Bump It Hottie!

Ow,ow,ow,ow ow...Why do our own children bite us? Why? Really? Do I smell so irresistibly motherly of vanilla and cookies that my toddler can't resist but to take a bite? Oh, man that smarted! I even had to go in search of the Neosporin, because I was pretty sure that the skin was going to be broken and I would have to get out the Fisher Price first aid kit and get myself some serious plastic surgery.

That's her, the little one on the left right up there, looking all innocent and nice. And look at the other one up there with her mouth open all big, trying to scare me with her teeth. They are vicious I tell you!

But I couldn't find the Neosporin. Not because we don't have any, I know we do. I just couldn't find it under the pile of odd stuff I have in my bathroom. I don't know how I end up with this stuff really. I just can't resist. I didn't realize what a victim of TV infomercials I was until I started looking for this ointment.

I found my "Bump-its", that I have used once.
It was Bump-a-riffic I tell you. I am a sucker for pin-up hair and I couldn't resist but for my hair to stand a good six inches above my forehead, and I also wanted my driver's license to show another height other than Five-two. I'm also pretty sure it will come in handy after I finish buying my collection of evening gowns for my three year old and use them to give her "perfect pageant hair". And on that note...don't ever google toddler pageants, unless you are prepared to have your face twisted to a state of awfulness for all the mess they make these little girls go through. I say give them give them a Dora shirt and a crooked pony-tail and you are good to go!! Aqua-net never made anyone a better person in life!

Then I found my "Strap-Perfect", the nifty little plastic holder that helps conceal your bra straps when wearing halter tops and conveniently lifts your boobs right up to your eyeballs, should you have any insecurity about where they have fallen once you hit middle age. That thing is actually pretty good, except for the fact that I have to take a few more yoga classes so that I can one handedly put the thing on by myself with bra on, just like the commercial. That's okay, I'm having to work on my yoga anyways because I'm planning on stowing away in my kids lunchbox when she starts kindergarten, so I've got a few years to perfect my bra-strap adjusting and hiding in lunch box moves.

I had to step over my Shark Mop on the way to the closet where the medicine sometimes is. That sucker is pretty good. I know I begged for this one alone, just because I was up till two in the morning and saw all the fabulousness that it could behold. I stayed up dropping jelly and cereal on the floor until early morning and convinced my husband we must go out and buy it instantly. Although I'm not really sure if it was the Shark Mop that got the jelly off, because by the time we got home, I realized I forgot to kennel the two chihuahuas and one of them had taken a nap on the kitchen floor and got stuck. The other one was all in a panic and had gotten out the 300X power washer from the garage to try to get him unstuck (He was up watching TV with me that night). In the end we both got in trouble for staying up way too late and wasting the cereal and jelly, and making my husband buy appliances that we only use once in a blue moon. Oh well.

I did find the Neosporin. It was right next to my Slap-Chop...go figure.

I was put on lock down!

I know this is completely cheating, but I have not been on here in so damn long that I forgot my stinking password, and got locked out of my account...hang on...I got's to write this sucker down!

Okay...done.

So speaking of locked out. I wrote this entry back in good ole' (that's short for old, not ole!, as in the expression of my culture's excitement) 2006, when I was pregnant with my first daughter Mirah. Being locked out of my blog reminded me of being locked "in" my house. So this one's for Jennifer D., by popular demand.

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I know it's been a while.

This is what happens when you're pregnant. You have these insane lapses of forgetfulness. Sometimes they seem to go on for a couple of minutes, sometimes hours, possibly days. But for me, they come in spurts. Don't ask Kris that same question about my forgetfulness, because he likes to lie on Tuesdays.

I'm now in day two of my three days off. Makes me very happy. Usually the first day I loaf around and do nothing. Veg out, watch TV, think about exercising that I should be doing, but that makes me tired so I stop. The second day, I usually have a plan of attack. And for the most part, I even write it down on paper of the things I want to do. It makes me feel accomplished, and also I'm a bit concieted about my own handwritting so I just like to look at it.

By the third day things are done, I'm well rested and bored, and ready to go back to work.
But today...today was list day!!! Do things. Do the dishes, clean the bathroom, do the laundry (ok wash and fold will do them), touch ups on the baby room, go do some comfy clothes shopping. I even planned to shop in my jammies that look like sweat pants, and see if anyone noticed, b/c these days it's all about comfort.

But something horrible happened. I got trapped. I'm a prisoner in my own house. I left my keys in Kris' car last night. I usually always take my keys, even when I'm not driving. It's like I don't want them to feel left out, and because I was the last one out the door. And I think K and I have this secret unspoken thing, that if you are the last out the door, you have to lock it. So of course I was last, hence, my keys were in his glove box.

You would think I should leave them out, so I would see them and remember that "Oh, look, there are my keys...I should take them." But that would mean criminals would see the keys, think they are to K's car, and steal it and we would be stuck in the rain, with our overpriced clementines and currants crying in the parking lot. So that's why my keys are trapped in his glovebox, with his car, with him, in Sugarland.

A rational person would think, "Hey, it's not that bad. You're in your own house. You have food, you have a bathroom, you're pretty set." But I'm not rational, and it's making me crazy.

I realized this horrible event was happening when I asked the dogs if they wanted to go outside, which automatically sends them into a tizzy. I saw the door was locked, so went to get my key from it's usual spot... the food pantry (don't ask), and saw it wasn't there. My name badge was there, a leash was there, the muffin mix was all there and accounted for, but not my keys. Damn.

I looked in the other "key spot" and found my extra set of car keys, but no house key. Damn.

At this point I was mad because I couldn't get out, but then I felt really bad, because the whole time I was looking the dogs are doing their crazy "Yay, we're going outside to bark at nothing dance." Then the guilt set in. I called Kris and told him, and he said my full name. Middle name and all. I knew that meant he was smiling on the other end laughing at my predicament. But I bet secretly he thought, "Hey, I could get out of work for this...Preggo is home, stuck, I must rescue her." I know he thought this, because I thought it too, and we're usually on the same wave length. He finished laughing and told me to have a talk with the dogs, which I did, and they seemed to understand, or they didn't care, because I gave them a treat at the same time.

Then Kris said the unthinkable..."You can still clean the house."

The horror. I know, the thought was in my head. It was on the list. But uggghhh, I hate cleaning. You can ask Trang. I think I'm allergic. But it's my only option right now. I have nothing else to do. Which is why I'm writting right now, and this is unbelievably long.

I thought about ordering a pizza and having the money all ready, and then when they came to the door, I would walk around like I was looking for a key, and then they would see I coulnd't find it. Then I would proceed to cry while pressing the money against the window. I wonder what they would do. Can they ban people from ordering pizza?

Addendum:
I even thought about dropping the dogs out the screen window, in case they had to emergency potty, but then I wouldn't be able to get them back in. I even thought I should drop them and a chair out the window so they could do their thing then jump back on the chair, and I would bring them back in. But I have this horrible feeling that it might not go as planned. And I don't even know if the chair would fit through that screen window, and I might go into labor after having a fit of laughter watching the chair stuck in the window.

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

**The story I'm about to share is completely embarrassing and should only be read by those who are prepared to snicker and giggle at the author. The author is in no way responsible for any piddle that may happen in ones pants, nor is the author responsible for any chocolate milk that may shoot out of one's nose, or heaven forbid, Dr. Pepper.**

Woooooooordd up people. Can I get a big "What-What" for Mirah not being sick anymore!! Yayyy. That was awful. She got the flu! How do you get the flu in the spring?? I mean I know she likes to taste the grocery store shopping cart, but I gave her the Clorox wipe that they provide at the front of the store and immediately wash her face and tongue after she licks the cart handle. I mean that's what they are for right??

Anywho, she was illin' and had crazy high fever and had to make a trip out to the doc where they shoved culture swabs up her nose and in her throat. And man, they were fast, I was quite impressed. One minute they are asking her if Dora is hiding in her mouth, and the next the nurse has got her in some kind of weird one handed ninja head hold and sticks that sucker in the back of her throat and simultaneously swabs her nose....Whoaaa. It happened so fast it started going slow motion Matrix style...whoosh, whoosh, swab in throat...whoosh, whoosh, sit on her head, stick swab up her nose...whoosh, whoosh...Mirah gives her the crazy eye. I don't know who was more stunned, me or Mirah.

But we survived and made the trek home when Kris and I decided neither of us wanted to cook. Which really means he didn't want to cook, because I can't cook to save your life. Unless your life depends on mac and cheese and Stove Top Stuffing (ummmm stuffing). Soooo, we decide on some chicken tenders from Hartz.

Have you been to Hartz? I don't see many of them around but apparently the uniform is Christmas shirts and tight black pants. I ain't mad a you girl, you go with your Santa butt.

So we are driving and the Hartz is right on the corner by a stop light. I'm stopped there at the light and I see what I think is a tall kid practicing twirling rifles. I know this sounds strange, but at the high school that alot of my relatives went to, they have ROTC, where the Drill Team twirls these decorative rifles in all kind of unnatural ways, while in their military dress uniform and not smiling. It's quite bizarre really, because what army is really gonna come at you doing part step show, part twirling. I guess it could scare someone.

Okay, sorry, I'm getting carried away. Okay...so tall kid twirling batons. So the light is red and I'm looking at this kid, and thinking..."Wow, good for him, he's practicing his ROTC...why does he have a head band with fake Star Trek ears on?"....Yes, I said it, STAR TREK EARS! They were somehow, taped or glued to this black sweat band he was wearing. Then, I pull in and get a closer look and the head band also has an antennae attached to it, with one of those little white Jack-In-the-Box heads attached to it. What in the hell?? The rest of the wardrobe was shiny dress shoes with black dress socks, like the old man uniform for mowing the lawn, white basketball shorts and a red shirt! Annnd it wasn't a boy! It was a man!

I know...crazy. The whole time we were in line (A looooooong time, because I got tenders confused with nuggets. Tenders are significantly bigger for future reference...oops) he is doing this Micheal Jackson, Barnum and Bailey Circus-ish kind of dance. He would throw that baton way up in the air and moon walk and clean out his Star Trek ears and shake his booty and then catch it. Mirah and I were mesmerized. He is on Hwy 6, close to West Oaks mall if you want to catch the show.

I was so mesmerized that while ordering the said tenders I got a little, teeny, tiny bit confused. I mean I thought tenders and nuggets were synonymous with each other. Aren't they the same size, pretty much, just one round and one jagged?

I'm in line trying to decide how many tenders will be enough for all of us. Kris is texting me telling me not to get cole slaw, because it's like cole slop and no one likes it. Valid point. So the options are "16 tenders, two sides and biscuits" or "24 tenders, three sides and biscuits".

Sixteen tenders? No, no, no, that will not nearly be enough. Kris can eat 10 nuggets in his sleep, and then all we will be left with is sides. Lets get 24. We will all get some, everyone will have their own bucket of side and some biscuits. We are serious about our sides in this family. "Don't you even think about reaching over and getting my mashed potatoes. You see my name written in black sharpie here on the side, don't you! Be quiet and drink your gravy!"

Okay, it's decided 24 tenders, three sides and some biscuits. Perfect. I was so distracted by Star Trek Baton boy that I didn't realize that we were waiting there for almost 20 minutes. I realized it when I heard the lady on the phone calling in some staff from home, to help bring out our food. The food was done and I see her walking towards the window with what looks like some giant Christmas present. Is this a theme? Santa shirts? Serving food in gift boxes? This must be some mistake. Oh my god!! It was the biscuits! There were 12 biscuits!! What are we gonna do with 12 biscuits. Oh, no...here come the tenders!! I thought they were nugget sized! Nooooooooo, not the sides!!

After the food finally stopped coming, I ended up with a whole other passenger in the front seat of my car. I sat there looking at it sweating in the passenger seat, and contemplated putting a seat belt on it. I didn't, but I should have, because at the turn into the neighborhood I had to soccer mom it so it wouldn't fall off the seat. That's a sure sign that you got too much food when you have to soccer mom it. You know the soccer mom, when you put your hand over the person so they won't go forward.

Damn you tenders. I'm gonna be in trouble when I get home.

Needless to say, we had plenty of food, and I learned my lesson in differentiating a tender from a nugget. The biscuits are still hanging around. The girls have been using them wisely and are working on a solar system project right now. I'm hoping it will be done by Friday for show and tell.

Test Kitchen Baby

Wow, it's been such a long time since I have written. But I figure what better way than to jump right in there. My name is Eliza and I am blessed that not too many things rhyme with Eliza so I didn't get teased that much as a kid...you know like "Chris piss" "Lacey Spacey". I got lucky with that one, yet still managed to come out a bit wacky.

I have two beeeeuuutiful girls. Mirah who is three and just learned the phrase "Rock and Roll!!" Followed by her doing a mean air guitar riff ala Alvin and the Chipmunks. And we have precious, little Phoenix who is 1 and a half (I don't believe in all that months crap...it's too damn confusing)--I just had this conversation with Charlotte the check out lady at Walmart, and how she was appreciative that I said 1 and a half and not 18 months (wait...is that right?)

How old is your baby mam? "Oh she's 87 months old now..." (fake smile, fake smile). I think some moms do that just so they can test your intelligence level. Like if she can't calculate how old my baby is in years, then I am totally counting my change twice.

Phoenix is my little fire cracker and is learning all kinds of valuable stuff lately. Like hitting you and then telling you to stop. Giiirlll you hit me!! Why are you telling me to stop? I think that's pretty advanced for one don't you think. That is some psychological stuff. I think Mirah paused once after Phoenix hit her, and Phoenix tells her "Top it", then Mirah looks confused and says "I'm sorry". Poor baby. I'm gonna have to keep an eye on that one.

She's getting a little older so we have been able to take off some of the baby proofing gear. The main one being the baby gate. Okay, okay, really we broke it. I told Kris (my husband) it must have fallen off the hinge from over use, but really we were having 'Rodriguez Spring Olympics' in the kitchen and my foot got caught on the latch in the 2 meter hurdle and ripped that sucker clear off the hinge. It was amazing really, we weren't sure if the score was gonna count, but after a 5 minute discussion, both chihuahuas held up their score cards...I got a 17 out of 20...thank-you-very-much!!

But we do have to leave that weird latchy thing on the cabinets by where the sink is. Because it's the universal place where we all keep our cleaning products and guns, and nuclear warfare. I tried the linen closet once but all the hand grenades kept falling off the shelf, and the insurance was starting to get expensive. Sometimes we forget to hook it back on, and of course that's where Phoenix goes. It makes me crazy, I have to pick her up, rip her little pencil and inventory card away from her hands and she cries and cries..."Mama, mama...we need mo beech."

The other day she was in there and had a large piece of tile with blue tape down the middle with some jelly on each side. And then she handed me the Clorox wipes and the Method wipes. I guess she wanted me to make up my mind. Do I want to kill the germs or save the environment. I just couldn't decide after that. Of course I had to clean it all up ( I used the Method by the way), and she cried and cried again..."Mama, mama...the survey will only take five minutes of your time."

Well I ain't got that kind of time sugar...can't you see I need to Facebook!