhhhhh.

I guess I shouldn’t be so tough on him and his breakfast of choice… as long as he eats it, I really shouldn’t care.  I like surprises, and I guess if I can only get them in cereal I would be pretty damn particular too, but those surprises don’t do much for me anymore.  I guess I have moved on to wanting bigger, better surprises.  I would like to be content with a box of cereal, but I have gone past that…. kinda sad really, and I as much as I envy Vince and his Entourage; I better stick with what I know and roll with my own.

~2

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I have been homeschooling my son since right before Thanksgiving of this last year.  It is a very long and drawn out story… that really gets me angry, and I want to spare you the vent.  Unless there is a real interest and then of course I will blog about it.. but right now I will spare you the details.  During this time, we have done some really cool stuff, and he has advanced past his peers in such little time - it’s ridiculous.

ANYway, we read this book called Pets in a Jar.  It’s about caring for small animals in gallon jars (like the one I use for my weekly draw), and our favorite in the book was the praying mantis.  It is also the scariest of the animals in that book.

Around this time, a friend of mine had an adult mantis in her classroom.  It had laid two egg sacs (oothecas) and started to die… such is its life cycle.  She gave us an ootheca in exchange for one of my gallon jars. We placed our jar on the dresser in Gabe’s room and waited.  I think it was weeks later.  I just happend to go into his room while he was sleeping (one of the many times) to check on him.  I glanced over and noticed something strange… CRAP!! Mantises!!

I got sooo excited.  I grabbed the jar and took it in the living room with me and sat it down on the table and watched for a couple of hours before turning in.  There wasn’t as many as I thought there would be.  I was disappointed, but excited none-the-less.

The next morning I tried to wake Gabe with the excellent news… he didn’t budge.  I started counting and there were only a few.  I was afraid they had started eating each other.  So I hop online to look and see if maybe they hatch in phases or something.  I had read that each ootheca can old up to as many as 300 mantises… then I see somewhere between 10 and 100.  I just happen to glance over and more are starting to hatch out.  It’s incredibly “oogie”… they are hanging from the sac by a tiny thread… and they are completely gross, but I can’t make myself look away.  My skin is crawling and I am covered in goosebumps, and I itch… stomach turns.  It was totally bizarre…. amazing even.

SO, we had decided earlier to just name our whole jar of mantises something that is rather unisexual.  Gabe came up with Alex, since we know both boys and girls with that name… On a non related note, Gabe’s naming skills aren’t the best.  This was alright, but when I was pregnant, he wanted to name the baby… if a boy… Chaos Destructo.  Yeah…hmm…

After these last mantises hatched that put  my jar up to about 18.  I gave some of them away, and eventually within the last few weeks it has dwindled to one.  Man is he/she ever impressive.  It started out the size of an ant, and now it’s close to 2 inches long.

I have been feeding them.  After I first noticed they had hatched, I immediately hopped online and ordered some flightless fruitflies.  They lasted for quite a while.  This last shipment however has been rather disappointing.  So to make a long story short… Today I let Alex go.  I opened the front door, took the cheesecloth off his jar, tipped it to it’s side, grabbed the stick in the jar… was real careful cause he still “ooges” me out… and sat it on the porch.  He looked at me… turned his head and looked at me.  I like to believe he said thanks.  Maybe even smiled. 

I’m not going to say he is better off, and I am going to try to imagine he lives the rest of his life out in my flower bed.  I am just going to think about the moment on the porch and letting him go… I still wish I would have touched him.  I wish I wasn’t so damn scared.  He brought me such happiness by doing absolutely nothing.

It’s weird but Alex is like a metaphor for my life… I am not going to go into here, but I will miss him.

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