The In Crowd?

So.....I blast my pal Katie quite a bit about her spam preventing-code-entering-not-a-robot- thing at the end of her blog.

I can NEVER read it! Ever!! It always takes me, like, 15 times to get it to go through and makes me reevaluate if I should be making an appointment to get fitted for a wedged shoe, instead of reading blogs.

But, she was all "Jane, I get a million, of those a day".

Oooookay. Considering I like getting junk mail, spam emails? As long as they don't sign my up to donate my organs before I'm dead, its' all good! Mail is fun = email is fun! What's not to like?

Which brings me to.....

So, you know how I never blog? Well, I got my FIRST SPAM COMMENT the other day!

Let me tell you. Man, alive I thought: "Boy howdy, have I ARRIVED!! I'm somebody enough to have a SPAM COMMENT!!! "I mean, this was momentarily about as exciting as when I see Tim Gunn on  TV. Which is big. I won't lie, I have day dreams about me and Tim Gunn. First, we would go shopping together and he would compliment my perfect trench coat and then teach me how to find the most perfect pencil skirt. If it is really perfect dream, he would also praise me for having the right size, um, foundations. Sigh. I love you Tim Gunn.....

Anyway, then I got another comment. And I thought: "Huh. Ooooookay".

Then another.

Then it started to get annoying. Like when you get two, huge, Pottery Barn catalogs on the same day. Just look in your computer, Pottery Barn! It's called wasteful! Don't send me all these catalogs! How many master bedrooms do you think I have?!?

Much like the rehab/drug referrals a la the SPAM comments.  No need refer me to three rehab centers, there, SPAM commenters. It's not like I am going to compare the open bar policy.  I kid....I kid.....

Then I started to receive enough comments (ok, about 6) and it made me a feel awkward enough to worry that someone thinks I'm an alcoholic. Or should try cocaine.

Jury's 50/50.

A New Year

First off, full disclosure; this post is nothing I expect to be entertaining to read. Or even read at all, by anyone, really.

Honestly, I don't know why, but for some reason I wanted to get all this down and entered into the google nets. Maybe as proof? Maybe to make it seem more concrete or if I post it, it will make it matter more? Maybe I just want it to have a permanent place. Whatever way, I guess it doesn't matter. Just giving you warning.

So, here's the thing about Bennett.

I didn't really enjoy being pregnant with him. Alex? Man alive I loved every.single.second of being pregnant with him. I felt bonded with him and relished in every detail of what a miracle it is to have a baby.

But with Bennett it was a way different story. Physically, I was fine. The same. Good.

Emotionally? Not so much. See, with Alex, he helped me grieve for my dad. When he died, the color just seemed to fade from everything and it wasn't something I necessarily wanted to get back. Grief and guilt are funny things. An evaporation of one is really a simple exchange for the other. Somehow, if you aren't smothered in grief, then the guilt of not thinking of them every minute overwhelms you. Like you are already forgetting them or their impact on you wasn't as important because you had a happy moment of the new normalcy. An unnatural equation of the length you grieve is equal to the amount you loved. Being that I was not too comfortable to be openly emotional, I leaned on Alex a ton. There were days I would rock him and would just sit and sob, willing his innocent and easy happiness into my broken spirit. It was like I was clinging to him in order to be able to let go; to feel able to release this horrible pain and sadness without explanation. And with every rock of his glider, I could feel my sadness escape and with every smile he gave me, it was like he knew it was the reaffirmation that the color would, someday, come back. Other than just being my first born, I knew that the way he carried me through that tough time would set him apart and  I worried that bond would never be matched in another baby.

However, Bennett wasn't just another baby, he was proof the that our family was moving on.

Moving on without my dad.

Nothing had really changed since he died and it was comforting in a way. Even though I know Alex won't remember my dad, I do. And I wasn't going to have that little bit with Bennet. And it was tough. I didn't feel the bond with Bennett that I felt with Alex. I was so over being pregnant by, like, 15 weeks. Maybe it is a second baby thing, but I doubt it. Don't get me wrong, I knew I would love him when he was born, it was just a different level of acceptance or finality I had't expected.

Then, Bennett was born.

He was born, and the second I heard his little cry, all the color that drained when my dad died, suddenly, instantly it all came back. The sadness lifted like a veil; evaporated like morning fog. Just gone. And when they showed him to me, my mind learned what my heart already knew.

Bennett looked just like my dad.

I felt from the very second he entered this world, that God sent some of my dad's spirit in that sweet, little, doll baby.

I know it.

I just do.

It's corny and you could say "oh, yeah, I'm sure He did", or "that's so sweet", but from the very beginning, I have felt it. I know it as sure as I am sitting here now, as sure as I know Alex will always ask for Nutella for breakfast in the morning. I know it when I look into the eyes of my sweet, easy going baby who smiles at everything, who has looooved  my mom from the beginning. I know it when he, from day one, was a side sleeper, always has to have his feet out from under the covers or is oddly independent about things; just like my dad.

I know because I don't ache for my dad anymore. I miss him and the way our family was, but I don't carry around that hurt and pain anymore. It's just gone and the color is back; and I know it is because he is alive within Bennett. I don't feel the emptiness of him anymore, because he is here with me everyday. Smiling at me, reaching for me, laughing with me. Maybe laughing at me.

And the kicker is, is that I have heard the same thing from other people. Unprompted, independent feelings that Bennett is carrying the same light that my dad had. My mam even mentioned over Christmas that it was the first holiday that didn't so obviously feel absent of my dad.  This isn't just made up in my head or crazy hormones from having a baby or even the good drugs during the birth.

And I know why.

So even though my dad left this life three years ago today, I know the best parts of him came back two and a half years later.

May 17th. 4:01 pm, to be exact.

To My Lunch Date

So, today is my brother, Tam's, birthday!!!

Happy Birthday, Tam!!

So, I had this great idea about blogging this wonderful post about how amazing my brother Tam is, but it didn't quite happen. See, I didn't want to post anything cheesy because Tam & I are cut from the same cloth. So, that means that we would prefer someone speak about us in an abstract way, as if we were in the room, but would probably grow uncomfortable at the attention and leave mid sentence.

Then I thought I could relay some of the hilarious conversations we have had over the years, memories we have made and how close we are. But then I realized I was terrified about coming off like that episode of "Friends" where Rachel dates her neighbor who is all tickling his sister and she draws him a bath and it gets all creepy? And then it ends with Ross and Monica wrestling at the end? You know that one? Anyway. It makes me want to barf even thinking about it. Tam would agree.

Having said that.

Tam is just the greatest guy. He is the kind of guy everyone should be lucky enough to know. He is kind, caring, compassionate and completely hilarious. He is forgiving, in that, he never brought up that ill-fated army roll I did in a stranger's lawn sprinkler when we thought it was a great idea to start jogging in the mid-day of an Oklahoma summer. (FYI: Not smart.)

He showed me that being classified as "easier" from my parents was not always a wanted thing.  (Hey, they never said "favorite" but while he was busy being "Homecoming Prince", I was busy "sneaking out of my bedroom window", so you be the judge.) He taught me how to judge my alcohol tolerance, when not to skip classes in college and how sitting on the patio with my parents would be much more for my benefit than theirs.

He was right.  I have a three drink max, I don't remember why I snuck out, and I remember every night I sat listening to the oldies with my mam and dad out by the pool. And those nights are the ones I wish I could replay.

I am a lucky, lucky gal to have you as my big brother, Tam. I love you more than words.

Cheers to the five of hearts.

LSIW-
Buggy

An Open Letter

Dear Lady at the Mall Play Area,

Hi.

Hello, there.

So, I know that you are hungry. I get that. I get hungry too. See how I am relating to you? But you know what I don't do? That would be take some canned tuna from my house, put it in a tupperware container (letting it get all steamy in my car) and schlep it to the mall only to eat it in the play area while my kid plays.

Look, you have two kids & so do I. Eating an uninterrupted meal is kind of like the Chupacabra; you seriously doubt it's existence all together because it is so rarely documented. But don't you think maybe you should just not? Eat something that smells like rotten grossness? Cause here is the thing; we are at the play area at the mall. It already smells like recess because there a zillion kids running crazy in here because this is a teensy escape from the terrible heat outside. But that should really just heighten your sensitivity since we are all trying not to barf from your putrid tuna smell on top of the fact our kids are playing, barefoot, in a petrie dish for germs. We are already nauseous, we don't need any help.

To be fair, I will give you a pass this time. This time.  Let's face it; every one of us sitting inside of the play area remembers the pre-child promise we made to ourselves that we would 'never let our kids play in that germ-fest', not knowing the need to run some energy out of our kids would trump anything. I think it all stems from the high probability of pooping in front of people during having said children breaks down our list of "I never's"  faster than we Purell our entire body upon leaving the play area.

So let's just take it down a notch. I'll chalk this up as giving you a Mom Warning and be done with it. But, just so you know, if this happens again I'm gonna have to get physical. And by that, I mean I'm going to "accidentally" spill your seafood feast all over the floor when I bump in to you while leaving. And by that, I mean I will probably do nothing but maybe blog about it later. Cause I'm passive-aggressive like that.

Damn it.

Sincerely,
Janie

Re-Run

So, you know how the past often repeats itself? Yeah, well it has in the Tilly house!

Summer is in full swing here in Houston and it's hotter than the surface of the sun and it feels all Amazon-jungley. And with the combination of Alex being 3 and having a newborn, we "don't get out" much. Now I will admit that I am loving Alex's new found love for the "Toy Story" movies over "Yo, Gabba, Gabba" because they are hilarious and I cry every.single.time. I watch the third one, whereas "Gabba" creeped me out because of DJ Lance's skin tight orange jumpsuit. (I mean, how skinny is he?? He looks about 80 pounds on camera.....on camera!)

Anyway, my point is that I am lacking a little adult interaction. Hence when the Escobar Telecom Guy called the other day asking my opinion for their book about rating a local company or something. He asked about some recent home services I had had done or whatever and if "I-was-happy-about-my-service" this and could "I-rate-the-company" that.

Until he made a big mistake.

Big.

Huge.  (Yes, said in "Pretty Woman" voice)

He started to ask me if there were any other companies I could rate and that opened the flood gates. What was this? An adult wanting to talk? About things that were not poop, jelly sandwiches or Buzz Lightyear?? Let me tell you, I was all about letting him know about how pleased I was with John Moore pest control. And Window World. And Lance's Artificial Lawns. And some gutter company I may have made up.

Let's just say I was all too eager, put on a cartoon for the kiddo and, well, bless his heart, he eventually had to cut me off.

It was a sad situation that I had played out before.

Multi- Tasking at It's Finest

So, before I had Bennett I knew I was going to give another shot at breasfeeding. I breastfed Alex, but only made is for about four months. He started to sleep longer at night really quickly (lucky right?) and it really dipped my supply. I wasn't about to give up sleep to get up and pump, so that resulted in him eating, like, every hour during the day because I wasn't 'filling up' enough for him to get full. So off to formula we went. I was fine with it and so was he.

Naturally, I was a little curious how breastfeeding Bennett would go. Not just from my experience with Alex, but because I was honestly curious how it would go while having Alex here too. He's a little, um, spirited and when left to his own devices tends to get into things. Everything. We had to strip his bedroom of anything he could climb, toys he could use as a step stool or any potential projectile. It looks like a padded cell at a mental hospital.

But it's actually going pretty well. I actually know what I am doing this time around so when Bennett was born I was prepared; unlike when Alex was placed in my arms and I looked down at him and expected him to just know what to do. I may have even said something like "Alright, go at it" or something equally as nurturing. However, Bennett eats every three hours, day or night. It's pretty easy to set your watch too. And since life doesn't stop just because the kiddo needs to eat, I am pretty surprised about what I can get done while feeding him so I made a little list.

• Picking up the house; putting toys away, straightening up. Making the bed was interesting the first couple times. Alex helps me with this one so I can't take all the credit.
• Unloading the dishwasher; it gets a little tricky with the knives, but nobody has lost a finger. Yet. Maybe this one isn't such a good idea on second thought.
• Laundry; I'm not sure this one counts since I can sit down while I'm doing some of it. 
• Getting Alex dressed; my best showing was getting him in to a swim diaper and swimsuit. I'm still proud of that one.
• Cooking if off limits, though. I went to grab some stuff to make salad the other night and Luke looked horrified. He asked that I not feed him while I handle food. Can't say that I blame him. After I heard that though, I realized I should have been breastfeeding anything with a mouth for the last three years if it got me out of cooking. 

I know it won't be this easy forever since Bennett will keep getting bigger. I mean, he is eating all the time.  But I think I can also get a little more creative, so we will see.

And if my post the other day didn't send the good behavior karma my way, I was attacked with this while getting us all loaded in to the car the next day. Please ignore Alex's homeless-boy hair.

And would you look who has started smiling?

So, you know how we all need great friends to go shopping with, or listen to us talk about how great The Hunger Games is or tell us how we aren't fat? And sometimes we need friends that can just let us vent and gripe and convince us we aren't alone? Well, I totally have awesome friends who have heard all about how I abandon my family for four days while I jumped on the Hunger Games bandwagon, and now I need someone to tell me I am not a crazy, crap mom.

Here is the thing, most days I really am disillusioned enough to think I have got my stuff together on this "mom of two" thing. The laundry is done, the house is clean, we have all showered and Alex doesn't look homeless and its 'll on a combined five hours of sleep. Most days I can really walk around with the confidence of a woman wearing white in a tampon commercial.

Then there are the days that I don't. Cause see, Alex is 3.

3.

Ugh.

For the most part, when we are out in public Alex's toddler-ness does't really phase me. Like when Alex (total example, this did not happen last week; after school; after getting both of the boys out in the rain) reaches for the ceramic piggy bank at the 'kids table' at Central Market and drops it on the ground a second before I can grab it from him, of course, shattering on the ground. Or almost flips out when I unjustly make him hold my hand in the parking lot causing everyone in a four block radius to stare. But that doesn't bother me. I am of the firm belief that if it isn't your kid acting out now, it will be eventually. It's just the odds. So I always try to give any other moms a smile when I see their kiddo being as all over the place as mine.

What gets me is at home. It's like we fight all.day.long. Not even kidding. I am constantly riding his little fanny about everything. Everything. Not to crawl in the dryer; to stop spitting; to stop feeding the dog raisins (that are poisonous). Nothing that seems out of line to get on to him about, but clearly is due to his horrific reaction. And while he was away last weekend with his grandparents and they reassured me he was polite and well behaved (so it might actually be working), at home it's enough to make me want to stab myself in the eye by 2pm.

Look, I know parenting and motherhood isn't about what the parent gets out of it and I'm down with that. But what kills me, is that while I read all these great and lovely blogs nary a ONE has anything but smiling siblings and family photos filled with toothy grins. Surely MY darling angel isn't the only one on the planet who tries to stuff toys up his baby brother's nose or throws a fit over getting dressed because, evidently, it will end his life? Can it really just be my sweet Alex that melts down every.time. I don't let him play in the car after I unbuckle him because it is hotter than the surface of the sun outside and I 'm sweating like a hog? Am I feeding him too much Red dye no. 2? Is this just normal? Is there a band of three year olds out there that conspire at night on the twitter feeds what the 'new' way to act out is?

I've tried time outs on the stairs, time outs in his room, taking toys away, ignoring and redirecting and nothing seems to phase him. The only thing I haven't tried is leaving him in the parking lot with a note tied to his shirt. I'm saving that one for later. What else can I be doing? I mean, other than look down at my sweet new baby and think, "Am I really in for three more years of this?"

Luke is really helpful and has saved my butt so many times. It's like the two of them have their own language and it's called "Oh-it's-dad-so-now-I-can-calm-down-and-be-normal-and-do-whatever-I-just-faught-with-mom-about-for-a-half-hour". And while at the end of the day the situation is resolved and we have moved past the unpleasantness, it always leaves me feeling completely inept and like I need Luke to step in and do my job.  Or have a cocktail at 9am.

So if you know of any 'warts and all' blogs, send them my way because sometimes misery loves company and sometimes we just need to know we aren't the only ones who hear "NO! Go, mommy, go!" before their toddler attempts to fling a dirty diaper at you.

The last couple weeks have been busy, to say the least. Alex has been home from school for a two week break that separates his regular school year from the summer session and it has been a long couple of weeks. Keeping Alex busy, juggling the new baby and thinking of things to do with increasingly hot days; the exhaustion has officially set in. The other night I attempted to refill my contact case with toothpaste.

As I mentioned, I am an idiot for thinking my first week home with the new baby I would start potty training. Alex is doing super great and while it was easier than I thought, I lost count how many times I attempted to call my doctor for a refill on my pain medication just to get through the week. Early on I felt less like I was potty training a toddler and more like I was babysitting a drunk sorority sister. Plus, reinforcing the phrase "No, it's not a good idea to touch your bottom" gets old.....then disturbing.

Evidently my dog, Charlie, is suicidal as well. Grapes are poisonous to dogs and considering the amount of PB&J's and raisins he had swiped from wherever Alex had set them down, Charlie has been a little under the weather. At least this is my theory of why he hasn't been eating a ton lately. At first I thought he was just holding out, but after stepping in a pile of barf Charlie attempted to hide behind the pack & play in our bedroom, I am beginning to think otherwise. So between potty training Alex, a gassy Bennett & a sick dog I feel it's safe to assume I have cleaned up more messes than I should for not being a paid medical professional. Ah, motherhood.

But we have had some good times.

 So here is a less known fact about me....and one that will seem very random and maybe even make me seem a little sad. As in, will make my life seem a little sad....like, 'seeing a kid sitting alone in the cafeteria' sad,  not 'guessing who my mam is going to tell me just died' sad.

I am wicked excited for the Dallas premiere on TNT tonight.

Wicked.

Excited.

When Luke and I started dating 15 years ago, we were broke kids, dating in secret who had to keep a low profile, who got sucked in to watching hours and hours of Dallas re-runs on tv. To the point that when we adopted our first dog a month after we started dating, we named him Jock....after Jock Ewing the patriarch of the family (may they both rest in peace) because we thought it was a "tough, leathery name" worthy of a dog. Then, a few years in to our courtship we went to visit a friend that lived in Dallas and Luke surprised me with a visit to Southfork (which was actually kind of a let down, but that's neither here nor there).














So, yeah, I am excited. The show is a legend! Who shot JR?? Bobby and the Dream Season? Big, big stuff.





And our judgement of naming our dog after such a tough stud clearly was a good choice seeing as Jock was 14 1/2 when he finally went to Jesus.....or as we explained to Alex "went in to Witness Protection". What can I say? Explaining the concept of Heaven to a two year old didn't take.....but going in to Witness Relocation he totally got. We have since stopped watching so much Law & Order....just FYI.

You can see the resemblance.......

Gee, Jane, what have you been up to in the last year?? Not much really.

Blog, meet Bennett.....Bennett, this is the blog. (Basically, say hello to Uncle Tam & Katie).

Bennett James arrived three weeks early, on May 17th. After learning he had somehow wrapped the cord around his neck a zillion times, my normal weekly appointment ended with a mad dash home to pack my hospital bag and figuring out who could pick up Alex from Mother's Day Out. It was quite a hectic, but great, day. Bennet was perfect at 6 pounds and 12 ounces, 19 inches. Quite the difference from Alex who tipped the scale at 9 pounds 1 ounce. But God certainly blessed us with a strong baby who came a little early without any health complications or hold ups from going home on time.

Alex isn't sure what to think of Bennett yet. Don't be fooled by this picture. What you can't see are all the cookies I bribed him with to get ONE picture where Alex wasn't licking the baby or that he really isn't smiling as much as he is showing off the half eaten tortilla in his mouth. And he's not wearing pants....because I was the idiot who decided that the first week I was alone with both boys after a c-section, was the week I should potty train Alex.

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.

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.

Tale for Tuesday

So, my best friend Emily and I have best gal pals for quite a while. So long, in fact, that we can look back at pictures and curse puberty for being so cruel. We have really grown up together. We survived high school and truly convinced each other that those bitches were just jealous. Together we learned what our maximum for tequila capacity was in college. (Mine is much higher athankyouverymuch. Sadly, Emily and tequila still have not made up since that fateful St. Patrick's Day. And if needed, I vow to kick it's ass anywhere, anytime). Good times.

Before Luke proposed, he actually asked Emily if there "was anything else he needed to know". She just laughed....and I still don't know what, exactly (or who) she was laughing at. I like to think she was laughing at Luke....but almost ten years later, the jury is still out on that one.

But one thing that I love most about my BFF is that she is totally not judgey. Most obviously is that I am over 30 and still use 'BFF', so that is one. Another, is that she is fully supportive but can also tell me when I am wrong on those very rare occasions. I guess that comes with knowing someone for so long. Let me tell you, once you hold someone's hair more than a couple times, or help them use the bathroom in their wedding dress, walls come down. And she never gives me a hard time for loving Teen Mom almost as much as Alex.

So, today after talking with her I remembered several months ago. I was totally frustrated by the confines of being a stay at home mom and feeling the instant need to escape. I tell Luke I am running to Target and leave Alex with him. Knowing Luke loves going to Target right after hitting the Craft-Dollar-Tiny Figurine Store, I know he won't mind staying behind. On my way to Target (read: the exact moment the garage door closed) I call Emily for back up. She doesn't know it, but of course she doesn't disappoint.

Jane: "So am I going straight to Hell that I just told Luke I am going to Target, but I think I am going to the Tasting Room to have a glass of wine and read?"

Emily: (cackles with laughter) No, but have two glasses; one for me too."

I. Love. Her.

As a mom, I totally appreciate that when I mention to her throwing a towel in our whirlpool tub along with a couple toys so I can take a shower isn't unsafe it's resourceful. It isn't my fault Alex now hates all his toys that are in the first floor. I mean, he hasn't exactly said he hates them, but the screaming and head-banging is kinda a sign that he is less than thrilled than being in the bathroom with me....even is Yo Gabba Gabba is on the bathroom TV.

Or, when I tell her about a nasty look I got from some girl when the fam and I were at a patio because we had a baby with us. Either I didn't get the memo that a place with picnic tables and a crock pot of free hot dogs is too fancy for a baby, or she didn't get the memo that Houston doesn't have an age requirement to enjoy a locally brewed beverage among friends. Emily didn't understand why she would even care and then sweetly reassured me that after college that beer will catch up to her.

Yeah, she is that good.

It's Tuesday, Em, and I am cheersing to you. You are the best a gal ever had.

And you should know, no wine was injured in this post.

Love,

JJB123

1984 (part 33 1/3)

So, where was I? Oh, yes, someone is going to steal my son.

Yeah, I am afraid someone is going to steal Alex. I had mentioned The YMCA, where I go and workout. Cause here, it is hotter than hot. Like, always feeling like you are on fire hot. So I go to the Y and get my run on and drop Alex off in the little child care area while I sweat to the oldies.

And here is where my trust goes downhill and my neuroses get the better of me.

Here is what happens; when I go and dump him off in Kidz Care, I basically roam in the door and set him down in front of some toys, and sign a little sheet.

That's it.

I just sign something. I don't get a buzzer, a sticker, I don't dispense a vial of blood. Nothing. So, you are telling me I just sign something and........leave????

Yes, there are a couple nice little ladies in there playing and helping them become bilingual, which I totally appreciate. And I am sure that playing with the other kids is helping him learn to share or whatever.

However, it seems to me, that when I go "pick him up" I could go into the room and grab the first kid wearing a navy polo or the girl that is always wearing the fairy wings and the ladies would be none the wiser. I mean, all I have to do is sign the kid out. Let me tell you, there is a reason I can copy my dad's signature spot on, and I'm not about to let that little talent go to waste.

Did I mention that there is a 60 inch plasma mounted on the wall of the Women's Center with a direct feed from the Kidz Care? No? Funny. Well there is. And I totally freaked out when I couldn't find Alex on the screen when I went from treadmill to elliptical. I rushed downstairs thinking that someone ran out with my sweet baby and all the while a montage of Alex being stuffed in a van, shuffled to a remote campsite where there no puppies or air conditioning.

However, I take the 62 step journey only to find him hiding in the corner of the room....making his "dump" face. Not stolen at all.

But, it got me thinking.

I talked to Luke about this and, while he disagrees, I think the best way to face these fears head-on, is to have a locator chip implanted in Alex's arm, or foot, or the back fat-rolly part of his leg. I realize it is like a dog, but a dog can't tell you where they are if they are lost. A dog can't tell you how much they loved the fact you fed him Circus Peanuts on his birthday. Well, neither can a baby. And they do, by the way....love Circus Peanuts.

But really. Do you have any idea what healthy black-market babies go for in the US? Me either, but I am thinking it is a ton! And, hel-lo, have you seen how cute? No?

Not cute enough?

How about...

You can see why I am worried. Clearly cute. Obviously hilarious.

Look, I logically know that anyone who would actually steal a baby wouldn't go through all the planning and such to swipe a baby that is sleeping soundly from their crib. That seems like a smash-and-grab type of thing. I will even give the YMCA the benefit of the doubt that they may have done some sort of number looking to see that baby-snatching from their buildings was low enough not to implement a more high-tech system. But still.

Even with all that, even though psychos who steal babies don't do so from the YMCA, can you really tell me that there aren't some amoral venture capitalists out there? Really?

All I'm sayin'.

Yeah the chip-in-the-arm seems a smite bit over the line, but I'm pretty sure if I could give Alex a double dose of Benadryl, get out my exacto-knife and fill my Solo cup full of Franzia, with chip in hand, I would go.to.town.

At the very least, next time I go to the Y, I am going to strap one of those singular flashing red lights to Alex's head so I can see him from the plasma. That would be the plasma TV that is as long as one of my good pals is tall.

1984 (part a)

So, I have been suffering from a totally irrational fear lately.

First, I would like to totally confess that this is probably one my most ridiculous thoughts, next that one summer vacation when I was really bored and thought I could teach my dog to read.

Second, I realize that this most likely will not happen, but considering I come from superstitious stock , I will type the next few sentences with my feet as I knock on wood with both hands.

So, my irrational fear is this:

I am super duper afraid that someone is going to steal Alex. Not kidnap, not abduct, but steal. Yes, I realize that these area all kinda the same things, but they aren't. Let me explain.

My first fearful-baby-stolen-thought is: I am terrified that Alex is going to be taken from his crib in the middle of the night while we are sleeping. So much so, that I won't allow Luke to sleep with the french doors that keep the sun from rising riiiight across his eyes every morning crisply at 6am.

Why, you ask?

Here's why. Ok, so let's say someone runs up the half-flight of stairs to our front door, breaks in the door, then runs up two more flights of stairs to grab him from his crib? Whasgunnahappen?

Let me present you with my line of defenses:

1) Yes, I do have a video monitor that I keep on very loudly every night, but no way I am going to hear any baby crying if he is away from the monitor....clearly because his Stealer will have shuffled him down to stairs by now. Our door would be closed so I couldn't hear anything. What am I going to say to Alex? "Um, sorry you lived in a shed your whole life and had to eat cold beans from a can...your dad didn't want to get up early."???

2) Sure, I do have two large dogs, but only one is the constant jerk that barks all the time, but maybe that will be the one time he'll be sleeping too. That would be totally his style to only be a jerk not not helping us at all. Hence, being a jerk. And if I have faith in him? Then what? Am I really going to rest my safety on something that eats his own poop? Ah, no.

3) Jane, don't you have an alarm system? Yeah, but wires can be cut, people, wires can be cut. Haven't you seen Scream? Patriot Games? Cape Fear? No? Get HBO.

4) The scariest piece of this puzzle, is that if this person actually gets into my house, they have gotten through the gates, of which, the codes are changed every other day. Yeah, I have those neighbors.

Which leads me to:

5) If some crazy has gotten into the house, we are totally out matched and no alarm system is going to be of use. If some nut-job actually infiltrated the house then we have been out-played Survivor Style. Like, Jeff Probst will be interviewed by Geraldo the next morning while I am in the back ground kicking Charlie......

I can see it now.....

First, they must have gotten by my neighbor, Bob, see, Bob is kinda nosy. He is more infatuated with looking through our fence at our newly installed fake grass, than the landscapers who are confused why our yard never grows.

And, Mike too, our other neighbor...the one who reminds me everyday that Luke's side of the garage door is open during the day.....and is nice enough to call one night to let us know our air conditioner was squealing. At 12:30.

Then, Marlene's son who owns a brewery. Eh, I give both of them a pass.

You can see why I worry. I mean I do live in Texas so we have more guns in my house than mouths to feed, but something tells me that trying to load anything without contacts in will end up badly.

But Jane, don't you leave the house? Yes, I do. I go to the local YMCA to work out. Don't get me started. That is a whole other post. Really.

In fact, tune in tomorrow.

Unless I am out hanging up posters.

Come on 7

So, I am about done with this heat. And I mean d.o.n.e. Alex and I can't get out because it is hotter than the surface of the sun. Not to mention with wind that feels more like a hairdryer blowing on your face, it is miserable.

So, in the spirit of willing cooler temperatures, I reminisce with something that started out beautiful, and ended less than. This is the story of buying our first Family Christmas Tree. And hey, if you don't care that is totally cool. But, I would bet Alex's morning nap (AKA: My Sanity) that you are experiencing a heat wave too, and there are pictures of snow involved. That is basically as good as standing in front of your fridge.

So, go ahead and do the Wayne's World thing cause I know you are old enough to remember it and travel with me back to a simpler time.....

I had this great idea the other day.

Luke and I were going to take Alex and get our, first ever Family Christmas tree. It was gong to be perfect and wonderful and a crew from Hallmark was actually going to come a film us as we looked so cozy and Rockwell-esque.

Then, against all odds.....a freak episode happened upon us and granted us the only missing thing in the perfect Christmas Tree Outing.....

Snow.

It was as if the Heavens opened up and blessed our most wonderful first holiday with a baby with big, thick, cottony flakes.

For hours. It snowed and snowed and snowed.

Luke was on the way home while I was getting Alex ready in his most appropriate of Christmas Tree Hunting clothes and I noticed that he is not too big a fan of the coat with faux fur trimmed hood. Oh well, it must be because it was warm in the house. I did turn on the fireplace, after all.

So we go to lunch, (see? happy at lunch....)

After lunch, we head to the grocery store to stock up on supplies (read: wine) all the while talking about if we want to use the camera, or the video camera, or both. And what type of pictures do we want to make sure and get? And did we bring money to tip the loaders of the best tree ever picked out?

We pull up to the lot and get out. I grab Alex and put on his coat, and he is not too thrilled.

It is in this exact moment, that I realize I am the dumbest, piece of crap parent ---oh, wait, not for reasons you think. Not because, clearly he is already giving me a crap-tastic smile for our first pics. Not because I am subjecting my kid to snowy-rain and he might be all swiney as a result of this---but because I can't hold him in a way that his coat looks cute (see how rumpled?), making him agitated, making him cranky and not cute for the pictures. He doesn't like the snow.....he doesn't get that he will be warm if he would just relax. I mean, I don't get to go all freaky about girl baby clothes. I can't buy dresses...he owes me this.

But, being dedicated to the family dream, we trek on. But it is all downhill from there.

Walking though the lot under the "tarp" that usually keeps the sun out, but now is acting as an irrigation system for the snow that has been falling, and now draining on our heads.

Alex is less than thrilled.

I continue to carry him though the lot and he is starting to flail and become hysterical. So Luke and I pick out a tree that was "less of picking out a tree" and more of "pointing to one tree two minutes after we got to the lot and telling Luke to wrap it up".

Not at all the happy memory of a bouncing baby in the snow I had anticipated.

So I take Alex back to the car and he is pretty much cursing the day I was born. I get him to the car but can't do anything to calm him.....why? Because it is hard to rock a baby, and soothe their sweet little backs, when your hands are basically ice. Somehow, I see that making things worse.

So, our idyllic tree getting experience was Luke getting a tree and waiting in the rain/snow as 4 random guys climbed on our roof to tie our tree down. He is so drenched that after we got it in the house, he gave me a serious stink eye when I jokingly asked him if he had just taken a shower.

We decided to get a discrete tree this year, by the way. We thought it was in poor taste to get something totally obnoxious (like last year) when our neighbors, the Shapiro's, adorn their window with a very tasteful menorah.

What do you think? We went with the discrete 12 footer. Of course, Luke thought I was stifling his Christmas Spirit, by not going bigger (that's what she said. That was for you Sarah :))

Huh, posting about Christmas does make me feel a little less like I am living on the surface of the sun.