….Ya ya, your grill…Ya ya, your grill…… the next few months might be the only time that crazy rap song applies to my life in any form or fashion. That's not such a bad thing.......

 

So I took the plunge today and signed the consent form to have Ortho Clear. It’s a lot like Invisalign, actually better, and less expensive. Some people think I’m nuts for doing this, but as everyone in the world (well, except maybe Angelina Jolie) can relate to, there’s always a few key things that really nag at you about your appearance. I got braces when I was in the fifth grade. It was a huge financial undertaking for my mom. She just wanted me to have a perfect smile, bless her heart. I wore them for more than five years. They were on so long, it almost seemed like they were a part of me. I had the old school braces—the big metal brackets. A total pain. I clearly remember the day they came off. It was actually my 15^th birthday. Indeed, my teeth were perfect. I think I wore my retainer for maybe six months. I would remember it from time to time, dig it out of a drawer, and try to cram it in. My teeth were already moving, less than a year or so after having my braces removed.

 

When I got to college, they were going straight back to where they started. Well, I guess that would be impossible in that I had to have four extractions before metal ever met my mouth. Anyway, I got another retainer made that would do some heavy-duty work to get them back to where they were supposed to be. I think I lost it within a month. In recent years, my teeth have actually become more crooked. This new dentist I am seeing thinks it is due to grinding my teeth at night, a product of stress. I’m forcing them into new directions. So the plan is to use the straightening devices to move my teeth where they need to go, get a permanent retainer on the bottom and a removable one (that I will use) on the top. I plan to top it off with laser whitening and contouring the edges of my teeth to give them a perfect shape. I don’t want to talk about the price tag. However, I know that my kids will definitely need braces based on their parents’ pearly whites, so it’s now or never for ‘ol Mom.

 

So I’m sitting there for about an hour and half in the dentist’s chair today, while two hygienists contort my mouth and lips into really bizarre and painful positions in order to get just the right photos for the lab, when the idea hits me that I should be documenting this on tape for a video—a cautionary tale to the snaggle-toothed youth of America to wear your retainer. Not only do you have to cough up finances equivalent to that of running a small country to pay for it, you also have to go back to the dentist. A lot. Your teeth will hurt… a lot… as they move back to where they were supposed to be when your mom paid for it. You’ll have to explain to your spouse over and over why this is important to you. He or she will shake their head at you…. a lot….. and think you are just looking for a way to spend money. You’ll wonder if he/she is right. You’ll realize how your mom was actually the one who was right. Wear your retainer. It’s worth it. Why did you go through looking like a geek in high school, burn your mom’s hard-earned cash, go through painful office procedures, countless tubes of Anbesol and aspirin bottles, have awkward kisses…. if all you are going to do is re-do the whole gig in 15 years?

 

The truth is, baby-induced flab and facial wrinkles aside, the one thing that bugs me when I look in the mirror is my smile….my teeth. Yes, they are relatively straight. But I have experienced really straight…perfect. I want it back. I have the means to do it, and now is a good time. With two growing kids, that won’t always be the case. I know that the first thing people notice about others is their smile, so it matters to me. I have noticed my crooked teeth more and more in photos as the years go by. They always stands out to me, and not in a good way.

 

So hopefully, in nine months, I will give birth to a beautiful, healthy, straight smile. Conception should take place in about two weeks when the first set of aligners arrives from the lab. I’m registered at the MAC counter for various shades lip stick and lip gloss to show off my new gams, once delivered, if you're interested in showering me with gifts in honor of my new arrival. I’ll be such a proud mama.

 

So… onto other things On My Mind tonight….

 

To-do list. I am going to make out a complete list this week with short-term and long-term goals, projects, etc. I am going to post it on the fridge for hubby and I to see every day. We’re going to start knocking some of this stuff out. We have some open weekends coming up, and we need to get so much taken care of. Enough of this relaxing and taking it easy….LOL.

 

Weekend. Speaking of relaxing and taking it easy, that was what this past weekend was all about it. It poured rain most of the weekend, forcing us inside to just be. I have to admit, it was nice. Liv is really walking now, and it was fun watching her get so excited about it. We learned our girls love to shake their booties to Johnny Cash’s Walk the Line. We videoed it because it was that hilarious. Kate had a playdate with a friend. They dressed up like cheerleaders and did a bunch of routines for us. It was about the cutest thing ever…but scary at the same time. I also took Kate to see Eight Below. Well, let’s just say that every night a scene from that movie causes her to cry and scream for me to come up and sleep with her. Damn seal.

 

Car seats. What is it with these damned things? I can never get them tight enough. I had to actually take Liv’s infant carrier to the police station two days before she was born because I couldn’t figure it out. I am totally stupid when it comes to these things. At least it was tight. Well, the time came to switch seats. Again, stumped. So I find this ad for Cars Seat Consulting. This lady, certified in all things car seats, comes to your house and for a mere $25 she will teach you how to properly install it, let you know if it’s a bad or outdated seat (or recalled), and stay there until you are a pro at it. I am now a pro, and that chick is officially on my Christmas card list.

 

Work. I have been with the magazine for seven years. I am getting my first review on Friday. Somehow, some way, I have managed to avoid a review the entire time I’ve been there. Strange, I know. My publisher says it’s just because I’ve never needed one and it’s clear I’m doing my job. Well, the company is growing and we actually have HR now. Holymoly! HR?! Get out. Anyway…..I am scheduled for 10:30 a.m. Friday. Do you think they'll find out I’ve been a complete fraud for seven years and have been napping under my desk each day, while having someone else do my job? Nah……

 

Projects. So we have two home projects going on. One, an arbor will be built hopefully within two weeks from our house to almost the pool. It better look good or I am going to have to just throw myself in the pool. Hardwood floors go in the office next week. I lucked out in that hubby trashed the carpet while painting the study over Christmas. However, he messed up in about….oh…. 100 places so my luck runs out in that I’m the one who has to touch them up and fix them in that he is not “detail oriented.” Argh.

 

Swimsuits. I hate trying on jeans and I loathe trying on swimsuits. The last time I remember enjoying trying on a swimsuit was when I was a sophomore in college. I was thin as a rail and tan. It was actually a challenge trying to decide which bikini to buy because so many of them looked so cute on me. Or, was that a dream I had last night? Hmmm… Anyway, I need a new swim suit. We have a mini vacation coming up in May that will require one, plus the pool all summer in the back yard, and I will have to be committed if we don’t have a real vacation for just the two of us this summer. Part of me just wants to get really wasted at the bar before venturing out and trying some suits on. However, alcohol can really make you bloated so that’s not good. Is there a way to have plastic surgery and change my whole body in about an hour prior to shopping? Maybe I could just try them on with my eyes closed. If I can feel it covers me, I’ll just buy it. These dang swimsuits are just taunting me everywhere I go – Target, the mall, billboards. Should you be in Dallas shopping anytime soon and hear a really loud shrill and shriek of horror, don’t worry. That’s just me in the dressing room, trying on swimwear and breaking the mirror with my flask.

 

Frownies. I got this cool assignment to test out Frownies.  They are these little tape things you stick on the wrinkles between your eyebrows, just above your nose. You know, the ones that crinkle up and kind of stay there after you frown at your spouse or look confused at something crazy your kid just did? Or, the bewildered look you get when you see your credit card statement? Yeah, that wrinkle. Anyway, this stuff has been around for years and is making a comeback. Apparently, you wear it at night for a month and the wrinkle disappears for awhile – kind of like stretching it back out. We’ll see. I am going to journal it and do a piece for one of our sister publications.

 

OK…. So I have about a million other things on my mind right now, but I’ve almost written a novel on only a few of them. My mind is all over the place these days, I guess. I’m on deadline this week, my kids are too cute for words, hubby is behaving, I’m attempting to get more organized. Life is good……. Oh yeah, American Idol is on tomorrow night. Life just got better! Ace, Ace baby......

 

:)

 

'Til next time, my dear blog dork buddies......

 

 

No one could steal my reality television show heart like Bo Bice from season four's American Idol....

 

 

that is

 

 

until......

 

 

ACE YOUNG......

 

 

Thank God I have his first song, Father Figure, on TIVO.

 

I wonder how many times I can punch play in a single night?

 

I just might have to find out..............

 

 

When I lived in far west Texas growing up, the only source of entertainment for the 1,400 or so folks in my hometown was to headed to the nearest “Big City,” Lubbock, and go to the mall, or see a movie if you had some extra cash. When I look back at how one mall was such a hot spot for so many people in the surrounding rural towns, I have to laugh. I mean, where I now live there is a mall every five or so miles. Obviously that’s the case for most of the people in America….unless you live in a small, rural town. God bless those blink-and-you-miss-it spots. They need it.....

 

We headed “into town” about once a month, and a trip to the mall was always in order. Remember Orange Julius? That was the ultimate treat. We would beg our mom the whole time we were in the mall running errands for a sweet, ice-cold Orange Julius—I can taste it now. Finally, at the end of the day, we would get one on the way out and stop to enjoy it on a bench near the big fountain. This was such a retro fountain, in that it would rhythmically change lights as the water would spout up. As a little kid, I thought it was nothing short of incredible, especially with a tasty Orange Julius in hand. The mall was the also where we would get ice cream. Well, the good kind anyway, not the cheap off-brand stuff Mom would buy at the grocery store. You know, the kind that had to sit out for at least 30 minutes before you could get a spoon in it without breaking it? Sometimes, it was a tough choice between a Julius or mint chocolate chip ice cream. I always secretly wanted both, but knew better than to ask.

 

With either treat, I can’t tell you how many hours I spent growing up, sitting on one of those benches people-watching. As a kid, I was mostly fascinated with the “weirdos.” Remember, this was the “Big City,” and where I grew up, starched Wranglers were considered Sunday Best. I was fascinated with those who stepped out of the Bible best box and made a bold fashion statement. As a pre-teen, I would carefully study the teen-age girls, memorizing their clothes, hair, and accessories. Fluorescent belts and huge earrings, ankle boots, leg warmers—whatever the style, I made a mental note to ask for it next. I looked at shopping bags. If I liked what the girl was wearing, I’d check out the store names her shopping bags. I would then save every penny I had to shop there. I would conjure up an entire lifestyle for this person without knowing her, just by looking at her shopping bags. Popular, rich, stylish…. Nerd, no fashion sense, no money….it was a pretty stupid way to come up with these lifestyles, but it was a mild form of entertainment.

 

Something I vividly remember is having a bad case of the “grass is always greener” syndrome. I wanted to be those girls. I imagined they got to go to a big school like what I saw in the movies where guys would actually ask them out on a real date, not just to “go riding around.” I assumed their moms gave them some cash before they’d pile in their car with friends to hit the mall for a day. We shopped twice a year—for schools clothes during July clearance and for spring clothes after Christmas with gift money or during January clearance. Anything in between was out of sheer luck. I imagined their boyfriends were incredibly hot, much more polished and sophisticated than the mullet-wearing, dip-spitting hicks in my small town who wouldn’t know a designer label from a hole in the ground.

 

I held my own in high school. I was always in step with the latest styles, but my ensembles were anything but runway-ready. I’d say I was just average. When I got to college, I realized how far off the mark I was. Just about the time I had gained confidence in the way I looked and dressed and was so excited about actually going to college in the “Big City” I used to only visit as a kid, I encountered The College Girl. These were girls from “Real Big Cities” – Dallas, Houston, Austin, etc. They were tall, beautiful, stylish, smart, polished, and cultured. Again, I wanted to be them. I never knew what a sorority was until I got to college. I quickly learned that the same girls I admired had joined their sorority while I was just settling in and getting my dorm decorated. I figured out that all of the cute guys I wanted to meet were usually in fraternities and only dated sorority girls. If I met someone new, guy or girl, the first question was always the same, “What sorority are you in?” The next question, “Well, you’ll pledge next semester, right?”

 

Ugh.

 

No, I never did. Money was the primary reason. I didn’t want to ask my parents for one cent more than their teacher salaries could handle, which was mostly books and dorm food. Plus, I wrote for the paper and that consumed most of my time. Also, I was horribly afraid of being rejected. I couldn’t bear the thought of it. I slowly made friends without those connections, but I always knew “the better party” was the one I wasn’t invited to. Even then, in the cafeteria of my dorm, studying outside or in the library, or even walking to class, I imagined the exciting life they must have compared to mine.

 

I wound up getting a part-time job at a trendy clothing store at the same mall I shopped as a kid. This wound up solving most of my so-called dilemmas. First of all, I received a huge discount on clothes. I learned a lot about style and what did and didn’t look good on me or other people. I was able to afford the latest looks and ended my fears about being fashionably challenged. Sometimes, I’d sell complete outfits based on what I was wearing on a particular day. I didn’t even think of it as work. It was just fun to play with clothes all day. Second, I made friends. Great, lifelong friends that I talk to even today. They were never in sororities either. They were fun, smart, and beautiful and we had some of the best times ever together. That job was the catalyst that, so to speak, put my life in fast forward.

 

Fortunately, as most of us do, I outgrew the insecurities of my youth. I realized that being me is absolutely OK and that what I like matters. I don’t want to be anyone else these days. My life is just fine, thankyouverymuch. Even so, these memories I just wrote about came flooding back to me just moments ago. I was driving back to work from a mid-afternoon appointment. I was taking a shortcut through the most upscale neighborhood in the entire Dallas-Fort Worth area (also the readers of my magazine), and I got caught in a school zone. To my right were parked cars—Bentleys, Maseratis, Porches, BMWs, etc. Every car had a perfectly coiffed mom at the steering wheel, cell phone her in her well-manicured manicured hand. Wedding rings the size of my fist. Chanel or better sunglasses and most with a tiny “for looks” pampered pooch hanging his head out of the window. They were obviously waiting on their kiddos to find their car in the carpool lane and go home. A few had on tennis attire, but um… they didn’t look like they had broken a sweat all day.

 

My first thought was, “Wow. What a life!” I thought about shopping all day. Leather cooled or heated seats. A Louis Vuitton bag. I thought about eating out every night, or having the time and luxury to prepare a delicious meal with wine every evening instead of take-out tacos and a Diet Coke. I thought about their husbands. Were they soap opera guy hot? Yeah, probably.  I saw their nannies and housekeepers on the corner, waiting for the bus. I remember how I hung up the phone in shock the first time I got a quote on how much a nanny really costs. And they have both? I wasn’t in an either/or situation. Nanny? Nope. Housekeeper? Only after much consideration and budgeting, and even then just once a month.

 

Older is wiser. I know this. Just as it was ridiculous to imagine someone’s life based on their shopping bags, it’s also just as crazy to assume those women have picture-perfect lives. Every few months, we report on one of “those types” of women getting caught shoplifting something at Neiman’s, their husband have filed for bankruptcy, or they’ve divorced, etc., etc. Problems come in all shapes and sizes and affect everyone, despite the size of their bank account.

 

The one thing I know to be true in this crazy, messed up, wonderful world we live in is that at the end of the day when it’s all said and done, it’s what you remember in your mind and heart about the people you love, the good times you’ve had, and the laughs and tears you’ve shared that make you rich. Those are the “flashes” you’ll have before you draw your last breath…..not the dollar figure in your savings account. Better than money are the warm hugs and wet, sloppy kisses from your kids. The way their sweet little hands feel inside of yours. Rich is the peaceful feeling of knowing that the man (or woman) sitting next to you reading the paper and sipping coffee, when no words are needed, would move mountains to keep you safe and happy. True wealth is also knowing that same person will be holding your hand through it all, and that you can, after all of these years, get that tingly feeling just looking at them across the room. Having it all is knowing that you can pick up the phone and call your best friend about a joy or a sorrow, and she or he will laugh and cry right along with you because you share each other’s hearts. It’s knowing you have a mom, dad, sister, brother, grandmother, grandfather, or special family member who has thought you hung the moon since the day you took your first breath.

 

The wealth you should treasure is knowing that you can look at yourself in the mirror and say, “I’m doing a good job” and mean it, despite life’s challenges. It’s feeling loved and loving back. It’s enjoying and treasuring the moments of your life because you understand they are so fleeting, so special.

 

Sound familiar? Consider yourself rich. Consider yourself lucky.

 

Love life.

So it's about 7:45 a.m. on Sunday.

 

I have to get ready to teach four-year-olds at Sunday School.

 

This is why it will be difficult:  We went out last night. Not just out, but OUT. We went to a food and wine event where everywhere you turned, there was alcohol. Tasting can really turn into hard-core drinking without you even realizing it. You would think the food would help absorb the alcohol. Well, in my case, not so much.

 

I don't even know when going from happy to drunk happened. I remember the entire event. However, a few conversations toward the end are a bit fuzzy. I do remember hitting a hotel bar afterward. I don't remember drinking. I hope I didn't. However, I doubt it would matter. What I do know is that we made the best decision ever by hiring a driver last night. He very well could have saved our lives. There is no way we could have driven home.

 

We attended this event with another couple. Had a blast. So much fun in fact, that I made some really interesting discoveries this morning.

 

I woke up in the office. Why? I had pajamas on, but did not take off my make up. Gross. I had my earrings on. They were tangled in my hair.

 

My cross necklace wasn't on. I thought I lost it. I found it, thank goodness, on hubby's nightstand, broken.

 

My throat hurts. Kind of like I threw up. Oh yeah, I did. A lot. I go to our bathroom. Oh my God, it's horribly disgusting. Looks like hubby... me?.... attempted to clean it and gave up.

 

My favorite lamp is broken. I sort of remember this. I was turning off the light and it toppled over. It is no longer with us. May it rest in peace.

 

I panicked because I couldn't find my purse. I found it, contents out, on the kitchen floor. I have no idea why.

 

Conversations. I remember talking to some clients, mostly chefs. I remember talking to some work people.... random peole.... people....I hope I didn't say anything dumb.

 

And, last, I have a headache. A really, really big one. Ouch.

 

More later.

 

 

 

 

 

EDITOR'S NOTE:  I almost deleted this entry this morning. I realized I probably sounded mad...bitter. I'm really not. Like I said in the entry, we have a running joke about his gift-giving, and he is well aware that if I really want something, I'll go out and buy it myself. And, he does have a list on his vanity in our bathroom of several things I want.... just in case. He is aware. We both share an interest in renovating our house, so we mutually agree to put most of our extra dollars (after savings) there. I guess what I am trying to say is that I didn't write this for anyone to feel sorry for me, or to complain. It was just an amusing look at how easy, even after years of being together, it is to misunderstand each other and "get it wrong." The important part, I think, is that most of them you "get it right." I'd like to think that we do.  Also, last night before bed he did say that one of the reasons he didn't act excited about the gift is because he felt guilty that he didn't at least do something. That was enough for me...LOL. Enjoy.

 

 

I created utter confusion in my marriage this month.

 

My husband knows I am not a fan of Valentine's Day. I never really have been. However, prior to being with him, most of the guys I dated did sweet things now and then throughout the year that would show me how much they cared about me. Hubby? Well, not so much. We actually have a running joke about his gift-giving talents, or lack thereof.

 

I have always maintained that I don't need an official day to put stress on us to "perform" and cause us to double-spend, especially so close to Christmas. On top of that, I don't like silly stuffed animals. I don't like cheap chocolate that I have to break into to see if I'll like it or not. I like flowers, but I like them as total unexpected surprises. The typical Valentine's Day present just isn't my thing. I'm not knocking it for those that do like these types of gifts. I'm just saying if these are my options, save your money. Well, OK, I'd accept jewelry. But I don't feel like paying for it, either. So there.

 

Several weeks ago, I told him just to buy something little for the girls. Afterall, this is the age where Daddy is their one, true sweetheart. He needs to get the goody out of it while he can. What I remember saying is, "Let's don't do anything big." What he remembers me saying is, "Let's don't do anything."

 

Hmmmm....

 

For the last month or so, I have been buying him little wine-related gifts. I haven't bought him anything sentimental in quite some time, so I thought this would be the perfect time to do so. I picked out three bottles of wine that held special significance to us in our relationship, such as what we drank the night he proposed. I bought a wine stopper from Williams and Sonoma and had it engraved with our names. I added a wine drip plate and had it engraved with our last initial. I put in two rose-colored stemless wine glasses for special occasions. My favorite part was a trivet kit where you can arrange all of the corks from wine bottles you save that remind you of special trips, nights, or occasions. We have been collecting them in a drawer for awhile. I thought it would be a good "story of our love" one day. I arranged all of these items, plus some chocoloates and a funny t-shirt I knew he'd like, into a basket with a sweet card. As a bonus, I cooked a pasta meal last night with heart-shaped pasta.

 

Let me go back to last night. After a long day of work, I swung by my daughter's school to attend her class Valentine's Day party. When I arrive, 7 minutes late, she is in tears. Apparently, she thought I wasn't coming. So I had to console her while the party went on. She had a cupcake. Two kids threw up those same cupcakes on each side of her. Great. A virus is going through the class. I might as well call in to work now sick for the rest of the week. I pry her out the sugar-high pre-school madness, pick up the baby, and head home. I start dinner. The baby decides she wants to open cabinets so I point her in the direction of the safe cabinet where the tupperware is stored. She's happy. I hear a call from upstairs. Kate wants to come down the stairs but is blocked by the baby's gate. I leave my post at the stove for a FEW seconds, and in that time I hear the loudest crash known to mankind. I rush back. Liv is standing in the kitchen, screaming, having just thrown a piece of corningware on the tile, slicing her chubby little toe. Kate is hysterical seeing the blood. I'm hysterical and rush to pick up Oliva, cutting my own foot. The stove starts boiling over, with little heart pastas falling to the side. I run to the phone to call Hubby for help. Apparently, he has his phone off. Perfect timing. I manage to clean up the mess, mend the cuts, and get everyone happy again. OK, well the kids are happy. I am about to have a nervous breakdown.

 

Therefore, by the time he arrives, he can't tell that any chaos at all has taken place. Corningware shards were swept and vaccumed. Dinner mess was relatively clean. He had a nice plate of heart-shaped pasta with chicken, capers, and fettucini sauce awaiting him. He never saw the sight of blood. Kate entertains him with tales of her day. The baby crawls up in his lap. He is their hero, in that they seem to think he's the one that gave them their Valentine's Day gifts earlier in the morning. Uh huh. I present him with the basket. He presents me with nothing. He goes through the basket, but I'm not sure that he "gets" the meaning. (I had included a few "just us" stuff that only we would get, too.) I'd like to think he felt a little bad because he didn't get me anything, but I think mostly, he was just hungry and the basket wasn't his first priority. I don't know. I'd also like to say that the arbor we are about to have built could be my present. However, I know the money for that comes from one of my commission checks so it can be paid in full once they are finished with it. Let's just call a duck a duck, people. We miscommunicated. My disdain for this so-called holiday made him think I didn't want anything. Period. I guess not even a card.

 

When I look back, what I didn't want were the obvious gifts. I think what I should have expressed is that I wanted a gift that would mean something. It may not even cost anything. How about leaving work an hour early and having dinner on the table when I got home? Or putting both kids to bed while I sipped a glass of wine and watched a cheesy reality show? What about a gift card to Starbucks because you know how much I love a nice latte in the morning?

 

That got me to thinking about the little things. Every Sunday, for I don't know how many years, my granddaddy would fill up my grandmother's car with gas so she would have a full tank for the week. I recently learned that she has never pumped gas in her life. She either had it done at a full-service station or grandaddy did it for her. To me, that would be a sweet luxury. I have a friend whose husband will lay on her side of the bed if she's up doing something so that it is nice and warm when she climbs in. I have another friend whose husband puts a cup of coffee, just the way she likes it, on her nightstand every morning so she has it as soon as she wakes up. How about flowers for no reason at all? A phone call in the day to say 'I love you' rather than 'what's for dinner' or ' who's picking up the kids tonight?' Don't get me wrong. He does do some great things, as I have mentioned here before. I guess what I'm trying to say is that something with meaning and heart behind it (a letter even?) means more than a box of candy or an over-priced vase of red roses.

 

He says he "feels like a heel." But he doesn't seem to feel that way. In fact, I expected at least an offer for a back rub or lunch the next day. Nothing. I think he is just flabergasted at the way I muddied up what could have been a clear, straightforward situation. He did tell me last night about something that he thought about getting me. I won't say it here. Let's just say that if he had given that to me, he would have slept on a friend's couch or a hotel last night. And I let him know that as well. I can't decide if I'm more sad about the horrendous almost gift or no gift at all.

 

We usually eat out on Wednesdays. We call our mid-week break from the kitchen. Usually somewhere relatively cheap and kid-friendly. I had some time to kill between getting the kids and meeting Hubby at the restaurant. I popped into a little boutique I'd been meaning to check out.

 

Let's just say it turned out to be a happy Valentine's Day for Jennifer after all.

 

'Til next time......

I have been chasing all day. I just realized it when I sat down to blog. I've been chasing my kids, laundry, messes, crumbs on the floor.... you name it. I was thinking how funny it would be if I had a video camera in my house. I think my path would like like small tornado, round and round going from one thing to another. In a day's time I have cooked my family three meals, done everyone's laundry (at least six loads), straightened up after a Valentine's Half Sleepover for five pre-school girls, organized my baby's drawers and closet, bathed two children, put two children to bed, dishes, helped my daughter with Valentine's day cards for school, got bags for Karate/dance/etc. ready for the week.

 

Circles.... I'm running around in circles. As soon as I clean up a mess, another is made. As soon as I sweep the floor, someone spills their snack. As soon as a load of laundry is put in, another comes out to be folded and put away. As soon as the baby is settled and happy, she decides she isn't anymore and cries. The list goes on.

 

Whew!

 

Thanks for the advice on the self-tanners. I have a few ideas to try out now, thanks to you. I am hoping not to see Medical City's number on caller ID this week because in this case, no news is good news. What I do hope to see is the number for Service King saying that my SUV is out of the shop and they'll now take my $1,000. I swear, as soon as you save $1,000, something comes up and it goes right back out of the bank. That just seems to be the way of life!

 

Oh, and speaking of spending money, I think we're about to plop some down for a really cool deck/arbor for the backyard, between the house and the pool. We laugh saying our back yard swimming pool looks kind of like a hotel's -- just bland, plain. We're trying to dress it up, if you will. We have had several bids, all extremely high. We had just about given up when I saw an ad for a company that does some great work at reasonable rates. I think he sold us. I think it would be great to have an extended "living" area in the summer. In Texas, summer lasts from about April through September, so any investment to make outdoor living more pleasurable is well worth it, in my opinion. Yeah, it costs money (what doesn't), but it's something to look forward to.

 

And on the topic of looking forward to something, I was given two tickets by my company to a really nice event this Saturday. Essentially, it's a food and wine tasting event at a nice hotel downtown. Tickets are about $100 each and local chefs (who are celebrities in this foodie city) will be on-hand for demonstrations. Should be tons of fun. I wrote the special section on it and had no idea I would get tickets, but I'm so glad I did! We're thinking of taking a cab so that we can go "heavy" on the "tasting" of adult beverages to compement the food.

 

Work.... yes. I got a new title this week. I am now a managing editor. Pretty cool. I don't get any more money, and my work load doesn't change. Essentially, my title now matches my job. But it's a title I have wanted for, well, most of my career. I can't wait to see it on the masthead. That reminds me, new business cards are in order! Woo hoo!

 

I am really getting the vacation bug. I don't want  a weekned getaway; I want a real vacation. At least a week. Somewhere fun. Different. Relaxing. We have been going through so many ideas, watching the travel channel, looking online. We have been to Puerta Vallarta, Hawaii, The Bahamas, Las Vegas, Florida, and San Diego all in the past five years for vacation. Someone mentioned Punta Minta? I don't know. I'm not sure I want a beach thing for a week. I've been thinking about a wine country vacation, mixed in with San Francisco.... I'm just ready. I do plan on taking the (almost) annual trip to San Antonio in May with the kids for a San Antonio/Sea World long weekend. It has always been a blast, and I think the little one will be just about ready for it then. But, um, that's not the kind of vacation I'm talking about!

 

I have posted some new pics of birthdays for both girls. As you'll see, there is one in there of the baby, turning it up! I think.... think... we are off the bottle. She hasn't had one at all today. I just wanted to test it out, and sure enough, she seemed OK without it. We'll see how the night goes. She figured out a cup, so I just went with it. Keeping my fingers crossed. No walking yet, but I'm not complaining. Walking for her means more chasing for me, and I have enough to chase around lately!

 

Right now, I'm going to go chase down a nice glass of wine and enjoy the fact that both children are in bed, the house is straight, and the laundry is done. I am going to do some serious "couch and remote" exercise. They say all movement counts in burning calories, so I'll just punch the buttons extra hard.  

 

'Til next time....

 

 

 

So I'm sitting propped up on the "procedure room" table today. It's 9:40 a.m.. I know this because I'm staring straight ahead and slightly up at a clock, watching the second hand make it's away around and around. The nurse is babbling on, saying something about how smart I am to be proactive when it comes to this disease. She is preparing numbing shots that she promises will only sting the first one or two times of about eight that she has to inject them into my thigh. I look down and am thankful that I went ahead and decided to take the extra 10 minutes to shave my legs this morning. I look down at my out-of-shape, pale leg and realize that I have scuffed my favorite boots. Damn.

 

She continues to inject the local anesthetic  in a tiny circle, and I think back to the Sundown swimming pool. That's the town where I grew up, population 1,500. In the summer, the only way to pass time so you didn't get in trouble was to head to the pool. Sometimes we'd make our moms drive by first, to "see if anybody good was there." Although I've been able to swim well since I was about 5, I rarely swam at the city pool. I mean, it messed up my hair. And the pool, when you're a teen-ager, is not about the back stroke. It's about boys. My girlfriends and I would stake out a prime spot where the sun hit just right and lather on tanning lotion. Note, I didn't say sunscreen. If it had an SPF, it couldn't be more than 10. We would literally bake ourselves all day. Because I'm blonde and fair-skinned, sunburns were always inevitable--at least at the beginning of the summer. I would just burn my way to a golden tan. One time, my best friend and I lathered on baby oil and climbed up on the roof of her house to ensure maximum sun exposure. That wasn't baking. That was frying. We were miserable, but we were determined to be head-turners that summer. Later that summer, as a reward, I bought a tiny white bikini--my first--to show off my "hard tanning work."

 

When I was 15, the hair salon in town purchased a tanning bed. I was one of the first to try it. I loved it. In fact, it relaxed me. That was the first of, I don't know, thousands of tanning bed visits I'd have through about age 30. I burned there too, but the burn would always turn into a nice tan. Blonde and tan--I loved it. I remember skipping class in college and hanging out at apartment pools with my friends all summer long. Most of my friends were brunette with naturally olive, dark skin. They would tan just going from their apartment to their car. I was so envious. One summer day we drank ourselves silly and fell asleep on the lounge chairs by the pool. We were supposed to go out and drink on the patio at some bar with a few guys later that night. My friends woke up with a nice, sun-kissed glow. I woke up to fiery red skin that almost required a trip to the emergency room. When that burn healed, I noticed my first-ever sun damage--sun spots all over my shoulders and upper back and arms. I was only 21. When the sun took a break for winter, I went straight to the tanning bed, spending my hard-earned cash during my poor college years on expensive tanning packages.

 

As I entered the professional world, I didn't have the time to leisurely lay out in the sun. I once again hit the tanning bed. The "safe" guidelines said that for my skin type 5 to 10 minutes was the maximum limit. I would usually turn the dial the whole way, take a nap, and emerge about 30 or so minutes later. I tanned a lot right before my second wedding in anticipation of a form-fitting sleeveless and backless dress and a honeymoon to The Atlantis in the Bahamas. I took a break from it for awhile, and that's when I noticed my first suspect spot in the strangest of places--my scalp. I had seen this spot before, but it was about three times as large. I found a dermatologist and went to have it checked. I was actually embarassed. They bioposied a tiny amount. I didn't think much about it until when a week later, the doctor called and said it was pre-cancerous and had to immediately be removed.

 

That was my first introduction to the "procedure room." They had to cut away some of my hair and remove the spot. I had about six stitches in the side of my head and was missing a patch of hair. The doctor told me that these spots are usually re-occuring as my body is repairing itself from years of sun damage. Freckles on my face, arms, and chest are also daily reminders, as are tiny wrinkles around my eyes from squinting.

 

I'll admit I still tanned in the tanning bed now and again, but it was only for that "base tan." Yeah, right. About two years ago, my husband noticed a new spot on my back. I went and checked it out. Sure enough, I got the same diagnosis and off it went.

 

I have had a strange spot on my left leg for years-- about four years to be exact. It has bothered me a lot, literally. It itches. It has gotten larger through the years and has changed colors. But I have been too busy to do anything about it. Last week, I read yet another story about a woman dying from melanoma because she never had skin checks even though she was in a high-risk group. She had two small daughters. She was just a few years older than me. I called and made an appointment for this morning.

 

The doctor takes a look at it and says he feels good about this one, but with my history, it's better to be safe than sorry so he recommends it be removed. I agree.

 

So there I sit on the old, familiar table. We joke about how Cindy Crawford recently had a mole removed from her back and it was televised to bring awareness to skin checks and skin cancer. The joke on my part is that I am no Cindy Crawford, but hey.... now we have something in common! They show me the instrument--somewhat like a tiny round cookie cutter--that will remove my little friend so it can be sent off for a biopsy. I'll need about five stitches and there will be a scar. I don't watch the whole procedure but I do watch them drop the "sample" into the little jar. Gross. I can see the black sutures going up and down while they give me care instructions for my new wound. They expect it to hurt later tonight. They were right; it does hurt. I should have the results of the test in a week. I go back in two weeks to have the stitches removed.

 

As I'm walking about, the doctor says, "And I know you know to stay out of the sun and tanning beds. There are a lot of great self-tanners on the market now. Don't risk it."

 

I think about the streaky, orange look of self tanners and trigger tans and resolve to just be pale. I head to work and ironically, I overhear two co-wokers over lunch talking about how it's time to buy a tanning package because spring and short/swimsuit season is around the corner. They laugh and say, "Fat looks better tan than it does white!" I have to agree.

 

I remind myself that every Hollywood movie star, for the most part, has flawless and pale skin. They make a point of staying out of the sun to preserve their youthful appearance. I think about my mom and my sister--sun worshippers--and how my mom regrets her bad habit because she looks older than she is. How people mistake my baby sister for being older. She tans almost year-round. I think about my blonde, pale best friend and how young she looks. I think about how young people say I look and how they envy my complexion. I think about how much I hate it.

 

I feel confident for a moment until I think about shorts, swimming pools, bathing suits, vacation, tank tops, strappy dresses and sandals. I get depressed for a bit. I call my husband and tell him what went on. He tells me that he loves me just the way I am and would be devastated if anything horrible, such as cancer, took me away from him and the girls. He said he'd be furious if what did it was tanning, rather than something of natural causes. I smile, knowing he cares. I also smile because I know I'm doing the right thing....the healthy thing. I know I can't control everything when it comes to my health, but I can do some things. I got dealt the blonde and pale card in life, so I just have to deal with it, not even think twice about tanning, and keep getting regular skin checks.

 

I have a feeling I'll be seeing the "procedure room" a lot more in the future, thanks to my past. In the meantime, anyone have some good recommendations for a self-tanner than won't make me look like I swalled orange food coloring?

 

What is it about babies and 2 a.m.?

 

Before you have babies, people say, "Oh, just wait until those 2 a.m. feedings." I remember wishing it was only 2 a.m. I had to get up. That would have been nice, actually, compared to every 2 hours. Well, here it is just more than one year since her birth, and my baby is awake, crying. She awoke at.... 2 a.m. About a week ago, it was about the same time. Come to think of it, almost every time she does decide to be our own personal middle-of-the-night alarm clock, it's around 2 a.m.

 

I have a rule with my kids: I always get up when they cry to check on them and make sure they aren't sick, hungry, or injured in some way. I make sure the oldest is "pottied" and the baby has a fresh diaper. I stay with them a few minutes to comfort them, and then I go to bed. If they cry, well.... they cry. I know they are OK. And they need to know how to comfort themselves to fall back asleep.

 

So, here we are. I am amazed how how someone so tiny can belt out a shrill cry so loud that I am almost certain the next door neighbors can hear her. However, I am equally amazed at how her older sister in the very next room can sleep through it. For that matter, how does her Dad sleep through it, too?

 

I also find it (not so) amusing that on the nights that I decide "What the heck, I'll stay up late and have a few glasses of wine and watch a movie or two" are the same nights she decides to wake up in the middle of the night. However, if  choose to go to bed early and sacrifice "me time," she'll sleep through the night just like a champ. Also funny: On weekends, my kids will wake up early, sometimes 6 a.m. However, on week days when we're all in a rush to get out of the door for school and work, they sleep like teen-agers and it's like I need to send a marching band through their rooms to get their sleepy little eyes to open.

 

So, here I sit, sipping a diet Sprite, writing this blog, and listening to the (thankfully) slowing cries of my daughter. At first, it's loud and steady. She is letting me know that there is no way she is giving in. She'll be back in my arms, rocking peacefully. She'll show me. A few minutes pass. It seems like 10, but it's only about 3. She must be getting tired. The cries break up. Probably sucking her thumb after she decided to lay back down in her crib. Nope. There she goes again. Two or so minutes. Quiet. Quiet. Quiet. Should I dare crawl back into my warm, cozy bed?

 

Not yet. I've been burned too many times before. Just about the time my eyes get heavy, waaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I'll wait just a few more minutes.

 

While I"m waiting, I can think of my to-do list. Might as well. I'm up. I got a lot accomplished. Car is in the shop and I am driving a total Mom-Mobile of a rental car. Made all of my doctor's appointments. I even went to a consult for Invsalign and I think I'm going to go for it! I got lots of errands run tasks around the house accomplished. I feel a little more organized that I did a week ago. My nerves are a bit high right now as Monday approaches. I have to go on a manager's overnight staff retreat. I've never been invited to this super secret clubhouse meeting before. I hope I come off looking like I know something. They mentioned something about a poker game at night. I have no idea how to play poker. And skeet shooting? This could get really weird. Add to that the constant worry in the back of my mind about Hubby doing all of my regular tasks with the girls for a day and a half. Hopefully, we'll have drinks early on Monday and I can "wash away" the worry.

 

Hey.... what's that noise? That would be nothing. Silence. It's been a solid five or so minutes. As much as I am enjoying my little cyber moment with you guys, please excuse me while I take advantage of this golden opportunity to fall back asleep. Hopefully, there will be sunlight out when the next cry hits.

 

Wish me luck. Enjoy the Superbowl.

 

'Til next time......