Text and skate.

I just read an article on Yahoo about the rise in injuries incurred while texting. Apparently, there have even been some deaths. In conclusion, some ER doc somewhere warned not to text while walking, skating, or cooking. Damn. Cause I love to text and skate.

No time to be sick.

For one reason or another we have had to reschedule Emmi's audiology appointment four times. I missed one, which I never do. Then the doctor's wife was rushed to the hospital. They kindly rescheduled an appointment for me...while I was in Mexico. We finally settled on today. And now I am sick. The doubling up on antibiotics, which never does my stomach well, is not helping with a stomach bug! Nor is the quick dissolving pill that starts to disintegrate before I even swallow it, leaving powdery yuck in my mouth helping! But I can't reschedule, because we are down to the last three weeks before school starts. We have company coming next week (yay!!! I am very much so looking forward to that! No sarcasm, that is for real.). The girls have dentist appointments. Emmi has a renal ultrasound, a visit with her kidney doc, an opthomology checkup (they monitor her once a year), and genetics clinic, all in that remaining two weeks. So I have to drag myself up to Texas Children's today. There is a slight chance the new processors for her implants are in, so that is giving me some motivation. Otherwise, I would still be in bed trying not to move.

Stupid Jalapenos. Or something.

So I haven't really mentioned that I got sick on vacation. Cause who likes someone who goes on vacation then comes home complaining about vacation? Apparently Montezuma and I? We aren't friends. I am that anal traveller that won't even have a drink with ice in it for fear that I will get sick. I order my food over cooked. I don't eat raw fruits. But I was in Mexico. Who can resist jalapenos? Perhaps it would have been nice of the FDA to announce that little suspicion about jalapenos before I left for vacation. Not after. Perhaps then I would have stayed away from anything that had touched or even looked at a jalapeno. Instead, I got sick. Really sick. Although, it wasn't too bad if I didn't eat and took lots of headache medicine. And really, I only got concerned when a week later, my fever was rising and I still couldn't eat normally.

So I went to the doctor today. They took lots of my blood. Then they loaded me up with not one, but TWO antibiotics. And offered to hospitalize me. Because it would be too simple, if I wasn't allergic to almost every single antibiotic I have ever taken.

I love watching What's With That House. Mostly because the host makes fun of the weirdos who own the homes, and they don't get it. They have no clue. And that makes me giggle.

New, old camera.

I got bored today. Kenny is working. Emmi doesn't really request to go to do anything the way Jill does. By ten thirty I was looking for something to do today. I dug out my old 35mm Nikon and dusted it off. It was loaded with black & white film from the one time Kenny had been messing around with developing film, which was sometime before we moved into this house. All of his equipment is currently collecting dust in the garage. Whenever we get around to finishing out the office upstairs, it will have a darkroom for Kenny. He enjoys developing the photos. Watching them come to life. Having control over how they turn out. I like to take the pictures. Or, I used to back when I used my 35mm. I forgot what is was like. I got so used to digital. To pointing and clicking and immediately erasing anything that didn't please me. I stopped worrying about the background or the composition. If it wasn't a good shot, who cared? I would just erase it and take another. Even when I noticed that all of pictures seemed to be lacking, I couldn't figure out what it was. Until, I slipped that strap of that old Nikon around my neck, wrapping my right hand around the camera, stabilizing the lens in my left hand, feeling the weight of the camera settle in to my hands. Immediately I felt my body adjust to the old stance I took when shooting roll after roll of film, my elbows tucked in, my shoulders relaxed, the camera pressed to my face.

I took Emmi out to the front yard with four fresh rolls of film. I fired the first few shots off, hearing the familiar "swoosh, click" of the shutter. Then I noticed it. The background. The light. The composition of the shot. All of these minute details that I long since forgot to pay attention to. Before each shot I quickly scanned the background, changed camera angles, distances, watched the way the light filtered in, all before focusing on Emmi. By the second roll, I switched out of the autofocus mode. I couldn't tell you that I remember a thing about f-stops or aperture settings or shutter speeds, but my hands did. I adjusted. I shot. In five minutes, I plowed through four rolls of film, not necessarily coming up with my best shots I have ever taken. But not too bad for barely having touched a 35mm camera in the past ten years.

But you know, it sure is expensive to develop all those photos! Although, really, I just got a picture cd.

At least it's not lice.

I am allergic to a lot of things. Random things. Some foods. Some perfumes. Some insects. Some plants. Wool dyed a certain color (IE my high school uniform blazer). Some detergents. Not even whole brands of detergent. Just, perhaps, one scent out of twenty. Or even the unscented one. You never know. And, I can go through eight bottles of one particular kind of detergent, and the ninth will suddenly cause me a problem.

For two weeks by mid-day I am so itching, I have to take medicine. Hives. I started logging what I ate each day to figure out what it possible was. The only thing that I can potentially come up with is a certain drink at Starbucks. I quit going for days. The itching gets worse. What the hell? Then I try to figure out where on my body I am the most itchy. Head, yes. Oh God, what if it is lice! I panic. I make Kenny check my whole head. I am terrified that I might get those creepy little bugs on me one day. No lice. Kenny also points out lice don't cause hives. Whatever, you can never be too safe. I go back to my itchiness assessment. Back, oh yes. Arms, dear Lord yes. Legs? A bit. Although. It is only my thighs. As in where shorts hit. I haven't worn long pants in months. It is the detergent. The same brand and scent I have been buying for months. Anywhere on my body that comes on contact with fabric at any point in the day is itchy. And I just washed every single bit of the laundry before we went on vacation.

Sorting everything into laundry loads, I survey the damage. My clothes alone, eight loads. I will have to rewash Emmi's clothes, because I hold her all day. The towels will all have to be washed. Sheets. Blankets. The couch cushions I washed two weeks ago and have since thought the fabric seemed rough and itchy, although no one else seemed to feel that way. I am going to be doing laundry for the next two weeks. Or I could wash a few things, wear only those, and call it a day.

More Playa Pictures

A little rain. A lot of sun.

Vacationing in the middle of a hurricane is maybe not the best idea. We landed in Cancun, and started on the hour long drive to the city we were staying in. It rained off and on during the drive. No big deal. Like Houston, that part of Mexico can be full of raging, dark clouds one minute, and the next minute the clouds will give way to bright sunshine. Our first indication that there was anything amiss was at dinner time. The hostess explained as she lead us to our seats that we would not be able to order any alcohol.

"Okay....why?" I glanced back at Kenny and shrugged. We had been walking for awhile. I was hot. I didn't want to find another restaurant. I didn't need a drink that bad.

"It is illegal in Mexico when a hurricane is coming to serve alcohol," the hostess matter-of-factly replied.

Oh. Makes senses. Wait. Hold on. Did she just say, "when a hurricane is coming"? By the time we finished dinner, stores were closing, shop owners taping windows up, chairs and tables at outdoor restaurants being secured down with ropes. Most of the tourist had left the city, returning to the safety of their hotels. It was slightly eerie.

By the next morning it was clear that the "hurricane" was nothing more than a bad rainstorm. One that lasted the first two days of our trip. By the third day, the clouds gave way, and the sweltering heat set in, leaving us to explore the city and hang out on the beach.



The entrance to Alux, a restaurant built inside a cave!

Hanging out on the beach....and in a tree!

***More pictures to come! I will put them in a slideshow today.***

My bags are packed, I'm ready to go.

Kenny and I try to take as many vacations to Mexico as possible. We would like to go somewhere fancier, but well, it isn't as cheap! A few months after we started dating, we took a cruise to Playa del Carmen. We hated the cruise, but fell in love with Playa. It is commercial. But it is not like Cancun. It has a different atmosphere. Six months later we returned, this time flying directly to Playa and staying in a little boutique hotel right on the beach.

Courtyard at Fusion Hotel

A year later, we tried out the other side, visiting Puerta Vallarta staying at an all-inclusive, saving a beaucoup of money, and rather enjoying all of the luxuries of the hotel. While we liked hiking up the waterfalls and the views of the mountains, we missed the crystal clear water. So this year, when it came time to plan our vacation, we once again opted for the Caribbean side.

This time tomorrow, give or take five minutes, my flight will be landing. And an hour later, I will be book in hand, sitting here......

....for the next five days. Without little children. Well, at least any that belong to me!

Appropriate Activities for Four-Year-Olds.

What? Your kids weren't four when you taught them to play quarters?

Don't worry, Mom, you can call me later and I will explain what Quarters is. Oh y'all don't laugh. It's not my mom's fault she doesn't know any drinking games. I mean, afterall, she just had her first sip of beer, like, last week.

Oooooo...you thought you got away with me not posting this......

Emmi

I started a blog for Emmi. I just wasn't keeping up with her caringbridge page.

No, actually....

I was raised in the kind of home that telling a racist joke would surely get me punished. Not that I told racist jokes. I didn't know to. Because I was raised to not know there was a difference. Which is why I get so irritated when I get accused of being racist. As if, purely by being a white woman, I am racist. It wasn't even until high school that I first started to suspect that there might be a difference.

I was walking across the parking lot one morning, when I stepped in front of my friend's car. My black/African American (hell, I never know what it is I am supposed to say. I don't like labels.) friend. She honked. I flicked her off. She yelled, "Bitch," out her car window. We both giggled. But to the onlooking group of twenty or so black girls, the situation looked anything but funny. I was surrounded quickly. The fight only broken up by Cory's pleas for them to leave me alone since we were friends. Although, really after that, how could we be friends? It became them versus us. It was the first time I realized there was a them and an us. At least according to them. And yet? I still tried to not let that affect the way I treat people.

Emmi crouched next to me in Target today looking at the toothbrushes, while I was debating which toothpaste to buy. My cart sat to one side, directly behind me so as not to block the isle. Really, it is hard decision, mint or wintergreen. I was kind of in my own world, which is probably why I didn't notice the woman approach from behind. That is until she forcibly bumped my cart with hers, knocking it first into me, then into Emmi. I turned, shocked, as Emmi started crying.

"Excuse you," She said.

I laughed a bit. Excuse me? She just rammed her cart into my cart knocking it into my child. And somehow this is my fault?

"You be in my way."

I looked at her evenly. "Well, then. The appropriate action would have been to ask me to please move. Not to knock your cart into mine, consequently hitting my child. You owe my child an apology."

She shook her head. "Oh hell no. Just cause you a white girl, don't be thinking I owe you nothing. You white girls always be thinking black women be owing you somethin'."

And then, I snapped. I have had enough of being accused of being racist. This scene has played out over and over in grocery stores and parking lots and malls. And I am just fucking tired of it.

"No, actually, I don't think you owe me anything. You owe my child an apology. And you are the only one that brought race into this. I don't give a good god damn if you are white, black, orange, or green, if you ram your fucking cart into my kid I am going to be all over your ass. Quite using the color of your skin as an excuse for your disgraceful behavior, because you are giving women everywhere a bad image." And with that, I turned and walked away.

And I am pretty sure, I am going to end up shot later today. I'm just sayin'. But maybe that's just me being racist.

Power Boost.

I had a very important errand to run this morning. One that involved a cute little sundress that had to come on vacation with me. As we were leaving, I stopped in Starbucks. One grande iced white mocha non-fat for me, one cinnamon roll for Emmi. She turned her nose up at the offer to make her chocolate milk when they didn't have her beloved Horizon milk. My kids are milk snobs. Sorry, buddy, she don't want your milk. But it was fine. She was happy with her cinnamon roll, 'cause "it yummy!"

We had just pulled onto the freeway when she choked on a bite of cinnamon roll. She chokes often. Damn soft palate issues. Thinking quickly I handed her my full coffee. "Take a sip, Ems," I demanded, while praying she wouldn't throw-up in my car. A little sputtering, followed by gulping. Whew. No throw-up in the car today.

"I all done!" Emmi leaned forward as far as her carseat would allow to hand me back my cup. Blindly I reached behind me to grab it from her. The cup felt odd. Too light. I could see her little grin in the rear view mirror. I held up the drink in front of me.

It. Was. Empty. She drank a whole iced white mocha. In 2.5 seconds. The caffeine seemed to have no effect on her at first. She walked along quietly beside me, pointing out items she liked at Target. I paused to look at some bathing suits. Emmi slowly started walking circles around the rack. Then....with a quickness I have never seen, she started running circles around the rack. Round and round and round. Faster and faster and faster. And with the same quickness the episode of running started, she stopped and fell in line beside me.

Apparently, caffeine has short term effects on Emmi, only to be used for quick bursts of speed.

Congratuations

For weeks I have been planning and organizing my friend, Stacy's, baby shower. You may remember her. The bride whose wedding I was in recently. I made custom letters and painted stars for the walls. I planned games. Everything themed to match the bedding. Twinkle Little Star. Green, khaki, and brown. The last detail was the cake. A simple cake. Chocolate cake, chocolate icing, green stars, and writing in white icing that said "Congratulations Stacy." That is what I ordered.

I sent Kenny to pick the cake up this morning. I gave him a description of what the cake should look like. "Stacy is spelled S-T-A-C-Y. Make sure they spelled it right," was my final instruction. Maybe I should have mentioned how "Congratulations" is spelled.

There wasn't enough time to take it back to complain. Or um, I mean, compain. Kenny looked at me skeptically when I started scraping the lettering off. "I know what I am doing." He just stared. And within minutes......

And really? Congratulations didn't fit on that cake. But at least I am smart enough to figure that out.

Things I Will Keep In Mind.

I have two newly engaged friends. I am happy for them. Really. Or at least for one of them. The other is driving me nuts. There should be a deadline for how long you can call to talk about your engagement and wedding. After that expiration date, I don't want to hear about it. I got it already. You have a ring on your finger. And there will be a wedding. One in which you didn't ask me to be a part of. So really, I don't give two shits whether or not your bridesmaids wear tangerine. Nor do I care that the flowers arrangements are not quite what you imagined. That is what your bridesmaids are for. Call them. They will pretend to care.

The Blahs

Everyone has the blog blahs. Everyone. Can I call for a national blog blackout or something? You know, just for a few days. Until we are less grumpy and have some shit to say.

I am going back to watching Ice Princess for the 90th time with the kids and pretending I don't like watching it.

They heart boys.

Isn't my child supposed to be, like, 16 before she plays games in which she pretends to have a boyfriend?

After all, she isn't even allowed to date until she is 25.

The love of her life.

Jillian and Puppy watching the Pet Parade in Bastrop for the 4th of July.

Jesus, Mary, and.....

KENNY!

Nothing, really. More later.

The yellow background was bothering me. I don't really like yellow. I don't have a sunny disposition. I don't want to give you all that impression. Sure, I can be hyper. But that requires the boldness of a bright pink. But most of the time I am either very on, or very off. Black or white. And then? There was that dress from the reunion. I kind of love it. So I changed my layout to match it....look for more changes soon. I told you. I really like that dress.....

And, Allie. Call me! I'll need to walk you through some steps, so I can start working on yours. I finally have time!!!!

REUNION!

In the car on the way to dinner, Ashley's husband, Rick, explained his plan. "No one knows me, so I am going to talk in a different accent to everyone I meet. I'm also going to tell them I have some random job. Like the mascot for some made up team." Within minutes the Homer Hogs have a mascot and their very own handsign. Go Hogs! I always knew I liked Rick. I liked him even more now that he was planning on embarrassing his wife at her ten-year-reunion.

At dinner we told stories of high school days. Of course. What else do you do at dinner before your reunion? As more stories came out, I remembered how much history I had with the girls. You often think you are long past high school. That it is just memories. But how many friends do you have that after ten years you can sit down and still laugh until your cheeks hurt? That time and distance don't keep you from picking up where you left off? By the time dinner was over I was excited for the reunion.

The girls from dinner: me, Ashley, Holly

Less people showed up than I would have imagined being from a graduating class of close to 700. Maybe 120. "Uhhh why do all the girls still look the same as they did in high school?" Ashley and I looked around confused. Everyone there did. They looked great. Kenny shook his head at laughed at us, "Cause the girls that don't wouldn't dare come, because there are girls like you two standing here looking for them." The man makes a good point. The girls who came all without exception looked well put together, fabulous. They talked about their successful careers. Or their beautiful families. The guys? It didn't matter! Some of the looked great. Were doing great. The others just kind of rolled in the door. They didn't care. I mean, who needs a job? Or a shirt with sleeves for that matter. But for the most part, everyone seemed to be doing well. I found some friends who I didn't know were in the area again. I may have agreed to start playing tennis again. Ha! Cause I've picked up a racquet since I cleaned out my athletics locker senior year. I made plans for some lunches and dinners. And the whole event was a lot less dramatic than I thought it was going to be.

That is. Until we got bored at the end. And started talking to random people we didn't really know. But pretended to. Although Holly and I quickly tired of that game when we figured out that the reason we didn't know them was because they weren't all that interesting, and they didn't have that much to say. So we wandered off, leaving Ashley to fend for herself. Not our problem if you are too nice to walk away. And after Ashley freed herself from the people talking molecular biology and summa cum laudes or some such, we headed out.

Although we did make one stop by our high school to take a picture in front of the eagle! Or umm... ON the eagle.

Practically Jumping Out of my Pants!!!

Which is something you would love to see, I am sure.

When Emmi got her first cochlear implant, we were given three choices in brands. I won't bore you with the specifics, because unless you actually have one you probably don't care. But the one I choose was about to get a cool, new, snazzy upgraded processor (the outer portion). Of the many features, wireless capabilities, etc, this processor is supposed to be kick ass at processing music. Emmi loved music before. Especially opera. She can even connect an ipod directly into the new processor. It is cool. Really cool. Unfortunately, it wasn't approved in the US yet.

They kept saying it would be soon. Very soon. That is what they told me when she got her first implant. We heard the same story when she got the second. We waited. And waited. For two years.

AND IT IS FINALLY FDA APPROVED!! And we just placed her order.

Sick kid and no sleep.

I slept two hours last night. I should have seen it coming. We all knew Emmi was off. She hasn't been acting right for days, and she was refusing to eat meat. When she stops eating protein, she is headed for trouble. Basically when she gets sick her body gets overloaded, and she can't handle it. It hit in the middle of the night. She crawled into our bed asking for a bandaid for her sore throat and ear. Which made Kenny and I giggle. It took hours to settle her back down. Mix in a little of Jill's sleepwalking and the dogs barking at a cat, and Kenny and I are both stumbling around like zombies.

On top of that, one of Emmi's CI's is acting up. It keeps signalling electrical failure. Which means I need to go switch it out for another processor. (We only have one on each side right now, because there is a new processor coming out. Then we will have two.) Texas Children's is on the other side of town. Luckily, the program coordinator comes out by our house almost every evening to ride her horses. I am going to keep my fingers crossed that she will be able to meet me, so I don't have to drag a sick child downtown.

I swear I will get to the reunion pictures and such. But I have to edit out names from the nametags, and I just don't see that happening today.