Uuuugggghhhh.

Just wanted to check in... I'm sick, y'all, and it totally stinks.

Working on Day #6 of the crud (cold turned into a sinus infection), and I finally went to the doctor this morning.

They tell me I'm going to live.

I'm not 100% convinced yet.

Shhhhhhh...

Twas a few nights before Christmas,

And all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring...





Awwww... Love this kid. :)

Which TOTALLY makes me a cotton-headed ninnymuggins...

From this....





to this...





Which is what you have to do when you discover miniscule glass bits on the countertop, while cleaning up...

AFTER you've baked, dipped, and packaged up 5 dozen cake balls to give as gifts to neighbors.

I have no idea which batch was being made when I dropped the bowl. And we didn't discover all the bits of glass until after everything was finished, and we were throwing away empty chocolate chip bags, and parchment paper.

Bonus? All of the vanilla cake balls had a sprinkling of red and clear sugar crystals on them to differentiate them from the devil's food ones. And those sugar crystals? Virtually indistinguishable from glass. Until, that is, you take a bite.


And I don't dislike any of my neighbors *that* much. ;) (kidding!)



So I had no choice. They all had to be thrown out.



And now? Well, I really hope the neighbors like Oreos.

A holiday frame of mind...

One of the best parts of the holiday season?

Well, that would have to be baking lots of yummy treats. With the Christmas music playing in the background, a cup of hot chocolate, and the delicious scents of Christmas filling my kitchen, I can almost pretend I’m one of Santa’s elves.




You know… that one elf that forgets to wear an oven mitt when taking a hot Pyrex glass bowl out of the microwave.




But the good news? If you tilt your head just so, you can almost see the Christmas lights glinting off of the shards of shattered glass all over the floor.




And if you squint your eyes just right, you can pretend that the melted chocolate that is nestling the shards of broken glass is mud that the reindeer tracked in.



And if you step just right, the teeny tiny pieces of glass that are left, even after you have swept and mopped, and swept again? Well, those put you in mind of snow crystals, crunching under your boots.



I mean, it really helps you get in the holiday spirit. :P

Her mother's daughter...

Phil is taking Josie deer-hunting in the morning.

I keep telling her that it will be very early. She says she’s ready.

Our little outdoor adventurer...



I am trying to warn her that it will be very cold. She says she’s ready.

Our little outdoor adventurer...




Phil has been trying to get everything together… snacks, warm clothes, his knife, etc., so he made her find her warmest jacket.

She tried it on, and said, “This will be perfect!”


Phil: “Yep, you’ll need it for in the morning. It’s going to be cold.”




Josie: “No, I mean it matches my gloves perfectly!”



Our little outdoor adventurer. ;)

I am lop-sided...

I am lop-sided.

And it’s driving me crazy.




I’m not talking about my bangs, even though they are (I like to cut them myself)… or my toes (I have that one long, a.k.a. ‘smart’ toe)… or even my boobs (I breastfed three kids. ‘Nuff said.)




I’m talking about gifts. More specifically, making the gifts ‘EVEN’ for the children. As in, everyone has a similarly even pile of goodies on Christmas morning. And you only understand this if you are a parent. More specifically, if you are the parent of more than one child. And none of those children are infants.

When you have babies, you can get away with having an uneven distribution of presents. Let’s face it… a toddler is more fun to shop for than a baby, and you can get more bang for your buck, especially if we’re talking about the excitement level of said kid. So no one is going to notice. When kids are babies, you can wrap up a rattle, or even gift-wrap a box of Kleenex (not that I ever did that ;), and nobody will be the wiser. In fact, if your kids messed with the tree as much as mine did when they were little, you don’t put any wrapped gifts under there at all. It’s just easier than having to re-wrap everything six or seven times.

And if you’re a parent, you know in no way does this ‘even-ness’ refer to the actual dollar amount spent. As we all know, the older a child gets, the more expensive their toys get. (Makes you long for that Kleenex box a little, doesn’t it?) But try explaining to a kid that their Nintendo DS Lite (no kids, you are NOT getting those) cost the same as five of a younger sibling’s gifts. Nothin’doin’.

So I find myself buying into the ‘momma guilt, and trying very hard to make sure they all have the same number of gifts to open on Christmas morning. But I also find myself picking up ‘just one more thing’ because it is cute… or its on sale… (or because I FINALLY found those silly Teacup Pig toys)…and then I feel like I have to even things out for the other two.

I know… it’s crazy. (It makes Phil crazy, too, but that’s actually a whole other story. ;) And maybe you’re made of stronger stuff, and I’m the only momma being manipulated by the machine that is consumerism.

But I highly doubt it.

Most kids I know keep a running tally of every single thing that is placed under the tree, and whether or not their name is on it. And heaven help us if they start to notice a certain ‘unevenness’. And by ‘notice’, I mean to say, they yell, “Whaaat??!! ANOTHER present for her??”

I have to admit, though… I like to mess with my kids. Just a little bit. You know, like putting secret codes on the gifts, so only *I* know who they are for…moving things around… putting things back in the closet that were just under the tree yesterday.

It keeps things fresh.



And when I say ‘fresh’? I mean ‘paranoid’.




Just the way I like ‘em.

Watch out... this one spits.

I lasted two days as a waitress.

It was at Las Casas in Temple, Texas (Home of the famed ‘White Wings’!), and it was the summer after my freshman year in college. I had never thought much about waiting tables, but since I had originally planned to spend the summer as the Arts and Crafts counselor at a Boy Scout camp, and I ditched to come home for the summer (remind me to tell you *that* story sometime), I was in need of some serious cash.

Enter Las Casas… for about two days. I have said since then, and will continue to say until the end of forever, “I couldn’t cut it as a waitress.” Huge props to those of you that can do it.

I just could not. I would have been waaaay too tempted to spit in someone’s food. Not that I make a habit of doing that. Have no fear, if you are ever a guest in my home, I would never spit in your food. Except for you, Jesse Levine. I used to spit in your food on a weekly basis. But anyway.

If you’ve never met me, and you just stumbled on my little blog here because you were looking for the ‘Home of the White Wings!’, here’s a couple of fun, little facts about me: I’m cute. I’m friendly. And I’m a bit of a hot-head.

And I knew there would come a time when a customer would piss me off, and in the most passive-aggressive way possible, I would SPIT in their enchiladas. And then possibly use my pinky finger to swirl the glob right into the red sauce. Yummy.

I do not take well to being talked ugly to. Nope. True story… once when I was working part-time at a jewelry store (I won’t tell you the name, but it rhymes with Same Slavery), we would offer to clean and polish people’s rings, necklaces, etc. We didn’t mind doing it (well, *I* didn’t mind) in fact, there’s nothing like seeing a beat-up ring looking all shiny and new again. But it was a store courtesy, people… not a God-given right.

I only did it the one time. But, damn, it felt good. And I’m not proud of it, but it went down a little something like this… I’ll be ‘the Jerk’. You be ‘Me (it’s easy. It involves a lot of being perky and smiling sweetly):

Jerk: "Hey, can you clean this?" (holding out his ring, which ironically was engraved with a cross. Go figure.)

Me (smiling sweetly): "Sure! Is there anything else I can do for you?" (oftentimes people would have more than one item they’d want us to clean, so it never hurt to ask)

Jerk (snottily): "Uh, yeah! You think I’m going to actually buy anything in here?" (rolls eyes)

Me (getting increasingly perky… cause that’s what I do when I’m seething inside): "Okay, sir, I’ll be right back."

Jerk: "How long’s it gonna take?"

Me (still smiling. Still sweet…): "I’ll have it right out, as soon as I polish and wash it!"

Jerk: "Because I’m in a hurry."

Me: "Won’t take but just a minute for me to polish it on the polishing wheel, and rinse it."







With my spit. My perky, perky spit.





And I think this explains, in part, my propensity to be overly nice to anyone who is waiting on me. Waiters in restaurants, customer service reps, nurses in the hospital after I deliver a big fat-headed baby. I say things like… ‘would you mind?’ and ‘whenever you get a chance…’ and ‘I’d love more Percoset when you get around to it…’ (they *do* look at you a little funny when you say that to the waitress at Red Robin, though)

Because I’ve been there, and if you’ve ever waited tables, or worked retail, or had one of those jobs that certain people would consider menial or ‘beneath them’ (oh, I don’t know, like being a teacher), you have ‘been there’ too. And you know the importance of common courtesy, and kindness, and allowing people to do their job and maintain their dignity. It’s just the decent thing to do.





Plus? I fear your spit.

Idiots of the Week... installment one

Anderson Cooper has his ‘Ridiculist’… Keith Olbermann has his “Worst Person in the World”, so I’m going to jump on the bandwagon, and award the...


“Idiots of the Week”:


1. The Orioles Designated Hitter, Luke Scott, for his statements that President Obama “was not born here. That's my belief. I was born here. If someone accuses me of not being born here, I can go – within 10 minutes – to my filing cabinet and I can pick up my real birth certificate and I can go, 'See? Look! Here it is.'

Yeah, his birth certificate is in the file cabinet… but his ‘Dumbass award’? Hanging right on his wall for all to see.

2. The Westboro Baptist church… have you heard of these hate-mongering a$$holes? They are the ones that picket at the funerals of American soldiers. Now they’re planning to picket the funeral of Elizabeth Edwards, who lost her battle to breast cancer earlier this week. These people are not godly… they are not Christian… they are extremists. And extremists, whether they proclaim to be doing their works in the name of God or Allah or Buddha or Mr. Potato Head, are dangerous. They are animals. ‘Idiot’ is not a strong enough word.

3. Now, I don’t think anyone would EVER call me a fan of Sarah Palin, and if they did, I might just have to punch them in the face… but I have to say that I find all the uproar about the reality show episode where she shoots and skins a moose absolutely ridiculous!
Everyone that is saying how ‘disturbing it is’, and how it was ‘so traumatic to see that on television’… might I just say?

You’re an idiot.

Maybe it’s because I’m a Texas girl, and I grew up eating venison, watching my dad, grandparents, and uncles shoot, kill, and process little doe-eyed deer… and my husband and son are carrying on the tradition, and I’m looking forward to a freezer-ful of deer meat after this weekend. I actually watched the episode (because my husband saw ‘huntin’ on T.V. and stopped changing the channel immediately), and I have to say, Sarah Palin clearly grew up in this way of life. She knows her way around a firearm, people.

Basically, I have to think if you don’t like it, you have the opportunity to change the channel.

Oh, and if that is the MOST objectionable thing you can find about a reality show about Sarah Palin, then good on ya. ;)

She's sneaky like that...

We have the best kind of cat.

It’s the neighbor’s cat, but she spends about ¾ of her time on our porch, curled up in one of our wrought iron chairs, staring down the UPS man as he drops off his deliveries.

It’s the perfect compromise for a household where 2/5 of the family is allergic to cats, and another 2/5 absolutely loves them. (Notice how that didn’t exactly add up to five? I’ll give you a hint. Um… me ;)

The girls can love on her, pet her, and hold her… all without the responsibilities of being a pet owner. You know, like vet bills, changing the litter box, and most importantly… never having to be around cat food (because isn’t that just some of the most vile smelling stuff ever??)

Occasionally, though, this cat takes advantage of my porch hospitality and actually sneaks into my house. Granted, it’s usually when one of the kids has left the door wide open, allowing her (and mosquitoes, geckos, and random woodland creatures) to make themselves at home. But that's not the point... I have shooed Callie back out of my house often enough that I think she should KNOW she can’t come inside. Hence, the use of the term ‘sneak’.

Plus she’s flat-out disdainful.

Anyway, there have been many times that I will come around the corner into the kitchen, and she’ll be sitting there, giving me that ‘look’. You know the one… “Hell’s yeah, I’m in your kitchen. Whatcha’ gonna do about it? I dare ya.” She TOTALLY has an attitude. (cattitude?)

This morning, when I made it back from the store (did you know that 7:45 a.m. is the *best* time to shop?? There’s nobody there! Scratch that. It’s super crowded. You probably shouldn’t go) I was unloading my grocery bags (recyclable!) into the kitchen… and I hear that distinctive jingling of tags.

That damn cat was somewhere in my house.

Okay, okay… I guess I *did* leave the door out to the garage open so that I could unload everything. YOU try opening the door with your hands full of grocery bags (recyclable!)

Callie is one smart cookie, though… she was nowhere to be found. She stayed just out of my sight. I’d turn around to unload a bag, and hear her tags jingling… I’d move through the kitchen, and hear her…but the minute I tried to stand really still to get her to walk through the room? Nothing.

It’s like she *knew* that she should only move when I was moving, so I’d get all flustered, and try to run around the corner to catch her. And then I'd run through the family room to make sure she's not making herself a guinea pig sandwich, and then I'd run past the bathroom…





Where I would catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, looking like a crazed idiot…







Wearing the sweatshirt I’d tied around my waist.








The zip-up sweatshirt with the metal zipper pulls.


Um. Yeah.

The bluest eyes in Texas...

For exactly 21 months and 29 days, I was the mother of an only child.

For exactly 29 months, I was the mother of two children.

And then, on the first day of the last month of 2004, I became the mother of three.




And this little face changed my world and my heart forever...





(at three months)


(one year... and yes, I took a picture of a scrapbook, so ignore that ribbon in the corner.)


(And today at lunch, when I brought her a Happy Meal. She was so proud of her birthday button... it flashes.)


Happy Birthday, Libs. Love you, sweet girl :)