Suburban moms with 'Tats'....

If you think this is a blog about suburban moms and their 'tatas'... you misread. Please redirect your browser.

Nope, I'm talking about those suburban, stay at home, cookie baking, mini-van driving mamas... with a tattoo. You see it all the time these days. Heck, I can't go to the park with my kids without seeing at least 2 or 3 other moms, bending over with their 'tramp stamps' showing, or seeing the flash of a butterfly on an ankle.

And, in case you missed it (or you don't know me...), (or you haven't seen me in the last 13 years...), I am one of those very women. That's right, my friends.... my inner left ankle is 'inked'.

My personal tattoo story is not very interesting or provocative, but surprisingly enough, it DID involve alcohol of the 'tequila' variety. (huge shock, I know!) It was a 'what a great way to finish out this hellish year of middle school' (okay, now, I wasn't IN middle school, mind you! Geez...) And after having a few margaritas with some of my teacher pals, we decided we should all go get tattoos!

So, we trooped on over to Atomic Tattoo... where I picked out a giant skull with a snake coming out of one of the eyesockets. Fortunately my friends were NOT as drunk as I was, and talked me out of it. ;-)

I settled on the cutest little ladybug... had them shrink it as small as they could without completely losing detail (hey! is that a melanoma on your ankle?!!), and the tattoo artist proceeded to make me wish I'd chosen a bubble bath, or a shopping trip or even a root canal to celebrate the end of the school year! Yes... it hurt. The vibration on that ankle bone... damn! Sets my teeth on edge just to think of it, 13 years later. (I am a weinie, so please don't comment about how you got your entire back tattooed with the Gettysburg Address, and you didn't flinch once.)

Oh, and here's the rub... do you think anyone else actually GOT a tattoo that day?!! Of course not! Okay, in their defense, it can't be very encouraging to watch someone sweating bullets and crying over a tattoo that is no bigger than a dime.

So, seeing all those moms at the park, sporting their tattoos, made me wonder what their stories are? I can almost guarantee that none of us pictured ourselves, years later, pushing our little ones on the swings, swapping mommy 'tales'. We all thought we'd stay young, cool and hip forever (okay, at least, I did!)

Do I regret my little tiny tattoo? I'd like to say 'never', but it actually depends... on the day, the place, the time, the oufit. Most days I don't even think about it. It's just a part of me now. And its a part of my past... inked into my memory.

How to build a better blog...

Okay, so in an effort to improve my blog, I've taken the liberty of checking out some of the 'Blogs of Note' featured here on Blogspot. It seems like there might be some kind of formula to all this blogging, and here I was, just flying off half-cocked.

First and foremost, a lot of people are blogging about celebrity news or gossip. Now, that's not really my area of expertise, but seeing as how that seems to be what draws in the readers, I *do* actually have a little tidbit of celebrity gossip that I picked up and am now ready to share with the world. Now, it seems that those cute little girls that played the baby, 'Michelle' on the sitcom "Full House", are grown up now and have all kinds of personal issues. Wow, who knew?! Aren't you glad you found this blog?!

Other blogs seem to focus on travels around the world. And they are 'oh so interesting' to read . I'm sorry, but I can barely focus on that 'national monument' when its right in front of me... pardon me if I can't drum up much interest in reading about how someone else visited there and bought enough postcards for their entire 2nd grade class. Considering most of my travels these days involve a trip to H.E.B. for ibuprofen and red wine, its possible that I'm just having a hard time relating.

Lastly, many of the blogs that get a lot of readers offer relationship advice. Aha! This is one I can do! Here's my relationship advice:

Never, EVER post a blog that implies that your husband was not a world-class diaper changer when the children were younger. Trust me... this blog might just save you a trip to H.E.B. for that box of red wine.

Consider yourself warned...

**Warning*** Today's post is filled with language of a graphic nature, and might cause spontaneous barfing. Reader discretion is advised. ***Warning***



Of the many things that I have gained as a result of being a mother... you know, wisdom, patience (ha!), some extra pounds, etc...... there is one thing that I simply can't *do* as a mother. I just CANNOT deal with barf. Puke. Upchuck. Vomit.

Whichever charming term its given, the fact remains that I am completely incapacitated by it. It's my kryptonite (yes, that and box tops, Sarah!!) And it never fails that it occurs in the middle of the night, right when I'm having a really great dream about Javier the pool boy (refer to Frog Butts blog). And last night was no exception...

A child will materialize next to our bed, with words to strike terror in your heart... "I threw up..." You sit up, ready to administer love and comfort, and while simultaneously placing your hand on their forehead to check for fever, you whisper the question, so hopefully... "Where, sweetie? In the toilet?"

But nope... of course the answer is always..... "In my bed." So begins the post-puke ritual of stripping the sheets, scraping the chunks (I warned you!), and bathing the child. Of course, there is the teeth brushing that follows, the sleeping bag placed on top of the bed (um, you didn't seriously think I'm taking the time to put new sheets on at 2:30 a.m., did you?!), and the cleaning of the carpet. (Oh yes... its never contained to just the bed! duh!)

And, if I was a good wife, I would just soldier on, and do this without waking my husband. But I just can't. I can't do it. I have tried, and it always turns out badly. Of course, I can usually make it to the toilet!

Now in my defense, I was the diaper queen... give me a disgusting diaper, and it doesn't faze me one whit. Poop running down a leg? Mommy's got it covered.... don't you worry. Phil would blanch at the sight of raisins in the diaper... but for this mom, it was all in a day's work.

So, in our personal puke patrol, we have a pretty good division of labor. Its a two man job, but we make it work. Phil deals with the sheets, carpet, etc. and I take care of the child. Giving baths, giving hugs, tucking back in, (and of course, you can't forget the all important trash can next to the bed!! Have we learned nothing?)

And honestly, I guess that's the way it should be. Because as we all know, when you don't feel good, all you want is your Mommy, anyway. Even if she's holding her breath. ;-)

House jargon...

I honestly do not understand repairmen. Nope, its not that I'm infuriated by prices or the fact that they track mud into my entryway. I just really cannot UNDERSTAND them. Its not a 'language barrier' thing... they can speak perfectly lovely English, and I still just stand there and go, "Uh, huh.... uh, huh... oh, okay..."

"Well, ma'am, today we added a flux capacitor to your air conditioning unit, so that the epg's are 50 to one. Which is standard in the industry."

Um... okay... that sounds just super. (?!!)

Usually I just let my husband deal with all that, and hope that the repairmen detail on the bill exactly what they completed. And when they sometimes don't do exactly the thing that Phil talked to them on the phone about... well, oops! Then I hear this, "Honey, why didn't you remind them that they were supposed to install a tabulator to the external component?! Remember we talked about how that was going to affect the energy output of the unit?"

"Um... uh huh... oh, okay..."

Frog butts

If wishes were wings, a frog wouldn't bump his ass a'hoppin...

Yep... definitely one of my favorite sayings. I've heard it said in a variety of different ways.. but this is my personal favorite. And if you have kids, you know all about their 'wishes'. You hear it alot... "I just wish..." (fill in the blank:)

1. we had a dog
2. I didn't have a brother
3. we could go to Disneyworld tomorrow
4. that Mommy would get off the stupid computer, so I could play with my Webkinz

So, I have been known to say that to my kids (substitute 'butt' for 'ass' in this particular scenario... I mean, seriously, what kind of mother do you think I am?!!) And if you say it really fast, they look at you funny and decide that its best to not bug Mommy while she's speaking in tongues.

But, I admit, I can sympathize with my children. I, too, have unfulfilled wishes. (of course, they have nothing to do with getting a four-legged friend to add to the family, much to my children's disappointment)

1. I wish I could completely renovate and update my kitchen. Granite countertops, anyone?!!
2. I wish that I had a cute pool boy named Javier. Heck, I'd even settle just for a pool.
3. I wish those kids would quit nagging me about those damn Webkinz when I'm trying to blog. "But I haven't even fed him for 4 days!" (Yeah, and see why we're not getting a real dog?!)

Just like everyone, I have some wishes. But for the most part, things around here are pretty good... life is pretty darn good. It's easy to get bogged down in the 'stuff' that we all want, and sometimes we all need a reminder that too much 'wishing' can make us all sore-ass little frogs.

Eight years ago...

I admit it... I have a terrible memory for events in my past. Recently I have reconnected with a couple of friends from high school, and they'll tell me stories... "Don't you remember?!!" Um, no?!

However, I *do* have a couple of days that stand out with clarity in my mind. Just a few, mind you... and today happens to be one of those days. And with very good reason.

Exactly eight years ago today, I became a mother. Exactly eight years ago today, my life was altered beyond anything I ever could have imagined. Exactly eight years ago today, I came to understand what it means to love another person more than yourself.

I can remember almost everything about that day in 2000. Every mother has that labor and delivery story that she knows by heart and could recite in her sleep (heck, I have three such stories!) But I won't bore you with the details about my water breaking, or the epidural that wasn't working (God, help me!)

I remember everything in stark detail, and I remember EXACTLY what I said the moment I first laid eyes on my beautiful daughter. I said...

"Oh my God! It's a baby!" Seriously... um, hello?!!! Not sure what the heck I *thought* I was doing in that hospital?! So, yes... it was in fact, a baby, and in that instant, I would have given my life for that baby I'd only just caught a glimpse of.

The few days after she was born are a bit more of a blur, but I do remember holding my beautiful little girl, crying, and asking my husband, "What did I ever do good in my life that I deserve her?"

And so began this rollercoaster thrill ride of motherhood, with all its exhilarating, exhausting, (sometimes nausea inducing) loops, twists and twirls. The frustrations, the joys, the sticky hugs, and with still so much to look forward to.

So yes, I am a mother. Starting 8 years ago today. A moment in time that helps define who I am. Three beautiful kids and all the craziness that goes with them... And still I ask, "What did I ever do good in my life that I deserve this?"

My kid, the comedian...

Sometimes my son (6 years old) just kills me... His comedic timing is outta this world.

Today we celebrated Josie's birthday. 8 years old... wow! She had already had her big party with 14 of her closest friends , and we just decided for her 'family party', we would go out to the eat and to the movies. (works out pretty well when your birthday is so close to Labor Day!)

She chose to go to Chuy's for lunch (she's definitely my kid!), where they sang to her and presented her with an ice cream sundae after we'd eaten. We also gave her the gifts we'd gotten for her. She had opened the rest of her gifts at her party last week, but we wanted to save the 'special' one for her actual birthday. So, she opened her new American Girl doll (Kit Kittredge), and was thrilled! She immediately took her out of the box and started reading her book before Phil had even paid the bill for lunch.

On the way to movie, I was explaining to her that there are not very many American Girl stores around, and that we didn't have one anywhere near us (yes, I know, in Dallas... but that might as well be on another planet!) And that Daddy had made a special trip to the American Girl Place in Chicago (the original!) on his recent business trip to Chicago. He bought Kit, and brought her back on the plane with him, and how it was so special that he'd done that for her... blah, blah, blah.

You get the picture... I'm wanting her to really appreciate that this doll is not just something you can pick up at Target. Phil even told her, jokingly, "I was probably the only man on the whole plane with an American Girl doll."

And from the back of the mini-van, I hear a little voice pipe up... the voice of my son... "Daddy, were there a lot of people laughing at you?"