Catching Up

So, my friend Katie was super sweet and gave me a major shout out on her blog the other day.

"Shout Out". Do people even say that anymore? Oh well. I am clearly not the snazziest dancer at the disco. And also cause I just said 'disco'.

Anyway. We have been pals for a while, and considering most of you know her (and follow me because of her) you know what a doll she is. Well, Katie knows me pretty well. So when she decided to post about me on the interwebs pressuring me to post, she knew I would fold like a cheap card table. So here we go.

The last couple weeks have been kinda big in my house. Alex, the "baby" turned two on June 8th.

TWO!

And Luke and I celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary on the 9th.

10 YEARS! (My lord, how old am I?? Don't answer. [32]).

And while I gazed down at my sweet, peanut-buttered angel, thinking "How could my baby be two?!", I realized I was the classic cliche of every parent. So, it got me thinking to some things that people don't tell you about being a parent. Such as:

**It really doesn't matter what you are doing with the baby, you will end up sticky.

Dressing the baby? Sticky.

Feeding the baby? Sticky.

Just finished a mammoth bath? That's right! Sticky!

**You will constantly look like a commercial in the making for dandruff shampoo.

This is mainly because when you hold the baby, he will wipe his nose on you. No biggie. After that messiness of the actual birth, who cares?? Except, when the baby is a year and a half old and still insists on using your shoulder as a handkerchief, leaving the checker at register 7 "reminding" you of the Randall's Sunday ad that, would you believe it??, has Selsun Blue half off! And when the baby has just eaten goldfish? Even better. And by 'better' I mean 'worse'.

**Your Pre-Baby List of "I'll Never ____" 's will disappear quicker than your former modesty.

Wait, "Former Modesty" you ask? Why are you no longer modest? Because once 15 different people have collectively seen your junk in a six hour time frame, and you aren't getting paid for it, walls have gone down. And if that's not enough, when another 20 people are tending to your lady-bits with mechanic-like precision, walls don't just come down; they are bulldozed. Like for a while. A very long while.

So, let me give you some examples of my Pre-Baby "I'' Never____" 's:

** "I'll never over exaggerate my husband's height by 6 inches when people repeatedly comment on how 'big' my son is when he is really just tall and people are jerks." (Yeah, I do that.)

** "I'll never examine another kiddo's diaper because the mom is worried he is sick." (Yup. On a play date today I totally did this with out hesitation or judgement. Cause we are moms, and we need to stick together and need support one another. And in her defense, she was right. His poop was oily.)

** "I'll never be as obsessed with poop like those other crazy mothers." (Yeah, you will be because babies and their poop is about as important as food and air.)

** "I'll never let my child watch TV before they are two because it makes them stupid or antisocial or whatever." (You are going to go insane. In fact, let me know when your kid is born so I can set up some Vegas style bets on when you finally crack. This could pay for college.)

** "I'll never feed my child crap like that mother. I mean, have you read the childhood obesity statistics?" (It would not shock me if, at any given time, Alex crapped an actual, whole, goldfish. He's two. That's all he eats. Cause he's two.)

I could go on and on with this list....maybe I will make it a weekly thing. But this is for you Katie (and Aja, and Aunt Angie).

Now go enjoy some goldfish!

jane

Fine. It's About The Oprah.

Yeah, it is about The Oprah....but not like you think.

And I have to say, this is going to be long cause much like Festivus, I have a grievance to air.

So everyone knows today was the last show of The Oprah. And while everyone has been feeding her ego for the last year (or 40) about how she is so great and helped all those abused kids and gives many monies to needy people who live in Lack of Money Land, I have another tale to tell. And it is one of horror and smashed dreams and nobody got a car.

So let's retrace our steps back to that very day.

Three of my college pals and I got tickets to the show. Super fun. We talked and planned and booked our tickets. Yay!

Then the show got cancelled. So we had to change all our tickets, flight/hotel whatever. (FYI, The Oprah doesn't pay for all those change fees, our broke-ass right--out-of-college-butts did).

So anyway, we are scheduled to appear on the Monday before Thanksgiving. We have so much fun planning the trip and are super excited to go.

So we get there. And here is what some people don't know: The Oprah, when she started in Chicago, was aired at 9am. So, she told us that day, that she continued to honor that time slot that even to this day, and even though she is on at 4pm anywhere from Tuttle to Thailand, she is on at 9 am in Chi-Town.

Why does this matter, you ask? Well, because when you go to see The Oprah, you have to get there at 5am. Yeah, not kidding. And since she tapes two shows a day, and you don't know which taping you get in to, you get there at 5am to stand in line. Because like Penny Beer Night, first come, first serve.

But we get in....and what is this???? We get escorted by some lady to the front row???? Yeah we did. This must be good, right?? There were even little "reserved" signs on our seats!

Then they bring out the people who "warm up the audience". And that means "threaten the audience that if you aren't animated enough there are people waiting in the lobby who didn't get in and will lick dog poop if I ask them because then they will be on The Oprah and you won't be". Not kidding. I can have people email you to back this up.

So we are getting warmed up and even do a fake "The Oprah Walks In". Now I should mention that I was on the end of the front row and in the warm up, I shake fake Oprah's hand. It was way intrusive, even with Fake Oprah.

So the show starts....The Oprah walks down the little hallway and smiling and fake waving all the while coming closer and closer to me. What do I do? Approach The Oprah and invade her space? Give up the chance to shake The Oprah's hand? Just stand there hoping The Oprah wants to shake my hand?

Yeah, I did. I invaded The Oprah's space. I shook her hand. I shook her dry, cracked, haggard little hand.

And it was at that moment, we were wronged.

It was the worst.show.of.all.time.

ALL.TIME.

Cause see here is the deal, we got there so early and made it in to the first taping.

Great, right?

Nope.

How could it be bad?? It was. Wanna know why?

Well, remember that show "After the Show"? where The Oprah hung out with her guests for, like a half hour after the show (get it?....get it? "After the Show"). Yeah, we watched clips that weren't even good enough to show on the second rate "After the Show". The entire show was based on out-takes from "After the Show".

So while we were watching clips of past shows of Kirstie Alley and rabbits in her kitchen and hearing about the miso bean paste that Gwyneth Paltrow likes and other bits that didn't make the crappy re-run show, the other group for the second taping, were loaded on to buses and shipped off with a box lunch to watch an exclusive screening of The Aviator then got to chat with the entire cast.

Our show was so bad, Oprah didn't even change her clothes before the second taping. Yeah, that bad.

We were wronged!

Wronged, I tell you!

I can tell you, in the end, The Oprah was either going to get a hand shake from me, or an angry fist in the air. One or the other.

WRONGED!!!

And if you even made it through this whole rant, be sure to comment and I will send you any book from The Oprah's book club, cause you deserve a reward. And, much like I wish there was a "sarcastic" font, I also wish there was an "angry/look at me getting flustered/The Oprah wronged me" font. Cause I would have used it.

Although, I will say, I can understand why the show sucked so bad. I mean, the taping right before ours had been Favorite Things, so everyone was probably tired.

Jerks.

An Open Letter

Dear Lady Who Stopped Me In the Parking Garage At the Galleria,

Hi. It's me.

So, first I should say "thanks". You were flattering, really. I mean, when I am walking by someone in the parking garage and they attempt to ask me for something, my first instinct is to garble out some nonsense words that end in 'o' (you know, so don't sound like I am cold hearted, but just way fluent in spanish) and keep walking to my car clutching my Auntie Anne's pretzel a little tighter.

But you.....you....you seemed different. Yes, it is a big city, but who starts to beg in the garage under Neimen's at 11 am? And you seemed younger and I could actually see your feet and you weren't carrying any sort of baggage with you. All strong points. But when you stopped, and covered your phone, halting your conversation, I just figured you were lost. So as long as you didn't need to know how to make a shank out of food court cutlery, then I could do my part.

But here is where you went tragically wrong. Look, I know you are a career person, so I will get to the chase because I am sure you are busy "marketing".

1. Don't ever stop someone in the parking garage and ask "what they do for a living?". It's 11am. I am at the mall. On a Tuesday. I don't do anything.

2. Really not a good idea to follow up the "what do you do?" question by the reinforcing statement that "I look so professional". First, I admit I had just gotten my hairs did by spaghetti arms and was looking spiffy, but the flip-flops should have given it away. And elastic is still elastic, even if it comes from Saks.*

3. I believe I heard you clearly that you work in "marketing" for Mary Kay? And you want to give me your card? So we can have lunch sometime? Just to talk? Cause I look so professional? (If you don't even get this you have way bigger problems that that horrid eyeshadow. Yeah, I did.).

4. This isn't really something you did wrong per se, just something I think you should be aware of since it threw you for a loop at the time. Other people can lie to save ourselves hours and hours of mind-numbing seminars, just as easily as you can lie that you do 'marketing' for Mary Kay. And in case there are any doubts, I don't really sell Arbonne.

Yeah, so thanks for the "I looked cute and stuff". I'm sure the makers of Cheap Flip-Flops will be thrilled at their new professional gain in the foot ware community.

*In all honesty, I didn't look all "fresh-haired". Man, when old Spaghetti Arms finished giving me the fourth conditioning treatment I requested to help reverse the environmental damage, I got up from the chair and walked in to a wall. OK, 'walked' is generous. "Stumbled in to the wall having to grab on to some strange old lady to keep from falling over" is more like it. Judge away. I regret nothing.

You Serious, Clark?

So, I have had it, people. I have had.it.

It is about this "Arctic Blast" thing. I mean, come on!

For like, two days, I have seen people absolutely obsess about it like it is the second coming and I have to admit.......just.don't.get.it!!! But it isn't just that I don't get it, but with every passing second, I am convinced that the people who are that obsessed with it are short every sandwich from the picnic basket...not just a couple.

Wanna know why??? Cause I live in Houston, people!!

Houston, as in Texas.

Houston, as in Hotter-Than-The-Surface-of-the-Sun-in-July, Houston.

Houston, as in , Thinking-About-It-This-Very-Second-Makes-My-Hair-Curl-in-Fear-of-the-Returning-Humidity-in-Five-Months, Houston.

So why does this make me so mad, you may be thinking? Well, since most of you are actually hanging out in an actual blizzard, this is why. Because for the last two days, I have been hearing the weatherman talk about how "we shouldn't get out unless it is totally necessary", or how the "morning commute is going to be pretty dangerous" because.....

Wait for it......

Wait for it......

Because we "might get 1-3 inches of snow"....yeah, please re-read this.

Yeah, since we **might** get more snow on the ground than there is dog hair accumulated on my floor at any given time, we should be heading to the grocery store and stocking up on Ensure and peanut butter.

And, because of the inclement weather approaching, schools went ahead and let out early today even though the weather guy, who looks freakishly like the kid from The Christmas Story (but isn't cause I already IMDB'ed him) said it wasn't coming in until midnight. So, yeah, letting kids out at 1pm makes total sense. Don't worry about them though, cause they have cancelled school for tomorrow....just in case. It is all about the kids, you know.

Then there are the "In the Street" interviews the news did of the parents picking up their kids early from schools. One concerned parent was talking about how they are playing it safe and going straight home because they "have never driven in such weather"......What does that even mean? "Never driven in such weather?? " What?? You have never driven in AIR?

What is worse, is that I think I am in the total minority. Examples. Today in my bible study, my discussion leader even thanked us for braving the weather to be there. Whaaaa? I'm not even in my heavy coat! And this was after Alex's Mother's Day Out teacher was stressed about making it through the class "because, well, you know, the weather is so awful".

Am I missing something!?!?!? It's called "seeing your breath in the air, people! Fake smoke or something and relax!" It isn't even the cold weather equivalent of checking on old people who live alone in fear they froze to their couch. It is in the 30's, here people!

So while the city is falling on it's knees, scrounging for food, propane, and probably a few of those all-weather shiny blankets that save your life if you are ever left in a car outside in the elements; there has not been one drop, mist, cloudy sky that even seems to have the idea of forming any form of precipitation. Somewhere, I feel Gary England is dying a little inside.

Birthaversary

It was cold and grey when they pulled up to the airport. After a weekend of celebrating her brithday, laughter hung the in the air like a thick, opaque fog. He stopped the car by the sidewalk and quickly got out. When he opened the door for her, next for her son, he commented on how cold it was.

"Flat-cold" he said.

Everything was always "flat", even when it wasn't.

He pulled her suitcases from the trunk and placed them on the curb. He checked to make sure she had her boarding pass and money, everything she needed, that she was set to go.

She pulled the carrier from the back seat as he helped her put it gently on the stroller. He glanced up at her, his eyes willed her to say it was alright to take her son out, for him to give one last kiss.

Of course it was.

Then, amid frozen air, he held her son. He held him up and smiled, beamed as love and pride blanketed her son with everything he wasn't used to saying. A blanket she wishes her son could still wear, still feel.

He stood in line with her, in the cold, waited for her turn. They chatted about nothing while she got her ticket and got everything in order. She tucked her son back in to his seat and they were ready to go.

So they did.

She walked away after hugs were exchanged and words finalized the weekend. As she turned to wave at them again, she noticed he was still standing by the car. Just like when she would leave the house to return to college, or after she was married and came for a visit, he waited outside to watch her leave.

And so he did.

She didn't know, then, what exactly it would mean.

One year later, she does.

And she is thankful she remembers it.