Dig This

So....a pal told me that if I have time to comment on her blog, then I should have time to update mine. Touche, Leigh. **and please insert 'air-internet-cheersing' here**. I mean, it's only been three months. Whaaaa?

So, the new year is just around the corner and I have to tell you that I couldn't be happier. I mean, I am so over 2010. Like, o.ver.it. Let's face it 2010, you sucked. You chewed me up and spat me out like a bad wine after finishing the last vineyard on your tour of Napa. And that's bad, cause let's face it, by the last tour, you would drink fermented prison booze with gusto sold by a hobo on the side of the street. Maybe even pose with him for a picture a la party pic style after.

However, I have high hopes for 2011. I was even talking with Tam over Christmas that we are totally going to feed our kiddos herring for good luck because that is what you do when you are from Russian/Greek lineage? I only add the question mark because half of my northern relatives had never heard of that little tradition of chowing down on smelly fish doused in fish-mayonaise, which makes me completely doubt it's potency of luck. But whatevs-Alex better looooooove it cause I am smearing that stuff in his hourly peanut butter sandwich all the live long day. So that should ensure our good fortune for sure.

I am also thinking that I should adopt any tradition that I can, just to really hedge my bets. So, if anyone (cue the echo: anyone) is reading (echo: reading) this and has any New Year's Day tradition (echo: tradition, tradition, tradition), let me know, I need all the help I can get. So, comment away, my happiness and fate is in your hands.

My God, my mam would be so proud to think I am turning to superstition for luck. But God help me if I get any of those "send this to eleventy billion people and your wish comes true emails" heads will roll. With that, I need a drink.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Funeral

So, it is no secret that my family is full of characters. We are pretty much divided into two categories: those who have a sense of humor and those who don't.

Now, you may be thinking that the line is pretty clear. Not really. See, of course the ones with the astounding sense of humor are clearly hilarious. But, those who are lacking in the sarcasm department know we are funny, but laugh with the blank look in their eyes that says they know they should be laughing, but really aren't sure what part they are laughing at. Which kinda makes it funnier. Especially when we start to point it in their direction and they are a couple steps behind the joke. Good times.

So I have this aunt, one of my mam's sisters....the eldest. Man, she is a riot. And not the "ha, ha" kind. She is teeny and grey-haired and is very, very long winded. She used to travel from Chicago to visit and bring her cat. Besides the fact that my dear, sweet brother is allergic to cats (like, kinda bad), this cat hid under his bed and by the end of the trip we were all pretty much convinced that Chessy was the anti-Christ coming to kill us all and drag us to hell....right after my Aunt's smoke break.

Naturally, as the years have passed she has gotten crazier...and I mean that nicely? While driving, she is afraid to make left turns, so she won't...she will only turn right. Makes sense. It could be that she has just aged a smite bit, or her favorite cocktail she once accidentally made in the 80's, and never switched from, and the effects are starting to be seen. That would be her Vodka-Vodka. Now, now, I am not judging. Remembering the mixer is hard. We have all been there.

Once she was contacted via a World War II chat room by someone who doing a book report and wanted a personal account of her experience during the war. I can really see how she helped this young boy with her perspective, and the effect the war had on her, and how it made his project a complete success. She was 4 years old at the time of the war after all. Just to clarify, as someone who has also been 4 years old, that is a real pivotal time.....going from two naps down to one.....the social stigmas a young girl had in the 1940's playing in her shirt dresses and little leather Mary Jane's. Tough, tough stuff.

Anyway, so we are at my parent's house after my dad's service and it is packed. People shoulder to shoulder eating and talking, and of course laughing. So many flowers you had to be careful not to trip over them since we ran out of space on the shelves, counters and tables around the house.

So, I am talking with this old neighbor who I haven't spoken to in literally 15 years or so, and my Aunt sitting next to me. The couch is small and the conversation leads itself between all of us. However, in the middle of talking about this or that, my Aunt says with such confidence:

Aunt: "Oh, Jane, you know what your Mam needs to do?"

Jane: ""What? Donate some of the flowers?"

A: "No, adopt a Haitian orphan. I am going to go and tell her that."

J: "Oh, please let me be there when you do."

I can just see it now....my mam, recently widowed, roaming the house with nothing but the sound of Sophie's dog collar jingling and the Haitian orphan playing quietly on a blanket in the front room. They would become bff's and ride on the bike handlebars a la Laverne and Shirley.

I mean, this is a mere couple hours after the memorial service. People are still noshing on their eloquently catered funeral food. We haven't even made a second run to the liquor store yet. And, here is my Aunt, going to tell my mam this suggestion with an intensity that rivaled my hatred that Chic-Fil-A is closed on Sunday. (It's true. They are all bastards.) My mam is also the same one who lost a rescue dog a decade back so I can only imagine how well she would keep up with a malnourished, french speaking child that has recently been displaced due to a horrible catastrophic natural disaster.

Not to mention the logistics of this. Would it go something like:

1. Call the funeral director

2. Find Out About Life Insurance

3. Inquire about Haitian Adoption

4. Sell Dental Practice

Yeah, I can see that situation getting it's own 'Successories' poster real soon.

So I happened to learn a few things over the Thanksgiving holiday.

Such as:

No matter how cold it is, The Baby will still overheat in a sweater. Yes, we live in Houston and we were in Ohio. No kind of cold is going to get him. Bad for his Burberry sweater, but good for all of his summer clothes that still fit.

My Mam will always find a way to bring up death and/or dying. Like when we were talking and she mentions someone who just died (because she happens to know all the people who have just died, and how to bring them up in the conversation)...and her reply is usually "Gee, Jerry, that is only 9 years older than you."

Or, half way through your flight home, it is suddenly redirected, and then makes an emergency landing, the captain decides that drinks are free from that point on.

I think we all win on that one.

The Incident

So, before I had kids, I never wanted to be one of those parents.

You know the type. The one who is constantly over correcting people, giving semi-dirty looks to someone who isn't doing something for your kid the way that you would be doing it. Someone who is constantly making lists and schedules and making sure I appear to be raising the most uptight baby on the planet. I never wanted to be a parent that was so rigid, if you looked at my baby, you doubted if he was able to sit on his own, or if the stick up his ass was holding him up.

Why am I bringing this up, you ask? Well, here is what happened and please, please, please tell me if you think I am going a tad bit overboard.

Here goes.

So my parents are in town this weekend to see The Baby. We have a super fun time when they visit. Lucky for me, my parents are actually more scheduled than The Baby is, so their trip is predictable, but fun.

Example.

Every Friday, after they arrive, we always go to Truluck's. It is this amazing seafood restaurant with the world's best happy hour. The food is amazing and the drinks are also great. So great, in fact, that I am pretty sure just setting a Cosmo by a breathalyzer would set it off. It was on their last trip that my mam learned that The Baby likes to take little naps in the booth while we eat. Throw a blanket down and instant crib. He loves it as much I love their carrot cake. We are all winners!

Then, Saturday, we hit a breakfast spot and then dinner at this little I-Talian place around the corner where my dad will proceed to order the veal and talk about how it is the best veal he has ever eaten, while we rehash how inexpensive the meal was. Good times.

Well, today, we decide to mix things up and take advantage of the amazing weather. October and November are God's way of paying the citizens of Houston back for suffering through the summer months. So we head to a great park.

We start strolling around the park and looking at this and that. We pass the yoga class that is going on that my parents accidentally talk a little too loud around causing a few people to break from their fancy-schmancy yoga poses and wonder where the noise is coming from.

Strolling, strolling, strolling and there is a vendor making little mini-doughnuts. By the way, I don't know why the gal is churching it up, they are funnel cakes pure and simple. But that is neither here nor there. So my dad, having just polished off an omelette, ordered a 1/2 dozen. Followed by another dozen and a half so the doughnut gal "doesn't have to make change." Naturally. (I really can't give him too much crap. They were delish).

So while I am taking pics of The Baby looking super cute in his little halloween outfit, I find myself actually having to say the words:

"Um, Husband...maybe we shouldn't be feeding our baby a doughnut".

Seriously.

And you know what he says??

"Whaaaaa? He is a mini-me. His digestive system is just like mine, just smaller. I will just give him smaller bites. He can take it."

Really?? Our (almost) 5 month old can handle a bite of a powdered, fried doughnut???? He has never eaten anything that didn't require me to mix it with water before consumption.

So, now, because I said something....because I thought it wasn't the best idea to give The Baby a piece of fried, doughy carbs topped with artificial sugar, I am all of a sudden "Super Freaky Mom".

Seriously.

If I am wrong, please tell me....but I know where most of you live.

Family Circle

So my brother and sister in law are the proud parents of a beautiful, amazing baby girl who is smart and gifted and actually opened for Conan the other night. You should have seen her. She rocked it. Their precious bundle is about 4 months younger than our itty bitty baby. And, my brother and I have had so much fun talking babies and pregnancies and all things about our lives to come being parents.

Honestly, Tam, as I call him in my Mam voice, is good people. Instead of "should-coulda's" I have "wishes and wants"....

Like I wish I was as funny as he is. He is hysterical. People have actually lost bodily control when around him. I am not just missing the math or spelling gene from my family pool, I am also missing the humor gene. I once thought of going on a humor mission trip, but they didn't have Franzia there, so I was out.

I also wish we lived closer. He is in Kentucky. I am in H-Town. Bad times. It is hard to kick ass at a game of spades when you live, roughly, 20 hours away. Or, it is hard to recount that time when we had a few cocktails (AKA: 97 solo cups of keg beer) at Dave Simpson's house and then tow' da goal posts down after whooping the Sooners. One of the best days ever, BTW. (Tam, 'member when we tow' da goal posts down?? You don't want to say it in your office, but you soooooo do).

Another, is that I want his daughter, Annie to know how much her Aunt Jane loves her. Not just when she is 13 and shopping for her first bikini or when she wants to "try" some Wild Island flavored Boones....but all the time.

However.....

In talking with Tam I have become increasingly more neurotic about being a parent. See, Tam was a better parent than me when I was still pregnant, and they still had a long way to go. One thing he is fearful of, as most parents are, is SIDS. I have found myself checking on The Wee One much more frequently since Annie's arrival-I guess my senses are heightened too. So, I check The Hammer (oh, that is his UFC name) all the time to make sure he is still good.
But, all this parenting has made me think about my own Mam. What she must have been thinking. Her parenting ideas, the way she wanted to do things....

And in all of this I realized.....

When she would sneak into my room at night when I was a teenager and feel my feet? She wasn't checking to make sure that I hadn't stuffed my bed with some pillows and snuck out my window...she was making sure I wasn't a victim of SIDS.

Sure I was 15, but can you ever be too sure?

Good Mam.

Uh, Oh. We Are All Doomed

This blog may be looking a little different to you, my 17 followers.....and although I think the template change will not really matter to any of you, there is one person that I know when they see the change they will immediately cringe with true horror.

And here is why....

So my Mam has many, many wonderful qualities. She is kind and caring and hilarious. Seriously, my family would sit around and actually cackle at this or that. Usually there was a target:

Like my Dad and his Boy Scout Camping trip with my brother that he refers to as "worse than going to Vietnam"...

Or that my brother, who once walked in on the rest-home version of a Baptist Gospel Hymn He Touched Me, and my dad thought his uncomfortable reaction was so hilarious, he had the bakers at Albertson's put it on my brother's birthday cake....

Or the ever running joke that I once thought that Sigourney Weaver was a host on SNL and have never heard the end of it. But it was all in good fun.

Enter my Mam... and her CRAZY superstitious. She is, as she will herself admit, well, freakishly superstitious. Like...bad. Worse than a freshman their first week of college.

I mean, sadly so. This goes beyond your standard "hold a button when a hearse drives by" or "Friday 13th". Beginner stuff, she would say.

Like how she is totally convinced that it she doesn't forward on any email about "wishes coming true" or how she needs to send the email to a certain number of people to "send on good fortune" she is ultimately doomed.

Like when she told me that I wasn't allowed to leave my shoes in the table because "I will never get married"....mind you, this I was already married...for 3 years.

Like how she totally gives me hard time to make sure that I have eaten black eyed peas on New Year's Day, a normal rite of passage for most people. But my Mam, takes it to 11. She also thinks we should have herring in addition to the black eyed peas. I guess it is a Russian thing? I say this because my other relatives (who are equally sentimental and superstitious have never, ever heard of this little "herring situation".)

For those of you who may not know, which I hope is ALL of you....

Herring is a fish.....that is served in a jar......in a mayonnaise sauce....

Or like how she thinks butterflies or polka dots are bad luck. Granted, I will give her that I was in a serious car accident while I was wearing a polka dotted outfit. OK, so I was actually hit, and then run over by a car while wearing said outfit...but that was over 23 years ago! Isn't it time we forgave the polka dots?? Back me up, here people.

Which leads me to this point...

I can hear her now...

"Uh, Jane, I saw yur blag....and...uh, do you knooow that there are palka daats? Yoou know how I feel about the palka daats."

And, she is in denial that she even has an accent, and she will never admit that she still carries around even the slightest hint of her northern accent...even if she has been living in Oklahoma for almost 35 years. It takes a good ear to pick up that she sounds a little bit like Cartman from South Park. But it is all a good thing. It is endearing and all that....

Having said that......

I happen to like the "polka dot template" blogspot suggested, and I thought it would be a good update to my "blag". What can I say?? While watching The Goonies, I thought I should spice things up.

However, there were not any black cats that crossed my path, it isn't Friday, or any sort of 13, but I can guarantee that my Mam is going to bed thinking I am totally doomed.

8 Years Ago...

OH MY!!! I have 3 members!! I am not going to lie-I feel like I was just picked next to last for kickball. I am no way near cocky enough to think that I would be picked first-I run like a girl after all-but I feel just great enough that I wasn't the last kid standing. I knew my good pal Katie would read my musings but other than that, I thought it would just be me, Katie and a dog ('Sup Roscoe!).

So, eight years ago today we all saw the towers fall wondered what the hell was happening. Eight years ago our lives changed and our sense of security became more of an illusion than the reality we were used to.

And, eight years ago, my mother began her own war of terror.

Now I must explain that my Mam (Your what? Yes, my Mam. And since I can't give you all of my little nuggets right away you will have to wait for that one.)...anyway, my Mam is very, um, task oriented. She really needs some project to work on or something to direct all of her energy. Since I had just gotten married and she had just moved my dad's dental practice in to a new building, September 11th caught her in between projects. Greaaaaat.

After most of us were able to turn off the TV, go back to work and start to keep going with everything that happened, my Mam turned her anti-terrorism campaign up a notch. She quickly set up her "Command Post" (AKA her desk in the family room) and began collecting anything Americana. Anything red, white and blue, no matter how tacky, big or small made the cut. Anything that had the White House seal on it? You bet! Um, what would come from the White House you ask? Well, being an ardent Republican, my Mam would support the troops, the president and the Axis of Evil. For her contributions, she would receive mailers from The White House thanking her for the support and asking to donate more money. And, in return send more and more letters. And she saved all of them.

Then she began getting pictures of "George and Laura", who she would refer to as naturally as if it was our old neighbors Mozan and Shuku (God love Mozan and Shuku. They used to let me come over and feed me sugar. Really, actual sugar cubes. They were the best). Anyway, we would be talking at her house and she would begin to show off her most recent pics and explain them to me.

"Oh, it is just George and Laura at Camp David"

"I got a new picture of George.....in his flight suit!!!"

"Did you know that Laura is a social smoker?"

Thus began what my brother and I refer to as my mother's boy-band crush on the president.

So anyway.....rarely a day would go by that I didn't hear about how she got up at 4am to check the BBC online to get the most recent news. Or I would hear about the new information on terrorists and that we shouldn't eat salt in restaurants because it might "actually be anthrax". Her favorite website that she would frequent (that I can't even mention because I am firmly convinced that if I do, I will be flagged by the government in some way and men with dark glasses will pull up to my house in a dark sedan and I will never he heard from again) is so out there, my brother and I often refer to it as "Hitler Had Some Good Ideas".com. Yes, it is that bad. The Husband and I told her she was not allowed to access it from our computer in fear of all the viruses we would get....or lists we would be put on.

Thankfully, in the last eight years other, um, projects have helped her refocus a little and she has toned it down a notch. She no longer tells me to "be vigilant" before I fly or has people look under her car for a bomb...you know "just in case". The days of my brother and sister-in-law sending her a Make It Yourself Garden Stone Kit (essentially cement mix and a pretty little mold to pour it in) for Christmas and wondering what all the "white powder" is on it, are gone. Although seeing her frozen expression as she opened it, saw the box, and said "Should I open it? It is all covered with powder" was all the gift I needed that year.

We can laugh about it. Now. Now we can laugh with her about it. Now. She has come a long way, baby.

Speaking of baby, my brother and sister-in-law are expecting their first baby any day now (yay!!). And, while my Mam is beyond thrilled to have a granddaughter, she did express some concern to him the other day.....well, she just said she hopes the baby isn't born on September 11th, because then "the terorists win".

Oooooh, and we were doing so well too.