My Name is Eliza And I Can't Do Double Unders..............Yet.

It's that time! The Reebok Crossfit Open.  The Open is a time for crossfitters of any skill level to have a go at qualifying for the Crossfit Games.  This is my very first time to sign up.  I was brand new last year when I first learned of the games and had no idea what was going on.  But this year, I know what's up!

Do I think I'll qualify?
No.

Is that stopping me?
No!

If you know me, by now you have realized that I have fallen in love with this sport.  It's not because I'm super good at it.  I'm not. It's not because it makes me look like a super model.  I don't.  I love it because it makes me a better me.

People can say what they want about this sport.  Injuries.  Egos. Overly competitive.  Whatever.  I don't believe a word.  I passed by the box near my house hundreds of times and always saw the athletes running, and working out.  And I wondered...

What the hell is wrong with them?!! It's freakin' summer!! My sweat is sweating!

Day by day, I drove by.  And still they were running.  And lifting.  And jumping.  And there was a lot of them!!  My interest was peaked.  I had recently been going to a weight lifting class at my local YMCA.  Which was wonderful.  But no one ever talked but the instructor.  If I said hi, most times I was ignored. If I felt like I couldn't do it, no one really cared.  And when class was over.  Class was over.

So spring of last year, (when my sweat was not sweating) I called this box and set up an appointment to check things out.  The owners showed me around.  The gym was full, people came in for the next class hugging and greeting each other.  Athletes were smiling! Someone almost done had a buddy cheering them on! It was surreal, and exciting.

My younger years consisted mainly of dance.  I would have never dreamed that I would have fallen in love with a sport where I'm lifting heavy weights and doing push ups and sits ups.  I didn't even know what a burpee or a box jump was.  Don't even get me started on running. But here I am, almost a year later.  Ready to try my best at participating in the open.

There are many, many things in crossfit that I cannot do.  But I use modifications.  Go as often as my crazy schedule and crazy family life will allow me.  I try to complete the full workout every time. AND I DO MY BEST.

As corny as it sounds, what these coaches have instilled in me have become a metaphor for my life.  In times where I feel like things around me are impossible to do, they have taught me to go at them my very best.  Take each set back as a learning opportunity and keep going.  I've learned a lot about camaraderie and what it truly means to support one another.  While things are not always sunshine and rainbows for me.  I definitely go at them with a different outlook than I did before since being a part of the crossfit community.

So.  What happens next? Sometime before the weekend is over, I will be trying the first workout which is called "14.1".  The 14 is the year and the 1 stands for the first week of the open.  This first work out has one of my major weaknesses.  Double Unders.  A double under is where you jump rope but the rope passes around your body twice with each jump.  In the past year, I've only been able to get two.  So here we go.  The past two nights I've been jumping like a crazy woman in my garage trying to master these things.  For me 14.1 will be all bout the the Double Unders.  I will be super stoked to even get one round in.

I will do what I would expect my own children to do when they have a new challenge. Give it all they've got.  Try their very best.  And be proud of the accomplishments they make.

My name is Eliza. And I can't do a Double Under........Yet.

Where do I crossfit at?   http://www.c4crossfit.com/
A taste of what's in store for us this week: http://games.crossfit.com/video/open-announcement-141-archived-footage

Under Pressure

So what ever happened with the mammogram you got Eliza?
Yeah, what happened?
What did they say?

Good Question. Wanna hear about it? Here it goes!

My job was offering mammogram night for employees.  I kept debating whether or not to go.  I'm under 40, I haven't felt any lumps.  I don't have any pain. 

But.

I am 37, and I did lose my mother to breast cancer.  While her testing did not prove to have any genetic component to it, she still got cancer.  It came from somewhere.  And after much battling with the lump in my throat, I decided to bite the bullet and get it done.

My hubs  asked if I wanted him there, and I was so thankful.  Even if he wasn't in the room, it was so nice to have him waiting outside when I was done.  So Kris and my girls went with me to be my cheerleaders.

Except my four year old's cheers sounded more like screaming, with a lot of "I don't love you anymore!" and "Stop looking at me!", at the top of her lungs.  It also included both of my girls eating white cheddar popcorn in the waiting room. If you had seen them, you would have thought they were crocodiles, the way they were rolling around and making a mess with it.  We also wanted to be sure of everyone's safety and set off the emergency exit alarm.  It works. And we are well equipped to toss our popcorn in the air and jet out of there, should the need arise.

After causing all kinds of upheaval in the waiting room they finally called my name.

It wasn't too shabby.  They made me change into this white Hugh Heffner looking gown.  And I had to use this little wipe to remove any deodorant or lotion off of my un-Hugh Heffner worthy breast and armpits.  This immediately reminded me what I forgot to do that morning.  And putting on deodorant wasn't it. I figured this is not the first time they've seen armpit hair, and there weren't any razors in the room, so I had to keep on pushing.

They take me into the next room with the mammography unit.  I wish I could accurately describe what it looks like.  I have a vivid imagination, so I may not be the best for giving a true account of the way it truly looks.  But if you can imagine an ATM machine, a frozen yogurt machine, and a kitchen counter all mixed into one.  Yup.  That's it.

Damn.  Now I want some fro-yo.

Anywho.  The lady there is super duper nice, explains everything boob-by-boob, I mean step-by-step and we're rolling! She basically advances you up to the machine, places the girls in different angles (one by one of course) and had me hold my breath at different times and of course the compression.

Now the compression is not what I was expecting.  I thought I was gonna cry.  I thought my eyeballs were going to pop out.  I also thought I might pee and debated wearing Depends. But guess what?!! I had a coupon for the Depends, so score! And the compression wasn't any of what I thought it would be! I cannot even describe it as painful at all.  I don't think I can even use the term uncomfortable, because it wasn't that either. I've even come up with a list of things that I think are worse than a mammogram.

Things That Are Worse Than A Mammogram

1. Stubbing my big toe is worse than a mammogram.
2. Getting a Dorito stuck in my throat is worse than a mammogram.
3. Getting brainfreeze is worse than a mammogram.
4. A caffeine headache is worse than a mammogram.
5. Burpees are worse than a mammogram (for my fitness peeps). 
6. Skinny jeans are worse than a mammogram.
7. Hitting my funny bone is worse than a mammogram.
8. Burning my tongue on cocoa is worse than a mammogram.
9. Houston summers are worse than a mammogram.
10. My singing is worse than a mammogram. (No don't count that one. I'm a pretty awesome singer)

So it was pretty good.  No problem.  I was so proud of myself.  And then they sent me a letter.

It said there was a nodule and I would have to come back.

What? A nodule?
What the hell does that mean?
Crap.

So here we go.  The worrying mode in me goes into full throttle.  Although it's more tame than it normally would have been, because the awesome technologist told me to expect this.  Especially on the first mammogram.

Okay.  Expecting, but still scared shitless.

What happens next is to go and get a follow up mammogram on the affected side and do a greater level of compression.  If that one comes out all good, then I'm good to go.  If not, then I have to go and get an ultrasound.

At this point I'm pretty worried.  My mind is automatically preparing myself for the worst.  This could be something and very possible given my family history. But the worst part about all of this, was the person that I wanted to talk to the most about it, she isn't here.

I'm expecting at the end of the second mammogram to get the green light to go on about with my life.

No such luck.  The technologist nicely tells me that they will see me at my next appointment the following week. At this point I pretty much lose it.  I think no matter how hard I have tried to stay positive, I finally cracked.  I don't know what was worse.  Going through all of this and not knowing, or knowing that my feelings are all of the feelings and emotions that my mother went through as well.  And wondering what her mind must have thought when her appointments went from "Everything looks good!" to "We'll see you next time".  

I'm so super blessed that my family was waiting for me.  I can't lie about my emotions.  It's really hard.  My face will either turn red like a tomato or I'll just cry.  This time, when I saw them, I just cried.  And at this point I just really wanted to know one way or another what I needed to do.

Monday rolls around and my ultrasound is here.  I felt so bad for the technologist because the my wait for her to come into the room was a mere five minutes, but an eternity for my mind to go crazy wondering what the answer would be.  I should have just kept my eyes closed and not looked at the screen. Because when I saw the technologist using the measuring tools with the computer on the nodule, a little piece of me melted away.  As a nurse, I know that even if we know what it is on the screen.  We are not allowed to say.  So I was very eager for the doctor to come in. She came in with a smile and immediately said "Good News!".

Thank you Jesus!

My 'nodule' was a small benign cyst.  Not one to be of concern or need any further biopsy or testing.   Game plan is to be sure I do not have any pain, and to continue with annual mammograms.

My mammogram story ends on a happy note for me.  I had good results.  Maybe not the way I expected to get them, but good none the less.  My mammogram revealed something that was so small that I couldn't feel it or see it, but had this been something of concern, this was probably the only way that I would have known that it was there. And this mammogram would have been my first step in getting early treatment.  I'm thankful I bit the bullet.  I'm thankful I got over my fear of the squish and just went for it. 

Working in oncology I see so many scary things on a regular basis.  Things that I hope many of you never have to see or experience in your lifetime.  So do something for me.  Take care of yourself! Eat right. Exercise. Quit smoking! And know your family history, and know what preventative care you should have.  Check your skin! Check your moles! Do self breast exams! Do self testicular exams! Get your colonoscopy! And get your mammograms!!!

I say do these things for me. But really, do these things for you. Do these things because you love yourself.  I love you! You should too!

Happy Squishing!

Nailed It!

It has been a super long time since I have written on here. I truly blame social media for all this.  Instead of keeping random moments of my life in my head and writing them down I'm too busy falling asleep with my phone in my hand waiting to pin the perfect recipe that will self clean my kitchen and keep my craft closet organized.  Instagram is another force in the social media world that is also ruling my life. It makes me feel the need to take selfies where I look an absolute terror and take pictures of all my food.  So now when I go back and look at my feed, I'm just hungry and scared all at the same time.

But let's get down to it.  Let's get down to the nitty gritty of what I'm really writing about tonight. The worst nail spa experience I've ever had in my life.

So, I wouldn't classify myself as a girly, girl.  I think mainly because I'm poor and a procrastinator.  And in the world of beauty, that is just a really bad combo.  I am notorious for wanting my hair highlighted.  I get it done and when they say "See you in three weeks", I'm convinced they are speaking in another language because my brain never gets the message.  I've convinced myself that my ability to turn beautiful highlights into roots, brought about the 'ombre' hairstyle.  Because that's really what it is right? Just overgrown roots? That's a style I'll never get.  I'll have to write about that one in another blog titled, "How I know that I'm Old".

So I've given up on the hair scene altogether.  My only hope for myself right now in looking halfway decent are my nails.  I don't get to go too often, so when I do go, it's a real treat.  Recently after being on call all week, I decided I deserved to spoil myself.  So after my shift was over I went to get my nails did.

I always see this salon on the way to work.  It's not an awful area.  It's right below a little high rise and next to a sandwich shop called the "Spicy Pickle".  That and the burglar bars on the front door should have made me walk away.  It was about 5pm on a Sunday so I knew I was probably pushing it.  But the sign said Walk Ins Welcome and the were opened til 7.  Awesome!

I'll never learn.

What came next has been burned into my memory and not in a good way. As I past the entry way my eyes began to squint and I prayed I hadn't left my sunglasses in the car. The wall color was lime green! Neon lime green! I was so distracted by it that they had to tell me three times to sit down.  As I walked in I saw the pedi spa chairs.  Each and every one of them had that little foot bath at the bottom that was a different color for each chair.  Some were pink, some were blue, some were green.  At this point I had to go to the restroom and wipe off my eyeballs because they had fallen out of my sockets from me gawking like a crazy person. It went on and on.  I couldn't even focus.  It was like a nail spa circus.  I think the only bad decor that was missing were those light up paintings of waterfalls that look like they're moving.

It's so hard to describe the decor in this joint.  But if Willy Wonka and Rainbow Brite ever got married, I'm 100% sure that this is where they would like to live. 

After I sat down and picked my colors the rave music started. 

What the hell? 
   
I'm not sure what kind of ambiance they were going for, but relaxing was definitely not it. It was sooo distracting.  What makes it worse is that I'm not one of those people that can ever fully relax at these places.  One because I'm damn nosey.  I like to see what colors other people have chosen.  I like to see if the nail lady is going to be able to shave that corn down on the chick next to me.  And I also like to hear people talk on their cell phone like they're the only person in the room.  Free entertainment.  Thank you!

Speaking of cell phone talking.  The whole time my little nail lady is calling everyone in her phone and having a full conversation with them while she's doing my nails.
  
This is weird.
  
What do I do? Where do I look? Do I smile? Do I ask to say Hi? She's cussing me out isn't she?  Shit. I think if she wasn't making my nails look like I could be the next Palmolive hand model,I would have complained.  Plus I was tired and my werewolf hands were due a mani. So I figured I could just tough it out.  

My nails were done and looked fab! The last part left was the hand arm massage.  My favorite. I can never relax any other time, but for some reason I can always relax during this part.  

I will never learn.

My arm massage began to take a trip south, or should I say north, when she went from massaging my forearm, to my elbow to my bicep, to my...Whoa Lady! Back it on out of my sleeve! I've already had my mammogram this year! She managed to get a little past my arm pit when I literally jumped out of my chair.  Oh my word.  I felt a little violated.  I honestly don't think she meant to.  At least that's what I kept telling myself.  Too bad for her I had forgotten to wear deodorant that morning.  That is definitely gonna linger.

I'm still contemplating if I will return back or not.  I think my retinas have fully recovered from the paint.  But I don't know if I'm ready for another pit massage.  Unless that's the new thing in relaxing massage? Is it? 

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.

And in Conclusion Class...

What a weird week this has been. My life has been all over the place lately. I've been at my new job for about five months now. A whole new world. I was being a cry baby about it in the beginning. Thinking I would never learn this new unit and afraid to get off of orientation, and feeling really homesick for the NICU. And then I thought about it. I felt the very same way when I was new to the NICU. Hmm...go figure.
I think a big part of my uncomfortableness came from me not wanting to show the real me, for fear I would immediately get the boot. I mean who wants to hang out with the girl that half of her conversations are about bathroom humor or the regrets she has about not growing up to make out with Lionel Richie. More than I thought actually.
In one day alone I managed to rap to Eazy-E, act out a jail phone conversation through the clear lead shields, and do my James Brown imitation to an unsuspecting tech (It's amazing the things you can do in Dansko's on wax floors).
Lesson learned E, just be yourself.
I am also exploring the opportunities that old age is bringing me. Kris and I were hanging out at Town Center in Sugarland and trying to come up with the next best thing to replace Planking. I know, I know, our work is never done.
We came up with...wait for it.........Jumping! It is spectacular! Jumping involves running and jumping to touch a high object, and of course, having your photograph taken. A feat no doubt mere child's play for, oh, let's say, a child. Aaaand not so much for a mid-thirties man and wife.
This was a hysterical failure. Kris was first to go and while he did manage to touch the high hanging store sign, we think we may need to buy him some longer shirts so that he doesn't continue to belly moon the public in future attempts. I was next. I tried to run and jump to touch an awning. I had a heart attack on the first attempt. The second time I swear that I could have been in a contest with Michael Jordan. Kris claims my feet never left the ground. Remind me to make his eye doctor appointment later.
We quickly learned that photos of us jumping showed us that parts of our anatomy were not quite as we envisioned. Especially in full motion. This lead us to the next great thing for us, Exercising.
My old age is also landing me new experiences like constant headaches. I really shouldn't make fun of this because it has already been freaking me out. I had already convinced myself that I had a tumor and would need to start auditioning actors for my made for TV movie. When in actuality I learned that I may have high blood pressure. My doctor really started to freak me out by saying things like 'glaucoma, diet, Geritol'. So now I'm on this journey to find out which came first, the chicken or the egg. Is the headache causing my high blood pressure or is the high blood pressure causing my headache. At any rate I did manage to go into a covert operation with Kris and get him to steal an Entertainment Weekly magazine for me. It was from last month, is that still stealing? I got caught up on Kelly Clarkson and realized I think she's a bitch. She said in an interview, she "...Can't stand people who do karaoke for real...Let the dream go!".
Kelly! The horror! I fully anticipate getting a full record deal the next time I actually have the balls to get up there. She just don't know...I'm like that song in that movie 'Breakin'. Ain't no stopping me baby.
And did you know that Jennifer Garner is going to be starring in an independent film about 'Butter Carving', how cool is that!
I'm thankful for the old magazines in the doctors office. It takes my mind off of my fear.
I'm hoping he says everything will be fine and we can continue with my full body transplant with Eva Mendez as originally scheduled.
Well until next week, Maalox wishes and Ben-Gay dreams.

Oldie But Goodie

Another from my old blog archives, for my co-worker friends who have missed them.

Love Hate

I love when I smell food in the morning as I'm walking into work.

I hate when I realize that it's probably a grease trap that I'm smelling.
I love wearing clothes fresh out of the dryer, all warm and springtime fresh.

I hate when I think I have a dryer sheet stuck in my pants, when only to pull it out in a public place and realize that it's really underwear.
I love Cheetos smushed into my bologna sandwich.

Hate Cheeto dust.

Addendum: Love to lick said Cheeto dust off of my fingers.
I love going out to eat.I

love eavesdropping on customers sitting near by.

I hate when they speak sign language.
I love pretending to be blind.

I love when Kris takes me to the movies and I pretend that I'm blind.

I hate that I have an obsession for the handicap.
I love that I actually wrote a blog.

Nothing to hate about that.

Bieber Break-Down

Oh man. I've got it. I've caught the sickness. The Bieber Fever. I hate even having to use that term, but there is just no other way to describe it. I don't know what they do with that marketing, but man...it is mesmerizing.

I blame it on my upbringing. I was raised in the age of New Kids On The Block, so it must be imprinted in my brain somewhere to stop and dance around while bands are doing synchronized dancing and snapping their fingers, while dancing in the rain. I think my house must have had some kind of asbestos problem and it leaked into my brain when I filled the walls with push pins to hold up my boy band posters. I even had friends who planned weddings based around them, and wore whole ensembles that were more like temples, when a New Kid had a birthday. Memories.

It's bad enough that there is a movie out, and I want to see it, but my daughter is not quite into that yet. She's four. Right now, she thinks that Mr. Schuster from Glee is her boyfriend. I have to say, she has some good taste. So alas, I have yet to see this movie. I'm not sure if it's okay for me to go and see it by myself, because I fear the theatre may think I'm a creeper. So I'll probably have to wait for it to be on video and buy the matching hoodie and purple moon shoes and dance around in the living room by myself. It will be a good time.

I was trying to get in the mood for this blog and play some Bieber music. But my Zune account is past due (I'm a poor sister), so I had to result to watching music videos of him on Yahoo Music. That was a really bad idea.

What I thought would be a blog that would take about thirty minutes, has turned into a full cardio work out. I had to stop writing and go to the emergency room because I thought I broke my hip trying to break dance during the 'Somebody to Love' video. They asked me what had happened, but I had forgot my hoodie, so it was hard to explain. But they had just waxed their floors, so my backspin was Awwweesooome!!!

It turned out it I was fine, it was just a Lego that had stabbed me. They didn't charge me for the visit, but they did let me keep the tips. That was nice of them.

I was also trying to research this coif of his. I learned this cut cost $700 to maintain. Are you crazy! I would rather look like a hobo than drop that kind of cash. I hate this cut. It never fails to remind me of Dorothy Hamill. Come on kids! I know that hair is all in your face! But I do especially like how they pretend it's not in their face and they do this weird head move to get it out of their face. It half looks like their about to hoola-hoop and half dizzy at the same time.

"What's that Lassie? Grandpa fell in the well?" Get a hair clip! I've seen this cut everywhere...but especially at Target for some reason. Most likely because that's the only place I go to. Sad life I have.

When I was looking at these images I realized how much he looks like the chick that was in that movie Matchstick Men. Have you seen this movie? Great movie. But the resemblance is uncanny.

They have to be related some kind of way. It freaks me out the more I look at it. If she would just sweep it in her eyes, or he would part it down the middle...instant twins!

Well apparently the Bieb does not have that many hits, because his video library is so short, which means this blog done! See ya at the movies!!

Annie Are You Okay.

I've always been an animal lover. Ever since I was I kid I have been. I can't remember a time growing up that we didn't have a pet. I wished we could have had cats, and chickens and goats. But we just had dogs, and one hamster, and the occasional fish that usually got it's fish bowl changed to a toilet bowl in a matter of about a week.

My dad was an animal lover too. He was usually the one that would persuade my mom to let us have the next little tail wagger that our hearts were desiring. But again, always dogs. My mother hated cats. She hated how they would walk closely around you and rub on your legs when you were sitting watching television. And since she hated that, I'm sure that's why the goats and chickens never followed. Although I have never seen a chicken rub on anyone, so I really should have pushed harder for that one.

Now there's one dog in particular that really left a paw print on my heart (If you need to vomit from all the cheesiness, now is a good time to go). It was a teeny Pekingese mix named "Scooter". They are actually called Peek-a-poos, because it's a mix of a Pekingese and a Toy Poodle. These are the cutest damn pups you have ever laid your eyes on!! So cute.






We got him maybe for Christmas. I can't remember, his adorableness makes me lose all memory of how we got him.

Anyways.

Things had been going quite well. Jumping, playing, running, pooping. All the fun dog things were in order. Including escaping. He escaped and was gone for a few days. We were sure he was a goner.

But he came back!! And whoa, was he a fright. Twigs and grass all in his hair. His little black book was overflowing with numbers all these little b...., well, you know. Oh yeah, and his eyeball was hanging out.

WHAT??!!

What the heck happened to your eye? Oh my God. I was probably in the second grade at this time, and couldn't even comprehend the idea that someone's eye could pop out. But it did. I think my mom thought it was just swollen, and said we should give it some time. I was pretty sure that sucker wasn't going back in. Poor Scooter.

So, he had to make a trip to the vet, had surgery, and came home our one eyed dog. It was traumatic for him in the beginning. Getting used to getting around with one eye and all.

They made him wear one of those crazy lampshade things, an Elizabethan- Collar to be exact. They really shouldn't call it that. They should call it a "Get-The-Hell-Out-of-My-Way-Collar-Because-I'm-Gonna-Ram This-Thing-Right-on-Your-Bare-Shin-When-You-Least-Expect-It-Collar". Man, those things can smart. It's like getting hit with a shopping cart.

But I guess I shouldn't really be complaining. I do have two eyes and all.

I haven't thought about that dog in quite some time. I was in the third or fourth grade when he passed away. It was really traumatic for me. It was the first pet death that I can actually remember.

I couldn't go outside with my dad when he buried him. I cried for days, and then went out to the back yard and made a cross on the ground made of left over bricks that were lying around. And then I did something that should have clued my parents into what a loony I would grow up to be.

I dedicated a song to this dog. Do you remember that Dionne Warwick song "That's What Friends Are For". I wrote out the lyrics to this song on a piece of red construction paper and put "For Scooter" at the top. At the end I wrote..."If you are reading this, please put your paw right here." I even put a circle on the bottom, so he would know where to place his paw.

Really Eliza, really? 'If you are reading this...', like my dog can read.

I had this posted on my wall by my bedroom door for months. I'm sure it took all that my mother had to not burst into laughter every time she had to go in there. I wish I had kept that paper.

The other day I was walking to the bank of mailboxes, where there are usually babysitting flyers and lost dog signs. I read them and ignore them, and vow to never pick a babysitter from a mailbox flyer. But on this day in particular the lost dog sign stopped me in my tracks.

Can you see that? "Only one eye". ONLY ONE EYE!! He's back!! Wait, he's a she now. I stood in front of that mailbox for a good three minutes. Just looking at it. Wondering if I should contact them, and tell them I know how they feel. Tell them that if they sing Dionne Warwick they will feel so much better. And it you put a brick cross on the grave, she will go to heaven faster.

I've even looked around for her hoping to find her and return her to her family and have a big party where we're all dressed as pirates...you know so the dog doesn't feel out of place. But I haven't seen her. I'm afraid the inevitable has probably happened because it's been a while since the sign has been up. I might have to tell them they can't use my song. I think a little Michael Jackson will be more fitting...Annie Are You Okay?

Dear Breakfast Taco Cheese

Dear Breakfast Taco Cheese,

I don't even know where to start, I don't know where we went wrong. But sometime, somewhere along the way our relationship got a bit out of hand. I'm so sorry to write this to you in a letter, but I just couldn't think of any other way to do it.

I'm trying to make a lot of changes in my life, and right now, you are holding me back. There are so many jeans I want to wear, and bikinis I dream of wearing. But when you are around, it just never seems to happen. Maybe you just don't want me to be happy.

So I think we need to take a break. It's not you, it's me. Well okay, really it's you. You just carry so much baggage with you. All these calories, it's all I ever think about. I know I shouldn't judge. You didn't ask for the calories, it just happens. And they hang around constantly. Oh, I'm so sorry. I know how much this must hurt you. Please, wait, please, don't start melting on me...you know what that does to me.

Maybe in another time, we can try our relationship again. You know, start slow. Maybe I'll see you in an omelet. But only a little bit. And I do have to confess. There is someone else right now. I have to be honest. I just couldn't get through it alone. So please try not to start any drama when you see Salsa hanging around. He's a good guy. He has calories too, but only 10. You have 110!!

I'm so sorry, there I go again. Judging you because of your calories.

Please understand,
Eliza

P.S. I love you, I've always loved you.

Key Lime's Great Revenge

Just realized that I'm the only one that has been eating the yummy Key Lime Pie in the fridge. Obviously I did not poll the whole family when I made such a pie selection.

However, last week I ordered some new size medium scrub pants for work, the larges I currently wear have been randomly falling down and I have been having to explain myself far too many times at the hospital. I thought these mediums were going to be a sure fire fit.

They weren't.

The pants laughed at me as I put them on. They actually laughed. It was hard to tell though because they were too tight, so it really sounded like someone being gagged with a bandanna like you see in the movies. But I know they were laughing.

Damn those pants.

I really don't understand. The ones I have now are too big, I ordered a smaller size. That should have solved my problem right? I did everything right.

Log onto website.
Select color.
Select size.
Select "You are too short to ride this ride" length.
Check the big booty button.

Dagnabbit!! That was it, I forgot to check the big booty button.

I'm not returning the pants, it's too damn complicated for me! I'm sure I've already lost the return slip anyways. And they make you pay for shipping it back!

I decided the only solution was to say a sad goodbye to Mr. KeyLime and put him in the trash. It was so sad. I had to console him the whole time. We shared a big hug, and a small smooch (Okay, okay, I ate a slice! Sue me!).

He's gone now. I've yet to try the pants on again. I'm waiting for them to stop laughing.

Stuck In The Middle With You

** If you are from Kelley's Breakroom, this will be a re-run for you. Sorry no commercials, so you better go to the bathroom now. And thanks for reading it again. Posting for some friends who may have missed.

Okay so the mother of all my fears came to life today at work. Had to go into work early for a meeting, and we were relocating to another part of the building to continue the meeting. We stepped into the elevators that I hate, because they are older than the ones in the new wing. They go sooo slow, you can hardly tell if you are moving or not. I always make fun of them and say they are powered by fat hamsters. So, yup you guessed it. We got stuck.

This is absolutely awful for me, because beside the fact that I have a history of fainting, I am clostrophobic. So this is a lose-lose situation for me.

My fear is so great that I even have a plan should I ever get stuck in an elevator.

If I am by myself, I will push every damn button in there hoping something might happen. And if that fails then I will push that "Call Button" thing, and make the person on the other end stay on the line with me, like a 911 call, and have him or her pen out my will, should I plummet to my unforseen death. I am always sure to have some sort of candy or gum in my purse...I have to have something to eat. I'm pretty sure I should start permanently carrying ham or maybe jerky around with me.

If I am with another person, I will calmly pull out my elevator survial contract, hand it to the other person and be sure they read and sign it. I can't have someone stealing all my jerky or trying to pee in my designated pee corner, should we get trapped for a prolonged amount of time. They also need to know that the call button is mine, and I carry gel pen with me at all times as well, and those things are SHARP!!! I will cut you!

Panic instantly set in when I realized we were not moving. The lights stayed on...Thank God...but we were surely not moving, and I had just drank an ass load of coffee. Sadly, my plan did not include being in there with co-workers, nor did it include being in there with more than one person. There were five of us. Five of us and only four corners!! I am not sharing a pee corner! I instantly pushed the call button, I think I might have pulled someone's hair to get to it, I'm not sure. It's really all a blur. It rang and then I felt myself getting all cold and clammy.

Crap.

I'm going down.

My initial instinct was to strip. I figured my nudity would distract my other prisoners from the fact that I was fainting. Just kidding. I only took off my extra sweater and jacket. Thank goodness I had shaved my armpits the night before or I would have been really hot.

Sweet Jesus.

How long have we been in here.

Where is my gel pen?

I started to feel like a Chilean miner. When were they going to start sending in provisions. That is why people die. They wait too long to send them supplies. I'm pretty sure we had already been in there a good two minutes. Someone else had gum, and I gladly took it. I am not letting my supply go to waste.

Someone said they had to pee, which instantly made me have to poop. I'm going to die.

People started to change the subject. I think I talked about Zumba, and how much I hate it, and then I had a conversation in my head with myself about whether or not I would be willing to eat my leather jacket, should it come down to it.

We're still in here...it's been about 5 minutes now, and I'm positive my family doesn't remember what I look like. We could hear people on the other side, but I'm sure they were just laughing at us.

At about 8-10 minutes we were free. I instantly hugged the maintenance man who let us out. I smiled when I did it, because I was sure that CNN was going to be covering this.

They weren't.

So now I'm sure he thinks I like him. I wonder if he would clean my house?

Any ways, I'm free now. I survived. I vow to not make in fun of the hamsters anymore. But really I should vow to take the stairs. Thanks for listening.

I need to go work on my new elevator plan.

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.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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!