Monday, March 31, 2008
See you tomorrow.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Jill was bribed. Her talking in school had become such a problem, I resorted to drastic measures. I. Was. Willing. To. Go. To...... Chuck-E-Cheese. Earn all "S's" in conduct, go to Chuck-E-Cheese with a friend on Saturday. For the first time all year, she brought home a perfect conduct report. Damn. Oh, I mean, "Way to go JILL!" So to CEC, we went. At least this time Emmi didn't come, so we could sit back in a booth while Jill and her friend ran around and played. I brought a book. Kenny played some games. It was somewhat tolerable.
"I just can't believe how many little kids will try to steal tickets from you," Kenny said, as he slid back into the booth. "Some little girls were trying to take my tickets a few minutes ago."
"Yeah, I just had to shoo two girls away from Jill. She just sets her cup down with all of her tokens. I saw them eyeing it."
In the middle of this conversation, as if the gods are watching and laughing, the two girls run past and see a token Jill abandoned on our table. One of them reaches for it, her finger tips touch the token before she realizes the table is not empty. Kenny and I stare in shock, then choke out laughter.
"Did she really just try to steal that right off of our table? Those were the girls I was talking about!"
Kenny looks at me laughing. "No! Those were the two trying to steal my tickets."
Little thieves! They can't be more than 11 or 12.
Kenny starts laughing. He has a mischievous look in his eye.
"I'm going to put a token on the floor by foot, and see how long it take them to try to steal it."
It takes them less than two minutes. I timed it. Kenny and I laugh hysterically. They don't seem to notice. They are concentrating too hard on their strategy for how to steal it.
They make one pass. Then another. They stop, stand to the side, whisper, pointing directions. They walk past slower. Just as one of the girls bends down, Kenny stretches, moving his foot over the token. The girl's disappointment in palpable. They, however, are not deterred.
They choose the game closest to us, one playing, the other standing off to the side near our table. She shuffles around a bit. She eyes us. Kenny and I pretend to watch Jill play a game nearby. The girl scoots closer. She looks at her shoes. She starts to bed over. And? Kenny turns toward me, moving his foot over the token again. The girl looks close to tears. Me? I am also close to tears. Tears of joy!
Yet still, the girls are not willing to give up. They discuss their plan, not bothering to lower their voices. "Just take it," one of the girls pressures the other! The go in for yet another pass. This time, Jill walks up, oblivious to our game. She stands directly on top of the token. I think, perhaps, the two girls might fall over from all of the squirming they are doing. It is almost too much for them. For what must seem to them like twenty minutes, Jill counts her tickets, all while standing on their pot of gold. They scoot closer to our table. They are practically standing on top of Jill.
Kenny and I are laughing so hard there are tears in our eyes. We can no longer hide that we are watching them. The girls retreat. But they do not give up on that token. They watch. They wait. They see us packing up the table. They watch us get up. What they have missed is Kenny smoothly scooping up the token. It is snugly in the palm of his hand. Yet they wait. They watch us walk all the way to the prize counter. When they think we are no longer looking, they run, knocking over younger children along the way. The skid to a stop at our empty table. They look at each other confused. They take turns looking under the table. They check the seat. They both turn small circles. They don't get it. Slowly they look back towards us, where I am doubled over laughing and Kenny stands, holding the token up for them to see.
Next time, we are bringing a camera and some fishing line. We figure we can make this game way more interested with a little help.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
See the thing is, I like art. All art. Serious art. Painting mostly. If you have been to my house, you know that my living room has ever changing canvas of my own artwork. Sometimes completely original. Sometimes a look I have copied. It depends on my mood. I change it every few months. My children's rooms and game room also hold original artworks. The walls themselves are also works of my art. My six-year-old has requested that I not change any more rooms while she is out of town. Apparently this has become a bad habit of mine. She goes out of town for a week to see her dad, I completely redesign a room in my free time. She says it is little unnerving to come home and find her home completely different than the way she left it. She actually used the word "unnerving." It is a problem. I admit it.
Room renovations generally begin, you know, like the week before Emmi's first major surgery. So I am well aware that I use it as distraction. Not even so much as a distraction, as a tool to completely shut my mind down. The constant inner monologue of what-ifs and worries and fears completely melts away, and all that is left is "steady hand, straight line, curve to the left, a little more brown, a touch of red." It is impossible for the two to co-exist in my brain. So for a little while I get some peace. Even if, you know, my family comes home to a different color living room every night of the week. I imagine they feel a bit like Alice in Wonderland. Except the size of their surroundings doesn't change. Just the color and pattern.
A few months ago my computer crashed. I recovered and printed all 2000+ photos that were stored on it. Then a few weeks ago, the other computer started having problems charging. It also has many photos. We have been uploading them to snapfish, and gradually printing them. Remember the days of actually owning and looking at your photos? I wondered what to do with all of those photos. It was confusing. What does one do with photos besides email them and post them on blogs? I started organizing them in order in photo albums. That task alone took a week. Then it occurred to me that it would be fun to make a scrapbook for each child. I am crafty. I always meant to do it. I actually have the pictures now. Why not? I mentioned it to my parents, my birthday was a few days away, and next thing you know, I am the proud of owner of a fancy pants cutter machiney thing! JOY! So I started scrap booking. And I discovered that like painting, my brain shuts off. All I hear is, "Hmmmm....I could put a little tree there, and change the font here, and then use orange paper for the background there." And? The best part? My poor child won't have to be tormented by nightmares of ever changing walls.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
My parents, sister, and bro-in-law all pitched in to buy my a Cricut cutting machine thingie for my new found obsession of scrapbooking. Yep. Like I need another thing to waste my time on. And, as I told Sheri, of course the first thing I did was make it spell dirty words and prettily arrange them, adorned with ribbon, on Kenny's desk!
This morning, I came home from the bus stop to a breakfast of chocolate cheesecake (YUM!) and presents from Kenny. I got the WHOLE series of Gilmore Girls. I know, I know. Scrapbooking, and now Gilmore Girls. You are wondering if I have any depth at all. But see, the thing is, that show was in it's infant years when I was first divorced. Jill and I used to cuddle up on the couch and watch it together. I liked that it portrayed such a great relationship between a single mom and a daughter. Yes, it is corny. But I needed corny. Corny was about all I could handle then. So I have this great attachment to the show. And now I own the WHOLE SERIES! Yippee!!!
And you know, to balance it out, Kenny did get me a gift card to Barnes and Noble, so I can go get some good literature and stuff. Okay, I lie. I will probably blow it on Us Weeklys and such.
My dad is headed to town to watch Emmi while I meet with the attorney that is representing Emmi (we are still fighting her old insurance company to have them pay the past due medical bills from the surgery they approved, then after the surgery turned around and denied!). He is going to babysit the kiddos this evening, so that Kenny and I can go enjoy a nice relaxing birthday dinner. Perfect!
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
The Easter Bunny thought it would be fun to leave the children less candy and more toys. The Easter Bunny is stupid. Well, one half of the Easter Bunny, anyway. The half that bought the turtles. The turtles that have caused lots and lots of screaming in my house. We will call that half of the Easter Bunny, "Laura." Oddly enough, this is also my sister's name.
The children were off taking group photos when the Easter Bunny delivered perhaps the best Easter Baskets ever to the back porches of our cabins. But I guess that is what happens when you have two "Easter Bunnies" splitting duties. You get really fantastic Easter Baskets. Me personally? I was impressed with the Tinkerbell Color Wonder, knock-off floam, and glow bracelets. But my kids? They honed in on those Hatchin' Grow Turtles. It was all I could do to get them to wait until we got home to set them up. Time is of no concept to them, so explaining that they needed to sit undisturbed for 48-72 hours and we were leaving in 24 hours was of no use. I distracted them with the small amount of candy they had in their baskets and lured them away.
We barely made it one foot in the door before they had those eggs out, ready to grow a turtle. I pantomimed/signed/acted/told Emmi what it was. "See it is an egg now. We are going to put it in water, the POP, it will be a turtle." She got really excited. She ran around the house yelling, "POP," and hopping as she said it. Jill read the instructions. Jill helped me fill the bowls. Jill carefully placed her turtle egg in the water. Emmi launched hers from across the room, giggling as it splashed water across the cabinet.
"You are going to mess yours up!" Jill taunted her. Then she leaned close to her bowl and whispered, "I will be a good Mommy to you. I will make sure you hatch right. I won't throw you across the room."
A day later, I peer into the bowls. Shit, shit, shit. Emmi's has "POPPED!" Jill's has still done nothing. I reread the directions. Okay. It says 48-72 hours. Still plenty of time. I check it every few hours. Jill comes home from school. She runs immediately to the turtles. Before she can start whining, I start reciting the directions. "There is still plenty of time, Jill. Plenty. Emmi's just popped out early." Jill looks pissed, but says nothing. Damn. I should have switched the bowls. Too late now. She glares at me, then runs off to play. The turtles seem forgotten for the time being.
This morning as I hand Jill her breakfast, she asks, "Exactly how many days is 48 hours?" I know where this is going. I try to glance at the turtles before answering her. I can clearly see hers has done nothing.
"Well, Jill is says 48 to 72 hours. That is ONE MORE DAY." I try to buy some time. Maybe I can go stock up on some more turtles while she is in school, and get one of the damn things to pop out.
She climbs up onto the cabinet. "My turtle is stupid. It won't work." She pulls it from the water. The shell, softened by the water breaks, revealing a still shrivelled turtle. "Ewwwww. Look at my turtle!"
I giggle. Probably not the appropriate response. Jill stares at me. "Mom. LOOK AT THIS."
"Now, Jill. Just cause your turtle looks different doesn't mean you should love it less. It can't help that it was born that way. Do you love Emmi less because she is deaf?" Kenny practically spits his coffee out.
She looks at me. "Mom. This is just a Hatchin' Stupid Retarded Grow Turtle." Uh. No shit. That was the point I was trying to make.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Also, a few of the shots from the girls photos sessions last Monday are on Ashley's blog. Check them out!
Monday, March 17, 2008
My first experience with David's Bridal left me with my six-year-old zipping up dresses, and me choosing a size bigger than I apparently needed, because the girl who was supposed to be helping me out had disappeared. I made the best decision I could when relying on a first grader's opinion. I have wide shoulders, a wide rib cage, and sort of narrow hips. I couldn't hardly zip up one size. The next size up seemed to fit in the ribs, but was way too loose through out the rest of the dress. Since Helper Girl had long since run off, I chose the size up knowing I was going to need it taken in quite a bit.
I had to special order the dress, and it came in a week early. Originally, I was going to need to pay for rush alterations. This would save me money, by changing my appointment. I called the alteration line, explaining my dress had arrived early and I wanted to change my appointment. They oohhed and ahhhed and gushed over me, until I informed them it was a bridesmaid dress. Suddenly they only had one appointment left. Saturday. At noon. During the busiest time in the store. Bitches.
I arrived. Kenny and Jill in tow. I wasn't going to suffer alone. And this time, I wanted more than Jill to help with the zipper. Nothing about the process was simple. Pick the dress up in one line. Get the shoes in another. Drop the shoes off somewhere else entirely for dying. Go to the back of the store for alterations. Then back to the front to pay. I stood in lines for over an hour. And paid for a lot of unnecessary alterations. Why? Because apparently, six-years-olds don't know how to pick sizes for bridesmaid dresses.
I put the dress on, holding it up at top in attempt to not show off my boobs to all of the women in the alterations room. It was a fancy move to hold the dress up, step up onto a platform, and cover my boobs all at the same time. I managed. Much better than the girl next to me, who had already flashed me her left boob more than once. A tiny woman, with pins in her pursed lips, clucked at me. "You order dress too big."
"I couldn't zip the smaller one all the way up." I explain to her, showing how where the zipper got stuck an inch from the top.
She stands up, taking measurements of my ribcage, my shoulders, and my busts. She turns me in a circle. "Smaller size better for you. I let it out one inch."
"Yeah, well, it is too late now. I already bought this one. I don't have time to exchange it for the smaller size."
She gives me a very disapproving look. "I have to charge you lot for that. $180. It only $30 to let out seam. You pay too much."
Somewhere, David (I imagine he looks like a little leprechaun) is skipping around gleefully, clicking his heels together. "Brilliant!" He exclaims happily, "I lure the brides in with me lucky charms. Treat them like princesses. Mark their dresses down, give them a good deal, and a discount for making all of their bridesmaids shop here! Then because the bridesmaids are stuck and have no bloody choice, I will jack up the price of their dresses. In fact, I will have my cashiers inform the bridesmaid that they, in fact, paid more for their bridesmaid dress than the bride did for her dress. That will be more fun than following a rainbow to a pot of gold! Also, we will not help the wee little lasses at all, and then we will charge them horrid amounts for alterations. Teeheehehee!" Little David skips around his office some more, before rolling around in his pile of gold coins.
David's Bridal. I. Hate. You. And I want my $180 dollars back.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
The day started off boring and long, taking care of errand after errand. By the afternoon, we were hanging out in the front yard with the neighbors. The number of children swelled to around fifteen, and soon you could no longer pick out who was who. The ran as a mass from one yard to another. As the sun went down, the kids picked spots in the grass the eat hot dogs and banana pudding. The adults sat in lawn chairs, gathered around the barbecue pit, nibbling on sausage, waiting on steaks to cook.
By the time I took Jill inside to bed, she was hot and sticky and too tired to protest. She fell asleep with a smile on her face, and slept hard for the first time in weeks.
I am anxiously awaiting summer and endless evenings spent watching the kids run through the neighbor's sprinkler, chasing the dogs through the street, with the young girls teasing the little boys, and the little boys mocking protest, all while basking in the sunset. I yearn for more nights like these, where everything seems perfect and for a little while I forget I am the adult and have to resist the urge to join the game of tag or hopscotch.
Friday, March 14, 2008
It got worse through the year. By then end of the first six weeks, Jill was spending her days coloring five to ten color pages a day. No actually school work was coming. No readers. No homework. Nothing. She complained of being bored. Her behavior at school deteriorated. Yet, her standardized test scores soared. When I brought this up with her teacher, her response was simply "Jill is ahead, why do we need to do so much?" Oh, right. So, 'cause she already doing okay, you don't have to teach this one. Good plan, idiot. She may be ahead now, by letting her coast along for a year will only hurt her. I talked to the Principal. This really soured my relationship with the teacher. She refused my help for holiday parties. She ignored me when I attended events. She never responded to notes or returned phone calls.
The icing on the cake came at dinner two nights ago.
"My teacher squeezes my arm too hard," Jill states matter-of-factly without even looking up from her food.
I almost spit out my taco. ""Excuse me." She can tell by my tone something is wrong. She changes the subject. I let is slide, temporarily. Later, when we are working on her project, the same one the teacher didn't bother to tell us about, she brings it up again.
"When my teacher gets mad at you, she squeezes your arm like this," she grabs my forearm, squeezing hard. Enough to make me squirm. "Her long nails dig into your skin. It hurts bad."
"When did this happen Jill?"
"Just once to me. When I got a demerit in Art Class. But it happened twice to Chloe and a few times to Precious. You aren't going to yell at my teacher, are you? Please don't go to the school."
I tell her I don't know what I am going to do. There is so little time left in the year. But putting her hands on my child? That can't be overlooked. I played it over in my head through the night. In the morning, I went to the school. Immediately, the Principal decides to pull Jill from the class. I am shocked. Jill will feel like this is punishing her. Taking her from her friends? In the last six weeks of school? Surely this is not the best option?
I spend the afternoon agonizing over it. I argue with Kenny. I waffle back and forth. I can't concentrate on work or anything else. I wish I have never mentioned it. It seems like nothing is going to happen to the teacher. It is Jill that will suffer. What have I done?
When Jill gets home, I sit her down and talk to her about school, her teacher, how she feels about her class. She breaks down. She tells me everything she has been holding in. When I suggest moving classes, she jumps up and down cheering. What? Uh, no. I have been CRYING over this, Kid. Crying! And you are laughing? It goes to show that us parents, we know nothing.
In the long run, I wish I had this conversation with her long ago. She has been in a class for months putting up with horrible things.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
AND THE DAMN GATE IS BROKEN AGAIN.
This morning, the buses had to come in the exit gate. The high schoolers never got picked up. The jr. high and elementary school kids were late to school. I had to bring Emmi to the front of the neighborhood to meet her bus. NO ONE CAN GET IN. You can only get out.
So I called our management company. Four times. Over three hours. And the gate is still closed. And still no one can come in.
Did I mention the house next door to me burned down four years ago, and they still haven't done shit about it? That's how they do things around here.
So I called for, like, the nine-hundredth time this morning about the gate, and demanded to actually speak to Jenn, the girl at the management company that is in charge of our neighborhood. The conversation went something like this.
"Hey there Jenn, it's Tricia. I left you, like NINE HUNDRED voice mails about the gate being stuck shut. THE ONE GOD DAMN ENTRANCE GATE we have to this neighborhood. I know that you specialize in sitting at your desk with your thumb stuck up your ass, so if you could give me the number to gate company I will just go ahead and do your job for you and call them to get the gate opened. After that, I will also go ahead and write up some notices for my neighbor who has the weeds in his flowerbed that are taller than his house, and then I will just get started rebuilding this burned down house. Also, I am having my house painted next week to the SAME DAMN COLOR it already is. Just a little touch up. I know you will not bother to correct any other problems in the neighborhood, but you will find the time to send me a notice about my lack of approval for said house painting, just as you did when I repainted my front door. So let's consider this fair warning. Okay now? I'll let you get back to twiddling your thumbs now. Bye."
I kid you not. I actually said "thumb up your ass" and "twiddling your thumbs" in the conversation. Really, is it any wonder that the gate is still stuck two hours later?
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Clue Number 1: The teacher sent no fucking note home, so I found out about this GD project at 5pm the day before it was due.....this should be familiar.
Clue Number 2: First Grade at BlahdeBlah School (like I am telling you all where my kid goes to school....but Tiffany knows. Her kid went there in first grade.)
Clue Number 3: This very same project years ago elicited a panicked phone call from you to me, in which you needed green wrapping paper and I laughed hysterically. By the way, I am very, very sorry for laughing at you in your time of need of green wrapping paper. I now understand the importance of it all. I myself, needed green, sparkly felt.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
There is a chunk missing out of my bangs. The bangs I was growing out that weren't supposed to be cut. The very ones that I said, "just angle them a bit, so that I push them to the side." The ones that I asked to be textured, so they weren't so heavy. No once did I say, "please cut a big uneven chunk out of my freakin' bangs!"
I love my hair dresser, but he seemed off today. He dropped the scissors a few times. Then he dropped the comb. When he told me he found out last night that his father, who he believed to be dead for the past twenty-three years, was alive, I should have realized he was a little too emotional to cut my hair. But damn it. I was a little too emotional to not get my hair cut this week. We were a bad combination. I ended up with a chunk of hair missing from my bangs.
And really, it was the perfect ending to the past twenty four hours. I now look as frazzled as I feel.
Right before my hair appointment, I was running late. Really late. Breathing hard from sprinting kind of running late. I didn't intend to stay at the school for so long. But I started talking to Emmi's teacher, and next thing I know, twenty minutes had passed. I really just meant to explain why she missed the bus. How she had been dressed and ready to go thirty minutes before the bus. Then, as the bus was pulling up, she started coughing. I didn't even have to look at her. I could tell by the sound of the cough what was coming. This happens often. With Emmi having such low tone, she can't clear her throat. So, she throws up. As the bus squealed to a stop, Emmi had thrown up on her shoes. I didn't know which direction to go first. Should I tell the bus driver to go on? Should I help Emmi and keep the driver waiting? Either way, I was going to have to drive her to school. And I wasn't even dressed yet.
And I still probably smelled like pee from earlier this morning. It was almost funny, Emmi's accident. I think she was sleep walking. I normally wake her up in the mornings. Our routine involves me gently rubbing her face, Emmi squeezing her eyes shut as tight as she can, all while tugging the covers over her head, yelling "MO WAY!" She hardly ever gets up on her own. I was surprised the see her standing at the bottom of the stairs the morning. Even more surprised to discover she had taken off her pj pants and the pullup she sleeps in. And outright shocked to see her pee on the floor. She didn't even flinch when it happened. She had to be half asleep. None the less, I got to clean pee off the floor at seven this morning. Like I said. It was almost funny. Almost. If I wasn't so exhausted and finding absolutely nothing funny.
I didn't sleep well last night. I always have vivid dreams. In last night's dream, I remember dreaming that we were sleeping. We heard a chair being pushed across the floor in the living room. In my dream, I woke Kenny to go check on it. In my dream, I was sure the dog was getting into something. So, Kenny walked out into the hallway, just beyond where I can see him from the bed. I heard him say, "Well, we got what we wanted." I knew by the tone of his voice that someone was in the house, and I tried quickly to decide if I should go for the window or run into the bathroom to hide, potentially trapping myself. I woke up before I made my decision. I couldn't fall back asleep, until I figured out what I would do in real life. I was suddenly scared that we slept with both of our phones across the house from us. As I stared at the ceiling trying to get back to sleep, I kept remembering things from Emmi's appointment yesterday.
None of it upset me yesterday. I didn't bother me until last night. The appointment actually went well. Emmi's kidney function tests all fell within normal ranges, even if they teetered on the edges. Her doctor agreed with me that Emmi should not have to go through testing that is not one hundred percent necessary (they wanted a test called a VCUG which requires catheterizing without sedation....OUCH!). At this point, we can watch for warning signs that the kidney is failing. She gave me a list of things to watch for, things to do, things not to do. Most of it we already follow. We discussed how this deformity is not that uncommon, but the severity that Emmi has it is. We talked about how more than likely the "bad" portion of the kidney will need to be removed or will eventually damage the "good" part of the kidney. All of this I already knew. We scheduled more routine tests and did another round of blood work. Emmi has to have regular renal ultrasounds to ensure that her kidneys are not failing or failing to grow or doing anything else weird. She has to have blood work done routinely to monitor her kidney function. The one thing that bothered me though was a nonchalant, off-hand comment the doctor made. She said she was being so pro-active because she found it had to believe that her kidney could be that malformed without there being other issues that pop in the future. She glazed over it. Moved on quickly. I didn't even really focus on it then. It was hours later that is dawned on me. There will be more. The best of the best thinks this will get worst.
And I started to panic. So really, than bangs are quite fitting. I am thinking about mismatching my shoes and turning my shirt inside out to really complete the look.
Monday, March 10, 2008
I got home from the appointment at Emmi's school (where I explained to no less than five people that she cut her hair not once, but TWICE while they laughed hysterically. Yeah. Funny for you. You guys didn't schedule to have her picture made next week.), and I let the dogs out back to pee. The pool was full of leaves. Normally the little cleaner guy that swims around for a few hours each day takes care of that, but the collection bag was full. Damn. The pool is not my job. I clean the house (IE The maid cleans the house, and I take credit.), and Kenny does the pool and yard work. But Kenny was gone for the day, and the the little guy, who we refer to as "Little Guy", was set to kick on soon.
Damn. Damn. Damn. Last time I attempted to pull him out, I fell in the pool, scraping my leg along the rocks on the way down. I would be smarter this time. I wouldn't try to fish him out with my foot. I got the pole for the net, and hooked it under the tube for the pool cleaner. I pulled it out of the pool, and set it down. Ha! Victory. I didn't fall in this time.
Zip! I unhooked the collection bag, reached my hand inside and grab a big handful of leaves and then I hear the click.
The little pool cleaner comes to life, wheels spinning, little tail wagging, and stream of jet propulsion water squirting me right in the chest. Soaking me.
I stand up, sputtering, stumbling backward, before falling into Kenny's beloved sago palms. The handful of leaves I had pulled from the cleaner are now in my hair and all over my shirt.
Somehow this is all Kenny's fault.
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Something looked different about her. It took me a minute to clue in on it. Did she change clothes. No? Did she take her hair down? No. It was already down. Hmm. Her bangs look different. Wait. Wait! She doesn't have bangs. OH GOD! OH GOD SHE DOESN'T HAVE BANGS!
Or she didn't five minutes ago. I slowly spin her around. Chunks of hair are missing around her head.
"Emmi. What. Did. You. Do."
"Humamamumama. Pretty." She smiles. Her smiles fades when she realizes I am not smiling back. The tears start. I stand up, grab my phone, and call my hair dresser.
"Alex. It's Tricia. Emmi butchered her hair. You have to fix it today." I sound calm. I am not. He can squeeze us in at three. In the meantime, I pull her hair into a ponytail. I use hairspray liberally, and clip the flyaway strands back. I keep telling myself over and over that Alex will be able to make it look okay. After all, I had a sticky note on my computer to make her hair appointment this week anyway. It was getting too long. I wanted it shorter. Maybe not that short. But shorter.
We go to lunch. I forget about the hair temporarily. Lunch was good. The girls were well behaved. Everyone is happy when we get home. The girls head upstairs to play.
"MOM!! EMMI IS CUTTING HER HAIR AGAIN!"
I run up the stairs. Jill is holding a clump of hair. Emmi has chopped off the end of her ponytail.
Hey. At least she did it before her hair appointment.
Emmi after her new short haircut!
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Remember when, as usual, you were standing in my bathroom waiting on me to get dressed because I couldn't figure out which white t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops I was wearing? And your son was watching me put on makeup, so I decided to see if he would let me put a little on him? And he did! Mascara. Then eye shadow. Then blush and lipstick. And he looked so pretty. I mean, seriously, he has the longest eyelashes I have ever seen. You all should be jealous of these eyelashes, trust me. And then, it seemed such a shame that he be in all that pretty makeup and not have a pretty dress to match. So I put one of Emmi's dresses on him. That really nice one with the smocking across the front that Jill got as a gift but wore one time, because she grew like a damn weed. Yeah, I was just wondering what ever happened to those pictures. I know you made me promise not to post them, but is writing about them the same? Just wondering?
Friday, March 7, 2008
A week or so ago, Kenny and I were sitting on the couch, and Jill came strolling by. She was heading for the kitchen. We called her name. No response. I followed her into the kitchen. She was just standing in the middle of the room. Kenny scooped her up, and put her back in bed. This is typical of most incidents, but every once in awhile she talks to me also.
I was sitting at the desk, when she came down the stairs.
"I need to go to the bathroom."
Okay. Normal enough. Except, she has her own bathroom upstairs. She walked past that bathroom all the way down the stairs to come tell me she had to use the bathroom? I turned the light on in the hall bath downstairs. She stares at my funny, then heads toward the living room.
"Jill? Bathroom. This way." Was she taking my migraine meds or something? I thought I was the only loony one in the house.
She turns back around, mutters something about her bunny, then goes over to the staircase, where she proceeds to curl up on the bottom stair and go to back to sleep.
I giggle. Should I let her fall back into a deeper sleep before I move her or should I try to bring her back to her room now? And what about that bathroom break she insisted she needed
I shake her gently. "Jill, Sweetie."
She opens her eyes. "Mommy."
"Come on Sweetie."
She looks at me. She looks slightly irritated. "No! I don't want to go with you. Grammie makes better cookies."
Even when she is sleeping, she is thinking about food!
Two weeks later, I still had not taken a single one. In the meantime, I had four migraines. Normally, I take one treatment pill, and it goes away. I was on pill six. I finally gave in, and took the preventative treatment.
Within in twenty minutes food seemed very unappealing. No biggie. Loss of appetite is a side effect.
Thirty minutes later, I find it very exciting that my hands are attached to my arms. Really! Hands! What neat inventions! Everyone should get some of those...... Wait? What was I talking about?
Oh well. I shrug. I look up. Kenny is staring at me. "What are you doing?"
I am holding my hands in front of my face. "Hey look what I can make these things do!" I proceed to show him all the things hands do. He does not seem amazed the way I am. Huh? What does he know?!
He goes into the kitchen and comes back out with the pamphlet for the medication. He reads out loud.
"Parasthesia or the numbness or the arms or legs. Loss of memory. Lack of concentration. Confusion. Difficulty finding the right words. Weight loss. Inability to taste carbonated beverages......"
He goes on and on.
"....all lasting for several weeks. You mean you are going to act like this FOR WEEKS!"
"Act like what?" I don't get it. But man. That carbonated beverage think makes a lot of sense. My Dr. Pepper tasted like Dr. Poo earlier.
He is still staring at me. "Can I help you?" I say very seriously.
He laughs at me. "Do you want to go lay down?"
"I would." I lean closely to him, cupping my hand over my mouth, mock whispering, "but these things on the end of my legs are all tingly and they don't want to move me to the bed."
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
At the beginning of the school year, Jill stayed home with a sore throat. By 10 am, she was bouncing around the house playing. Even after I told her she would go to school if she wasn't lying down. She didn't believe me. At 10:15, Kenny had her loaded in the car on her way to school. Since then, she stays on the couch or in her bed without complaint when she stays home from school. All day. That is the rule. She gets TV, books, coloring, even Barbies. But no running around.
Today was no different. She stayed on the couch all day, only getting up to grab a coloring book or something to read. At 2:45, she started telling me how much better she felt. "Of course," I said. I just gave her Motrin an hour before. It must be kicking in. At 3, I find her in the game room. "What are you doing?" I ask. She points to the dollhouse. I remind her that she must stay in bed or on the couch. She again tells me how much better she feels. It was staying home from school that did it. All that rest! At 3:10, she runs to my desk.
"School is out! SCHOOL IS OUT! Can Adalynn come over?"
I give her the hairy eyeball (Frat Boy Mike's favorite term for scowling). She snarls. I snarl back. "Jill. You are sick. You may not play with friends today. Go get back on the couch."
She looks at me in disbelief. "But I stayed on the couch all school day. School is over. I can play now."
Uh. No. Wrong. All day does not mean all school day. But my leverage is gone. School is out.
She is pissed. She stomps her foot. "Well, what are you going to do about? You can't take me to school for getting up, because school is now over. See. 3:10." With that, she crosses her arms and huffles at me.
Damn her teacher. Damn her for teaching Jill to tell time.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
"You know you two are dorks, right?" Shut up. We are so not dorks. He knows nothing.
"No, Kenny, people do find us funny. Really. We are funny girls." To prove it, I show him my blog. He is still unimpressed. But he does have one question after reading my background information about our co-workers. "Why do you two hate S so much?"
I think for a minute. Huh? I don't really have a good answer. Wait? Wait. Something is coming to me. Vaguely. And then, the memory is clear.
I jump up and down. I scream. "Ha! I know why we hate her. IT IS YOUR FAULT!"
"My fault? How is it my fault? I don't even really know you then. You can't blame me."
I may not have known him well then. But Tiffany did.
The new property had opened, and we all have transferred over to the new office. At first the plan was to operate with an office staff of four. Then, when the property became busier, they would hire one more leasing consultant. Tons of people applied. Only a few were qualified. It came down to S, another girl that was the tallest girl I have ever seen (seriously, she had to be like 6 foot 5 and I think she was really pretty....I am pretty sure we hated her for that reason), and a guy Tiffany used to work with. We wanted the guy. He was nice. He had the most experience. And quite frankly, Tiffany and I thought it would be better to have one more guy than one more girl. But Frat Boy Mike wanted to round out his staff is a different way. You know, in a way that included a blond with big tits. Tiffany had worked with S before also. S was not the best choice. We told Frat Boy this. We fought hard for the guy. So when they chose S, we were pissed.
And we never let her live it down. She would never be one of us. Because? Well, because we wanted them to hire the guy....who happened to be none other than my Kenny!
I always wonder what would have happened if they had hired him. I was pregnant with Emmi and engaged to her father at that point in time. In hindsight I glad he didn't get hired. Because maybe we wouldn't be together now. But still...let's keep hating S, because really, she did turn out to be kind of a bitch.
Monday, March 3, 2008
I can still remember what Tiffany wore to her first day of work. She was like a ray of sunshine. All blond hair and spring colors amidst the drab blahness of our office. And? I was happy. I fought hard (okay, not that hard. Our boss was quite eager to steal her from our competitor property.) to have her considered for the position. And finally she was here. It was a slow day. I was hanging out in the manager's office, stuffing newsletters. She was assigned some asinine project for the new property. Bobby (remember he is the Assistant Manager) was doing Bobby like things, and Frat Boy Mike was no where to be found, as usual.
As the morning progressed, I told one story after another until eventually I got on to preggie stories. And Tiffany says, "Yeah. How'd that work out for you?" There was this glint in her eye. This smirk. And I knew! I pulled her across the hall, slamming my office door.
"Maybe." She smiled.
And then I started laughing. And jumping up and down.
"I AM TOO!" We hugged. We laughed. We wiped tears from our eyes. It was going to be perfect. Pregnant together. Two of us. In the same office. The office. The one where only four people work. Oh shit. Frat Boy Mike was going to be pissed. In nine months, they would be at half staff. On a new, very busy property. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Being pregnant was starting to sound like a bad idea.
"Okay, so who tells Mike first?"
I don't remember how we came to the conclusion that Tiffany was going to tell Frat Boy Mike first. I am not sure if we even decided exactly. I think perhaps Tiffany throwing up at the smell of cake in the work room might have given her away. Frat Boy Mike was stupid, but not that stupid. I mean really, who else vomits at the thought of yummy, yummy Marble Slab ice cream cake? He was on to her.
"I guess I have to tell him."
"Yeah. I don't think we can hide it anymore." I sighed. It was going to be a bad day. When Frat Boy Mike got pissed, he retaliated with making us scrub the floors or clean the bathrooms even though we had a full-time cleaning staff.
"Wish me luck." And with that, Tiffany walked into Mike's office.
She looked scarred when she emerged. It had been bad. Really bad. Frat Boy Mike was on the war path.
"Okay. I told him. Now it is your turn."
I looked at her. So stoic. So brave. And I knew that telling him would be so much worse for me. It would be hard. But at the same time, it would mean Tiffany was not alone. She needed me to tell him. She needed us to share the burden of this. She looked at me with hope.
I took a deep breath. She was watching me carefully. "Well?"
I looked her right in the eye. "Bitch, you're fucking crazy. I am NOT telling him I am pregnant. My ass did not throw up in the work room. He knows nothing about me. And as long as he knows nothing, then there is nothing for me to tell. That's my story and I am sticking to it."
With that, I turned and walked away. I don't know who was more shocked. Tiffany when I told her I wasn't going to tell him. Or Mike when, six months later, he got the email with the pictures of Emmi.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
100 Things You Might Not Know About Me
1. I am scared of worms. Terrified. It is my worst fear.
2. I am addicted to reality TV. The Hills is my favorite. I think Lauren and Lo are really my friends, and I talk about them as if we are.
3. I can see a color, and then be able to pick the exact same color elsewhere later. My photographic memory talent extends only to colors.
4. I was married once. For like ten minutes. Okay, it was longer than that. But not much.
5. I dated my ex-husband for about three times longer than I was married to him. We were married a year.
6. My favorite color is brown.
7. I have had ten different cars. My favorite was my Jeep Wrangler. It reminds me of fun times.
8. I have an older sister. She is five years older and lives in Austin. We are more alike than we ever thought we would be.
9. I can't function if things are too messy. Because of this, my house is clean almost all the time.
10. My kids have two different dads. Jill's dad is my ex-husband. Emmi's dad is a douchebag.
11. I was engaged to Emmi's dad for a year and a half. I never set a wedding date. I left him before Emmi was two months old. I wanted to leave sooner.
12. Kenny and I first met in high school. My ex-husband introduced us.
13. I get my feelings hurt very easily. And I always assume I am being left out on purpose.
14. I like to wake up before everyone else in the house. I like to sit quietly and drink my coffee.
15. I am addicted to coffee. I get a massive migraine if I lower my intake.
16. Which reminds me, I get migraines at least once a week. I am on very powerful medication. It just keeps them at bay. My doctor says I have one of the worst cases he has ever seen. I am pretty sure that is nothing to brag about.
17. I am actually smart. But I say dumb things all the time, so it is hard to tell that I am smart. But I am. Trust me. My IQ is probably way higher than yours. Don't worry, I make up for that with my lack of common sense.
18. I am a very sarcastic person. And funny. People laugh at my jokes and stories a lot. I tell good stories.
19. My favorite singer is MoZella. I picked one of her songs to be my first dance song....uh not that I planned the whole wedding yet or anything.
20. Kenny and I have been together for over two years now. We bought a house and moved in together a over year ago. I refuse to ask him about an engagement time frame, but we have talked about marriage. I know it is in the near future.
21. We want to get married in Mexico. With just a few friends and family. We travel to Mexico a lot. In fact, we are going again in July with Cody and Susan!
22. My toes are very sensitive. If I hurt them, I feel the pain in my lower lip.
23. I like my job. A lot. I work from home. The work actually interests. It is a good deal I have going.
24. My youngest daughter is deaf. That is the least of her problems. Some days I forget there is anything wrong with her. Some days it is all I think about.
25. When Emmi was nine months old, I was told she would probably die before she was a year old. She turns four this year. I still get scared every morning when I go to wake her up. I hold my breath until I see her move.
26. Jill is a good athlete. She gets it from her dad and I. Her dad wanted her to play basketball like him. I wanted her to be a gymnast. So far, I am winning.
27. We watch CSI on A&E way more than anyone should. We yell, "Oh Horatio!" at the TV whenever Horatio does something oh so fantastic like discover a pollen from a rare plant on the left pant leg of the victim that happens to grow in the garden on the suspect.
28. I eat a lot of chocolate. Dark chocolate. Everyday.
29. I like the edges of brownies. For my mom's birthday, I bought her a pan that is specially shaped to make tons of edges. It makes yummy brownies.
30. I run several times a week for several miles. I am a horrible runner. It took me forever to build up to where I am now.
31. I love wine. I can't drink it anymore, because it makes my migraines worse. It is sad.
32. I hate coconut. Not the flavor, the actual coconut pieces. I hate the texture. I actually like the flavor.
33. I hate to cook. Hate it. More than doing laundry.
34. When I get tired, my stomach starts to hurt. I get nauseated. I am not good at staying up late.
35. Not only do I have migraines, but I have seizures. I have not had any in awhile, though. Like years. But I have dreams that I am having grand mal seizures in very public places. I dream this almost every night.
36. I can sew pretty well. I hem my own pants, alter clothes, and make little dresses for the girls.
37. I am scared of the dark. Extremely scared. I leave a light on in the hallway at night. I claim it is for the kids.
38. We have two dogs. Both girls. Both fawn boxers. They are Sadie and Macy.
39. I listen in on other people's conversations. If you are talking loud enough for me to hear, then I feel it is okay for me to join in. I make comments to random strangers all the time. They never seem to appreciate my comments. Hmm?
40. I don't really like potato chips. I like corn ones though. I am eating chips now. That is why I thought of this.
41. When I was younger I never felt like I had the right shoes to pull off outfits. This is directly related to why I own so many shoes now. I have the greatest shoe collection. Amazing. My favorite pair is silver satin pumps. They have a cute little bow on them. I have only worn them twice. I have had them for a year.
42. My kids go to different elementary schools. Jill goes to the one our neighborhood is zoned to. Emmi goes to one in the next neighborhood over. That is where the deaf ed program is. It gets annoying, but I am glad they go to different schools. Jill is a tough act to follow. She has a 100 average in EVERY subject. She also outscored every child in her grade on the standardized test they took this year.
43. Jill is extremely smart, but she gets in trouble everyday at school. I get calls from the principal about her behavior. They stopped calling when I told them I didn't care if she talked. They didn't listen to me when I told them how to correct the problem, so they are on their own. I think they hate me.
44. Jill's principal was my principal in elementary school. I got in trouble a lot too.
45. I was accepted in the School of Architecture at UT Austin. 6,000 applicants applied. They accepted 60 people. My best friend got in also. We never really discussed where we applied or to what program, so that we would not influence each other. I completed one year, and quit.
46. I changed my major to Education with an emphasis on Kinesiology. I showed up for my first day of student teaching, and decided I was not going again.
47. I was the Director of a Montessori school. I was twenty years younger than all of the teachers. They never listened to me. Which was fine. It meant I didn't really have to do anything.
48. I weigh less than I did in high school. Not by much, but still. This is both a blessing and a curse. I wish I didn't care what size I was. It would be more fun.
49. I love Mexican food. Good thing I live in Houston. There is a lot of Mexican food here.
50. I tear out pictures of engagement rings and give them to Kenny. However, as I mentioned earlier, I will not discuss engagement with him. I am scared he might give me clues to a time frame. I desperately want it to be a surprise.
51. I hate being late. Hate it. In fact, I would rather not go than be late.
52. I was the ultimate tomboy as a child. So much that my mom thought I was going to be a lesbian. No lie. Now? I am very girlie. Annoyingly so. I annoy myself.
53. I have zero patience. Zip. Zilch. The worst is getting in and out of the car with the kids. They are so damn slow. Seriously, do you have to crawl on the floorboard of the car looking for your lost pink crayon every single time we get in the car?! JUST GET IN YOUR SEAT!
54. I didn't think I would get married again, until I met Kenny. In fact, I told him at first that I didn't know if I ever would. I changed my mind when I saw how not only had he made my life better, but he made my daughters' lives better too.
55. I will have no more children. None. Kenny agrees with this. People tell me all they time that we will change our minds. They don't have a child who isn't even supposed to have lived this long. They don't know what is on our minds.
56. I feel guilty a lot. Even when things aren't my fault or I had no control over it.
57. I don't get jealous easily.
58. I read constantly. Anything I can get my hands on. I have the labels on several products memorized because I read them so much. I read quickly.
59. When I write on my blog, I purposely use incorrect grammar. I am actually a bit neurotic about grammar. I know just about every rule out there. The ones I don't know, I call my mom to ask. She knows even more than me.
60. I can't add or subtract in my head However, I placed out of college Calc, and went on to take advanced Calc. Go figure.
61. Jill has a little sister on her dad's side. The mom? I love her. I talk to her often (although, that reminds me, I need to call her.). I was glad when she got pregnant with Jill's sister, because I like her that much. Now I know she will be in Jill's life forever.
62. I get along with Emmi's stepmom. Sort of. I feel like she oversteps her boundaries. I am pretty sure she would be pissed if someone did that with her daughter. But she treats Emmi well. I should be thankful for that, but I am not. I think because she tried to equate herself to me, and that makes me mad.
63. My desk is at the front of the house. My neighbor's desk is at the front of her house. Sometimes I catch her staring at me through the window. When I do, I start picking my nose.
64. I am an excellent painter. My children's' rooms and gameroom are done painted in themes. (One day I will post pictures.)
65. My hair is naturally almost black. Everyone keeps asking why I dyed it so dark. They don't believe me when I tell them it is my natural color. Maybe 'cause my kids are blond? Also? My hair is naturally curly. Quite honestly, I have awesome hair. I can make it do whatever I want it to. Wavy, curly, straight.
66. Emmi is naughty. But I really like naughty kids. They have spunk. She needs lost of spunk the get through her life. Her life is hard, but she doesn't seem to know it yet. I dread the day she figures out that it isn't normal to live like her.
67. I think Kenny is a much better parent than me. He is patient. He attends every event at school with a smile on his face. He plans event for the kids. It seems to come so easy to him. I feel like I struggle to be a good parent.
68. My ex-husband is professional body builder. Seriously (I should soooo post pictures). He is also a nurse at an Alzheimer's clinic. One day I was at the gym, and the TV was tuned to ESPN II or some shit like that. He was on TV, and two guys behind me were discussing his physique. It was a little weird for me.
69. Emmi's dad is a truck driver. But he wasn't when we were together.
70. Kenny on the other hand, owns several business. Namely, Texas Realty Associates, Texas Apartment Connectors, and Copperfield Lawn and Landscape. He built the real estate companies up, then got bored of them. One day he decided he was going to be a landscaper. Every business he touches works. He is an extremely hard worker.
71. I take really hot showers. Scalding. I don't feel clean, otherwise.
72. I brush my teeth too much. My dentist makes me limit it.
73. Drinks that are room temperature make me vomit. No lie. I will throw up.
75. I have a very weak stomach. I also have the bottomless pit. I am hungry all the time. I'm not really sure how I was cursed with both.
76. I kind of despise all of my neighbors. They are all rude. They think they are better than me. What really bugs me about this is that I actually feel like I am better than them. This is oddly wrong.
77. I have a hard time telling people when they make me mad. So sometimes, I just stop talking to them for months at a time, until I am no longer pissed.
78. My birthday is March 26th. So far my birthday list (which is posted on Kenny's dry erase board) reads: Subscription to US Weekly, Gilmore Girls entire series, USB storage drives for pictures, a box of Godiva chocolates, "The Fug Awards" book, "Mortified: Love is a Battlefield" book, and an engagement ring. I have a disclaimer that reads "one, all, or a combination of the above items are acceptable birthday presents." I keep adding and subtracting to/from my list.
79. On a good week, I take Emmi to a total of three appointments weekly, and nine others monthly. I spend a lot of time at Texas Children's. I feel bad when other people talk about their sick (you know normal sickness...colds, strep) child, but part of me wants to tell them to shut the hell up. They have no idea what it is like to be sentenced to this for the rest of my life.
80. I wonder why God gave me a disabled child. I think somehow it must be my fault.
81. Kenny seems like the most sane person I have ever met. But I think he is really crazy. Why else would he willingly get involved in my life? Unless, of course, he is a saint. Which seems more likely.
82. Sometimes, even when I know my kids are being naughty, I still won't get up. I would like to say there is some kind of parenting strategy to that, but really it is just lazy. Sometimes it is just easier to clean up the mess afterwards!
83. I am very loyal to my friends, and I only have a handful of close friends. Everyone else I keep at arms length.
84. I am addicted to trashy star magazines. I read them all. Don't worry. I balance it out with novels of literary merit.
85. I will say the same thing to your face that I will say behind your back. I just might say it in a nicer way to your face!
86. Women make me nervous. I can walk into a room full of men that I have never met, and within minutes be engaged in conversation. I walk into a room full of women, and I clam up and can barely remember my own name. When I was younger, I had more guy friends than girl friends, so I know it has always been this way.
87. I love Post-It notes. Love them. Especially pretty ones. Actually, I love all office supplies.
88. I hate eating in front of my kids. I also hate eating at the table. I would rather wait until after they have gone to bed and then eat on the couch. Kenny says family meals are important, though. I oblige.
89. I am good at keeping really important secrets. I would tell you who to ask to back me up on this, but then you would know they have a secret. I won't even tell you who I know secrets about. I am that good.
90. I have an extreme photoshoping talent. Just check out my Kanye picture. I have others
91. I talk to Tiffany on the phone about an hour a day. I had to change my cell phone service due to this. She is now in my faves, so it works well. Other than, Tiff, I hardly ever talk on the phone.
92. Except to my mom. I talk to my mom a lot. Like two or three times in a day.
93. I am a pretty good dancer. I am really good at dancing in the car. Alone. I do it often. It makes people in the cars around me laugh.
94. I have issues with the way clothes feel on my body. If I can feel the seams, I can't wear it. I avoid socks for this reason.
95. I am most comfortable in jeans and a white t-shirt. It is my go-to outfit. I own about fifteen white t-shirts. All name brands. It is a weird obsession. Other than that, I dress pretty preppy. I could live in Ralph Lauren.
96. We have a pool in our backyard. It is the one thing everyone in the family enjoys doing. We swim a lot. I love that Emmi, who has no balance (seriously, she is missing reflexes), can swim easily. I think it is really neat that she was over two before she took her first step, but she was barely three when she learned to swim.
97. I have had many, many surgeries. Knee surgeries. Appendectomy. Abdominal surgery. And some other unmentionables. But most of all.....
98. I want breast implants. Okay, actually more of a lift. I dream of new boobies. I can't wait until I can afford new ones.
99. Last year, I had a little run-in with cancer. I won. Cancer lost. At least so far. I go back on Wednesday for my check-up. It will be six months since I had it all removed. If they don't find anything, I am in the clear. If they do, I have to discuss further treatment. I find this all extremely unfair. I already have a disable child. Give someone else the cancer.
100. Despite my minor insecurities (let's face, it we all have them) and a few things I would change (like Emmi's health), I am extremely happy with my life. I really feel like I am luckier than most.
Before leaving, we double checked to make sure we had our booth passes. Check! Cody had, like, twelve of them. For those of you unfamiliar with the cook off, you have to be invited to the booths. Once in, the food is free, and generally, so are the drinks.
Except? Cody didn't bring the drink tickets. Lord help us. All that free beer, and none of it for us.
Luckily, Allie pulled through for us! Allie soooo kicks ass! She got us into her booth, hooked us up with drinks and food (very yummy food!), and hung out with us. So much fun.
But then it got late, and being fuddy-duddies, we had to head home. We missed going down the big slide (I am waiting on Allie to report on that!), but we did get funnel cake on the way out. Yummy, yummy funnel cake.
We began the long trek back to the car. We smartly parked at Texas Children's and hopped on the train to Reliant, so we avoided the huge amounts of traffic. What we failed to anticipate was the long line for the train back. Honestly, it wasn't that long of a wait, but it was very chaotic. People were cutting in line. Susan and I were yelling at the drunk people cutting in line. Some girl pushed right in front of Susan, which of course set Susan and I off. The girl then retaliates by yelling, "You're ugly!" Which sent half the line into hysterics. Wow, girl. Way to make a point. Now everyone is laughing at you.
Once on the train Kenny and I were separated from Cody and Susan. Some guy stepped all over me, prompting Kenny to fuss at him. Poor guy about peed his pants when he turned to see Kenny towering a good foot over him. Funniest part, Kenny wasn't mad. He just wanted the guy to watch out. But poor scared man spent the rest of the ride apologizing profusely to Kenny.
And? Standing next to us on the train? The director of Metro Transit. Riding the Metro Rail home to his fancy pants loft. Somehow this really entertained me. Especially after we watched a news segment on Metro employees not paying for their tickets. Dude, Mr. Metro Transit was, like, FAMOUS, or something. Even if he is known for scamming free Metro Rail rides. Although, quite frankly, Mr. Metro Transit, I am with you...perk of the job, baby.
After a short ride, we made it back to Texas Children's AND found Cody and Susan. We parted ways in the parking garage only to have them catch up with us on the road about five minutes from home. Kenny starts giggling and tells me to pull up next to their truck. I oblige. And Kenny moons Cody. Lord. I never laughed so hard in my life.
And....tomorrow is my 100th Post! I am very excited as I have been working on compiling a list of 100 random things about me. After that, back to "A Tribute to Tiffany."