Tromba

So, Lulo is sort of into Christmas this year and along with the story of Mary, Jofef and Baby Jesus he knows that he is getting some presents.

Now, I asked him what he wants and he said: "An Elephant."
What else do you want? An Elephant Tromba. (Tromba is the Portuguese word for "trunk". Two Portuguese nannies and a absentee mother...do the math.)

Anyhow, he wants this because Murray on Sesame Street spent a whole episode wearing an elephant tromba the other day. And Murray's sort of appeared to be made of a rubber band and a vacuum tube. Um, this is all I can find?

If 3 people tell me this is not phallic or frightening, then I will buy it. Speak now before the shipping charges kill me.

Need Further Information

The last time I went to Disneyland was with J before we got married over 6 years ago. My cousin is somehow affiliated with Disney and she gave us tickets as a gift for some pre-wedding festivity, perhaps the bridal shower. Anyhow, we went and it was fine. We were pretty much in agreement that we would never go back unless our future children had somehow been told that there was a place called Disneyland in existence and that they had to go for some homework assignment/field trip.

The funny thing is that I think that this commonality and one other thing that makes me a little strange cemented my relationship with J. Most people have deal breakers and I think my 2 deal breakers would have been (1) a spouse who wanted a season pass to Disneyland and (2) a spouse who wanted to have a dog or animal of any kind living in my house or on my property that I would be required to feed or care for. J basically agrees with this and so when times are rough (and they aren't often), I always think back to these two particular things and love J even more because (1) he'll never ask me if we can get a dog and (2) he'll never take me to Disneyland. I heart him.

Anyhow, I digress, as of late with this Facebook phenomenon whereby you can see everyone's status updates, I have noted that I have a lot of friends who totally LOVE Disneyland. They go at every opportunity. It completely baffles me. Can a Disney lover tell me why they love it? Let me into your world. I want to understand. Long lines abound. It is SO expensive. The food isn't notable. Am I doing something wrong? Where is the happy at the happiest place on earth?

A season pass at Disneyland is $429/person. To go for one day to Disneyland, for my family (excluding the twins because they are still 20 months) it would be $206. $206. I can get an 80 minute massage, a cocktail, and dinner for $206. Ok, that's selfish. The other day I managed to get my kids a HUGE BAG of clothes consisting of what is essentially their entire winter wardrobe for less than $200.

Moreover, I really can't go anywhere with these little people for more than a 3-4 hours or so because then they spontaneously combust with exhaustion and I proceed to combust. So, I would pay $206 for my entire family to disintegrate into tears in less than 4 hours.

Alright, so, I won't get to see the pure joy in the eyes of my children. I would pay $206 for the pure joy in the eyes of my children but is that why you Disney-philes flock there? Because honestly, I can get pure joy at the zoo and the kids almost burst with joy at the aquarium a few weeks ago and it was perfectly doable in a 4 hour block of time without breaking the budget. And then, there are those people who always loved Disneyland - as kids, as adults, pre-kids, post-kids, etc. And they will always completely baffle me. I almost can't imagine any place I would want to be less (excluding jail, underground tunnels trying to cross the border, and traffic school).

I need an explanation. Digame.

You Can't Change DNA

Though, I have not been diagnosed as clinically obsessive compulsive, J often jokes about the things that I am extremely anal about and how I need things a certain way. I am getting better now that chaos and Fisher-Price have exploded in my abode. But, we are very routined around here, and in my own existence, things are done the same way, all the time, or I get a little flustered and off.

Examples, the sheets have to be just right so I can sleep. If the sheets are messy in any way, then I will get out of bed and make the bed and then unmake it so I can sleep. J makes fun of me because he says I make the bed in the morning while he is still in it. {Sheepishly, yes, I make my half but otherwise, he doesn't and then I have to look at a mess.} Anyhow, that is beside the point.

When I was a kid, I remember repeatedly getting up out of bed because I was not sure if I had checked the closets for the monsters and The Night Stalker. Closet and then under the bed, maybe 7 times. I use the word kid loosely because I think I just stopped doing this in my 20s.
I also had the same Good Night ritual with my Mom, every single night. I would say the same thing in the same order. And, if she did not respond correct or if I did not hear it, or if I wanted it said again, then I would keep saying it and saying it and saying it. Totally psycho. And yet, my Mother never was like OMG GOOD NIGHT FRIGGEN ALREADY!!!

OK, OCD. So, here is my question. My Lulo is totally like me and you know what, it drives me a little nuts sometimes, makes me laugh other times. Mostly the nuts one. Am I allowed to get annoyed sometimes when he is really just doing what a little me would have done? Is this my genetic curse?

He wants his blankets on a certain way and if I tuck him in a little different, if the satin on one of his blankets is flipped over a little bit. He is like FIX THE BLANKET, FIX IT, FIX IT, FIX IT. And then, his Good Night ritual is the same, he wants to hear it, he wants to hear it the same way every night and he makes me repeat it and repeat it until it is how he wants it. I have a 100 examples of this kind of nonsense. These are just a few that are 100% identical to me.

He is soooo my kid. But, I do not think it is right to get irritated when he really is just me all over again. I mean, come on! He can't help himself, his genetic code is embedded with this anal retentive, weird borderline OCD stuff. I love that kid. He may not look like me, but he is totally me. How did my mother do this?

Discrimination in the Work Place

I know this is primarily a blog talking about my family and life and stuff. But, I do work. I am an attorney and my husband and I have our own practice specializing in intellectual property. The only reason the area of law is relevant is because this is not Family Law or some area where you may prefer to have a male or female attorney because of some kind of philandering issue or some money grubbing whore issue. Anyhow, the reason I bring this up is because today my Assistant fielded a call from a potential client that I thought was so comical and I am trying to get to the bottom of it.

The man called and said he wanted a "male attorney only." My assistant (a female) asked him what kind of issue this was regarding and he responded "internet law". She told him that the "man" here does not really do internet law and that most of these matters are handled by ME (not a man) and that I am FABULOSA.

He tried to convince her to put him through to the "man." (Seriously, he did.) But she was wise and did not put him through. (A) J would tell him that he does not handle internet matters and (B) on principle alone, GO FIND A MAN ELSEWHERE!!!

This firm was founded by a woman. Look at our WEBSITE (which is where he found us) - 75% WOMEN ATTORNEYS. Figure it out.

And because I am a discriminating a-hole with a middle eastern father who I respect and love dearly even though he'd rather talk to J than me, I asked her if he sounded like an AY-rab. Nope. No accent. And so, it was just some dude who likes dudes. And I don't get it? A porno website? Maybe that is the only thing - lots of tits and ass on the website and so he was like, how can I ask a woman to click the OVER 18 box and look at tits and ass? Just thought this was humorous. A MAN ONLY. A penis is the only thing that could solve his internet issue? Bastard. Hope he finds a MAN who charges him too much and does not pay for his porno subscription. OK, am I wrong here? Seriously, I don't get it. Why call a professional law office and ask for a man? I get wanting a woman gynecologist, I even get wanting a particular sex for a family lawyer, but OUR firm? Seriously? Gimme a break.

Puzzle Pieces.

20 months ago today, the twins were born after a long hard pregnancy. And so, of course, today on Thanksgiving-eve, I am thankful for a whole boatload of stuff - my family and friends most of all.

But, today, 20 months to the day of their glorious and splendid birth, I am very thankful for the fact after many many attempts over the last several months and a heated session this evening in the garage, J and I finally figured out how to fit the twin stroller AND Lulo's stroller in the trunk of the minivan.

If that is not a marker of success in a marriage and in parenthood, then I don't know what is. Happy Thanksgiving.

The Ex-Nanny Chronicles Part IV: Jane Doe

Before Herpes nanny, we had Jane Doe nanny. And the reason I call her this is not because she died without identification but because I cannot remember her name. She was young, bright eyed, and bushy tailed. She came to an interview all dressed up and just so. Her cousin brought her and she was also one of her references because Jane had been taking care of her kids.



Anyhow, she came on a Sunday night with all her stuff. She loved scrapbooking and took copious notes (like 4 pages worth) on my one page to do list. This should have been a sign. What can you annotate next to "Do Laundry." She had squiggly big letters that reminded me of this girl in high school who used wide ruled paper, took up the ENTIRE line, and dotted her i's with hearts.



Jane came on a Monday, on Tuesday night she locked herself out of the house when she went outside for a walk at midnight, on Wednesday she came into my office crying that she missed her family in New Mexico and was giving her notice...for Friday! She then asked me to help her buy her plane ticket with her paycheck that she had yet to earn on my computer with my credit card.



This story is funny in and of itself but the punch line was when Herpes nanny spent the night in Jane's room the first time. She came up to me and told me that she found a roach in the room.



To which I responded, "HOLY SHIT a roach. Now we have ROACHES. I hate Roaches. Ew, roaches. There is never just one roach. Ew, ROACHES. I hate roaches. We better get an exterminator in here."



To which Herpes Nanny generally responded in the following fashion, "No, Dear Tina from Orange County, not that kind of roach." This kind.



Oh, Jane Doe, let's just call you Pot Smoking Nanny.

The Cutest Nose, Evah.

School pictures are a funny thing. My mother, of course, kept all of mine. It is a wonderful little catalog that highlights why I got a nose job and why the 1980's bangs that my Mom called "rooster" bangs were not flattering with my Winnebago nose (aptly termed by the very cruel Joey Termini in 5th grade.) Anyhow, moving along.

My Lulo got back his first school pictures. I picked them up from the front office this morning and everyone was all "Lulo looks SOO cute." Yes, he does, my little bubbs. Kill me now with his cuteness, I want to bite his little head off and kiss him forever. Seriously, I went and sat in my minivan and flipped through the different poses and started balling. He is growing up. He was just in utero and now I have a school picture. And in a few years, he'll have missing teeth, then acne, and hopefully his father's nose and I will be wondering where the time went.

Most of the time, I am really glad they are all getting older. I look forward to mobility and ease and leaving the house without me or one of them having a nervous breakdown. I think that is probably going to happen in the next decade. But, today, in my minivan littered with animal crackers and sippy cups with Baby Einstein music fighting the thoughts in my head, the time felt like it went really fast and I can't believe my oldest has a school picture.

The Ex-Nanny Chronicles Part 3: Thanksgiving that She is Gone

My e-mail to Jade today:

Dear Jade:

I know you are busy but I have had your clothes sitting in a bag here for a while. So, by law, I have to give you 30 days notice to come pick up your stuff. Today is November 20, 2009, if you do not pick up your stuff by December 20, 2009, I will be taking it to Goodwill.

Please let me know when you plan on coming by so I can leave it outside.

***

Jade, the gift that keeps on giving.

Taking Me Out of the Equation

Yesterday, J and I had a formal event to go to at night. So, I missed dinner time, bath time, bed time, reading time. With the exception of dinner, I like the nighttime routine. But, I am feeling sort of distressed about something. Maybe you have some thoughts on this, maybe not. But, I just want to say, this is not like a poor me, I am on the border of suicide type thing. It's more like, here it is and I am frustrated and sad thing.

Here is the deal. OK. Sigh.

Last night (when I wasn't around), dinner was a breeze (so I hear). Easy peasy. Lunch was a breeze. The only time any one cried is when I was there. In the mornings when I am here before work from about 7-9, there is always 1 or 2 children crying. They all want me, they all can't have me because I have yet to split into 3 whole versions of myself. So, I go to one, the others cry. I have 2, the third one cries. It is such a rare occurrence that they are all silent and pleased.

Same thing at dinner or any meal I am present for. Other than the general chaos that I believe has been discussed in some detail here on this blog. Seriously, Lulo wants me and I usually have 1 or 2 people to help with the twins (J and MIL/Nanny and J/Nanny A and Nanny B). So, I go to Lulo and then Jojo loses it. Won't eat, throws sippy cup at me to get my attention. I go to Jojo when I have a chance, Lulo stops eating and throws a fit. Lulo wants to sit on my lap. Then, Lulo will only eat on my lap. I don't like creating bad habits of him eating on my lap so I refuse, then he melts down on the floor and cries and screams. This disturbs the other 2. At this point, Juju notices that he's not with me and is like, hmm, I will throw a sippy cup at her.

Here is the thing. I like being here. Chaos and all. These are my kids. I want to be with them when I can be with them. But, honestly, they are so much happier when I am not here. They eat, there are no tears. The things that need accomplishing are accomplished. What am I DOING HERE? I feel like my presence is an invitation for melt downs and unhappiness which makes me want to remove myself entirely. But then, they don't have me and I don't have them. And we are all alone. I mean, it's good they want me but it's good when they eat and play and don't cry.

Feels like a lose-lose instead of win-win and really I just need wine wine but all that is truly happening is whine whine. Here are the kids, it's dinner time! Wish me luck!

What Should I Feed the Natives?

I cook big people food and they don't eat it. (Disregard my last post, I can cook pretty decent now...it's been six years after all.)


I make kid friendly stuff - pasta without sauce, pasta with sauce, chicken nuggets, fish sticks, french fries, potatoes. They don't eat it.


I buy total crap - McDonalds? Cheeseburgers, Nuggets, Fries, etc. They don't eat it.


I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THEY WANT ANY MORE!


Seriously. I don't know what to feed them. Breakfast is the only meal that is even bearable anymore. They'll eat pancakes, waffles, french toast, cereal. OK. Easy.


Lunch, I struggle to think up something that they will eat. Don't tell me to roll up lunch meat in something. THEY DON'T EAT IT! I think and think for the whole morning. I try to vary it up...but THEY DON'T EAT ANYTHING.


Dinner is more of the same. They eat a few bites of this and that. Then start spitting, throwing, Jojo wants to get out of his chair. Juju sees Jojo act up and then he starts acting up.


I totally don't know what to do or make or give them anymore. And so help me God, if one more kid throws something at me, I am moving out.


I am incredibly frustrated with them. I have sort of given up on Lulo, if he doesn't eat what I put in front of him. He doesn't eat. I am not going to make 12 things so that his Highness will have something to eat. With that said, the twins are little. What am I supposed to do? Sort of losing it. They are smiling and cute and hydrated. And their weight is fine. I REFUSE TO BE A SHORT ORDER COOK. I CANNOT MAKE one thing and two backups and something different for Lulo and then Jojo and then Juju. What do I do? Seriously? Am I being shitty? Am I supposed to do that? One meal for each of them, and then backups, and then something for Julio and I. That's like 7 meals. I can barely make 1.


I suck at this. Seriously. Suck. At. This. Losing my mind, not my lap.

Coming a Long Way

When I got married I didn't know how to cook. My mother is an amazing cook so I never felt the need to actually make anything. I could make a box of Pasta Roni, I could order in, I could whip up a mean batch of cereal...and Pop Tarts. That's it.

J does not eat cereal, or Pop Tarts. He was made fully aware of my inability to cook prior to offering me his hand in marriage. But, alas, love is blind. I think he thought that my genetics would kick in. However, there comes a time when Pasta Roni does not cut it anymore and I had to make real food.

I got back from our honeymoon, in love, and ready for a challenge. After a long day at the office, J was not home yet, I decided to make chicken. I went into the freezer. Called my mother crying because I did not know how to defrost it. She talked me through it and I panicked when it partially cooked in the microwave. Then, I tried to cook it. I honestly don't remember the details but when J got home that night, the entire kitchen was covered in salmonella, paper towels, and my tears. It was a really special scene.

I literally burst into tears when he got home. I then went to my car and cried while he finished making dinner. It was pretty sad. J could totally cook. He "fixed" dinner, no one acquired dysentery, we are still married, and now I can make chicken.

The only reason I am thinking of that debacle is because tonight I wanted to surprise J with some wontons. He loves them, his Mom rocks at making them, I had all the stuff. He has been working harder than he usually works lately...which means 20 hours a day, 7 days a week, at least. I had all the stuff. Well, right now as I write, I just finished cleaning my kitchen that was covered in oil. I have little third degree burns due to splattering oil all over my hands. It took me like 30 minutes to clean the oil from ALL OVER my stove, and tea kettle, and cookbook stand, and floor. I think the floor is still a bit slick. I will have to clean it again before one of the children fall.

Julio ate it though. And he was really happy. His Mom's is WAAAY better. Sigh. I try, I fail. I hope it is the thought that really counts because I did not think they were very good. I didn't cry though, that's good, right? I've come a short way, baby.

A Breeding Ground for Subdural Hematomas

Meals are a real unique experience these days. The twins are 19 months and are starting to test me. They are also copying each other and think they are extremely clever and cute. Well, the cute is not going to save them from having a mother who wanders around the house mumbling incoherently because she got walloped on the head by a flying sippy cup and does not have the time for a proper CT scan.

It's not just hard plastic objects at the table. It is also food. There was a time when I thought a nugget lost its ability to fly when it was (presumably) scooped out of the grain fed, hormone free organic chicken ;), shaped into a dinosaur, breaded, and baked. But nope, they fly here. They are free here. Naughty chickens reincarnate into nuggets and fly in my house without wings.

That little Jojo, he winds up, he looks you in the eye, he gives you a smile and twinkle, and catapults his object of choice. And then, there is Juju, sweet Juju, innocent mellow happy Juju, who really just wants to eat. He is fat and hungry. But, as he owes his in utero donor twin his life, he decides, "well I will take one for the team", and so he flings his nugget/corn/bean/bread etc. into the void.

Why do they DO this? What goes through their mind? If I react, they think I am hilarious. They think THEY are hilarious. Well, they aren't. This is especially true on the 2 days a month when the maid has come and made my floors gleam for a short lived hour. If I don't react, they don't eat or they do it again and again. Then, I look at the clock, thank the Lord for the schedule that I enforce, and countdown the minutes until I can be on my hands and knees locating unconsumed morsels of food on the floor wondering why I am seeing double and have a headache.

This too shall pass.
This too shall pass.
This too shall pass.
Patience is a virtue.
Patience is a virtue.
Patience is a virtue.
Clean floors are not possible.
Clean floors are not possible.
Clean floors are not possible.

Happy Despite Appearance to the Contrary

Lulo has taken to asking me 20 times a day (usually at dinner when I am at my most irritable because no one is eating and the twins are throwing things) whether I am happy.

"Are you happy, Mama? Mama, are you happy?"

Is he confirming that I am happy or is he questioning whether I am happy?

If there is a difference between the two, I hope it is the former that he is after.

Let me confirm: I am happy, Lulo.

Ex-Nanny Chronicles Part II: Jaded

I fired Jade 10 days ago. Best decision I ever made. Her leaving has relieved a great burden upon my heart. She was here for 12 days and I have a complaint about her for every single day she was here. But for now, let me tell you why her specter is still rattling chains in my attic.

On Saturday I went down to the nanny's room and opened the drawers to get some towels. In each and every drawer remained her clothes. Hoochie clothes of every variety. Things she should not have traipsed around in in my house. Things she should not have traipsed around in anywhere but a brothel. No, I am not a Republican. I fully support hoochie clothes because there is a time and a place for everything. But, ass crack and boobage is not usually necessary while caring for toddlers.

Back to my point, I go to the room for the towels and I kid you not every single drawer had some item of Jade's in it. Did she not notice that HALF her wardrobe was not with her anymore? Did she cavort so much that she did not know where she left her clothes? It is not like I fired her with a gun to her head. She had the room to herself for as long as she needed. No one was watching her pack. Who just leaves all their clothes in the drawers?

I, of course, felt like a dillhole of the highest order for not checking the drawers before the new nanny got here. To my credit, the new nanny was here 2 hours after Jade left. I only had time to wash the sheets and vacuum the floor. First time I had seen the floor in 12 days. I leave a hotel room I am in for 1 or 2 days and check every drawer just to make sure...I don't get it.

Anyhow, the trash bag full of her clothes is next to my front door. She was supposed to pick it up 4 hours ago. Am I surprised? No.

Ponona

Hi Lulo.

Hi.

What's your name?

Lulo.

How old are you?

Free.

Where do you live?

Peru.

No, where do you live Lulo?

Ponona.
***

We honestly might as well live in Peru or any number of third world countries because this place is sort of reminiscent of the mediocre neighborhoods in most third world countries I have visited.

Everyday I sort of wish I could pick up my house by it's base and MOVE IT to another city. I hate this place. J and I had an agreement (not in writing but generally understood) that this move to Ponona was temporary. Maybe 5 years. It has been 3 and there is no end in sight...maybe another 5 years. Maybe until one of us gets shot and it's just too sad to live here because of the memories.

I have gone to our local Smart & Final several times as of late because it's the closest place with food. It is vile. Obesity and bad smells are everywhere. The lines are long. The bums and cholos loitering outside abound. At least they admit it and tell me that Jesus is helping them with their crack addiction if I buy their candy. They also commended my choice of pumpkin as I gripped my minivan key fob alarm button.

Also, this morning I went to the Ponona Courthouse North to deal with my speeding ticket because the City was too lame-o to send me a courtesy notice. There was a guy ahead of me who provided his Costco card as ID. He also argued that it was his constitutional right to get an extension on his driving ticket.

Mind you, at Planned Parenthood down the street in Ponona, a woman cannot walk in without getting mobbed by anti-abortion protesters so she can get an abortion for a fetus in her own body. What you do with your own body is barely a right that can be exercised. But, getting an extension on a traffic ticket in Ponona is apparently constitutional...that and bearing arms.

I hate this place. How can I move a house?

The Ex-Nanny Chronicles Part I: Is that clear? Crystal.

Crystal started as the night nanny for the twins shortly after they got home from the hospital. Not having a night nanny for twins and working full time is pretty damn hard. I did it for 8 weeks while recovering from a c-section and gimping on my plantar fasciitis feet and then realized that I either needed to be committed to an institution or get a night nanny...I splurged for the night nanny. Enter Crystal.

I did not have to be friends with Crystal. She was supposed to be here while I slept and so I did not care if we were not going to be best friends or whether she would set a good example for the kids. Her term was going to be extremely temporary. She was doing fine at night and my daytime nanny was taking a vacation (terrible damn timing) so I asked Crystal if she stop working nights and could help out during the day in the interim. (The babies were sleeping a good block at this point.)

Aside from the drama of actually getting here when she was supposed to on a consistent basis, one of my favorite incidents is from the day I fired her. She had been with us about 6-8 weeks (not every day due to the aforementioned "inability to show up/show up on time" drama) and I found her crying. Sympathy is not one of the qualities I am known for. She was crying because her boyfriend told her that he had herpes and so she should get tested. Good times.

I did not fire her because she had herpes, that would be cruel. A sore here and there would not affect her ability to put a bottle in my newborn's mouth every 3-4 hours. This is especially true because I would not actually be witness to these sores. She would not be seeping on anything that I own or love. Anyhow, moving on.

The reason I fired her is because she was so distressed about her potential herpes diagnosis that she could not work the rest of her shift and she did not want to wait until she got an appointment to take off. She wanted to leave immediately and come back at some undisclosed time after she had a doctor's appointment that she had not yet made but planned on making the next day.

Honestly, at this point, I just needed HELP. H.E.L.P. But, this was the only time EVER that I literally fired someone without having a backup of ANY KIND. I told her to get her stuff and get out of my house.

Cruel to fire someone who just found out she might have herpes. Yes.

But it felt so damn good after all her nonsense.

Get out of my house, Crystal. Is that clear?

A Time to Read, A Time for Every Purpose

One of my favorite things in the world is to read. I love it. Give me time and leisure and I read. J and I went on vacation to the Domincan Republic in August. We were gone for 9 days and I read five or six books (between naps and meals) and lots of magazines...anything I could get my hands on including the SkyBuy magazine where I could buy anytihng for anything and would seroiusly never buy nothing. Decadence. Seriously.

You know what is weird is that I was in the hospital for 3 months gestating the twins and hooked up to monitors and required to remain on my back 24 hours a day and I never read. Nothing. I maybe read an article here or there in a random magazine. But, I could not focus. Could not read for pleasure. I worked. I read work stuff. But, not one page of one novel. I could have read like 80 books in 80 days. I read none. Weird.

I guess I am thinking about this right now because I have not read since I got back from the DR. I thought at first it was because I read so much that my little brain needed a break. But, really, I think when things are not in some order, when there is no peace, my mind cannot enjoy reading and so why bother. I typically read to escape and go to another place for a little while. But, how can I escape when my attention is required here. So weird.

Tonight, I feel like picking up a book again. Are things falling into place again? I hope so. I have a stack here calling to me. It's a time to read.

Boys to Men

What a difference a haircut makes - They aged before my eyes.

Stay babies.

You Won't.

You are little boys now.

Sniffle.

Blessed

A Facebook friend of mine who I recently became acquainted with wrote one of those Notes on her page. I know she is an avid reader. And from some of her Notes and other things, I know that she recently lost her Mom and she has a disabled son. She is a lovely lady and I pretty much liked her instantly. I think you can see genuine in people. Anyhow, I was reading these Notes - all of which touched me - and she was doing one of these "completing the sentence" exercises and she wrote:

I have a low tolerance ... for people that have been blessed, and are unaware of it.

She is so right it hurt me to my core today. I don't know why this got to me today. I used to keep a journal of things I was thankful for. Why did I stop that? Why do I complain about the sniffles, and the helmet, and the stupid pediatrician, those last 15 lbs, living in Pomona (bleck ;)) and so many other lame things...

I am blessed: J, Lulo, Juju, Jojo, My Parents (alive and well). What else do I need?

I am often aware of how blessed I am but it seems to be overshadowed by all the "stuff" that needs doing. Today, I was really aware...there were signs everywhere to stop and breathe the blessings.

Seeking a Promoter

Lulo has been hitting (pushing, kicking, swatting) his brothers. They are moving now. Getting in his space. Drawing attention towards themselves and he don't like it. Not. One. Little Bit. J says that "boys will be boys" and that is fine and good. But the little ones are little and frankly, I am SO not interested in meeting my insurance deductible this year because of Lulo's temper.

If one approaches him, he says he is scared. This is a crock. This is straight from Damn Diego and all the animals he rescues. The twins are half his size and won't do anything to him. I am trying not to freak out and yell. Though, when he nails his brothers or I am trying to get him to stop what his little, mean brain is thinking about doing, I raise my voice. I am trying to let him be and see what happens without getting involved. I've tried time outs and rewards.

Anyhow, because it is easier and more fun and I like seeing them all calato (naked) in the bathtub together - we give them baths together at the same time. I took a break for a couple weeks because Lulo was not having it. He did not want either of the boys even near him. Basically, one day, Lulo hit Jojo in the face, Jojo fell back and hit his head, Jojo shrieking. Juju crying out of sympathy. I yelled at Lulo for hitting his brother. He started crying. I took Lulo out of the bath and removed him from the bathroom. Big mess.

This weekend, everything went OK with bathtime with all three at the same time again so I thought, OK, MAYBE WE CAN DO THIS AGAIN. Routine starts again.

Then, today, I introduced a new toy. Four stupid plastic turtles from Target. Lulo wants all four. Jojo wants one. I tell Lulo to share. He plays with one and puts the other three on the ledge where Jojo can't reach it. Spitefully. {Me, seething.} Jojo tries to get one. Lulo nails him in the face. Jojo falls back and hits his head. Jojo starts crying. I sit Jojo back up and rub his head and he calms down. Jojo waits for Lulo to get close enough and Jujo jabs Lulo in the face. No hesitation. Pure art. Just smacked him one good.

I sort of did a silent cheer for Jojo. That kid is small but mighty. Lulo deserved it.

Is that mean that I sort of cheered for Jojo? J came in the bathroom with calato Juju and asked what happened because I seriously couldn't contain the laughter and I told him.

He said, "boys will be boys." Whatever you want to call it is fine with me. Jojo did some fine work today and we are seeking representation.

Summer PJs

I just started putting summer pajamas on the boys. Until a few days ago, it was still getting cold at night. So, they were all in long sleeves and long pants. The nightly ritual of stuffing the twins' really fat legs and chubby arms into these "fire retardant" extra safe pajamas was getting really old. I don't really get the whole safe pajama thing. I put the twins in 18-24 month pajamas and it's like stuffing a sausage into its casing. I sweat trying to get their fat legs into these pajamas. And you may think, "lady, get larger pajamas."

But, alas, it does not matter.

All manufacturers make pajamas tight in all sizes because I think they are trying to prevent some loose pajama-ed child from lighting on fire. I know that this is a serious topic and third degree burns are no laughing matter. But, you know, I wonder if there could be a proper balance between the likelihood of catching on fire and the likelihood of a mother losing her mind and/or the likelihood of accidentally breaking a bone or bruising a kid while trying to shove chubby, clean, rolly polly legs into pajamas. Tell me if I am wrong and I will advocate for the tight pajama.

Anyhow, tonight the tight pant pajamas were replaced by little shorts. The rolls and creases were loose and on display for adoration and kisses. Their legs, except for the creases, are tanned from their afternoon walks.

Lulo is lanky now. He had rolls last year but this year, his legs are long, skinny, and he asks me to put socks on. The passing of seasons dawned on me tonight and I had to breathe it in and be amazed by how the time is flying. It doesn't feel like it from day to day but the tight pajamas were just here. And now, they are in shorts, summer is upon us.

Huh? What?

Who is Speidi? What did they do?

I need to eat mass amounts of chocolate.

Megan Fox bugs me. What did she do? Why do I keep seeing her in dresses?

I need to eat an entire pizza.

The reason I watched Jon & Kate was to see parents ungracefully cope with six children who were the same age. It made me feel better. I could give a rat's heiny about Kate's scooter. I also don't care that they are in a brawl. Just show me the kids. Show me your day to day, that's why we watched your family. Get on it. It's made us feel better about our own chaos. Damn.

I need to eat a french dip sandwich.

I really like Boot Camp. I am going to keep doing that. Go away rolls.

So, I need to eat nothing.

I bet Megan Fox eats nothing.

No, seriously, who is Speidi and why is Al Roker interviewing them? Why does Al Roker interview anyone? He needs to just keep telling me about my neck of the woods.

$20 in Your Pocket

I am a big fan of rewarding myself before I have accomplished anything. I like to indulge my inner OC. You can take the girl out of OC but you can't take OC out of the girl. So, on that note, before my very first EB, I went to Target and saw some work out stuff. Bought work out sweats in XL. Put them on (at home). I looked like a heiff. Panty lines, cellulite, muffin tops, bulge, needin' a nip/tuck tightness everywhere. This might work for some people but I don't believe in exposing the world to my rolls more than need be. Tight pants and Jog Bras sans Top are not my MO.

I was sort of mad at the world and exclaimed "HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT THESE XLS DONT FIT ME." XL was pretty much the only size that still had some room for me. THESE SWEATS were BAD - no room. Just bulges and yuckiness a la Kirstie Alley post Jenny Craig.

So, I tucked them in the drawer. Sadly. No new pants to celebrate my heifferness. I started Boot Camp with my old loose pants. Finished my first session, finished my second session. Started my third session.

Then, this weekend I was talking to my cousin, A, who shared with me her love of Target work out clothes. I told her my sad story about the XLs that weren't and she sheepishly said, "Well, you kind of have to stretch them out." Uh huh, sure. I knew she was thinking..."Tina, I think you were very close to needing 2 plane seats."

Well today, I got out of the shower and I thought. OH I BET THOSE PANTS FIT ME NOW. I bet A is right and they'll fit with a little stretching. I should give them a try.

No dice.

You know WHY? Because, the damn things are Size Medium!

Terms of Endearment

For the most part, my husband and I called each other by our last names. He uses my maiden name - GXXXXXX. I use his surname (LXXXXXX) - which is also my surname now that I committed to this marriage and to standing in line at the Social Security office, DMV, and Post Office (for the passport). Anyhow, most people use, "sweetie" or "babe". We use our surnames.

Example:

J: "Hey GXXXXXX, can you pass the ketchup?"

Me: "Sure, here LXXXXXX. Can you pass the Dulce de Leche Cheesecake? Thank you, You are the Best LXXXXXXX."

Anywho, Lulo has been running a fever since last night. Last night it was low grade and he was eating like a champ and in a great mood so...I blew it off. Today, it was in that 101 range all day. It started to freak me out when the fever only went up after I gave him Tylenol. Anyhow, I called my Dad 72 times today and each time he said - if he is in a good mood and you gave him Tylenol just wait it out.

Well, I called my Dad again at 4ish and told him that Luk's temp was 101.7 (under his arm) and my Dad said that it sounded like an ear infection since it kept hanging on. And, then, he told me to look in his throat...like this is an easy task. Weirdly, I asked Lulo to say AHHHHHH while I look in his mouth and he fully cooperated. I damn near passed out that he cooperated. And then, I damn near passed out when I saw little pockets of PUSS all over his tonsils. NIIIIIIICE.

So, Dad calls in a prescription and I was standing in line waiting for my friendly pharmacist technician (David) to find Lulo's bag o' magic. And then, the actual Pharmacist (real name: My Luc - as in "just my luck") looks up from busily measuring out the Prozac and says, from across the pharmacy:

My Luc: "Hey LXXXXXX, it is a good thing your Dad is a doctor because you would have to wait months for a regular doctor for all the medicine your family needs."

Yep, this is how well I know our neighborhood CVS pharmacist.

Wonder if she has any cheesecake?

Boobie Pantalones.

In law school, I was in a study group with all guys. We got to choose our study groups and I am glad that I landed with these guys because the stress level was low (or as low as it can be for law school) and they were all smarter than me so I was positively influenced and their knowledge often seeped down to me. Anyhow, we had many, many nicknames for several of the people in our class. Many.

"Friendly Neighborhood" was the name we had for a particularly aloof fellow and I think we called him that because of a specific incident when he was particularly not friendly. "Quilty" was this woman who repeatedly (approximately once a week) wore this awful outfit that basically looked like a purple quilt - large purple buttons, tapered pants. Head shaking as I think about it. "Hatch" a/k/a "Cone Head" had a horrible, horrible haircut reminiscent of Kate Gosling's (of Jon & Kate + Eight) but worse, and higher, and more horrible. "Toadie" was the girl who followed Hatch around.

Get the idea? OOOOK - there is a point here. I obviously became a lawyer - we didn't JUST make fun of people in law school. But if you aren't a lawyer, I just want to say that law school is a breeding ground for people that must be ridiculed while you are sitting around in your study group for 7 hours straight.

So, on that note, I need to speak about Boobie Pantalones. Unfortunately, in the case of Boobie Pantalones, she was a really, really nice (and from what people said) and good professor. She got this name because my friend B and I are horrible people. Also, she wore her pants ("pantalones" en Spanish for the gringos) RIGHT UNDERNEATH her Boobies. In other words, she would wear a top and her pants would be maybe 1 inch below her boobs and her shirt would usually be tucked in and she would have a belt one. Oh, the fashion crisis. As such, she was bestowed the name "Boobie Pantalones".

Anyhow, once again, I have a point.

I totally thought of Boobie Pantalones as of late because for the last 3 years I thought my tops have been shrinking but they are not. I am not getting taller. My torso appears to have remained the same. I don't really get WHY the length of my shirts seems shorter. I THINK the reason is because I am fatter and there was SOME stretching that occurred when I carried my litter last year. I pretty much ALWAYS layer a tank or something underneath shirts to give the illusion of length. I am very much against the "bare midriff". My midriff is gag worthy. So, I don't want anything hanging out. Ew. I respect the eyes of others.

However, today, I was like WHY IS THIS SHIRT SOOO SHORT. And for a brief moment, I pulled up my pants, and the shirt was the PERFECT LENGTH!

Boobie Pantalones, I get it now. I salute you.

Take one Down, Pass it Around

The house is quiet. I just washed two bottles and placed them on the bottle rack to dry. No sterilizer anymore.

And for some reason, I thought back to last year.

16 bottles a day. 8 bottles/day per baby. That's a lot of bottles to wash.

Right now, I would have been mixing the next day's pitcher of formula. I would make 64 ounces of formula at a time because there was no time. I would get the first few sets of bottles poured so I wouldn't have to at the last minute.

You know...

I love washing only two bottles. I love reaching for the whole milk. I love that the sterilizer is not cluttering the counter anymore. I love that the checkout lady at Costco doesn't look at me weird because I am buying four large cans of formula and she knows that she just saw me buy four cans two weeks before.

***

I love that they still smell like babies without being baby babies.
I love that they smile because they are laughing or happy and not because they have gas.
I love that they are more mobile, more interactive, more interesting.

Nothing to Get Hung About?

This is the second Saturday in a month where I have attempted to do something fun with my kids and had it not go great. You know, I am feeling totally inadequate. I seriously get nervous as I put them all the minivan. In fact, today, I prayed. I said, "Please God. Don't let anyone get sick on the way there or throw up or scream or die or generally embarrass me. Please let us get through this unscathed."

I am scathed.

Can I never leave without some incident? Without regretting that I didn't just put on Wonder Pets and play with the twins?

Two Saturdays ago. We went to a park that was on a trail in Claremont. Cutest park EVER. I see it on runs for EB and I always think "GEE WIZ, that park would rock Lulo's world."
Yeah, RIGHT. We got there and all he said was "I want to go home, I want to go home." He chanted it. Jojo's nose began running like a faucet. Juju ate dirt when I was distracted cleaning Jojo's nose and telling Lulo to knock the WHINING OFF. We went home.

Today, I took them all to a strawberry field so we could get out, get some fresh air, pick strawberries. Go home, eat strawberries. Woohoo. Sounds harmless. Right? OK. It was going SOOOO WELL!! Lulo participated. Not a PEEP from the twins. They were mesmerized. Lulo picked a ton of strawberries. Spotted them. Pulled on them. Smooshed a few. But mostly fun times!!

Yeah, two BOXES of strawberries picked. Happy, dirty Lulo with a box of strawberries on his lap clutching each side of the box with his pink tinted hands from the strawberries that didn't make the cut (literally). Happy twins. Nanny and I give each other a look and a sigh...thinking...ok, that went good.

"Living is easy with eyes closed..."

So, I go to pay. We need to weigh the strawberries because just because you pick them yourself doesn't mean they are free. It is $2.99/lb. I take the box from Lulo.

ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE.

He chants (at HIGH VOLUME):
"I want the strawberries.
Give me the strawberries."

Shrieking, whining, screaming in the middle of the Farm Store.

I give them back to him and the nice lady gives us a bag to put the box in so we don't have strawberries everywhere. Makes sense. OH NO. God FORBID we put the box in a bag. Strawberries fly everywhere. He screams and cries - his face turns pink with strawberry juice and tears. Nanny picks up strawberries, I quickly pay, we scurry them out. Get them all in car seats. Clean hands. Confiscate strawberries (again) because all we need is strawberry juice staining the inside of our leased minivan. Lulo cries the entire drive home. Throws a FIT when we get home. J give him strawberries. I try to get him to the table for dinner luring him with clean and CUT strawberries. COMPLETE AND TOTAL MELTDOWN. He wanted me to FIX the strawberries. Really? I have to fix them. Why didn't your father have to fix the ones HE cut for you?

Why?
WHY?
Why can't this be easier?

I can't just stay indoors at all times just to avoid these situations. But, the only reward I get from going outside is screaming, tears...fighting with J, frustration with Lulo, frustration with myself. Guilt about losing my temper with Lulo after his FIT. After all - he is JUST a kid. He is just having difficult EXPRESSING HIMSELF. How will I do this again? and again? Times 3. Two at the same time. Oh my God. There isn't enough wine to get me through it.

Oh, and meanwhile, I read this post the other day by this Mom who has triplets. It is written by a blogger that I don't know at all but I always like reading her blog. I like her writing style and the way she weaves her Faith in God with the raising of her children. Anyhow, she talks about how when her triplets were born she was certain she wouldn't go anywhere alone with them but by four months she was taking them on walks alone. She also says the following as she ponders the advice she'd give to a soon-to-be Mom of triplets:

"I wish she understood how confidence building it would be for her as a mother to realize that she could care for them alone. I am sure it would shock her to know how quickly she would learn to do things like manage the grocery store with three infants or take them all for vaccinations...."
Um, I can't do that. I won't EVER do that. The thought of taking all three of my kids to the grocery store makes me anxious. I BARELY manage vaccinations with my MIL or nanny with me. What is WRONG with me?

There I was, driving home, nanny, twins, Lulo en tow. Aforementioned post repeating itself in my head. And, I was thinking I have ZERO confidence as a mother. I cannot care for them alone. I cannot even care for them WITH HELP! Lulo confuses me, pushes my buttons, frustrates me. I love him so much and yet I almost don't want to do anything with him for the fear of complete MELTDOWN over strawberries not being on his lap! I mean, how do you predict that?

Saturdays suck. They just make me feel like Monday can't come fast enough. Because on Monday, I have more control. I am confident. I can manage that kind of chaos. I can manage opposing counsel. I can manage clients. I can return e-mails. I can make rain. I can do that all.

But, I can't take my kids to the damn park. I can't fix strawberries.

The only good part of today was seeing his smile, on the strawberry field, his big brown eyes looking at me, proud of his accomplishment - "Another one Mama," while enthusiastically putting the large red strawberry he just picked in our box. Eagerly moving forward looking for his next prize.

Strawberry Fields Forever.

Why the Giraffe Can't Dance

I read this book to Lulo sometimes called "Giraffes Can't Dance" by Giles Andreae and Guy Parker-Rees. It is a great little book about this giraffe who...um....what was it....oh yeah, the giraffe CAN'T dance.

Giraffes are actually my favorite animal in the whole world. I can say this with confidence because when I went to Africa on safari I fell in love with them. They are graceful and beautiful and they spoke to me. I don't know why, I just love giraffes.

Anyhow, the giraffe, Gerald, goes to this jungle dance which they hold every year in Africa and he was sort of bummed when he took his turn to dance because he was, well, a spaz. And then this cricket tells him to basically close his eyes and listen to his heart and then he dances so beautifully and gracefully that all the other animals stood and watched him "quite entranced."

I really like this book. I sort of look forward to reading this one with Lulo. It touches my heart and makes my inner giraffe happy.

So, the other day, we are reading this book and he is identifying the various animals as he often does. There is this one picture showing the animals laughing at poor Gerald (see above).

Now, see the circled animal. Yep. That little animal, I think, is a meerkat. (Tell me if it is something else, I am ok with criticism in that regard.)

Then, Lulo CRACKS UP. Hysterical, loud laughter.

Pointing at the circled animal, he screams, "It's a pee pee. It's a pee pee."

More Hysterical Laughter.

Furrowed eyebrows. I am confused. "What Lulo? What is that?" You know, thinking it is some animal I don't know because last week I met my very first tapir...

"IT'S A PEE PEE, MAMA," while pointing to his penis (or rather the penis vicinity of his diaper) and then the circled animal. "It's a pee pee." More Hysterical Laughter.

Seriously, does that look like a penis to ANYONE reading this? Today he did the same thing so I KNOW it wasn't a fluke.

Oh, boys. They start early, don't they?

Pain in the Neck.

My neck hurts REAL bad. It has been hurting on and off for weeks, maybe months. But it gets better and then it gets worse. I have noticed that even when it feels better (more or less), I do not have the full range of motion in my neck. There is always a position in my neck that hurts. But when it HURTS, it is excruciating. I could cry if I had the time to think about the pain. If you touch my neck - it feels like a rock.

This long weekend I went to my parents' house with the kids and my Dad informed me that I had a muscle spasm and gave me some sttttttttrrrrrong meds - one for pain, one muscle relaxant. Last night, as I tossed and turned, I felt waaay less pain. I woke up today groggy, sleepy, and my neck still hurt. So, to rectify that, I am going take more meds. "Hi There Darvocet. Come to Mama." Fun, fun, fun.

Speaking of neck pain, Lulo is in RARE form. Today started with him kicking the crap out of me because he didn't want to put his shoes on to go to school. So, after WRESTLING with my two year old, I put him in the car sans shoes and figured he would be easier to handle when restrained by his five point harness. Anyone got a 12 point harness? Anyone? Is this thing on?

Yeah, so I wrestled again with him RESTRAINED in a 5 point harness. Won this time. Go me. I can only imagine the other parents in the parking lot. Me, restraining my kid, saying "Stop It" "Chill Out Lulo". You would think that we were both two years old. But, DUDE, he needed to have shoes on. He wailed when we got there, wailed while I was signing him in. Ms. K gave him a hug and he wailed. And then I "left" and watched him through the window. He stopped crying faster than Diego beckons Click the Camera a la Rosie Perez. Is he SERIOUS?

I called after 45 minutes to see if he was ok. "Oh, yeah. He is fine. He is dancing and can't wait to go outside." OK.

I am not understanding Lulo lately. We get home. He naps. He wakes up after 2+ hours. He goes to the park. We eat dinner. He gets angry about the appropriate usage of his fork and flings it at Nanny Extraordinaire. Nice. Puncture wound with your fish?

Then, he WAILS when we are gonna go upstairs so his Dad takes him outside to play. Then, he wails coming up the stairs. Wails in the bath. "I don't wanna take a bath. I don't wanna." Wails getting OUT of the 12 second "bath" I managed to get in. Wails getting dressed. So much so that I just held him while he sobbed. Do they have Midol for 2 year olds? Seriously. I read him something like 300 books in my most calmest and soothing voice. We talked at length about animal noises. I transitioned right before book 299 to let him know we were on the last one. HE WAILS at the end of that. I put him in bed. Leave the room. His crying ceased the MOMENT I left the room. Is he crying because he WANTS me to leave? Is that the pattern we are seeing? Or what? I would honestly rather deal with hungry, pregnant women, in the summer, in Arizona, who are forced to wear wool sweaters. It would be easier.

But...when he is calm and cute - you would NEVER see the wails coming. He describes the things happening in his books. He smells like Johnson's No Tear Shampoo. He has clean little toes. He tells me long stories about the animals on his pajamas. He waddles around like a penguin. He says stuff like, "I love you Mama". And then, BAM...SHRIEK. WAIL. Wha happened to my Lulo?

Hmmm...where is that Darvocet for the pain in my neck?

She Likes to Move It, Move It

This morning I have listened to the song "Move it" from Madagascar 912 times. The video of the song is on the Special Features option of the Madagascar DVD that Lulo watches while eating his meals. (Don't judge me people, you get him to eat another way if you want to judge.) Typically, I would be very close to calling my Dad for a prescription of some sort of anti-anxiety drug. But, today...

I AM MOVING IT. I have been boogying all morning to this song. Boogying to get Luk his muffins (blueberry, freshly baked, by yours truly, Luk did some vate vate). Shimmying to get his apple. Then mambo-ing to CUT his apple. "Cut the apple, mama, cut the apple." Then, skipping back. Today rocks.

I tested out of boot camp today and the results were pretty good (for me). I am pleased. I feel more cheerful this boot camp than I did last time. I really liked the class more this session. There were more people. It was light out about 10 minutes into class and waaaaaaaaaaay warmer. It is kind of nice not having to run with a sweatshirt and still be cold. The light out really makes it feel so much nicer. And for me, the sun makes me think of summer, then bathing suits, then fat, then I run faster.

I am bursting with appreciation for my instructors. They pretty much rock with their ability to encourage and see when you are improving and pushing you to what they think you can do. Typically, I would think that the attention they are able to pay to each one of us would only be possible with a personal trainer. I had a trainer once. I thought he rocked at the time but seriously; DI-Size0 and DI-MC are better and they have you know 10-15 people every class.

So, the results show. In six weeks, the following changed:

**Push-ups: Still can't do them. Monkey arms + Fat = No Push Ups!

**Sit-ups: I did 35, last time I did 37. This saddened me at first but I am ok; I wanted to do 40. Maybe next time.

**Timed Mile: First session, started at 13M:40S. End of session, 11:09.
Second session, started at 10:39, End of session (TODAY!), 9 MINUTES and 28 SECONDS!
Um, yeah. Seriously. My goal my WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE has been to do a 10 minute mile. What in God's name were my HIGH SCHOOL basketball coaches doing that they couldn't get me to run a 10 minute mile. I am like fatter, older, with 3 kids and I CAME IN BELOW 10 MINUTES. HOLY CANNOLI!!! I know people run like 3 minute miles and woohoo for them. But, this is really good for me. I am SO STOKED.

DI-MC was standing at the end with his timer and he was counting - 10, 11, 12...26, 27, 28. And I thought he was in the 10 minute range. And I was like I JUST WANT TO BE FASTER THAN 10:39 so I was busting my butt to get to him. HE WAS COUNTING IN THE NINE MINUTE RANGE. I COULD NOT believe it. Seriously. I damn near hugged DI-MC (but was happy with his enthusiastic HIGH-5 because all I need is DI-Size0 to kick my ass because I am all hugging her boyfriend all over the place.)

**Weight: I lost 12 pounds this session - 15 since last session. That was my goal because that is "safe" weight loss. One that will probably last. I just want to say though that I don't get how I stay within my WW points and work out every day and I am not losing more than 2 pounds a week??? Crinkled Eyebrows. I am happy with my weight loss. I am happy with my weight loss. I am happy with my weight loss. I am happy with my weight loss.

**Inches:
-I lost an inch in my waist.
-I lost an inch in my hips.
-I lost an inch and a 1/4, that is 1.25 inches, in my "buttocks". I object to the word "buttocks" and only think of Forrest Gump when I say it BUT that is the word in my mess log. I am just copying here.
-My right thigh remained exactly the same.
-My right calf lost a 1/4 inch.
-My bicep lost a 1/4 inch.

Honestly, I am always impressed with people who lose like 40 inches off of stuff. But, I am ok with the inches. Especially in my waist and buttocks. I thought my underwear was baggier and it is indeed. TMI, but I just want to be honest. Totally sexy.

Anyhow, that about wraps that up other than the fact that Moto Moto's song is also stuck in my head and it doesn't quite work for me anymore ;) You know the song...

I like ‘em big I like ‘em chunky I like ‘em big I like ‘em plumpy I like ‘em round

I love that song. It makes me laugh. I also love Moto Moto :)

But, really all I want to do is Move It Move It because I like to Move It Move It. Thank you, Extreme Boot Camp. Another session starts in a week. One week off. I'll be there.

Goals for Session 3:
Another 12 pounds.
Baggier underwear.
Mile: 9 minutes, 20 seconds.
45 sit-ups.
1 push up.

MOVE IT!

Respect your Feet, Respect my Eyes

There are so many things to be upset about in the world: the California Budget Crisis, Missile Testing in Iran, the Mexican Drug Cartel, Kate and Jon, and of course, swine flu. But, let's get serious here, what's with people wearing ugly shoes? I don't get it.

The reason I am here writing about this right now (other than it is very important to me to examine this issue) is because I was just procrastinating by creating a "How well do you know me?" quiz on Facebook and one of my questions is: What shoes do I hate the most? I almost couldn't choose between 4 of them. I had to put an easy one on there that my friends could immediately cross off because I love Rainbows. I own like 4. The other four choices I provided were: TEVAS, CROCS, BIRKS, and Greek-Inspired Sandals.

I would like to comment on all these choices before I tell you what I hate the most.

As to Tevas, Crocs, and Birks, I am sorry but the argument that comfort is necessary and bla bla just DOES NOT WORK here. I wear "comfortable shoes" about 98% of the time and they don't make me look like a dillhole. There are perfectly acceptable cute tennis shoes that are very comfortable. Oh, your foot is HOT, you don't want to wear tennis shoes. OK. Buy flip flops...Rainbows, Havainas or buy something like this. Awesome. Why Tevas and Birks? Don't you see how unflattering they are to your feet? Don't you see that they take a potentially cute outfit and make it UGLY. Don't you see the horrible things that it does to the length of your leg? There is just nothing good about them. Stop it. I cringe. CRINGE. JUST. THINKING. ABOUT. TEVAS! BLECK.

There are a small population of people who will say that Tevas are the only acceptable option when doing things like tidepooling or hiking. I say NO! They aren't. There are other cuter options for waterproof footwear (including your bare feet! - embrace your inner Blue Lagoon) and hiking footwear.

Now, my friends in high school will comment that I wore Birkenstocks. What an ill decision I made? My father told me 100 times how ugly they were. He'd tell me that they made "my foot" ugly. Singular, not plural, even though I have two feet. He is Arab. Cut him a break. Anyhow, they do, indeed make your foot ugly and your feet ugly. I have to blame Birks on peer pressure. Everyone at my high school had them. They were so cool. Even at the $80 price tag, I managed to convince my mother to buy me black ones and then tan ones. Bleck. I curse the day. What's worse...I was sooo jealous of Missy (who wouldn't even acknowledge my existence) because she had several colors in her possession - purple, blue, etc. The one time I wore Birks to school - I got detention. Even the Catholic High School I went to wanted to stop the spread of this fashion nightmare. Just stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

Crocs are a recent ugly shoe in the ugly shoe phenomenon. I won't buy them. Sorry. I won't try them on. The funny thing about Crocs is I think they are trying to make "cuter" Crocs but they aren't cute...they are still ugly. Like this, and this, and God forbid these. Yep, all ugly. All not flattering. Buy Havainas or something else like the very classic Rainbow ! Please, for the love of all that is good and Holy - DON'T WEAR CROCS. If you do, don't wear them when I see you. It hurts my heart.

In terms of this Greek/Gladiator thing, I just don't like it but of all the listed options - Tevas, Crocs, Birks - I would wear these gladiator type shoes next (if forced by hot Greek men). I am Greek and I have to pay my respects to my forefathers. But in all honesty, them shoes are ugly. Only, maybe, Angelina Jolie, could pull them off and even then Brad would be like, "sweetie, you are hot and you've born 3 of my kids and made me adopt many others but those shoes are not cute on your lovely feet." Got it?

So...in the multiple choice...what do I hate most.

Tevas. Don't make me see them on your foot. I won't hide my disgust just to be "polite". There is no "polite" when Tevas are involved. Respect your feet. Respect my eyes.

Hyper. Woohoo!

Today my energy is OFF THE CHART - I pretty much want to run around the house in CIRCLES but in Pomona this would be a bad idea for a few reasons: 1. It is hotter than residing on the sun. 2. I may get shot. 3. I may get questioned by the kind officers that often patrol our streets about why I am running around like I am on something. Can you imagine my answer? "I am on happy thoughts and caffeine and woohoo Boot Camp Baby BRING IT!" No seriously. I am odd right now. I keep making happy, excited remarks to J and I think he is confused.

It is the 6th week of my second session of EB. Tomorrow, I think we are running our 3 miles. I am sort of excited to see how I feel at the end of it because I am contemplating running a 5k in July. I remember last session I sort of was amazed I did it, but tired. This session I feel like I sort of got a little bit better at everything, even jump roping. I am no veteran but I definitely can do more and feel better.

I am also nervous about our weigh-in, measuring, and test out on Friday. I have been really strict with Weight Watchers. I have been going to boot camp. Because I made up 2 of the classes I missed, I technically did not miss a class. And last night, sit down folks, I asked J if he felt like going for a jog with me. Yeah, I know, weird. Not like I get extra credit but...I WANTED TO jog. We jogged 1.9 miles. J, of course, kicked my ass and ran circles around me even though he is stationary 98% of the time. But, he was kind enough to stay within spitting distance from me because, you know, we live in Pomona.

Alas, all is good. Not really sure why I am nervous considering the only one I have to prove anything to is ME. But, I don't know...just a milestone I guess. I always like when I see changes instead of "WOOHOO, you lost three pounds, you are still obese, have a nice day." I would much prefer "WOOHOO, you lost 12 pounds, 900 inches, and you are less obese now, have a nice day." I think I can get into that! Woo.Hoo.

With that said, I am also looking for a new car. Last week or was that two weeks ago, hmmmph, the lease on my Lexus SUV was up. I took it to the dealer. Experienced nostalgia. After all, this was the car in which I brought home all three of my babies. This was the car in which J drove me to the hospital while I was in labor. (Yes, he did take a client call while we were driving.) Good memories. Good car.

So, now I am e-mailing every dealer within a 50 mile radius selling the cars we are interested in and asking them to make me a quote. I heart Internet sales. SOOO much easier once you know the car you want. No nonsense. And any nonsense is in writing and all I have to do is click DELETE BABY. DELETE YOUR HARD SALE. DELETE YOUR ATTITUDE. I don't have to buy from you! Wow, that feels good. WOW. WOOHOO.

Even though Internet sales are less annoying, they are still a little annoying. I honestly don't GET why they insist on getting your phone number to call you! I DIDN'T GIVE IT TO YOU BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO TALK. I DON'T WANT TO BE HASSLED. I DON'T WANT WOOD TRIM. Just tell me what I want. Make me want to buy your car. Don't bug me. Do these people know that they are two shakes from being BANKRUPT? {Just as an aside, Honda was really good at this "no hassle Internet sales" when I got my sexy minivan. So far in my car search, Acura is kicking the ass of all other car dealers. So, the Honda family has apparently figured things OUT!}

I think it is a bad idea to run to a car dealer tonight before I run 3 miles tomorrow. What am I going to do with all this ENERGY! My goodness gracious. Hmmm...maybe I can clean the garage so that the new car that I get will have space in the garage. Drumming fingers.

Woo.Hoo. I may just do that.

The Problem with Gravity

Just wondering, is it possible for fat to hurt? Because I was running today (a lot) and my jiggles hurt and I am thinking that maybe that is my fat loosening up and redistributing. Unfortunately, because of gravity, I don't think it is redistributing where I would like it to go.

I am feeling special today because I managed to do one of the hardest boot camp classes I have ever done - twice. In fact, I think Tuesday and today were the two hardest classes I have ever attended (with the exception of one other one) and I did them twice.

Anyhow, tomorrow Week 5 ends. This week was really challenging. I am wiped out. But, I sort of loved today with all it's high inclines, jiggling, running, etc. I hope that next session I can manage that incline a little better. Wouldn't that be nice? Am I becoming a runner after all? I may even be enjoying running some more. What is that about? Boot Camp, what are you doing to me?

Happy Dance for the Muffin Top

Today I was wearing a summer dress. I felt like mixing it up and all my sweats were dirty so WHY NOT? J and I are going car shopping this evening and so after the kids' baths I went into my closet to change so I wouldn't get cold.

Well, because I have a morbid sense of curiosity I grabbed some jeans that I haven't worn in a LOOONG time. They are pre-pregnancy, pre-marriage jeans. In fact, I was wearing these jeans when J proposed to me at the Dana Point jetty. They are not (by any means) my skinny jeans. But, I haven't fit into them for a while. So, I chanted "if these don't fit, no big deal."

They fit. They closed and I didn't have to suck in or anything. THEY CLOSED. Woohoo. They comfortably closed. Now, as I sit here, I feel a bit of a muffin top happening and that is to be expected. I am wearing a loose top because I am not into being all "look at my rolls people, I heart my fat." But, I am wearing the jeans and I don't feel embarrassed wearing them in public.

OK. The mornings are paying off. The watching J eat pizza while I eat Smart Ones is paying off. I am sort of happy now as I sit here feeling my muffin top.

Have a nice evening. I'm gonna go find me a car to love in my old jeans.

Can you tell I am doing the happy dance?

You mean, Flip Flops?

I picked Lulo up at school today and I watched him bus his own dishes after lunch. He carried his dish from the table to the trash, he used his spoon to put the food he did not eat in the trash, and put his dirty plate in the bin. He also spilled his leftover milk in the sink and did the same thing with his glass.

Who is this little boy?

My personal favorite part was HOW he put the dirty plate in the bin. Rather than place it gently, he THREW it in there. SLAM. LOL. My little delicate darling boy. He goes through all the trouble of nicely carrying and cleaning his dish and then he SLAMS it in there. Apparently, this is the fashion. The teacher looked at me and said, "they are all doing that." I wondered for a moment, did Lulo teach them to do that? Probably. Sigh.

***

Lulo is just leaving for the park and he said he wanted to wear his FAT FLOPS. You mean your "flip flops". Yes, my "fat flops." OK. I kissed him and said "bye, have fun." Then he said, "in a while crocodile".

***

Speaking of fat flopping, I am on my fifth week of my second session of EB.

The fat is flopping less; but it flops nonetheless.

I sort of did something today that I never imagined I'd do in my wildest dreams. I did TWO boot camp classes today. Because I have missed two classes this session, I have two to make up and I only have two weeks to do it. You may be wondering how I am feeling. My ass is kicked. Seriously. That was a hard class, too. Not that any class is la di da but...

We had partners and while one partner sprinted a lap around the parking lot we were at; the other partner had to engage in some assigned torture (jump roping, crunches, hovering, bicycle crunches, push jacks with five pound weight in each hand, etc. etc.) until their partner returned. Um, my poor partner was probably like, "dude if she makes me do one more crunch I am going to kick her ass." Sigh. Poor girl. She was nice though. Probably is thinking "DON'T MATCH ME UP WITH MOLASSES AGAIN."

Of course, at the second class, I was matched up with someone a bit slower than me (if that is possible). That kicked my bootie. Seriously.

The good news of course is that I am losing weight. Pants are fitting better. I am really enjoying myself. I am well on my way to being ready for a good plastic surgeon to have a go at me.

***

And now, I work. The fat flops. I return triumphantly to blogging. The world is at peace. So long.

How to Be a Successful Blogger

I was saving this ad from Nutri-System that I got in a Valu-Pak coupon mailer I received. I wanted to scan in the ad and then talk about it here because the picture on it was so funny. The brunette chick was in a green bikini (clearly trying to cause confusion with the Jenny Craig/Valerie aqua bikini) and she was sort of laying down almost, propped on her elbows. They, of course, show this "unflattering" BEFORE picture of her basically PUSHING OUT her stomach and she is wearing a tank top that is a tad small. Frankly, she wasn't to heiffery to begin with. Moving along...

I noticed that anyone in that position looks pretty good. Gravity is pulling all that yummy flabby stuff elsewhere and the boobs still have cleavage. I need to incorporate this no gravity position into my life some more. I don't think I'd look all Gabrielle Reece in that position but it certainly would be more flattering than some other negative gravity situations (standing up, sitting down, breathing, etc.) On the other hand, how could I incorporate that position into a networking event? Ah, that is neither here nor there.

Having said that, the chick looked uncomfortable and honestly, I think she looked the same as her BEFORE picture because who looks good with their stomach all bulged out and wearing a tank that is 12 sizes too small. Before and After shots should be in the same position with the same clothes.

Anyway, all this blabbing brings me to this. I was saving the damn ad to share here on my great blog and tonight I was shoving a Skinny Cow Mint Ice Cream Sandwich in my fat face (because I had WW points to spare) and absent-mindedly put it down on anti-gravity, Nutri-System model so I could try Julio's yummy (low cal) mango sorbet. Now Pseudo-Valerie has Skinny Cow Chocolate Sandwich all over her and can't be scanned.

This is why I won't be a successful blogger, or a successful dieter for that matter.

I Can Work

Yes, the plague has made another appearance. Yesterday, I was sick. I worked as much as I could handle but I am totally sick again. My life in a petri dish continues. Yesterday, I actually drove all the way to my Daddy's office and asked him to cure me. He drew blood, made me pee in a cup (MUCH easier when you aren't pregnant! WOW! Who knew?), and gave me Zithromax. Oh, Zmax. You and me, we've become such good friends. Zmax, the wonderful folks at the local CVS, and me - Peas in a Pod.

Like an IDIOT, I went to EB yesterday trying to pretend I wasn't sick. Trying to pretend that EB would make me stronger. I would sweat that virus/bacteria right out. I even (while driving) told myself that meningitis-like headache was only because I was sleepy. I convinced myself that the body aches were from doing various animal crawls on Friday. All crap - the things that fat will motivate me to do. I came home and felt like dying...again. WHEN WILL THIS STOP? I am fanatical with my Purell and my hand washing. I hold my breath for unusual lengths of time to get around a fresh cough from a sickie kid who hasn't yet learned to cover his/her mouth. WHY O WHY THE PLAGUE? And I didn't even get to puke this time, so no significant weight loss is in store for me. Sigh.

Today, I am working. The body aches are less achy. The headache has toned down to be less awful. I am so behind in work it's not even funny. J is giving me the "why aren't you billing" look? I am giving him the "why don't you drive back and forth to the pharmacy, the pediatrician, mail, bank, networking, dealing with nonsense" look. It has been special here. Fun times. April has passed in a POOF. POOF gone. April. Bu bye. I have to send out my sad bills in a few days and I will have to come to grips with my shitty billable hours.

Meanwhile, at least I have the freedom to have shitty billable hours and not get laid off. I have the ability to put my family first for a month while the shit hits the fan. That is sort of nice. Most of my friends at big firms got pay cuts this month. Yes, to some seething folks out there, it is not really sad when someone makes 225k instead of 250k a year. And yes, it's not horrible. But, it still sucks. Lawyers have loans too, lawyers have mortgages too, lawyers have kids and commitments. They make commitments thinking they have X salary and then when they have X-10% it may suck. Also, one of my friends got laid off - top 5% of our class, top guy, top firm. Laid off.

Oh, I am so glad that I got laid off years ago and I made this decision to start this practice. It put me here now. I can be the master of my own paycheck. The only person I disappoint is my husband, J, but technically I am his boss ;) I am managing partner, I am hiring partner. So if he doesn't like it he can complain to his boss, ME, and I can tell him where to shove it. Yeah, right? No, but seriously, it is good to be here now. Sick for most of the month with shitty billables and not biting my nails because I could be laid off.

Instead, I can bite my nails about being sick and pediatricians and my Mom and my Aunt and EB and other things but NOT being laid off. I can work. Lucky me. Seriously.

Thank you, God.

On Thanksgiving Day 2006, a little less than 2 months after my son Lulo was born, we were driving home from my parents' house to our house around 8 p.m. I had Lulo in one car, he was sleeping. J was driving a few cars ahead of me. I could no longer really spot his car but I knew he was ahead of me.

As is common in California, the traffic slowed and there were sudden red break lights. Immediately, I said to myself. "Oh, please God don't let that be Julio in an accident."

Five seconds later, I saw his car smashed against the center divider of the freeway. Cars avoiding his. Cars crashed around him.

I started to pull over to the right shoulder. Gasping for air. Grabbing my phone, I called him. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Voice mail. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. J says, "Hello? I can't find my glasses." He was fine.

Those 60 seconds were the worse, slowest most horrible in my whole life. Until, this Monday.

On Monday, I was working. It was 2:45 and my phone rang. It was my Dad. He sounded not good. His words were catching on his heart. I knew immediately something was terribly wrong. My thoughts shot to my aunt in the hospital.

I said, "what's wrong?"

He said, "They just called me from an ambulance. Your Mom has been in accident. I don't know anything. I am leaving the hospital now and going to the hospital they are taking her to."

I sat. Frozen. Do I go? Do I stay? What is happening? I sobbed.

What was I staying for? I would need to be there no matter what. Even if she was fine. Even if it was a fender bender. IT COULDN'T HAVE BEEN A FENDER BENDER. SHE IS IN AN AMBULANCE. SHE ISN'T TALKING TO MY DAD. THE PARAMEDICS ARE TALKING TO MY DAD.

Oh, I still have chills. My hair is still up.

I called my brother. Sobbing. We get off the phone. I call him back and tell him I am heading down. Neither of us can even think. We are irrational. We both leave work. We both go straight there.

The fear. That drive. Waiting for my Dad to call me and tell me everything was fine. NOTHING. NOTHING. The phone wouldn't ring. My brother and I talked the whole way. We are in shock. Horrified. So scared. I cry on and off. Wanting to speed but trying not to. I am sick still with that feeling of "if anything happened to her, I will die." He got there first. I made him promise to call me in 10 minutes. But 11 minutes pass. 12 minutes pass.

He calls to tell me that he has seen her. She looks terrible. Disoriented. Nothing broken. They are taking her in for a CAT Scan. He hasn't seen my Dad yet.

I get there and see my Dad first. He looks awful. But he tells me she is fine. He is in shock. So scared. Never seen him so scared. Vitals are good. Xrays show no broken bones. She is just scared and banged up, really banged up. Waiting for CAT Scan. Nothing there. Thank God.

Car is dead. She isn't. I love my Mom. I am so glad she is just bruised and hurting everywhere. There are still tears. So many. When I even think for one moment that she maybe wouldn't be here right now. That she maybe was not going to be able to kiss Lulo who adores her and asks about her every day...I cry all over again.

Thank you God for my Mama. My awesome mother, a special grandmother. That hour was the most excruciating wait I have ever had. It was worth every damn second for my beautiful mother still here, in one piece, ok. Thank you, God.

You can take that Vaporizer and Stick it in Your...

My Jojo had been progressively getting sicker and sicker since last Thursday. He had this watery eye thing happening that I dismissed as allergies or maybe he was catching Lulo's special pinkeye from last week. He had a runny nose, that I dismissed as allergies. The sniffles in this house are NO BIG DEAL. It's like a poopy diaper. It happens. He has had the sniffles on and off for a month. Dr. Sears says that means the kid probably has allergies. OK.

Anyhow, no fever, no panic here.

I'd like to say this kind of attitude comes from having three kids and being a well worn Mom. That is a crock. I totally worry the whole time. The reason I have this attitude is because I would rather get dental work done than go to the damn pediatrician's office. It is not because I do not like the kids' pediatricians. In fact, I REALLY like them. But they are in a practice so on a sick visit you typically end up seeing one of the other winners at the practice. OK, that is fine. They can likely quickly diagnose a runny nose. However, all I have heard now for the better part of 3 years is something along the lines of:

"Oh, if they don't have a fever it is not recommended to give them any kind of antihistamine. You should use a vaporizer and come back in a week to ten days if you don't see improvement."

So, I pay a co-pay and wait in their petri dish of a waiting room for upwards of an hour to get a prescription of a VAPORIZER.

And this is what I have to say about that: FUCK THAT! So effing tired of the VAPORIZER I want to effing scream. I want to pummel. I want to rant and rave. I HAVE USED THE VAPORIZER EVERY SINGLE TIME ONE OF MY KIDS WAS SICK. And you know what? It doesn't do shit or shinola. It makes my walls wet. Yep. That's it. And the only reason I use it is so I can tell the damn docs (with a straight face) that I tried that already.

I have a big problem with doctors and how little they do for sick kids. They don't recommend anything anymore. Saline spray doesn't make my kid feel better. I squirt, I suck, they cry. Nothing.

You know what makes kids feel better: MEDICINE. I am all for the old school docs like my Dad who prescribe some heavy stuff to kids so that they'll feel better. I am all for the days of prescribing antibiotics a bit more freely so that if IT IS INDEED BACTERIAL the kid will get better. Let's not let the kids be really sick for 2 weeks thinking it MIGHT BE VIRAL. My Dad would give us antibiotics like it was water. I am fine. I can take TONS OF THEM and still feel better. I haven't built up any kind of resistance to them. And you know what, I know about the super powers of these mutant bacteria. I am not saying drug the kids up every five minutes...BUT I WANT SOLUTIONS fast. If I have one sick kid, I usually have 3. Fix it. Make it normal again.

Don't make me go on the internet and find the proper dosage of Benadryl. Just tell me DOCTORS. I won't sue you if my kid felt better. Damn. I know they won't get better any faster BUT THEY FEEL BETTER. LESS AWFUL. Don't adults take something when they feel poopy even though they don't get better any faster? Yes, I get that there are some special people in the world who say things like "if one teaspoon works, then 3 will work better" or "maybe a little bit of this will knock you out for a few hours so I can go clubbing". Yeah, that's not ME!

And this brings me to my next point, I love my Daddy. For some stupid reason, I resist asking my Daddy for medical stuff for my kids because he is so old school, but any time he has advised me, he has been right, my kids haven't died, and they have felt better within 24 hours. The last time Lulo was sick, I skipped going to the Vaporizer Stockholders Committee and asked my Dad what he should take. My Dad had seen Lulo the day before. Lulo was better in 24 hours.

When I went to the substitute pediatrician yesterday, I was giving her the history of Jujo's ailment and she interrupted to go do something else AFTER HAVING ALREADY WAITED ONE HOUR IN THE WAITING ROOM with my kid who had a 101.9 temp. Then, she ignored what I said.

Then, she didn't have her ear wax scraper which she looked for for FIVE MINUTES while I am sitting and calming a WAILING Jojo because she had peered in his ear already and determined she didn't have her ear wax scraper thingie handy.

So, as she walks in the room with a scraper I overhear her telling the nurse:

"I don't like this kind. I am not comfortable using it." She approaches my kid.

I say: "If you aren't comfortable using that, then don't stick in my kid's ear."

She says: "You seem perturbed."

Yes, I am perturbed. CAN WE MOVE ON HERE?

Anyhow, his throat is totally infected. But she prescribes him antibiotics NOT FOR THE THROAT but the potential sinus infection. The throat, she believes, is viral. She says it may linger a few days and to use a VAPORIZER and make an appointment if his fever is not down by Saturday.

Jojo felt better 3 hours after he took the antibiotic. Today, he was his old self. God bless old school antibiotics.

Pants You Don't Care About

Yesterday at EB, DI-Size0 told us to wear pants we didn't spend a lot of money on to class on Friday. OK. That sounds good because I typically wear my satin Donna Karan's. Anyhow, I showed up today in the sweats that I wore when we painted our last townhouse. I wear them usually when I am sick or have no intention of leaving the house. Frankly, I was intrigued. What could they possibly do that required pants we didn't care about?

So, after the intro of calisthenics and some stretching, DI-Size0 and her bf, DI-MC, jogged us out to a soccer field (or was it a football field?) and told us to get on the floor. The grass was ALL damp. They made us do so many things on the wet grass and touching the wet grass. I distinctly remember the smell of dog pee. I had many pieces of grass and dirt and mud on me. It was ewey.

Bleck.

I just don't like being dirty. Every day after a NORMAL class I pull out a container of baby wipes and wipe my dirty hands. It would have taken a truck full of wipes to assist me today. I was dirty dirty. My clothes were all wet (and not because of the sweet sweat that typically happens).

We did many horrible things today on the wet wet grass. Inchworms. Alligator crawls. Bear crawls. Crab crawls. Push ups, crunches. Ew. I still feel itchy thinking about it.

Ew.

This EB was not for the faint of heart. It was not for the ones with an inner Howard Hughes.

I assure you, the next time DI-Size0 tells us to wear our shitty pants. I will wear them and sleep until 6:30 in my dry, comfy, warm bed.

That's just a wrong kind of dirty.

Today's Sacrifices

My dear Aunt had her kidney removed yesterday. She's been in and out of the hospital for a couple months now and they've been trying to figure out what's up. She has lupus and has been dealing with that for years. But yesterday, after a week or so of them putzing around and trying to figure out whether they needed to take out the kidney, they took it out.

Today she is fine, or I guess as fine as you can be after your kidney is removed. My Mom says she has her color back and she's feeling a lot better. She actually just wants to eat something or have a sip of water but they aren't letting her. I guess this just hit home for me today because today, our Good Friday, I wasn't eating or drinking anything as a sacrifice symbolically mirroring Christ's sacrifice for us many years ago on the cross. Of course, I knew I was going to pig out at the end of the day but today was a long day. And, honestly for me not eating or drinking after EB was a pretty big strenuous. But, it's no cross. So, it was a small sacrifice in the grand scheme. It's also no big deal compared to what my Aunt is going through right now.

But, as I was eating, the typical "YUM this is so good" ravenous binge seemed to be overshadowed by - here I am pigging out and my aunt is in the hospital and they aren't letting her eat or have a sip of water. She lost her kidney. She's in a bed hooked up to IVs and dealing with hospital nonsense. It just sort of makes me sad, breaks my heart.

My family has a picnic every year (more or less) for Easter. These picnics are some of my fondest childhood memories. We had the best time. We always had been fasting and then on Easter we could eat eggs again (usually resulting in a very unfortunate experience with the runs). I learned after spending too many Easters on a beachside restroom's dirty toilet that consuming more than 1 egg was NOT a good idea. My Mom always goes nuts on Easter. So much delicious, traditional Greek food. The Easter picnic was always a special day - everyone would be there. Family and friends celebrating together. In college, my friends came and would witness the big Greek/Egyptian family first hand. The Easter traditions never have changed or wavered - fasting for 40 days (or hmmm...2 weeks), church the night before at 10 pm, Christos Anesti, keeping the candle lit on the car ride home, getting home, having a light dinner (mayeiritsa, cheese, bread, tsourekia) as a family (1/2 asleep), a breaking eggs contest. I love Easter.

My Aunt always comes. Her daughter would come. Then when her daughter had a baby and got married, her family would be there. My Aunt always makes this amazing chocolate cake with powdered sugar on top. I love me some of that cake. This year that cake won't be there and neither will she. It won't be the same. I think we'll all be thinking of her.

I think that this year won't be the bash it always is because my Aunt is a special lady who brings a lot without being obnoxious or overbearing. I have always loved and respected her because she worked so hard despite her illness. She is a class act that overcame a divorce from someone I consider to be an a-hole (shortly after being diagnosed). She really doesn't whine or moan. She is sweet and loving. I can tell she worries about her work, her daughter and grandson, her lupus, her life. But she gives so much. So, today, I prayed for her and her quick recovery. I ate with guilt instead of the usual gusto I put into the breaking the fast meal. I just hope she's ok and comes out of this with her light personality and wonderful laugh intact.

Hospitals can be lonely and I bet she is thinking a lot about how she wishes she wasn't there. I guess as much as I am praying for her quick recovery I am also praying that she is distracted by family, friends, the TV, good memories...anything. I want her spirits to be high so she can swiftly be back with us - bringing chocolate cake, laughing heartily, sharing stories, chatting with my Mom in the kitchen, holding one of my boys, getting teased by my Dad, eating her favorite dish that my Mom makes.

I know we all have prayers and we all have people in our lives we pray for. Some of us may even pray for silly things like, oh, that all the food they ate and extra WW points they consumed wouldn't actually "count" and result in a wide ass. I wouldn't do that, never. But, a little prayer for my Aunt today would mean a lot to me.

And though many of you celebrated Easter last weekend, Happy Easter. May you find reasons to celebrate this weekend because we are here and able to celebrate because of Someone's sacrifices.