No. You watch.

Emmi had a dance recital of sorts yesterday. She worked all semester on the dance. Despite her balance issues, and the fact that doctors once said she would never even be able to stand up, she learned the whole dance. She practiced at home for weeks. She knew it. She really did.

The tap dance went great. She missed a few parts, as she was distracted by everyone watching. But at least she wasn't the kid who was too scared to perform or the one that was skipping around making some weird noise.

Then it came time for the ballet. They lined up. Emmi was talking to Jill, waving to my mom, and wiggling around. My mom signed for her to watch. Then. All hell broke loose. A sign language argument ensued. One in which she says not one word. Just signs "STOP" multiple times, followed by many other things. Eventually, there is some dancing. Although, not at all what the other children are doing. By the time, the second performance rolls around, we thought she had calmed down.

We were wrong.... And so.... argument 1 and 2.

Day One of Summer.

Yesterday I made a schedule for the summer. Everyday we would work on for Jill reading fluency, handwriting, and multiplication/division. Emmi will be working on key phrases, letter recognition, and sight words. I set up times for each day, as well as lesson plans. I am super organized. Or I would be, if I stuck to the schedule. Instead......

Woke up with Kenny at 6:30. Had coffee while checking my email. Quietly. No grumpy child complaining about being awake or asking for more cereal. By 6:45, my workday began.

Fed my kids popcorn for breakfast. Went well with the movie I let them watch at 8am.

Didn't iron the clothes they put on today. Sundresses require little ironing. Tied no shoelaces. Both kids wore flip-flops.

By 11am, both errands for the day checked off my to-do list. Balloons, ribbons, and ice cream for party tomorrow purchased. Let kids have ice cream before lunch. Kids super happy as they normally don't ever get ice cream.

Heated up pizza rolls for lunch. Let kids eat in front of TV.

Going swimming in ten minutes. Swimming + hot sun = very worn out kids. I am thinking another movie time might happen this afternoon.

I love summer.

I Scream, You Scream. We all Scream.

Tomorrow is the last day of school. Which means. The required and dreaded (but only because I agonize over it) teacher's gifts. I want the teachers to know I appreciate all the hardwork they put in. Jill's teacher was easy. The homeroom mom organized a class gift, and she is receiving a substantial gift certificate to her favorite restaurant. Emmi's teachers? That's another story. First, there are, like, ten of them. Seriously. Two teachers, three therapists, an Audiologist, and four bus drivers. Second, that are all wildly different. Third, I only have about five dollars to spend on each teacher. How on Earth do you say "Thanks for working one-on-one with my special needs child who is quite the terror, extremely naughty, and probably drives you crazy," with five dollars? Impossible.

For Christmas, I found a review of cookie cutters that were all missing pieces like someone had taken a bite out of them. Funny. I ordered sets for all of the teachers. That went over well. For weeks, I have been trying to come up with a summer-type theme. I asked a few teacher friends for ideas. We came up with a few things. All of them too expensive. Or inappropriate And then. Last night it came to me. Ice cream scoops with a gift card to a local ice cream shop attached to them. Perfect!

Jill's awards ceremony was this morning. I figured I could run to the dollar store and grab some ice cream scoops and be done with the whole thing by 10:30 this morning. Wrong. Dollar store number one. No ice cream scoops. By the third dollar store, two Targets, and Hobby Lobby, I was beginning to think I should abandon the idea. Or I already had. But I had nothing else. I needed to do something by tomorrow. Party City was my last shot. I though perhaps people throwing parties might need to scoop ice cream.

Up and down the isles I went. And finally. There they were. Two full boxes. And they were cute. Score! I grabbed one to check the price. Please, please let it be cheap. I couldn't afford expensive ones. Not just to use to attach to gift cards. I flipped the tag over....

"Uh ma'am. I need to stock that shelf. You need to move." The sales girl smacked her gum as she talked. Stereotypical.

"I am looking here. I'll be done in a minute." I didn't budge. She got pissed.

"I need to stock that shelf. You can take your ice cream scoop down there to look at it."

Oh hell no. No little sixteen-year-old was going to talk to me like that. And? Seriously. I AM THE CUSTOMER. What the fuck?

I grabbed Emmi, and marched to the front of the store to find the manager. I explained what had happened. How the idiot girl had asked me to move, to stop shopping so she could stock the shelf. Then I held up the ice cream scoop. "See this. I needed TEN of them. I have been to FIVE stores to find ice cream scoops. And I need TEN. You have ten. But I won't buy them from you now, because your employee was so rude."

Or because they were $13.99 a piece which I saw long before the girl asked me to move, as I was about to put it back on the shelf.

It's a love/hate relationship.

Normally I avoid Walmart at all costs. Target, I love thee. Walmart and I? We have had our problems. But? Jill wanted a Hannah Montana themed birthday party, and the only place that makes Hannah Montana cakes is, you guessed it, Walmart. So I went last week and ordered one for her actual birthday. It was surprisingly good. And cheap! I was sold.

Her party is on Saturday. I had to go back today to order another, much larger, cake for her party. This time the cupcake cake shaped like a guitar. We have been searching for months for Hannah Montana plates and napkins and such to no avail. I found them online, but the shipping costs three times the amount of the stupid plates. Hell no. So I resolved to buy purple table covers, napkins, and plates. At least the cake went with the theme. I was already at Walmart, so I decided to grab the supplies while I was there.

I went to the party supply isle. It seemed kind of bare. There were two large boxes at the end of the isle. Obviously they were restocking. The pickings were slim. I eyed the boxes to see if perhaps there might be more purple table cloths inside. I needed one more. Then I saw it. The packing slip said "H. Montana." No. It couldn't be. I opened the box, and there inside. was. Hannah. Montana. party. supplies. I quickly found someone to help me. He informed that the items had not been properly stocked or checked in or whatever, so I would have to wait. Being the crazy lady that I am, I demanded that he do it right then. I had to have those. I think I scared him, and he wanted me to leave. But there was no getting rid of me until I got my Hannah Montana party supplies. I waited while he scanned each item, and grabbed them from him before he could even shelve them. I scooped up napkins, and plates, and a Happy Birthday banner, and party favors, and I think perhaps I will be the best mommy ever.

And Walmart. Sorry about that hating you thing.

To-Do.

I don't really have much to say today. I have been sick. Really sick. So I haven't left the house or talked to anyone for days. The kids got shipped off for the weekend so I could rest. They are coming back later today. I am feeling much better, and am now bored. I already went through the whole house unstraightening everything the maid straightened. Not uncleaning. Not like that. The maid, apparently, can't stand it when I put things at angles. I have three shelves over the couch with some candles, a picture of Kenny and I, a vase, and such. She lines everything up perfectly straight. After she leaves, I go back around and re-angle it all. I know, I know. One would think that I could just tell her not to straighten it. But no. This is nothing new. She has been doing this for years. Anyway, I realized today that I had slacked in the re-angling. Everything in our house was completely straight. I fixed it all. Now I am out of things to do. I could sit by the pool and read, but my antibiotic says to stay out of the sun. I ignored that yesterday, and napped (yelled obnoxious, not at all helpful comments at Kenny) outside while Kenny worked on the outdoor kitchen. Now my feet are burned. And my ankles. The rest of me was in the shade. So that just leaves tackling some of my to-do list.

1. Order Jill's (second) birthday cake. This one for her party next weekend.

2. Work on party favors for Jill's birthday. It's a Hannah Montana themed party. I am burning copies of Hannah Montana CD's with customized CD covers, tying a balloon to it, and calling it a day.

3. Shop online for new bathing suit. I know I own like forty bathing suits. But a girl always needs a new bathing suit for vacation...AND Kenny and I finally booked our trip to Mexico!!

4. Pack up winter clothes from the girl's closets. Bleh. I think I will keep putting that one off.

What was he thinking?

Jill normally goes to her dad's right after school gets out and stays through most of the summer. This year, she chose to only go for a few weeks, so she isn't going until sometime in July. So her dad sent her birthday present to her. It arrived yesterday. It was a large box. She dug right in, pulling out a karaoke machine that her ipod plugs into. And? A movie. My Girl. A classic from when we were younger. Except that it came out when we were in about fifth grade (I think). Not first grade. I told Jill I didn't think the movie was appropriate for her to watch. She grumped. Then. Little smarty that she is, plays the dad card. "Well, dad thinks it is okay, or he wouldn't have given it to me." Yeah. Well, your dad is obviously an idiot. No offense, Kris, but seriously?

Half-way through the movie and the topics that have been brought up so far are death, periods, smoking joints, womanizing, and AIDS. Although the movie didn't directly bring up AIDS. I just had to strongly warn her against the whole "blood brothers" thing.

I've already explained the death thing, so all we have left is the momma in jail thing after I kill her father.

****Disclaimer: I am not threatening to kill her father for real. We get along just fine.******

Tricks

I should have posted a little more about how we messed with Jill about her birthday present....

Since we moved in the house next door has been partially burned down. After living here a year and a half, they finally started to tear it down on Monday to rebuild.

As we were tucking Jill into bed the night before her birthday, she asked for a hint about her present. "Is it big or small?"

"Well, I had to use the trailer to pick it up," Kenny said.

Jill looked confused. Nothing she asked for was that big.

"Yep. And we had them tear down that burned down house, so we could set it up over there."

She looked at me astonished. Then, after a minute, her eyes narrowed. "You are lying!"

"Oh honey. I prefer to call it tricks."

Happy Birthday to Jill!

Jill is seven today. That sounds really old to me. Very old. I can no longer pretend she is a baby. She is solidly in the middle of elementary school. In four days, she will be a second grader.

She was very excited for her birthday. She has been asking for a pink ipod for months. I convinced her the was no way in hell I was buying a seven year old an ipod. Hehehe. I already had bought it. And loaded it with every song and tv show she likes. Plus a few movies. Most of the time, she doesn't fall for my tricks, but the neighbors all started talking about how ridiculous it was that young children were given gifts like that. Obviously, their kids don't make 2 hour flights by themselves, four times a year, round trip. Or take their ipod out of their purse, and go off and listen to it....sitting quietly for the ONLY time that whole day. Or love music the way Jill does. Or actually take care of their possessions. Anyway, she was convinced she would not get it. She gave me a list of other acceptable gifts that I immediately handed over to my mom, sister, and Kenny's mom.

This morning, we woke her up with her gift. The new ipods are smaller than the one I have (the video classic) so she was still thrown off by the size of the box. She shook it. She tested the weight. She made a few guesses. "A rock?" We laughed. She opened it. She looked at us in shock. She jumped up and down. She squealed. Hell, even if she never uses it, it was worth that moment.

The mommies may hate me...

but all the neighborhood dad's think I kick ass.

Kenny has been wanting an outdoor kitchen since before we even officially moved in. It is all he has talked about. When we put in the pool, we ran water, electric, and sewer lines to the spot that he chose for said outdoor kitchen. But then? We did nothing with it for months. On Sunday we bit the bullet, and started the project. By Monday, we had most of the right side of the base complete, except one board. One little angle wasn't working out. It should. But it wasn't. It worked on paper. But not so much when we put it together.

My mom, dad, and I spent all morning doing the math to correct it. Finally, we thought we had it. I measured it out, marked the boards. By God! It looked right. I really wanted to cut it. But? I didn't even know how to turn on the miter saw. Hell. I even call the saw the "cutty thingie." I couldn't call Kenny to ask, because that would ruin the surprise, and he had long since thrown out the instructions. So I researched. I looked up the manual online. And when I was fairly convinced that I wouldn't chop my fingers off, I practiced on a scrap board. And? It was fun! Brrrrwwwwww! Cut. Cut. CHOP! In no time, I had not only cut that board, but finished the entire left side of the base, all while Jill and the neighbor's kiddo happily swam in the pool.

By the time I dropped the neighbor's kid off, I was hot and sweaty from working in the backyard and never actually getting in the pool. Her dad questioned why I didn't just swim with the kids. So I told him about my little construction project. His eyes got wide. He got a goofy grin on his face. "Wow! Kenny is going to be very happy." He was in awe.

I spend everyday eating healthy, running, precisely applying makeup, carefully ironing clothes, spraying perfume, straightening my hair (okay, that is a bit of a lie....but you get my point). AND? I have never had a man look at me with such adoration as when I told him I not only knew what a miter saw was, but how to use it. Today? I am mastering the table saw and the drill. I am going to be the hottest mommy on the block.

Nice.

Why is it that when I decide not to do my hair or get dressed in anything other than jogging shorts and a tank top to run errands, I run into an ex from high school?

House building is my favorite.

The first time we looked at our house, we didn't realize anything was wrong with the house next door. About the third or fourth time we came over here (after putting in an offer, before closing... and yes, we went by, like, everyday. It was vacant, we are Realtors. We could go in whenever we wanted.), we noticed there was only a front facade of the house next door. The rest had burned down. We assumed it just happened. We had that side of our house checked for smoke/fire damage, and found none. We didn't think much of it. Until we moved in and found out it had burned down FOUR YEARS ago. Four. No one had done anything with it since. Our HOA was no help. Which was surprising, given the fact that they send me a letter every time my grass grows longer than one inch or when I paint my house the same damn color it was without prior approval.

So this morning, when a construction crew shows up bright and early, all the neighbors got very excited. Kenny confirmed that, unlike the rumors (we heard they were tearing it down), they were going to rebuild it. We all celebrated. Yay for our house values. Yay for not finding kids playing in the burned down house anymore. I was happy. It is going to be a pain in the ass during the construction. My dogs had already exhausted themselves by barking all morning. The summer is just starting, and we have a construction crew standing on a roof, looking right at our pool. So much for my little backyard oasis. But, still. Happy.

Until I came home from running errands this morning. And. Found an 18-wheeler in my front yard. That's right. MY FRONT YARD. Parked in my grass.

Tiffany, what was it I yelled when I got out of the car? FAN-FUCKING-TASTIC? Do you think that means the same thing in Spanish as it does in English?

Naughty. But cute.

Emmi is naughty. Well, so is Jill. But Emmi is REALLY naughty. I have always said it is a good thing they are cute, because it helps them get away with being naughty.

But seriously? How do you punish this.......

Even when you catch it doing something like this.....

Notice how I grab a camera, before I save Jill from being beat with a stick.

We could be just like The Hills.

Tiffany and I should have our own reality show. We are just as entertaining as those Hills girls. We once even had a big, massive fight. I was all like, "I hate you. Fuck you." And then Tiffany was all like, "Oh yeah, well just for that I am going to up and move to Northy-South Carolina or wherever the hell it is I moved that Tricia can never remember the name of." Except our whole show would consist of phone calls. And mostly me driving around in my car while we talk. Cause that is the only time I talk on my phone. It is going to really suck when they make talking on your phone illegal while driving. But I digress. We, are the most entertaining people I know.

It is the dynamic we have. I say really outrageous things and act all shocked that, oops, I said it out loud. She pretends to be shocked in return or mad or disapproving. Then she fires back something equally as naughty. And we laugh at our cleverness. Entertaining. To us. We aren't nearly as fabulous though. We shop at Gap and AE, and drive mommy type cars around the suburbs. But still. A good show we would make.

Neither one of us ever says hello when we call, we launch straight into our story as soon as the phone is answered. Or if we do say hello, it is some sarcastic, sing-songy "Heeellloooooo." And we know there has been trouble. Like this morning when Jill missed the bus because she was busy kicking the dashboard of Kenny's truck, which she was sitting in because she wasn't allowed to walk to the bus stop with her friends after she hit her sister over a piggy bank argument. I made her write sentences and apology letters for the hour she had to wait until Emmi's bus came and I could take her to school. I had my phone out before I was even back in my car from dropping her off.

"I am going to beat my child when she gets home today. Is that allowed? Remember the good 'ole days when beating children was okay?"

Tiffany sighed. "Ahhh. Why weren't we parents then? It was probably more fun to be parents then. So, good day so far?"

"Yeah. The best." I launch into the explanation of how my child was really naughty this morning, which reminds her of the naughty thing her son did.

"I forgot to tell you. Mason let the cat out again. When it came back in, it laid around for a few days just like last time. You know what that means? It. Is. Pregnant. AGAIN."

"Yeah, well, I am totally not surprised that you have a hooker for a cat.....Hooker."

I say it with such shock and lightness there is no way she can be mad at me for calling her a hooker. Plus, you can completely get away with calling your friends hookers when you make this face right afterwards.

Silence. I know Tiffany is giving me the look. Hehehe. She is scowling at me through the phone.

(Sorry Tiff. Hope you don't take offense to being HEIDI. She just makes the best scowly face.)

"Speaking of hookers, how many different dads do your kids have?" Boo. She wins. I change the subject.

"Hey remember the last time your cat had kittens and that girl bought one for her boyfriend?" We both start giggling.

"That was soooo not the kind of pussy he was asking for."

"Stupid girl. I bet she felt retarded when she was like 'look baby' and he was like 'what the hell is that' and she was like 'pussy, just like you asked for'. Maybe you should have told her before she took that poor kitty home."

"Hell no. I had to get rid of those kitties. Thank goodness for Craigslist."

"Just make sure you don't type in Craiglist. Unless you like porn, Tiff." I pause. She knows what is coming next. I never bring up porn without making Captain Hook jokes. Let's just say we were both accidentally subjected to viewing some homemade porn one day at work and all we can think of now when we hear the word "porn" is that maneuver we saw that we subsequently named the "Captain Hook".

"Penis Pan!"

"Captain Hook!"

"Holla!" Cause that is how we end every conversation.

What the.....?

We all knew that one day Emmi's expressive language skills would catch up to her receptive language skills. We also knew there would be trouble when this happened. See, due to a malformation of Emmi's soft palate, she has to learn how to approximate sounds. Meaning, she has been talking for awhile, and no one can understand her. And, because no one can understand her, we sometimes forget that she can understand us. So we say just about everything in front of her. Lately, she is a lot more understandable. Which is great! Fantastic!

Until Jill accidentally burned Emmi's hand tonight. Bad. And Emmi? She yells to Jill, "Ow. What the fuck?!"

And when Kenny and I look at each other shocked and start giggling (all while Jill is scolding us for laughing because that "will teach Emmi that being naughty is funny"), Emmi again says, "What the FUCK?"

And Kenny and I had to leave the room we are laughing so hard.

*****This morning, Emmi was upstairs yelling, "PINK," at the top of her lungs. This means she wants strawberry (pink) milk. I was ignoring her. Because, well, I don't particularly like my kids screaming demands at me. So I walked in the kitchen, and Kenny, with a smirk on his face says in the perfect imitation of Emmi, "Wha da fahhhck, PIIIIIINK!" And I spit my coffee out, I started laughing so hard.*******

Lost in Translation

I tried to write out a really funny story from today. Trust me. It is funny. Ask Tiffany. She laughed. But then I realized, I couldn't include half of it. You know, cause I made some really bad jokes that probably would not go over well in bloggyworld. Funny in person. Not so funny written down. Without tone of voice. Damn. You guys miss out on some good shit.

A bad review.

Kenny and I have a fondness for Mexico. Mostly because travelling there from Houston is cheap enough that we can swing a few trips a year. And? The Caribbean side is full of gorgeous beaches. We have stayed in boutique hotels. We have taken a cruise. We have gone to a big resort. We have rented a car and driven along the coast, stopping along beaches with sand so undisturbed that you sink at least a foot deep with each step. This summer, we are going back to a resort. Honestly, the all-inclusives are the cheaper way to go, once you factor in food and drinks. We choose where to stay, depending on what we plan to do when we get there. This trip will be filled with more excursions. So cheaper flights and hotel, more money to spend once we get there. All-inclusive it will be! We have been researching trips for months. We watch the hot deals. When one grabs our attention, we switch to tripadvisor for the reviews. And some of the reviews? They kill me. Seriously.

It's the bad reviews I look for. I want to find the negative points. Then, I decide which negative is worse. Food, beach conditions, cleanliness. Today, after reading two full pages of good reviews on the resort that is currently number one on my list, I finally found a negative review. They gave 1 star across the board for all categories. Hmmm? I clicked to read the full review. I must know. Why had their stay been so bad? Everyone else had rave reviews. It is a five star resort. Most people felt it lived up to that reputation. Obviously this person didn't. And? The reason why? Well, for starters not all of the staff spoke "clear and understandable English," almost all the maids spoke "mostly Spanish." Oh no! You mean, you went to MEXICO and they dared to speak Spanish and not English. Really. The nerve! I am can't believe that they did not learn English just for you. You most certainly learned Spanish to converse with them when they come to the US, right? And if that wasn't enough? The wary travellers who could not get enough of their native tongue in a foreign land, got....are you ready for this.....SUNBURNED. That's right. They. Went. To. Mexico. And. Got. SUNBURNED! Nobody told them that they would get sunburned on a beach. In the Mexican sun. Very near the equator.

Or maybe someone did tell them. But it was in Spanish. And they no comprende.

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Mama's Day to all of the mommies!

Oops.

I am really good at taking medication when I physically feel the need for it. Like my migraine medicine. Have a headache, take a pill. But now that I have been on my medicine for months, and I rarely have headaches....I forget to take the stupid things. I have some by my toothbrush. I keep a pill bottle in my coffee cup, so I have to take one before I can drink coffee. I try really hard to remember. Still. I forget. And today. I have a massive headache. Ouch. I had to take my treatment pills, in addition to my preventative. The treatments make me feel very loopy. It is going to be a very fun afternoon.

Vagina. Hehe.

We couldn't do one of the tests Emmi needed for her kidney without first putting her on medication. One with instructions that read "apply vaginally." I was swamped with work, and Kenny offered to help me out around the house. I asked him how he would feel about dropping off the prescription at the pharmacy for me. He replied, "No problem," before he bothered to look at what he was dropping off. As he read it, I grinned. "Just tell them your vagina hurts." He did not look amused. At least I planned to pick it up.


I needed a few other things when I went to pick it up. I am obsessed with hair. Or lack of. I shave every night. I wax my bikini line and armpits. I needed more wax. And the best kind? The kind made for Brazilian waxing. The ones that say things like "Naughty Nads" or "Private Parts, Sexy, Smooth." I grabbed a few and headed towards the pharmacy desk. Then it occurred to me. I was buying Brazilian wax and picking up vaginal estrogen cream. I had a theme going. For the hell of it I grabbed a pack of tampons, even though I didn't need them. That ought to make the pharmacist wonder.


It was the young pharmacy tech that came to wait on me. The one that always seems so unsure of himself. He blushed when he saw the wax. He practically fainted when he saw the tampons. As he grabbed the medication, an evil thought popped into my head.


"Umm. Excuse me. Yeah. I just don't think I understand how I am supposed to use that medicine. Can you explain to me how to apply it?"


He smiles politely. He reads the label. His smiles fades, and his cheeks turn a bright shade of red. I let him stammer for a moment, before I start laughing. I was really hoping I could make him say "vagina."

Tres de Mayo

So we all know I have been blowing it big time lately, what with being all nice and donating hearing aids and such. But this weekend? Trish was back. In rare form.

Mexican culture is more prevalent in Houston that American culture. Truly. So it makes total sense that we would celebrate Cinco de Mayo. Except of course, the US doesn't actually recognize it as a holiday, so we had to celebrate on Saturday. I guess that would make it Tres de Mayo. But I wore a sombrero and we drank margaritas and ate fajitas. Kenny and I even brought a pinata. Filled with Mexican candy that we bought at Food Town (Hey, Tiffany, I actually went in Food Town!).

Honestly, I wasn't in much of a party mood, but Kenny really wanted to go. I was determined to make the best of it for his sake. Besides, it had been awhile since I had seen a lot of those friends. I don't do much with that group because their idea of fun is still going to bars, getting wasted, and wandering back home to their parents home, where they still live, somewhere around 4am. God love them. That's just not me. And? There was a new girlfriend in the group. I was kind of anxious to check her out. A few others had met her already. They all had stories to tell. Like how in less than twenty minutes she told the same story about getting drunk and wrecking her car no less than four times. And how she thought this was hilarious, when no one else did. But I wasn't going to judge her based on their opinions. No, no. I was judging her based on the fact that I am really good friends with his ex, and I was going to hate her no matter what. Even if she wasn't annoying. Which she was.

For some reason New GF was hellbent on not being the newby, which meant someone else had to be. She picked me. Being ever so nice, she decided to take me under her wing and introduce me to everyone at the party. I let this go one for quite some time, hushing people if they tried to correct her. She was so sweet to introduce me to the girl I hung out with in jr. high, the guy I used to live down the street from in elementary school and the ex-girlfriend of Kenny's old roommate that I spent countless hours with when I first moved back to Houston. We settled into chairs at the table, and some of the girls started talking about the drunk of the group. I chimed in with the hilarious story of how he got banned from our house by first breaking Kenny's dishwasher in his old house, then licking me. New GF, looked slightly confused. She couldn't figure out how I knew him. But she she also seemed a little defensive. She immediately bombarded me with all of the good qualities of drunk-boy. I put my hand up to stop her. "I know. I don't hate him. He just can't come over anymore." She told me if I knew him better, I would understand. I laughed. I responded with, "Honey, I have known him since high school." She let this comment settle for a minute. Then? Suddenly she realized. If I knew him since high school, then I had to know everyone since then too. Her eyes narrowed. I smiled sweetly, then leaned toward one of the girls across the table and inquired about her family, whom I hadn't seen in a few years.

Later, we moved on to the subject of a friend's upcoming wedding. Over a year away. One off-hand comment about still not knowing what color she wanted to choose, and suddenly New GF has taken over the conversation. Apparently, being in SIX weddings last June made her the expert in weddings. She launched into a lengthy tirade of the proper styles of bridesmaid dresses and gifts and such that not even my "always a bridesmaid, never a bride" comment could halt. After she moved onto having contracts drawn up for the bridesmaids so that they would not change their hairstyle between now and the wedding, Kenny leaned forward. "Hey, New GF! I thought you were a nurse!" She looked at him, "I am." Kenny smirked. "Oh, I thought for sure you must be a wedding coordinator with all the expert knowledge you have." Her mouth clamped shut. The other girls stifled giggles. I laughed out loud. My Kenny is funny. He makes me so proud.

They day wore on, and I was about ready to go. Kenny and I made the rounds, saying goodbye to everyone. New GF was sitting at a table with several people. I said a collective goodbye to them. New GF made some remark about us leaving early. Apparently, my irritation with her was no longer veiled, and it showed in the look I gave her. "I'm sure that look doesn't really mean she thinks she is better than you!" I laughed. I leaned over and patted New GF on the back, "Oh Sweetie, yes it does." Then I turned and walked off. I am quite sure that New GF is still trying to decide if I was serious or not.

For the record. I was.

Not nearly as bad....

So Emmi's fever is up to 101. She is complaining of her side hurting. Damn kidney. But the good news is.....IT ISN'T AS BAD AS IT LOOKS! There is no actual damage to the kidney. Yet. Everything I found out was followed by "yet." But the good news is we can treat the symptoms (the kidney infections) for now. No surgery! I should be over the moon, but this was a little too close for comfort. We have another renal ultrasound scheduled for one month. If there is no change, we can go back to every six months. We do still have to do the weekly work up, but still... this is good news. I will be very happy in a little bit, after I process it.

Avoidance.

I have been avoiding writing this all day. I don't really know what to say or not to say. I have no official test results. I have been told exactly nothing. I don't really need to be told anything. I know what I saw. I saw one good, healthy, perfectly normal kidney. Just one. And another that appeared black. Almost solidly. Hydronephrosis. No one has to tell me. No one has to give me an official report. I saw it myself. The question that won't be answered until Monday is how severely damaged is the kidney now? How far gone is it? Are we beyond removing the duplicated collection system? Has she crossed into full-blown kidney failure? I have known for quite some time that Emmi would eventually need surgery. I even knew that there was the risk that she would loose the whole kidney. I just kind of thought it wouldn't ever happen. I thought it would stop.

I was wrong. I often am.

Remember when I said I figured out how to breathe through it all? I think I forgot.

Blind-sided.

Thursday is gymnastics day. Jill argues every Thursday about going. She loves it once she gets there, but she argues EVERY single time non-the-less. I threaten to lock her into her room until she turns thirty if she doesn't go. We have a staring contest until I win, then she stomps off to gymnastics.

Today she walked in the door, asking to skip gymnastics before she even put her backpack down.

"Fine by me."

She looked at me shocked. Then, deciding to press her good luck, she asked for a friend to come over.

"Do your homework first."

She looked at me confused. "Mom, you know it is Thursday, right."

I nodded.

"Are you sick?"

Nope. Just sad. And mad. Mad that I have to make Emmi go through more tests. Emmi finished up the last of her antibiotics today. When I called the specialist last week, they seemed unconcerned with her kidney infection. It had been almost a week. I thought we were in the clear. Then the call came. I recognized the number, I assumed they were calling to check up on Emmi.

They weren't. Because of Emmi's test results we need to do a renal ultrasound right away. Not a problem. It is an easy test. We also now have to do the VCUG, the test I have been putting off. Every talks about how horrible it is. How much their children scream during it. How they are hurting after it. They can't be sedated, because it alters the test results. It is going to be horrible. And that may not be the worst of it. It may all lead up to her having surgery. Soon.

And suddenly I am very tired. I am tired of doing this all the time. I am tired of being blind-sided. It isn't fair. I want someone else's life. Well, at least for a day.