Somebody's Knockin'

Somebody's knockin'Should I let them in

Lord it's the Devil, would you look at him

I've heard about him, but I never dreamed

He'd have blue eyes and blue jeans

At exactly 6:53 A.M., someone decided to knock at our window asking for someone named 'Ryan'. I don't know how long they were knocking exactly. I honestly was dreaming I had to get up for work. So when I first heard i,t I thought it was part of the dream. This is when I looked at my phone, and I knew it was exactly 6:53. This was probably the first time I woke up and checked the time first, and not my Facebook updates.

It's a sad, sad addiction. Another blog, another time.

It was a bad moment all around. I had slept in my bra and panties, so I immediately felt violated.

Can they see me? How's my hair? Where are my clothes?

I began to worry about myself for a moment. Those are not appropriate responses to someone possibly breaking into your house. Of course I'm the only one that hears this crap. I'm a light sleeper, so I had to go get out my tuba to make my husband wake up. Thank God I still have it. He was kind of in that, 'Where are we-What time is it-Sleep daze, ' that you have when someone wakes you when you are not supposed to be awake. As much as I claim I am independent, and can take care of me. I need my hubby to protect me in moments like this. When crap like this happens I'm sure I need to be connected to some kind of heart monitor. He was probably thinking I was crazy.

While I thought I was saying, "Kris! Wake up! Someone is knocking at our window! Attack!", it probably came out like "Kris! Ooohh my god, oh my god. Window. Ryan. Where's my pants? Get up!"

At this time we're both up. He looks out the front window and sees a Lexus parked outside the front of our house. Of course he got out the zoom lens to get a pic of the license plate and the kid.

He said he was a white male (don't you love when it's crime related we get all technical, I guess the cops don't appreciate when we say, 'some white dude'), wearing a black hoodie, shorts and socks with sandals. This immediately threw Kris off track already. He hates when people can't decide what season they want to wear. He has major fears that the girls will grow up and be these teens that he sees wearing a sweater, shorts and Uggs. He quietly yells under his breath when they walk by, "Make up your damn mind already, are you hot or are you cold?" Ahhh, I love it. He also hates when I wear a spring short dress with jeans underneath. I love to do it, and it drives him nutty.

Anyways, all I saw was a dude in a black hoodie. If I had to give a description, it would have just been a floating hoodie. I was too scared shitless to really look at them. For fear they would see me, and then when they see me on the street, they would recognize me, lock eyes with me and then take me down, because I was that lady that dared to look them in the eye when they were breaking into my house. It's all too much really. You can't put a person with a wild imagination in these situations. It just gets lunatic. I'm having palpitations right now just thinking about it. Where did I put my pacemaker?

The 911 lady stayed on the phone with me. It was great. It was probably the most boring 911 call of her life. She's probably with her 911 friends right now at Starbucks, talking about the chick who called because someone was knocking at her window. But I do appreciate it.

I did put some clothes on in the midst of the madness in case you were wondering. It was all in a rush, and I put my dress on inside out. I'm sure I had black eyeliner smeared up to my eyebrows, and I'm sure my hair was a mess. But I didn't feel like I looked crazy.

Do you ever have those moments where you are walking around all day, thinking you look like the cat's meow, and then you finally are at a mirror and you scare yourself. 'Holy crap! Who let me wear tangerine lipstick? What was I thinking?" That's what I felt like as I was talking to the sheriff. I felt relatively put together. But then halfway through, I realized my tag on the side of my dress was on the outside. I didn't even want to think of my hair. So my moment happened.

What I thought I looked like as I was talking to the po-po, and what I actually looked like. I scared the crap out of myself when I finally went to the restroom and looked at the mirror. Yipes! They must have thought I had a seizure in my sleep. I looked a mess!

At any rate. We are safe, and the girls slept through the whole thing. At least I don't have to worry about having trouble going to sleep tonight. I've been up for a while now.

Get yer discount Valentine right here. Limited time only.

Ah. Valentine's has come and gone in the Rodriguez household. Our three and five year old are at that age where they 'get' the holidays now. Maybe not so much 'get it', but know they get something out of it.

I was in utter fear to come home from work. I was sure they would be climbing the walls and that their eyebrows would have morphed into tootsie rolls after all the sweets and goodies. It wasn't as bad as I thought. I did have to empty out the candy bags and contain them in a Tupperware. We like our candy to stay fresh.

I also had to empty out that lovely Valentine shoebox. You know the one. You try all year to remember to not throw out your shoe boxes, so your child can craft this cute contraption to hold their Valentines. You have to be on top of this as a mom. You don't want to be the mom that your kid has to use a Kleenex box.

The shame. The horror.

The opening of a Kleenex box is far too large for a Valentine. We will not even speak of it. I collected my shoe boxes. But forgot to send them. Oops. Some kind soul must have given out of the kindness of their heart for my child. For ours came home in a shoe box.

Bless you.

I have fond memories of these little cards. They haven't changed much. They still come in those sheets that are perforated. I used to painstakingly decide who got what card. There was never the right ratio of 'I like you' cards to 'I love you' cards. I would pray as a kid not to rip one wrong. If I did I would have to contemplate on whether to give the ripped one to a boy. This usually worked out, except in the cases where the ripped one said 'Be Mine' or 'Hug Me'. That's practically a marriage proposal in elementary school world.

I'm cleaning up after dinner and I had a hard time just throwing my kids little school Valentines out. Someone spent good money to pick these out and give them to my child. I tried to make myself feel better by putting them in our recycle bin.

Nope.

Still feel guilty.

I gathered them up and put them on the counter. Later my five year old ask me what I'm going to do with them. I didn't have the heart to tell her later they would be in the trash. So I lied and said I don't know. Mirah was not happy with this answer and immediately chanted out her solution to me.

'I know!! We can sell them!"

Sell them? This is genius! Why had I not thought of this? We can play it off as this whole save the earth gig. We'll make a killing! I asked Mirah how much should we sell them for.

"Twenty bucks. "

Wow. Twenty bucks. I asked her how many I got for twenty bucks. She told me one cost twenty bucks. Whoa. I need to get on this kids good side. She's gonna have me set for life.

So I'm passing on this deal to you all. Upcycled Valentines. Only used once. Still contain lots of love and they are low calorie (the lollipops are missing). Please don't miss out on this exciting opportunity. Limited supply.

NyQuil Take Me Away

I hate being sick. There's almost nothing I can think of that I hate more than being sick. As a Houstonian, I am blessed to be in a city where the weather is in a constant state of havoc. The Katy Perry "Hot Cold" song should really be the theme song for our city. I leave to work with a scarf, an undershirt, a jacket, and an umbrella. Then I come home in flip flops, a coconut bra and a hula skirt. It's insane really.

All of this crazy weather has lead to crazy things going on with the pollen in our area. This pollen in our area has decided the best place to hunker down for the rain is in my nostrils apparently. If I could fuel my car with the amount of force that I have been exuding today with my sneezes, I'm pretty sure I could have traveled to Austin and back. Over the years I've gotten used to dealing with the allergies. Started taking my allergy medicine before I go to bed to try to heed off whatever floating particles of sneeze inducers are headed my way. I cringe when I drive by someone mowing their lawn. I hold my breath and try not to breathe in the air until I'm sure that I have passed that invisible line. That line that I know that the grass pollen cannot possibly have floated that far and followed my car.

Ughhh. Allergies blow!

What blows even more about allergies is that 9 times out of 10 my allergies turn into a sinus and upper respiratory infection. Okay, well I really don't know if it's 9 times out of 10, but doesn't it sound so much more convincing when I say it like that? I really must add this to my list of "Mommyisms" that I will be sure to tell the girls as they are growing up to try to convince them to do something that I want them to do.

'You know, 9 out of 10 teenagers pay for their own cell phone and bring their parents breakfast in bed every Saturday.' Yeah, that's a keeper.

Oooohhhh, anyways.

Back to sinus infections. I try my very best to ward these off. Eat chicken noodle soup. Take a hot shower. Take the dreaded Nyquil. Noooooooooooooooooooooooo!

I HATE NYQUIL!

Just the thought gives me shivers up my back. Yes, I am fully aware it comes in capsule form now and I really don't even have to taste it. But my husband swears by the liquid version. I think he's convinced that the burning sensation as it's going down is killing germs on the spot. Not me. I cant' stand the stuff.

I hunted and hunted for the gel capsules tonight and couldn't find them. I almost took some DayQuil, but feared I would be up all night. But there she was, in the cabinet. Shining her goofy dark green smile. The liquid NyQuil.

It's a true ritual I have to go through to get this stuff down. First I thoroughly inspect the label to see how much of this motor oil I have to drink. I don't want to have to drink any more than I have to. I would really rather drink less. Luckily there was not very much left of this one so I didn't have to take the whole dose. I know folks will argue otherwise, but like I said I hate it, and it gives me less of a hangover feeling if I don't take the whole thing.

Next I pour my dose out and also pour a glass of something to chase it with. Tonight it was sweet tea. I gather my tiny Nyquil cup and my tea and then go find an available sink. I stare at the Nyquil dose and try to reason with myself if I really want to take it. I don't, but I know I need to survive work tomorrow so I decide it's a go on taking it.

After this I hold the two cups right directly next to my mouth. I want to be sure the tea is on immediate stand by so that the taste of disgust does not stay on my tongue for long. I take three deep breaths, say my 'Please don't Puke' prayer, and then shoot it down. This is immediately followed by rapid stomping of my feet while simultaneously chanting sounds of disgust.

This stuff is so nasty. But so effective. I'm pretty sure I'm drunk right now, because I shot down a glass right before I typed this. I survived. I taped a pillow to my head right before I started typing this should I fall asleep at some random moment.

Wish me luck tomorrow and let's hope I have put a pending sinus infection at bay.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZzzzzz..

Steel Magnolias Just Pooped On My Nails

**I can't leave things on a sad note. I get through things with a smile. Old post from my Facebook page**

Why do I do this to myself? Why do I not listen to my instincts?
Went to get my nails done this morning and vowed I would think outside of the box. Try something different. Pick a color other than dark red, dark blue or black. Ughh, my stomach is hurting with the uncomfortableness that I am going through right now.

I picked a pink that I thought was going to emulate a soft spring breeze where your clothes smells like Gain laundry detergent and your hair blows just the right way in the wind to make you feel like a super model, until you look in the mirror and are snapped right back to reality.
I really thought that was the pink I was picking. Instead I got a pink that reminds me of Ben Gay and the Golden Girls all at the same time. And now I have a strong desire to take a Geritol.
The horror.
Why didn't I stop her midway you ask?
I don't know. I really don't know. It's probably because I need therapy and was thinking I didn't like it because I was that far out of my comfort zone. It was also Shellac nail polish and I didn't want to sit there another ten minutes with her glaring at me while she removed all her hard work.
I don't know what I'm gonna do. I think I will dress like an old lady for the next to weeks to match my nails. Or maybe I can fake the Molly Ringwald thing and make it seem like I have an obsession with pink.
Sigh.
It's beginning to look a lot like Pepto. All across my nails.

Missing Her

I'm actually at a loss of how exactly to start this. I'm sure it obvious to many of you that I don't write on here very much. While I do enjoy it, my life is just upside down with life most of the time. Writing for me is therapeutic. And although I would rather write about all of the silliness that is often rambling through my head; I must be realistic and say that there are numerous times that silliness is warming the bench and grief and anxiety are having a full game on the court. I bet many people would say that I must be an Academy Award winning actress, because they would never guess that I am gloomy or anxious.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not on a ledge and I don't need meds ( I don't think?) But, I lost my mother to breast cancer three years ago. And that has really changed things for me. Just writing it gives me in lump in my throat. While of course I have acknowledged it. It has taken me probably at least a good two years before I could talk about her without being incomprehensible and drenched in snot.

I'm kind of proud that I can say it now. I think I need to. I need to let myself say it. I need to let me hear myself say it. Because when it happened I didn't think I could do anything else. I didn't think I could make it knowing I had to face the reality that she was gone. And it has taken some time. But I think she would be proud knowing that I'm okay. I can say it and take a deep breath knowing that it's okay to be sad and it's okay to cry, as long as I keep telling myself not to let my life stop just because hers did.

But certain times it's just hard. I hate the fact that holidays and birthdays are not the same for me anymore. Try as I may "it" always gets me. I try and try and try and consciously say "I will enjoy this moment. I will not cry this year."

But I do.

I usually hold it back so much it sometimes comes out as an explosion of blubbering and crying out of nowhere. I hold it back so much that it comes out at random times. Lucky for my family I try to keep these to the car. But many times I will just walk up to my husband Kris and hide my face in his chest and just hug him. He doesn't say a word, he just hugs me back tight, and I know that he knows. I guess my heart won't let me keep it in.

It's one of those moments this month. My first born will be five on the 22nd. I can't believe it. I called the school today to see when registration was for fall and when the first day of school is, so that I can try to request off. Because I'm gonna be "that" mom. That mom that on your first day of kindergarten is on cloud nine so excited for my baby, while at the same time making sure I am stocked up on waterproof mascara. Because there will definitely be waterworks.

I wish she could be here for that moment.

I remember after she was diagnosed that they had her bilateral mastectomy scheduled and I was angry because it was right before Mirah's birthday. And I was so upset that she wouldn't be able to give her baby girl a hug on her birthday. I honestly feel guilty for that moment. It was not her fault. It had to be scheduled when it had to be scheduled. But that was another "real" moment for me. That this was a real disease and it was taking it's course no matter what I said or did. I don't think I ever hated anything more in my life than at that moment.

I HATE CANCER!!!

Right before I knew about her diagnosis, Kris and I were deciding on where to buy a house. Closer to her and my family, or further out. I couldn't bear being too far from them. She told us to pick where we like. Pick where we can see our family at, not to pick based on them. I know now that she already knew her diagnosis and the grimness of it. It was another selfless thing she did for us. My family lived in east Houston, and we ended up moving to Richmond/Katy area, far west of Houston. We didn't move here because we were trying to get away, but it is where we liked. I'm glad she was selfless enough to let us make that decision. My heart still aches when I drive out to that area.

And these little girls of ours! There are so many things that these little girls do that I know my mom would be cracking up! Probably more for the smart silly remarks that they tell me. I know she would be thinking how blissfully sweet the circle of life is, that I have children that give me as hard of a time as we gave her. I don't think we were that bad? Were we? So many moments that I wish she was here with us. With them. It breaks my heart that Mirah does not remember her. She was just two. And Phoenix was still growing in my tummy when she passed.

As much as I would have liked her to have so many of these moments with them. I am thankful that they do not have this heaviness in their heart that I have. They are blissfully innocent, happy, healthy and crazy.

I don't think she would have it any other way.