Blessings to Modern Day Conveniences

Forget reinforcers to save papers from falling out of over-stuffed binders, I give a blessing for my blog to keep my journaling tight.

And a few other blessings for modern day conveniences:

I give my blessings to...
To my automatic car door locks, may you keep my children safe when I throw you into reverse with Will hanging half-way out.

To my microwave whom I trust to make easy mac-n-cheese, may you always make powdery orange into dinner bliss and boil my water in a caffeine tea-drinking frenzy.

To internet shopping, may you never make me try things on and disguise the dimples growing in unfriendly places (my knee?). And bless you for allowing me to dump my shopping cart where ever I please.

To the dollar store, may I always take my children in and say “pick any toy you want”. Bless you for giving me more storage containers that stuff to store. This is heaven sent! Mind you at the dollar store on San Pedro I think I might need a disguise. On the side of blessings Lesson 1: Don’t make wise cracks about yourself and a few of your obsessive qualities, the checker will remember you.

To my cell phone, may you never be left on top of my car again for I depend on you way too much – need I ever remember a phone number with you. Bless you for letting me be “hands free” only to have poor souls peer my way when I am having an especially animated conversation.

To my scanner, for when I figure you out you will preserve a Polaroid or two from the past so I can show my children pictures like this:

Cute glasses, Mom! And while I'm counting my blessings I love you Judy, Mary, Mom, Jennie, and Melissa.

Grandpa's Buddy

Sunday, Jan 29, 2006

Last night my dad spent the night at our house so he could spend some time with Will. The hospital is a no go for my sensitive sweetie so Will doesn’t get to see my dad (G’pa Carl)alot since he and mom are here to see my Grandpa French. So when Dad left the hospital late last night Will was already in bed. He happily woke up when G’pa Carl walked in a little weary and sad, but ready to relish the time with his grandson. After a little Trooper time (a mutual Star Wars obsession) Grandpa got ready for bed. Will drew a special picture while he was in the shower. It was of a smiling boy (Will) and man (Grandpa) with a rocket blasting off into space, with a sky full of stars and parachute men falling to the ground. He was anxious to give it to his Grandpa. It was the cutest thing – to see him so in love with his Grandpa. He was overjoyed to see him and ready to take on the world with his Grandpa. You could clearly see this in his wonderful depiction of a stick figure holding hands with a slightly taller stick figure. I love that Will is so infatuated with his Grandpa.
Today, my Grandpa (Grandpa French) moved to a very peaceful hospice center and I can’t help but think that the bond with our Grandparents is everlasting. They teach us to love and laugh. They are our first loyal friends who champion for our rights no matter what we’ve done. They give us ice cream for breakfast and dollars just because. I’m going to miss my Grandpa. When I look at Will’s angelic little face light up when he's around his Grandpa I see myself (except not so little or angelic).

A Very Special Man (just a little tired)

I’ve been seeing someone -almost every night this week.
No, no, It’s not what you think, but I've been on a date, a date with my Grandpa. See, he’s dying.
Last Friday he went to our family doctor because he’s had a really bad cold. This cold turned into pneumonia and pneumonia turned into a bed in ICU.
My Grandpa is getting tired and he has a right to. He’s lived a busy, productive life. He and my Grandma raised 5 girls. He bought a little house with an acre, opened French’s Furniture and Cabinet Shop, built his girls a two-story play house then put them through college all on a woodworker’s paycheck.
I don’t really know what to write – I’m still processing.
Don’t get me wrong, I have waves of sadness hit me so strong I cry out-loud,
but when I open the door to his hospital room and I creep up next to his bed I look into his eyes and touch his unshaven face I see my Grandpa and this makes me so happy, just being able to say “Hi, Grandpa, It’s me, Anne.”
Sometimes he hears me and says “Hi, Darlin’”, sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes I can talk about the family, his hunting dogs, his Budweiser and you can see him going through the memories. It’s a beautiful thing.
He’ll go to hospice care when there’s a bed available, meanwhile I’ll just sit and keep on holding his hand and run my mouth (or not).

If you don’t mind, please keep reading. It’s hard when I just have sad news. But, it makes me try to be that much stronger and keep memories alive to know that somebody’s listening.

Yum! Powdered donuts!!! 

Me vs the Timer : Round 2

21 Jan 2006

Back to this timer thing: Tonight on my run I actually took my watch. I usually head out with reckless abandon, happy to close the front door without responsibilities following me, unhappy that I have to run to get out of them. Anyway, I head out with my MP3 player strapped to my arm and Avery yelling Mommmmmmmyyyy” and banging on the door. It’s so sad really, but I race to put on my headphones and lock out the guilt. I like to run with her in the jogging stroller; it’s the only stroller she is really happy in. Sometimes, she tells me when to set out – she climbs in with her sippy cup and swings her legs contently until I notice.

But, I’m on a mission with this watch thing. Really, I despise all watches. I can be uncharacteristically type A, but my time management skills shoot me straight into my reality – somewhere were accomplishment and satisfaction occur and different speeds. So back to the watch – it is ingenious – a watch that you calibrate on a 400M track for it to tell you the speed, miles, time, and speed average. Way too scientific, but since I’ve had this thing a year I thought I better use it.

I take off, jamming out to Moby, Blackeyed Peas, Tori Amos, and 50 Cent, an unusual compellation but it keeps me going. With these Adidas Climalite pants that are a little too long to be Capris and too short to be pants, I find myself wishing I had socks that reached the bare skin that is quickly turning blue. My hands are bare and clenched tightly as if this protects them from frostbite. I think “This is San Antonio, not North Dakota.” and “Why exactly am I running?” I’m exactly ½ mile into this run and at a fast pace too. I love this watch. “Wait”, here comes a hill and more wind. This quickly takes my pace from fast to just short of a turtle’s crawl. Meanwhile, I’m looking at the mileage creep and my average speed go to an unimpressive time.

Thrity minutes into the wind (run) I don’t think this watch is very good for me. First of all, I am not competitive, I could care less who wins or loses. I ran track in school and was so proud that I was the only whitey on the relay team and the only reason I cared then was that people where depending on me and I didn’t like the feeling of other people in front of me ( I have personal space issues). However, I AM competitive with myself and I am quickly on my way to do my personal worst. Sadly, I am only satisfied when I have done better than the time before and surely with this watch I am in ruins. Don’t feel bad for me: I admit it I am a quiter; If it doesn’t come easy, forget it.

Finally, after the second loop around Laurel Ridge – a mental institution for teenagers I always feel in the blanks here with the cars that come and go - I am almost home and I refuse to look at this watch hanging like a brick on my arm. Phew, past the neighbors (I always pick up speed here because I really don’t want them analyzing the fact that my pants are too tight) and in the doorway. My hands are so cold I briefly think about using my teeth. I briskly walk in and “what’s this?” I ran 3.58 miles in 34 minutes with the average speed of 9.05 (so I walked a little). Wow, I’ve always thought that run was only 3 miles. I’m on my way – I’m ready to conquer this Beach to the Bay race! I love to run! I’m running tomorrow! And I’m taking the watch! Bring on the powdered donuts!!!!

Me vs the Timer

21 Jan 2006
In the spirit of productivity I have to give up mindless internet searches for the perfect lounge pants (but I am lounging while internet window shopping), house cleaning tips (they will not clean my house for me), and books, stationary, and office supplies. But really, I have a problem with amount of time I spend on this endless quest. So sad; but so fun because I get sidetracked by “amazing, but true stories”, quizzes about your favorite celebrity, forums on various topics (like cleaning, exercising, reading) and pretty much all the things I’m not doing. Dave is short of cutting off my computer time and pretty soon Avery will learn to unplug the computer. So I have officially set a timer. I do this with Will who earns stars for media time – he does flash cards, cleans his room, treats his sister extra nice, and lays down at quiet time – all for 15 minutes a star. It works wonderfully; and now I have to apply it to myself. I did protest and tell Dave that it’s my escape and a way to stay connected to friends in different states. My e-mail chains with Amy, Michelle, Nerissa, Christine, Heidi, Jennifer, Tracy, Chasity, Cyrus, and Dave (the one complaining) have to be condensed, but it makes me so happy to read their messages, blogs, and myspace comments. Their like little packages of happiness waiting for me to open. It’s the little things in life that make me so happy. But in the spirit of the timer I will learn to appreciate things in bits and pieces rather than suffer a numb hiney and a crazier household!

Not Good at Goodbyes

18 Jan 2006

Dave is trying to feed me tapioca pudding, Avery is shoving candy hearts in my mouth, Will is working so hard to make me laugh and give me nose kissies at just the right time. And I’m trying; I’m trying so hard to smile without this sinking feeling in my stomach. Today is a day I’d like to forget, but never will, it is a day I’d like to start over, but now that it’s over maybe I can grieve.
I get home from running errands and there is a message from my Mom. No big deal, but then I call my sister. I start talking immediately because I haven’t heard from her in 24 hours.
Yak, Yak, Yak, but what’s this? She’s awfully quiet. "Nanu, are you sleeping?", "Did I wake you up?", "Did you and Joe get in a fight?", "Are you bummed out?"
And then she starts talking. She just talked to Mom. And she spills the beans, choking along the way.
“Anne, I’m so sorry, but Mom read in the paper today that Janell Smith passed away.”

Screeching to a halt comes my life. Everything sitting in front of me stops. This is a girl who is only 28 years old. This is a girl who was my best friend in 5th grade. A girl who in sat in Mrs. Gurnell’s English class and talked to me quietly throughout class, only to run home and talk more on the phone. We would write long random notes in this huge, pink cursive jr high hand. Later, we later on to play high school soccer together. She was so serious about it and would play in college on a scholarship, while I was too hung up in the social scene and boyfriend to care if I even got off the bench. Everything she did she did whole-heartedly with this beautiful warm smile on her face. I will never forget that smile.

Her mom, who later died of breast cancer, believed in her 100%. And I would too, she deserved to be healthy, she deserved to get married and have children, she deserved a long life.
Why does this make me so angry? Sometimes, I pray that God forgives me, but why did she get cut off short? I hope one day I understand, but all I can do is grieve. My stomach hurts, my eyes are tired, and my head is thinking to hard and fast to get anything I should done. I don’t ever want to forget her, but I’m not too sure what to do about tomorrow. I need to write more, but I just can't. Everything feels so final.

A Weekend (Like Others)

16 Jan 2006

I’ve been in this parallel all the weekend. Since Dave’s been sick (he’s had the flu) I feel a little disjointed (yes, like most days). I can’t help it, when my partner in this world feels a little off, this gives me an immediate excuse to feel the same. Plus, he’s cheap entertainment.
Saturday, I was at least going to make the kids have a good weekend, so Avery and I head off to HEB for some powdered donuts (the ultimate comfort food besides nachos). A bag of the precious fried fluff of white sugary goodness and we are ready to start the day. Dave makes a pallet on the couch, but he soon realizes that with our sugar high there is no rest for the sick and heads off back to the bedroom. Mind you, I did not sleep much the night before, like most nights, and I woke up super early with Little Miss. After the sugar high wore off the day spiraled into an unmemorable day busy with household duties and browsing for a restless cure on the Barnes& Nobles website where I listen to songs from CDs for hours deciding on nothing.
Sunday, we knew we weren’t going to make it to church, but Dave decided he would at least be awake more than asleep. So out of guilt and football watching Avery and I head off to the mall – I needed to get TJ’s present, and a restless search all last week ended 2 days late and one Hollister shirt plus some later. In my attempt to be Laguna Beach cool I bought a pair of Hollister jeans and shirt (for myself, silly). No I didn’t try them on. First of all, I am getting so old, With the exception of one muscely arm, my eyes and ears are going. I notice this because Hollister really needs to turn on the lights (I can’t read the funny shirts) and needs to turn the music down (hello, I’m shopping, not swigging vodka sours). Second Avery has been in my arms for these last few hours (years) wants down. Who can blame her, there is a whole world out there waiting for her to dance in! So, I let her down in this dark, crowded, bass bumpin’, smelly (lay off the perfume samples) store. And there it goes, instant: “Opps, that’s wasn’t a good idea”. She’s playing hide in go seek and I’m trying to pay. So it takes us a little longer to shop, with my decision making skills and her running around laughing like a wild she-devil. This was memorable, and that makes me happy.
BUT, I should have tried on the jeans, because happy can go straight to nasty. Really, size 7 no problem, unless your from Hollister and you don’t’ even make it past the middle of my hiney! Horrible, between this and TJ’s party Friday night (I haven’t talked about this, have I?) I’m so glad I’m not a teenager. I actually feel comfortable in my skin these days, don’t make me go there! So today I wake up ready to conquer the world (and shop in stores that cater to my age (hiney)), but wait what is this headache, fever, joint pain all about. Oh no, let me get under the covers and start over tomorrow!

But I really like you...

I have confessions that I’d like to get off my chest before I annoy anyone else that I care about:
1) I have a strange fascination with looking at my split ends. This sadly, has been going on for about 15 years. There is something so relaxing about finding the perfect split (or splits). This is a ritual I perform 2 places: in the car, or laying in bed, like reading a few chapters (words) in a book it’s something I have to do before I call it a night. Yikes! What’s even scarier is that if I find a tremendously damaged stand (a split on a split *5) I have to share it. Dave’s a good sport. He actually takes this hair like a precious jewel, analyzes it, and makes just the right comments. Like a champion with the blow dryer or hair bleach, I grin with satisfaction! Don’t worry, I have a lot of hair, but you know, I didn’t need contacts until I began this pursuit. Another thing, you don’t want to be in front of me driving. It can be a dangerous place, especially at a red light. Some times I gently (and regrettably) take my foot off the break in quest of the offending hair.
2) I lose things a lot: I know, it’s clique but this is disturbing to me. I lose my keys way too much for the average blonde. Before college I had a Mercedes (don’t get your hopes up). It was a 1974 Mercedes 450 SEL, the biggest, heaviest car made to date, with it came a key the size of a small dog. Didn’t lose this so much, but I when I did I just crawled through the sunroof that I had to leave open because the air-conditioner didn’t work and the horsehair leather interior a foul enough disgusting smell it acted as it’s own defense. I did lose my purse a few times in this car, but it didn’t matter because it cost so much to gas this mack daddy up there wasn’t anything in it anyway. (Side note: I got lost near Fair Park in Dallas which is a very unfavorable place to be for a very blonde, pasty gal like me to be, but I made it out safely because the windows were tinted so dark you couldn’t tell and if I leaned the seat back I fit in nicely as the neighborhood dope man.) Then college came and my parents didn’t let me have a car the first semester because of whole losing things issue – I did do well with apartment keys though. But, they got tired of me getting lost on the bus and dragging my sister with me through strange places in Austin, so I received the goods and was back in business! (?) Not so bad, but I am missing a camera, a watch, a couple of shirts (don’t ask) and a few wallets. I made it through college with a little less heavy pockets and one maxed out credit card, but still no REAL issue. Then came children and bless the brain that God gave me; it disappeared as fast as the keys. Gone: a planner, a wallet, a purse, Dave’s wallet, this makes me sick to my stomach… my Gucci watch (the Christmas present that Dave really shouldn’t have bought me because we were so poor) and two MP3 players both I left in the treadmill at Bally’s on 281, oh the curses!!! Once, I lost the keys while putting Will in his car seat and walking around to my side of the car. I have frequently left the keys on top of the car only to find them hours later. Even at 5’8 you can’t see on top of my Saturn SUV, promise. I’ve lost them in the shopping cart, in the diaper bag, in my purse in the car (too many pockets I tell you), in the refrigerator (wait, I was putting up milk) and the list goes on, but I don’t want to pain you. There’s a happy ending though, after an extensive and unfruitful internet search of the Whistler (don’t laugh, my Grandma had one ((it must be genetic)) I discovered a Jingle Bell. My keys are now at the end of rope and when I set it in my purse, it satisfyingly jingles. Before the panic starts all I have to do is shake my purse at little and a calm washes over me!
3) I could keep going, but I fear this annoying habit of dragging things out (and beating them to death) might really run you off so I am out of here.

Stuffed with Fluff

10 Jan 2006

I have spent so much quality time with my sis since she moved to good ‘ol SA. I can tease her like no other. She is really sensitive, but when it comes out of my mouth she knows it’s a lot of air. Today we were driving to pick Will up from school. We had just dropped off some dishes and a table I had given her for her new apartment. After running up 3 flights of stairs and racing down 1604 she calmly states that I am in a little too much of a hurry. Well, I am in a hurry. I don’t like to be the last mom and plus I like to talk to Chasity. Anyway, this spawned my character thinking. Sometimes (and I can’t help it, it just comes to me) I think of a character that reminds me of a person and it sticks. I look over and my sis turns into Eyeore. (No, no; I do not participate in recreational drug use: hello, I have enough trouble keeping my self in check). But, of course I blurt this out because she looks at me strangely as I am laughing out loud. I think it hurts her feelings, but I tell her at least in Austin they throw her a party. So we start at whole list to finish out the idea. She says I’m Piglet (I have to agree), mostly happy, a little cautious, and sometimes pink. Will is Tigger; this is fitting for his jovial self. Avery is Pooh Bear; though small in stature she is big in tummy. Dave is Rabbit, especially after he asks me what we have in our bank account! Amy’s husband Joe is Christopher Robin. He is the analyzer, soft spoken, thoughtful one of the bunch. Please, if you get through this random blog, think about what character is applicable to you and let me know. I have been taking myself way seriously lately – like the world will come to pieces if I leave the lid off the sandbox and my neighbors cat has a little private time in there. And that just sucks! So make me feel better and tell me who you are -
I love my when my friends can be silly with themselves.

Nanu – if you read this, Eyeore is my favorite. I just want to give him lots of hugs!
;-)

The Shrieking Shack

8 Jan 2006

Oh for the love of weekends. Its 3 am, I’m cruising the clearance isles at Target only to find my favorite stationary and stickers from Hot Hues with a bright orange ticket. I haven’t forgotten anything on my list: milk, check; bananas, check; birthday card for my best-friends son, check. Then, with a smile on my face a noise emits from another isle. I quickly transcend into a dark room quite like the bedroom I sleep in most of the time (unless Dave has his nasal orchestra practice).
“No!” I’m thinking “this can’t be happening.” I’m not at Target, my list is lying next to my Hello Kitty alarm clock that reads 3:06 am, and the noise is coming from Avery’s room down the hall. With the panicked breathing one has when sucked back into reality, I have to asses the situation. One baby (no, toddler) crying. But it’s not really crying, it’s YELLING.
I hate this dilemma: First, I can’t am sad that I bring these beautiful children into the world only to put them in a crib 200 times large than a womb. Second, really as a twin, I think they ARE lonely. But in reality it’s 3am, I went to sleep after midnight, I am NOT getting up. The shrieking continues –it’s all out banshee whale. I have a few pillows over my head, but guilt is overriding them. Dave, no, no problem all he has to say is “GRRRRRuuuMMMPH!” and “what the hell?”
“That is not helpful”, I reply.
I really am torn. I know if I go and get her she will be sleeping in our room until she’s 8 and this is unacceptable. Dave and I already sleep on opposite sides of a king size bed. There is no spooning; it’s overrated. He is a heater and I like cold sheets. Okay, so I can’t, under any circumstance go into her room’ and bring her back. No, no, no.
3:30 AM – muffled cries continue with staccato of a mad yell
3:45 AM: prognosis: same, “Is she hoarse?” I wonder.
4: OO AM: quiet, but…
4:30 AM: For the love of god, I am wide awake.
And this is when I decided to relent to Sunday. I guess I could start laundry, finish my shopping list, get ready for church, cook a gourmet breakfast? All before 7am. But I am already feeling an apology for the grouchiest mommy award! Added to list: new, bigger house, sound proof walls

Gotta love those horns.
Yep, I helped pay Mack Brown's salary.
Hope William will too ;) 

Will, don't grow up too fast.

Lessons from a Bookcase

Tools in Time Wasting and Fear Disappear

I admit it: I have a problem… in decisiveness. The whole idea of making a decision is a rather painful event for me. But today after a rather ridiculous battle of the in between I am going to decide.

It started really with a bookcase. In my obsessive quest for the perfect organizational tool for all the after Christmas toys, not to admit my own growing (overflowing) collection of books and journals, I needed something in a bad way.

After trips to the Container Store, rain checks for cubicles at Target, bargaining with the manager at Lowe’s to sell me a display (didn’t work) I found a beautiful specimen of shelving at World Market… 2 weeks ago. I’ve had Avery’s seat moved over for this many days. I’ve made 4 trips to World Market and 3 times I have traveled home unattended by one very large bookcase.

Oh, I stayed up late thinking about this and today was the day! I pick up my sister (she’s my helper, but doesn’t believe in assisting with one’s decisions) and I realize that there are 3 World Markets all equal distance from her apartment. Paralyzed I U-Turn trapped in a nervous, cold sweat I think that this is past ridiculous. I might actually need to see someone for help… but continued forward to my original choice.

Really, go with the first thought.

So today, I rejoice in decision. Really, I think it’s out of fear – this indecisiveness. I am down right scared to make a bad decision, to regret. But isn’t this a part of life? And aren’t I just denying living by not deciding. Therefore, I am making changes – I am moving forward – I will have the courage to decide!!!

But really, what's for dinner?

I gotta the Post-Christmas Blues

I love to be crafty. There is something so satisfying in making something with your hands. And what I lack in talent I make up in enthusiasm. Michael's and Hobby Lobby are trips I make often especially during Christmas. This year I wanted to make stocking for the kids. Not just little stockings, but the kind that if fell over could crush a child in a red velvet plume. So, the night before Christmas Dave, my sis, and I stayed up late at my parent's house in Duncanville making stockings and stuffing them with the goodies I have stockpiled. Will's was full, spilling over the sides with goodies. And Avery, poor Avery, she had a baby stroller and some Little People in hers. I'll make it up to her, I promise.

With this guilt and the other that comes with balancing the checkbook after Christmas, I realize that I miss Christmas. Since I don't have ornaments to hang, needles to vacuum, bulbs to replace, packages to wrap and rewrap, letter to address, pictures to print, cookies to bake, I am so sad. I love to celebrate the people in my life and with Christmas I can do just that. So ready for my resolution? Celebrate every day - wait I already do that. No, I need to celebrate all the people in my life, not just worry about the perfect present. But really, I do miss the energy Christmas brings. Maybe, I'll celebrate 3 Kings Day, maybe our National Championship win, maybe I start Valentines Day, or even better I'll hit the Christmas clearence tomorrow and shop for next year. Well, nothing like retail therapy to get this girl to her normal spritely self!

Can I get away with this next year?

Me & Little Miss