Old

Listen, Self.

I know we turned 30, and promptly came down with strep throat in protest. Five days later, for extra fun while still on antibiotics, we spiked a fever of 102.

What gives? Did my warranty run out?

T-Mobile is not full of sparkles. Or magic.

Today has been an irritating day. Very irritating. And T-Mobile, you are to blame.

I woke up this morning. And the screen on my phone looked like this.





That's right. Blank. Nada. Nothing. Redundant, I know. I was standing in front of T-Mobile when they opened their doors this morning. I expected magic. And fireworks. And sparkles. Instead I got, "Go home, and try this. Then, dial xyz cause I can't remember what he actually said from your cell to call customer service." Oh really, genius. I should call them. From my phone that won't turn on. When I told Mr. Not Magic or Helpful At All Man that his lack of action pissed me off, he proceeded to tell me all about his bad day. Guess what. I don't care.

At home, his special magic fix, did not work. I made my first call to customer service. Not from my cell phone. Which, of course, required extra top secret verification that I should in fact be attempting to fix this broken phone. Because it would be a real issue if someone not on the account attempted to troubleshoot my phone. And although, I was in fact on the account, they decided I was not. Even after calling my husband fourteen times and having him confirm my ability to be trusted with my own phone. And so, argument and thirty minute phone call number one began.

Five phone calls and two and a half hours later, Blackberry technical support determined they could not fix the problem. I needed a new phone. Which is funny, because that is what I said. TWO AND A HALF hours ago. "Ma'am, just call T-Mobile back, and tell them you need a phone exchange." Which sounded simple.

Except then T-Mobile was unconvinced, and thought perhaps they should send me to Blackberry technical support for further assistance. The same technical support that sent me to them for a new phone. This was a fun loop. Finally, I began responding to all statements and questions with, "SEND ME A NEW PHONE."

Ma'am can you hold, please. SEND ME A NEW PHONE.

Ma'am, have you attempted to take the battery out. No, of course not, asshat. Nobody in the past six phone calls though to have me do that! SEND ME A NEW PHONE.

Ma'am what does the screen look like now. SEND ME A NEW PHONE.

As we headed into hour three, they finally decided to SEND ME A NEW PHONE. I guess they got tired of my screaming and analogies. "If I bought a shirt and it ripped before I even took the tag off of it, I would take it back to the store. The store would then not send me home, and ask me to attempt to sew it myself. When they failed, they would also not send me to another store to ask them for help. They would simply get ME A NEW shirt." How was this complicated? The phone was dead. Shit happens. Phones mysteriously die in the dead of the night.

And now, three hours of my life have been wasted.

T-Mobile. I hate you.

The Big 3-0 = Strep Throat

My 30th birthday was this weekend.

For my birthday, I got strep throat. Awesome. Kids dropped off with my parents for the weekend, and I start to feel horrible. Fever. Sore throat complete with white patches. Horrible headache. Did I mention awesome?

Don't worry, I let the antibiotics do their thing, and managed to do some celebrating.

And car shopping.

And present getting. And because my husband is way more awesome than strep throat, he got me this

Although not so much that, as a confirmation number for that, as it doesn't come out until next week.

Protein

Once, my mom fed me caterpillars. She will debate this fact. She will claim it was part of the broccoli. Don't let her fool you. Caterpillars. I am still traumatized to this day. I examine broccoli piece by piece before I bite into it.

This weekend Kenny wanted to go out to eat. Jill did not want to go. As a compromise, we let her choose the restaurant. The pickle place. I am not sure any of us know the actual name. Just that Kenny and Jill love the fried pickles. The food is never all that great. The margaritas are.

I was half way through my first margarita before I noticed the bug embedded in my ice cube. Like Jurassic Park. The mosquito in amber. Not as pretty, though. And now, I am scared of margaritas. I will have to sort through them ice cube by ice cube.

Emmi had multiple appointments today. We were in Houston early this morning. Near Starbucks. I ordered an iced white mocha. Non-fat. I swear the milk gets colder without the fat. In winter, I order 2%. I need the warmth. The muffins called my name as I ordered my drink.

Two bites later, I noticed the bug leg. Had I eaten the bug? Was the bug leg all that was left or all that ever was?

It's my party.... Or not exactly party. But still, buy me presents.

My 30th Birthday is this week. My mother and my husband asked for a present list.

So far this is what I have.

1. Range Rover. Preferably Sport. Preferably blue. Preferably with tan leather. Must have a DVD player.
2. Golf Cart. I don't play golf. Nobody in our family plays golf. I just want it to go to the bus stop. And pool. And to the Easter Egg Hunt in two Saturdays cause the website says, "Please take your golf cart, parking is limited." See totally need it.
3. ipad. Comes out April 3rd. I'll take a raincheck.
4. Money for clothes. Although, let's be real. I'll spend money on clothes whether or not he gives me money.
5. Photoshop Elements. Although, this requires me also taking the computer in for some work. But, just think of all of those pictures waiting on me to play with them.

That's all I got. Somehow, I don't think I am getting the Range Rover.

What would you ask for, if you were me? This is where I look conversational, but am really just trying to steal your ideas.

Last official day of Spring Break. Boo.

The Lucky Fats.

It started with Jump Rope for Heart. My kids knocked on the neighbor's door. They sent out emails linking to their donation pages. They raised money, followed by some rope jumping. They learned about being heart healthy, and eating heart healthy. You know, so you maintain a good body weight.

Apparently, Emmi got exactly one thing from that. Fat = UNHEALTHY.

After a long day and night before of cake baking and birthday partying, I was not about to cook. And I was starving. Kenny and I had shoved breakfast tacos in our faces between the mopping, vacuuming, and cake icing prior to the party. At 5:45, I made the executive decision that we were going out for Chinese. At the restaurant right outside our neighborhood whose parking lot is littered with cars bearing our neighborhood entrance sticker. By the end of dinner our neighbor two doors down sat one table over and our across the street neighbor sat two tables over. And we were the only people in there. My point? We know everyone who eats there. You see them at the country club later in the week or walking the dog.

When we first arrived there was exactly one other person eating in the restaurant. She sat at a table directly across from us, eating alone. I didn't recognize her, but the only other car in the parking displayed the reflection of the moon sticker I know so well. As we settled into our seats, she chatted with us about how cute our kids were and such.

The waitress handed her a fortune cookie and her check. She cracked open the cookie. No fortune. She turned to us, "What do you suppose that means?!"

The waitress called across the nearly empty restaurant, "I heard that was supposed to be good luck."

We all laughed.

Emmi had been watching, evaluating the whole situation. Listening. Finally she piped up.

"SHE IS SO FAT! SHE IS UNHEALTHY! Right, Mommy? Right?!"

I am pretty sure right then, that empty cookie was not good luck.

Happy Birthday Little Monkey.

Five. I could still pretend five was a baby. Five was not in school. Five did not come with full sentences and correct grammar and a sudden five pound gain after years of weighing 33 pounds or less. Six did.

Six it seems, turned my Little Monkey into a girl. Not a baby. But a big girl. This is the year of the most profound changes. The most significant accomplishments. This past year, I have been blown away by everything you have done. Have far you have come.

This year you started Kindergarten with your class. In a mainstream classroom. Three years ago as you entered PPCD, we were told there was no chance of that. In fact, we were told to prepare for the fact that you may never be in a mainstream classroom. But here you are. Reading on level. Writing far beyond your grade level. Taking Spanish classes. Loving art. Hating PE. Performing either on target or ahead of your class in everything.

You have done a lot of things you shouldn't have. Shouldn't have according to a whole slew of doctors. Doctors that shake their head in wonder with every visit. You are their miracle patient. You are that one. According to your doctors, you were not supposed to live much past your first birthday. Then they said, "She won't sit, crawl, walk or talk." I think you proved to them that you had some other plans. You still struggle. You still scare the hell out of me sometimes. But here you are.

You are silly and sweet. Every morning as the bus pulls off you hold your hands up to the window in the shape of a heart. You wait in the front window for Daddy to come home. You love to cuddle on the couch with Macy. You spend your days following your sister around. You are suddenly eating, and you certainly have some favorite foods. You love sushi. Anyone can with your heart over with a crunchy roll. Want to make you really happy? Take you out for crab. Drink of choice? Brown milk. Call it chocolate milk, and you won't drink it. You also love coffee. Love. You steal mine, if I leave it unattended. You love to color. You just came into the office and asked me for "a thousand fifty hundred" pieces of paper to bring to your room. If I try to take your picture, you strike a pose.

You decided this year your hair would be long. A first. You normally wear it short. I think this change came about, because you now wear your processors over the ear. Speaking of ears, you got your ears pierced. It was what you asked for for your birthday. Along with Lanie, the American Girl doll of the year, and a scooter. All of which you got. You wanted a rainbow cake. I think you would have been happy with a cake with a rainbow on it, but we all know Mommy can't just leave it at that. So you got a rainbow cake. Six layers. Homemade icing. Nine batches of icing. And I still did not have enough.

Pretty much, I would do anything for you. Even stay up all night baking a rainbow cake.

I still can't believe you are six, Ems. Happy Birthday Little E. I hope this next year is everything you wished for.

Big Huge Mommy Accomplishment That Probably Wasn't All That Big or Huge.

I took both kids shopping. All by myself. Then I took both kids to eat. In a sit down, nice restaurant. Also by myself.

And I lived. With all of my hair still on my head.

I know. I know. People do this kind of thing all the time. Some moms even have, like, a bajillion kids and take them places. All by themselves.

But they don't have my kids.

Let's start with Emmi. Until very recently, her communication skills were far behind her age level. But her cognitive skills weren't. Meaning, she could wander through a store, see a pink shirt that she thought would look fabulous with a bright green skirt if only she could get some blue socks to go along with it all, and yell something along the lines of "PINK GREEN SOCK!" So I would furiously try to find some pink and green socks, and be completely dismayed when she hated the pink and green socks I produced. Then the pantomiming and wild guessing would begin. "You want socks? Not these socks? Pink socks? No? But socks? Point to the socks, Emmi. Point! Okay? Blue socks? So you wanted socks that weren't pink and green? You like pink? You hate green?" And inevitably we would leave with blue socks, nothing else, a pissed off kid, and a near tears mommy.

Meanwhile, Jill was standing in the corner rocking back and forth screaming because it was too loud or too bright or too smelly in the store and the tag in her shirt had suddenly started to bother her and someone accidentally bumped into her and her left shoe is too tight and she HATES me BECAUSE I AM THE WORSTEST MOMMY EVER because I was trying to buy her new clothes that have too many colors on them.

And then I would have to ride home with them.

It was good fun times.

But then Emmi started talking. Really talking. I would say it is the years of therapy that finally kicked in, but I am actually going to go with replacing the faulty cochlear implant that did it. It is amazing what actually being able to hear will do for ones ability to speak. On a side note, the more she is talking, the more she is signing too. I thought she would lose interest, which was a bit sad. But, she actually wants to learn more. So now when she wants a pink shirt and a green skirt with blue socks, she can say, "I like that pink shirt and that green skirt, but can we get blue socks with it?" Albeit, she says it in the cutest little voice EVER.

And then, finally, someone figured out that Jill is NOT bipolar and doesn't have ADHD nor am I just a bad parent or out of sync with my child. Nope. She has a neurological disorder that went undiagnosed for over eight years. Mostly because she hid the physical symptoms very well. Another side note, her formal evaluation came back yesterday. I was expected a her to be lagging a bit here and there. She was FOUR YEARS behind developmentally on some physical aspects. FOUR YEARS. She is just smart and compensates well. And now she can do things like go out in public and wear clothes and such. So we went shopping, followed the OT's orders, and Jill left smiling. Smiling! With new clothes! And new shoes. Oh, good gravy, she was the cutest thing this morning.

And our house is full of rainbows and sunshine. And maybe even unicorns today. Because yesterday might have been the best day ever.

And who of you childless people wants children now after reading that? Because if you didn't get, let me make it more clear. It took SIX YEARS for me to take both of my kids out shopping and to eat without backup. Six. Years.

Veda the Beta

Many, many years ago Jill had to have a fish. Had to. Needed it. I didn't want to buy that damn fish. I don't particularly like animals that I have to clean up after. Dogs go outside and poo. They don't have a tank to clean. No litter box. Hell, I even used to throw them in the pool at our old house to bathe them. But fish? Their tanks get stinky, and somebody has to clean that shit. But Jill wanted that fish.

I made her work for it. For months. And so we got a fish. A fish that she promptly decided was boring, and somehow ended up on my kitchen countertop with Kenny and I feeding it.

I hated that stupid fish. I tried to kill it. I wouldn't feed it for weeks, but there it would be wagging it's little fishy tail, swimming happy little fishy circles. Not dead.

When we moved over two years later, the fish travelled in the cup holder of the u-haul in a plastic cup. I thought for sure that would be the death of the fish. But no. Fishy plopped happily into it's tank on it's new perch in the new kitchen. Swim, swim, swim.

Then Jill decided the fish was cool. She cleaned it's tank. She started feeding it when she remembered. She would talk to the fish. She drew pictures for the fish. Fish became cool.

Until yesterday morning.

"Jill did you remember to feed your fish," Kenny asked.

Jill jumped up from the couch where she sat watching TV ten minutes before we left for school. Fish food in hand, Jill lifted the lid from the tank....

"MY FISH IS DEAD!"

I looked to Kenny, waiting for him to say it was just sitting still. But instead, he nodded his head, slowly, solemnly.

The fish was dead.

RIP Veda the Beta.

You lived a good, long fishy life. I am sorry they gave you a girl name, even though you were a boy. Really it was your fault, because you were pink and purple. And those were girl colors. Also, forgive Emmi for tormenting you with Dino. Emmi says she hopes you are playing with Chance-y Boy. And Papa. In our brown car which isn't dead, but sold. Try telling her that, though. All of which she insists are in heaven.