Charade

This weekend Frink lost his voice.  Communication with him was reduced to pointing and motioning for this or that. 

During a trip to Target, I had to introduce him to the notes feature on his phone.  When he wanted to say something, we had to wait patiently while he typed it out.  Bunny can read so he was able to communicate with her but I had to translate for Lion.  "Daddy said we are not buying any toys."  "Daddy said to watch where you are walking."  "Daddy said ..." well you get the picture.

As we were wandering the aisles, he held up two bags of M&Ms with a questioning look on his face. "Should we buy these?"  Dude, do you not know me?  Of course we should buy those.  Carry on.

After a successful trip, I opened the bag of white chocolate peppermint M&Ms so everyone could have a snack.  (Quick aside: Run, do not walk, to your nearest store and buy some.  They are amazing.)  Frink looked very excited when he tasted the candy.  He made some gestures, one of  which looked like pouring M&Ms into a bowl.  The other was more difficult.  He slid his hand into the imaginary bowl with a scooping motion.

I had no idea.  He repeated the gestures. Again, nothing.  Another round of gestures.  "You want to eat the M&Ms with a shovel?"

My response was met with a stare that said, "no, you idiot." 

One last time he poured the imaginary M&Ms into a bowl, scooped with his hand and flipped.  Oh. Ohhhh!  "You want to make pancakes with these?  That would be awesome."

Vigorous nodding.  Success!  This was followed by 5 minutes of laughing at anyone wanting to eat M&Ms with a shovel.  That is just crazy, handfuls shoved into your mouth are much faster.

Clearing Out

I'm surprised at how easy it was. 

It seemed so big, so overwhelming.  Everytime I looked at it I would freeze up.  I.  Cannot.  Do. This.  So I would just close the door and move on.  The door kept it hidden from view but I knew it was there.

A friend came over.  She said she needed to get her mind off of her own stuff. She wanted to help out in whatever way she could.  Use me she said, I'm here for you.

I was embarassed to open the door to show her the chaos within.  But she didn't flinch.  We can do this.  It's not that bad.

So we did it.  We worked through the mess.  Toss or keep?  Toss, toss, toss, toss.  Keep.  Slowly but surely until the floor was clear.  The piles on the tables had shrunk to manageble size.

I cleared out the wreckage, the external clutter that had been keeping me down.  Now I no longer have to navigate a path to the computer.  It's no longer a room of doom but an office.  I can enjoy being in here.

I did it.  We did it.

Furniture Shopping Can Lead to An Existential Crisis

This past weekend, we spent an afternoon shopping for a couch. Our current couch was purchased 14 years ago to furnish our first apartment. It was part of a set that we bought for under $1,000. It was not high style nor was it high quality. We needed a place to sit and the couch filled that need.

I have hated that couch for the past 13 1/2 years. It's not my style. It doesn't really match the rest of the room. It's kind of ugly. But it was comfortable so it stayed.

I am embarrased to admit to the present state of the couch. But after 14 years, two kids and two cats, I am sure you can guess that it is not good. Finally, I got sick of looking at the tears and sitting on broken springs. It was time to buy a new couch.

We went shopping. We sat and layed on a bunch of couches. We saw some we liked and some we did not. But nothing really jumped out at us and said "this is it". I pondered do we do a red couch with neutral walls or a neutral couch with color on the walls. I asked Facebook the same question. I had no effen idea what to do. Comfy couch? Nice looking couch? Color? Neutral? It was all too much.

Then I turned to my husband and asked a profound question "What do we want from this couch?" It was followed by an even more profound question "Is this couch for right now or for the next 15 years?" Deep, heavy stuff. Profound and profoundly stupid.

I think the root of my problem is a question of "What do I want from my house?" I do not know if I want to keep the living room as a family room. I think I would rather re-finish the basement (that has been partially finished for the past 4 years) and have that be the family room.

Family room downstairs = nice fancy couch upstairs
Family room upstairs = nice comfy couch upstairs

What do I want? How do I decide? And given my track record of finishing the basement, are we going to be stuck with busted couch for the next 10 years?

Grown Up

I am a grown up. I know that. The age I will be next week confirms it. But I don't feel like it. I feel like a kid, a stupid kid some days.

But I act like a grown up most of the time. I am responsible. I take care of small people. I feed them and clothe them. I clean up after them. I get things done.

It's rare that my actions mirror the way I feel about myself. I don't
let go. I'm not silly and stupid. I'm not always fun. Well I am with the kids but not with myself.

It's sad really because I miss silly and stupid. I miss fun. I miss being a kid.

This past weekend I had the chance to be silly and stupid and fun. I spent the weekend with some girlfriends from law school. There were no small people in sight (or at least none that we had to take care of). It was just us reliving the glory days of no responsibilities.

I acted like a kid all weekend long. I laughed. I sang. I danced. I told dirty jokes. I played. I remembered that carefree joy I once possessed.

I want to be that girl, that kid, all the time. I don't want the weight of responsibilities, of what I should do, to wear me down. I don't want to be cranky because "do I really have to repeat myself again? Just listen to me the first or second time and we won't have this problem. No! Put that down. Don't touch that. Don't hit your brother. Don't bite your sister. Just stop it right now!"

There has to be a way to do both, to be fun and happy and to be responsible. Doesn't there?

The Real Me

I recently got my hair cut (off). My stylist mentioned I looked like the real me with my cut. In a way she was right. I looked lighter. There was a sparkle in my eye. I felt happier. All of this was brought on by the tremendous ego boosting bounce a good haircut and color can bring.

But it got me thinking, what is the real me?

The real me is tired.
The real me is cranky.
The real me is lazy.
The real me is selfish and self-centered.
The real me is afraid.

The real me is more than those defects of character.
The real me is hopeful.
The real me is humble.
The real me is trying hard to be better.
The real me looks for beauty.
The real me seeks joy.
The real me is a friend.
The real me shares her heart.
The real me loves herself.
The real me allows herself to be loved.
The real me loves others.
The real me seeks knowledge.

The real me is all of this and more. There are days I get glimpses of her. I wish she would come out more. I wish I could get to know her. I wish I could show her off to the world.

The real me is a work in progress.

And the real me has great hair.

The Tour D'Air Conditioners 2011

I live in a house with no central air. The majority of the time, this is not an issue. A few well placed window air conditioners and I can survive the summer (by well placed I mean in my room. I cannot sleep in a hot room).

This year, the window units have not been enough. Like most of the midsection of the country, Milwaukee is experiencing a nasty heatwave. Temperatures in the 90s and heat indexes in the 100s. Add in our usual humidity and you have an uncomfortable situation all the way around.

Our usual trusty window AC is working overtime and only manages to cool our room to 82 at any given time. And in case you were wondering 82 is not cool. The situation downstairs is not much better. The living room and dining room have french windows which are incompatible with window units. The strategically placed fans do nothing but circulate the already hot air.

The only solution I can come up with to keep the family cool is to leave the house. Tuesday we went to the in-laws house conveniently equipped with central air. The Lion cub napped there while my sister-in-law and I took Bunny and the cousins to the pool.

Yesterday there was a tour of local establishments with air conditioning: the bank, the library, the mall and the grocery store. Normally I loathe grocery shopping with children but it was my favorite stop yesterday. Why the change? Freezer cases! I think we found an excuse to open every one to look for waffles, pizza, ice cream and popsicles.

Today the kids are visiting their grandma. I have taken my laptop and retreated to the safety (and air conditioning) of the local coffee shop. I haven't ruled out a trip to the movies either.

Tomorrow will bring some relief with a forecasted high of 82 (yay!). We may even be able to turn off a fan or two.

Insecurities

We all have insecurities. Sometimes we can handle them and sometimes we let them control us. I have been dealing with them all of my life.

I'm not good enough.

I'm different, odd, strange.

I have let the fear behind those feelings control what I have done my whole life. There are times when my children do things and it brings those old insecurities back to the forefront.

Monday was the start of summer school. I had signed Bunny up for an art class. I thought she would love it. But I have to admit I was very ambivalent about the whole thing. It was at 10:30 five days a week. That pretty much shot any morning activity for four weeks. No trips to the zoo, no mornings at the pool.

Bunny seemed excited about the class. We drove to the school where it was being held (different than her regular school). I had to go to the office to find out where the room was because they didn't have a listing. While there we ran into one of Bunny's friends. She was excited thinking that A would be in her class but of course she was taking a different class.

When we lined up outside of the room, she started to get apprehensive when she saw all the new kids. Then she saw the teacher and she just lost it. She clung to my leg and started sobbing. She had never done that in K4. I thought it might just be the newness of it all so we went in to class.

I stood with her for a while. I tried to introduce her to some new girls hoping that would help. But I couldn't stay. Lion was about to tear the room apart. I told the teacher we would wait down the hall to see if things got better.

They did not. I could hear her making sounds like a wounded animal, deep painful cries. It seemed as though she was incapable of stopping. I waited 10 minutes and approached the classroom. The teacher saw me and held up a hand. Bunny was approaching the rug for the story. Maybe just maybe she would calm. She did not. It got worse.

The teacher brought her out to me and we left. Bunny could not calm down enough to tell me what was wrong. It took the drive home for her to stop crying enough to form coherent words. When we sat down to talk about it, I could tell she did not want to tell me what was wrong. She was afraid of something.

I assured her that whatever it was, I would not be mad. She finally told me her fear. I was surprised and explain it away. But she persisted. She pointed out concrete examples from her past where she had felt this fear. It explained a lot of strange behavior I had witnessed.

I didn't know what to do. I really didn't care if she went to the class or not but I was concerned about her fear. I didn't want her to not try something because she was afraid. I didn't want her to quit.

I sat and stewed about it for the rest of the day. I remember feeling that fear. I remember how I missed out on so many things because I was afraid to try. I remember how I had not taken chances, not expanded my horizons because I didn't want to leave my comfort zone.

I remember how I did something brave ONCE. I remember how I held on to that one thing. I could rationalize not being brave other times because when I was 22 I did something.

So I worried about Bunny. She had to face her fear. She had to do this because I didn't want her to be 41 years old still holding on to a memory from 19 years ago.

Then I realized that I was projecting all of my insecurities on to her. She is not me. She is her own person. She is only 5. She doesn't need to conquer the world now. She needs to play and have fun. And I need to relax a little bit.

She is not me and I am not her.

Sideline Reporter

I love capturing moments in my kids' lives. I always have my camera or my phone with me, ready to snap away.

Trips to the park often result in photos like these, capturing the joy of the moment.







I cherish these photos I really do. But often I wonder if my kids will look back and wonder, "Momma where were you? Why aren't you in any of the pictures?" And I wonder if my explanation that I was behind the camera will suffice. Why wasn't I in the picture? Why wasn't I in the middle of all the fun?

So last weekend I decided to place myself squarely in the middle. I ran. I played. I slid down the slides. And I have the pictures to prove it.






Or maybe I should just let Frink take the camera every now and then.

Alone

I was alone twice yesterday.

First I was alone for two hours in the afternoon after my mother had picked up the kids. It was glorious. For two hours I could do whatever I wanted. I did not have to do anything for anyone. Sure I could have done the dishes or the laundry but that would have defeated the purpose of being alone.

Instead I reveled in my aloneness (if that is even a word). I surfed the internet. I watched TV. I took a shower. A shower! It seems so trivial but it meant everything to me. I got to take a shower during the day not late at night before I tumble blearily into bed. I got to take a shower during the day when no one was breaking down the door, pulling open the curtain to ask for juice or to chuck random bath toys at me.

I barely remember when I was able to do that before. Before, that long ago time before children that I am not completely sure actually existed. But my alone time was short lived. I had to collect the children and resume my normal life.

The second time I was alone was after the kids went to bed. Frink was away for business and I was alone in the house. You would think I would love that type of aloneness too. I do and I don't. In 41 years, I only spent 9 months living alone. I don't do that type of alone well.

I always stay up late when he is gone hoping that I will be so tired I can drift off to sleep immediately. If I cannot then I begin to notice his absence. I double and triple check the door locks. I leave the closet light on with the door cracked. I pile pillows on his side of the bed in an attempt to feel not so alone.

When Frink is there in the bed beside me, I notice the snoring and the battle over the covers. I think how nice it would be to have the bed to myself. But when he is gone, the bed seems to big. I can't rollover to his side and slide my hand under the sleeve of his t-shirt to cup his shoulder. It's a little thing that calms me and allows me to sleep more soundly.

When he is gone, the dark seems darker. The noises seem louder and more ominous. I wonder if I should wander into Bunny's room to grab her large stuffed dog. I love to lay on it when we play in her room, maybe it would make me feel better. Or maybe I could bring one or both of the kids in bed with me. The warmth of their bodies, their weight next to me, the sound of their breathing would certainly calm me.

But I don't. I lay there alone, listening. My eyes strain to see in the dark. Was that a cat? Or was that the mouse? My brain turns on. It ramps up and the hamster wheel starts to spin. Alone with my thoughts in the dark is not where I want to be.

Suddenly I hear something. "Momma. Momma! Momma!!!" My heart leaps with joy. I run downstairs and scoop the little lion cub into my arms. I carry him to my bed and I soothe him back to sleep. Once I hear his even breathing again, my body relaxes and I am able to fall asleep, alone no longer.

Ready or Not

I live in Wisconsin. I've lived here for my entire life (save a few months here and there spent in Illinois and Europe). I have braved 40 winters and am ready to tackle my 41st.

I complain endlessly about winter: It's too cold. There's too much snow. There's not enough snow. Boo hoo boo hoo etc.

But in reality it's a fact of life you need to deal with. It happens every year whether you are ready or not.

This year I'm not quite ready. It's a miracle that we made it through November without any snow and it was a blessing for me because I wasn't ready AT ALL.

Did my kids have mittens and hats? Um I think so. I'm pretty sure I saw some around here. But maybe that was last year, I don't know.

Did my kids have snow pants. Lion did, I'm sure of that because a friend gave us a pair. Bunny had some hanging in her closet. Except they were 3T and she's almost 5.

Did my kids have boots. In a word, no.

Its supposed to snow today. According to the forecasters we can get anywhere from 2 to 8 inches. Do you know when I bought all of the above mentioned winter stuff for my kids? YESTERDAY.

But I was ready for the snow a head of time. Not like last year when I bought Bunny's boots during the first snowfall and I had to make her wear her rain boots to the store.

No this year I was prepared before the snow fell and it felt good. Until this morning when I went to the car to take Bunny to school and noticed frost on my windows. Holy carp! Frost in winter! Who knew?1? I didn't have a scrapie thingie in my car. And I didn't have time to let the defrost kick in. I had to get her to school, so I had to think fast. And I'm pretty sure I came up with the perfect solution in a pinch: a plastic toy sand shovel!

Like I said I'm totally ready for winter.

The Uncontrol

I am a control freak.

I want things to go my way.

I need things to go my way.

When things do not go my way as they usually don't, I kinda freak out about it.

Ok, I really freak out about it.

I try to control the uncontrollable and generally make myself miserable in the process.

Nap time is at 12 noon. Snuggle time starts soon thereafter. I love this time. I need this time.

Nap time isn't going to happen today. Despite waking up at 5:30, Lion has decided the 15 minutes he slept in the car is enough. I tried to force the issue. I tried to control the uncontrollable.

It didn't work.

I started to lose it. I wanted to cry. So I did the next best thing, I stepped back. I left the room. I let the kids play together. I cried for a few minutes then I just let it go. I breathed in and out. I was okay.

It was okay.

Balance, What Balance?

In this post I ask for your help. I am truly, desperately in need of some advice.

I have two children. You can see their smiling faces in my header picture. I love my children, I truly do. But did you know that my children possess an evil super power? It's true.

My children possess the power to manipulate time. They can take a normal day with 24 hours in it and make all of those 24 hours all about them. Now they may leave me a spare 5 minutes here or there to go to the bathroom, but more often than not they don't.

I have told my husband of their evil time manipulation but he does not believe me. "Honey, there are still 24 hours in the day. No one can change it" he tells me.

"No you don't understand," I argue. "We woke up and I was going to do some laundry. We some how ended up in the car and there was some screaming and hitting. Every time I turned around there was a child at my hip looking at me with a evil smile and laughing. Before I know it it's 11:30 at night and I haven't showered in 2 days. They are doing something to me I just know it. They are stealing time."

Even when I can grab a few spare minutes for myself to write this post, I can hear my son laughing an evil laugh and throwing things in the sink. I think he may have even thrown the cat in the sink.

So here is my desperate plea, I need some advice on how to steal the time back from my children. I have looked in all the places where they normally hide things and it is not there.

How do you get things done? How do you find time for yourself? How do you find time to shower?

And if its hopeless, please lie to me. Please I beg of you.

I'm An Ostrich

Yesterday I had one of those moments of perfect clarity, a moment when you can see yourself for what you truly are. In that moment, I realized that I am an ostrich. A freakin' ostrich.



Last night I was listening to an Arbonne conference call. It was designed to help people build on the momentum of the new product launch at the national training conference and kick their businesses into high gear. I was excited. The new anti-aging and color lines were amazing. I want to share them. I want to be successful at this business.

So I wrote out a list of goals. Some were simple, achievable goals that I knew I could do. Others were dramatic, ambitious goals that I wasn't sure about but in the excitement of that call, I believed that I could do it. I was going to do it. I was going to move beyond my comfort zone. I was going to achieve my goals.

Notice I wrote I WAS going to do this, not I AM going to do this. Immediately after I set my pen down, I knew I wasn't going to do these things. I couldn't do them. Normally that would be it, another unfinished list. Last night was different. I started thinking about why I do this, why I am who I am.

I am stuck in a cycle of procrastination. I should do something now but I am going to put it off until later. (Like right now, I should be cleaning and getting ready for the Seder we are hosting tomorrow, instead of writing a blog post and listening to Kings Go Forth) Its the way I am. Its the way I've always been. I know this. Normally the procrastination isn't too bad. I get the things done that need to get done, eventually.

Then there are the things I should do but I don't do at all. Its not that I don't want to do them, I'm just scared or nervous. So I stick my head in the sand and pretend they don't exist. If I don't see them, if I ignore them, then they are not a problem. Until they are a problem, until that cheetah bites me on the ass and takes me down.

I can't tell you how many wonderful opportunities I have let pass me by standing with my head in the sand. I could have done something. I could have taken action. Instead, I did nothing.

Stupid ostrich.

They say realizing the problem is half the battle. Once you know the problem, you can change your behaviors. Instead of being an ostrich, I could be the cheetah. I could be a bear, or a giraffe or an elephant.

Or I could be the kind of ostrich my daughter loves. The kind of ostrich she draws constantly. The ostrich that climbs mountains. The ostrich that has a boat, that rides on sea monsters. The ostrich that jumps high into the sky, so high she can touch the stars.

I can be that kind of ostrich. I can be brave and I can be awesome.

Doing the Hustle

I stand on an ordinary street corner. One of the streets leads to my home. One leads to the airport and on to Ethiopia.

I notice you approaching me on the corner. I open one side of my coat, heavy with necklaces and earrings. I say to you, "Hey you wanna buy some jewelry? I've got pretty, shiny jewelry. Its on sale."

I sense you shaking your head no. So I open the other side of my coat. Its filled with bottles of lotions, potions and lipstick. "Do you want to buy some skin care? Make up? Come on you know you want to."

I walk the walk. I talk the talk. But inside I feel like I should hand you an arrow, a razor blade, a knife. I would open my coat and wait for you to cut my flesh with no's. I'm not a born salesperson. I don't want people to think poorly of me. Every no is a rejection. Its an indictment of me and who I am.

Instead, I fasten my belt on my coat. I run to my car with my head down. I speed away down the street leading to my house. I run into my house. I lock the door and turn off all the lights. If I lock myself in, you can't see me. You can't hurt me, you can't reject me. But then again, if I shut that door, I'll never know if I could have succeeded.

When I decided to stay home, I planned on making and selling jewelry. I had a vision in my head that I would contribute to my family's lively hood by doing two things I loved, making jewelry and being with my daughter. It hasn't worked out quite the way I've planned. So I embarked on a new venture, selling skin care, make up and wellness products with Arbonne. I love the products and I saw great things in the business. But then the doubts started sinking in. Can I do this? Am I good enough? I stalled. I failed before I even got off the ground just like I had done before.

But for once in my life, I'm taking the chance because its not about me. I am doing this for my family, for my Lion. I am going to contribute to my family. I am going to help bring Lion home. I am going to get off my ass and actually do something for a change. Maybe I'll succeed. Maybe I'll fail. But I am going to try.

So here I am on the street corner, announcing to you, to the internets, to the world, that I sell stuff. I sell really cool stuff. I sell pretty, shiny things. I sell lotions, potions and lipsticks that are truly wonderful. I am doing this for myself. I am doing this for Bunny. I am doing this for Lion. I am doing this for my family, to contribute to a savings account that will be wiped out by this adoption.

Don't worry, I won't hit you over the head with this. I'm going to add some nice buttons to my sidebar. If you are interested, you can contact me or e-mail me and we'll talk. If not that's okay. It won't hurt me.

Stuck

I've had this song stuck in my head for days.

I am sure you can all sympathize. It happens to everyone. And its always an annoying or slightly annoying song. If it were a cool song you wouldn't mind one bit, you'd just sing along. A cool song would be like having your own personal soundtrack.

An annoying song is different. You don't want it in your head. Its there and its threatening to stay. Forever. And it just might drive you crazy in the mean time.

Now the annoying song can be anything. It could be a catchy pop song from an artist you hate or from an artist you are not willing to admit to liking to anyone (not even your diary). It could be a jingle for a local bank, restaurant or the like. It could be a theme song for a television show you hate or are not willing to admit to liking to anyone (not even your diary).

In my case, it is a song from a children's cartoon. These songs are the worst to have stuck in your head. They are designed to be catchy. They are designed to be easy to remember. They are designed to be annoying because they are aimed at toddlers and pre-schoolers.

You can't fight that. The writers of these songs have research on how to make them memorable to children (and adults). Think about it, I'm sure you can remember the words to songs from shows you watched as a child that aren't even on the air anymore. These songs stick like glue.

The worst offender, in my book is Word World. Now I love Word World. Its helping Bunny learn her letters, the sounds they make and it is helping her to learn to read. So its a great show. A great show with annoying music, starting with the theme song and moving on to so many other annoying songs.

We've all heard the advice, to get a song out of your head you just sing it out loud. In theory this releases the song to the universe (or to the person sitting next to you) and frees your head. I follow this advice diligently. You can often find me breaking out in:

"You can never have too many OOs. Doodlely oo, doodlely oo, doodlely oo."

It should work. It should free my mind from this song. It should but it doesn't because Bunny thinks its hilarious that I am singing this song.

"Sing it again momma! Sing it again."
No, I will not sing that infernal song again.
"Please, momma."
Oh all right. "You can never have too many OOs. Doodlely oo, doodlely oo, doodlely oo."

And now its stuck again. It also doesn't help that Bunny requests to watch this episode over and over again, thereby insuring permanent residence in my brain.

Thanks, sweetie.

Illogical

Last night as I was brushing my teeth, I looked in the mirror and did an inspection of what I saw.

I noticed the winter paleness was already setting in, perhaps a result of having 3 sunny days in the entire month of October. I made a mental note to use a little blush so I could look human again. I noticed a pimple on my chin and sighed. 40 years old and I'm still getting pimples.

I moved on to my hair. As I said before, I'm a bit vain about my hair. I like it to look good. For a while now, I've been getting red highlights in my hair. I love them. They make me feel like a rebellious teenager at 40. But they don't last. I had them done 3 weeks ago and as I looked in the mirror I saw a blondish, pinkish, orangey mess. Not good. So I don't think I'll be getting them the next time I go in.

Then I looked at my roots. My hair has been colored various shades over the past 20 years and I don't know my real color anymore. I didn't get my roots done last time I went in, so its been over two months and you couldn't tell. So apparently I'm paying money to dye my hair its natural color (well with a little more red but its basically the same).

My inspection was almost over and I was ready to go to bed when I saw it. At first I wasn't sure what I saw. I thought it might be, but no it couldn't really be. Could it? No it definitely was. A grey hair. My first grey hair.

I felt a strange sensation. It wasn't sadness. It wasn't regret at getting older. I am older, its a fact.

It was something much weirder. I was excited. I felt this strange thrill at having my first grey hair.

Why? Well I still feel like this stupid little kid most of the time. I feel like I have no idea what is going on. And maybe, just maybe grey hair will impart some sort of wisdom on me.

Illogical I know. Give me a week and I'm sure I'll hate it.

Tonight I Wore Red Lipstick

Tonight I wore red lipstick.

Tonight I was a different, more mysterious version of myself.

I always wanted to be the kind of girl who wore red lipstick, the girl who stood out in the crowd. Instead I was the girl who stood in the back wearing lip balm. If I was feeling particularly daring, I would wear a tinted lip balm or lip gloss. For business purposes I would wear my tried and true MAC Twig, a shade described as a soft, muted brownish-pink. It really fit me to a T, I am soft, muted and brownish-pink.

Sometimes I would experiment. I would try bolder, more adventurous colors. Trying to make myself more bold, more adventurous. Sometimes I succeeded. Sometimes I failed. In fact, I have a drawer full of my failures.

Red scared me. Red was too vivacious, too daring. Red was too red.

But one day, I crossed that imaginary line in the sand. I bought a red lipstick. I don't know if it was the right shade for me but I bought it. Carrying it home in my bag, it felt like I was carrying an ancient treasure. I was carrying something that would connect me with famous femme fatales throughout history.

I got home. I ran in the bathroom. I closed the door. I tried on the lipstick. And I hated it. I thought it looked good but I didn't look like me. I looked like someone else, someone who was trying too hard. So I hid it away in the medicine cabinet. Occasionally, I would try it on before I went out. But I would always chicken out, I would cover it with a gloss or another color. I would change it.

But not tonight. Tonight I wore red lipstick.

I was different.

I was the same.

I wore the same shirt and jeans I had run errands in earlier in the day. I traded out my converse for some high heeled boots (because a 5'10" woman can always stand to have an extra 2 inches). I wore perfume. I wore red lipstick.

I was me and I was confident.

For those of you who made it to the end, here are the football picks:

Minnesota @ Pittsburgh

San Francisco @ Houston

San Diego @ Kansas City

Green Bay @ Cleveland

Indianapolis @ St. Louis

New England @ Tampa Bay

Buffalo @ Carolina

NY Jets @ Oakland

Atlanta @ Dallas

Chicago @ Cincinnati

New Orleans @ Miami

Arizona @ NY Giants

Monday Night

Philadelphia @ Washington

Combined Score 35

Sharing is Caring

Now that Bunny is in school she is learning to share. Aside from her weekly play date and time spent with her cousins, she has never really had to share anything. The joys of being an only child. School is changing this. She has to share toys and books with the other kids in class. She also has to share her teachers' attention. And so far so good.

Wednesday was Bunny's turn with the sharing bag, her school's version of show and tell. When its their turn, each child gets the bag so they can bring a special object to school and share with the class. Now Bunny has already brought all of her special "guys" to school for comfort objects, so we had to come up with something the kids hadn't seen. Finally we decided on her new "favorite" toy, a rubber, stretchy green iguana named Liz.

The bag was supposed to have instructions for the parents on it. But Bunny's bag did not. So I didn't really know what we were supposed to do. I vaguely remember we were supposed to write out clues the kids could give their friends to guess what was in the bag, but how many? One? Two? Three? No idea. So I did the only thing I could, I asked Bunny.

"Bunny, how many clues do the kids give?"

"Two."

"Okay, what clues should we give?"

"No, three. One. I don't want to give clues."

"But that's how the sharing bag goes."

"Two."

"So we give two clues?"

"I don't want to share."

"But its your turn to share."

"Okay. Two. No, three. No, two."

"Okay we are doing two. What should they be?"

"Um, she has spines on her back."

"How about lets start off with its green."

"Okay. Then I'm gonna draw some spines on the paper."

"Sure. Let's go with that.

"Can I draw Liz?"

"Doesn't that defeat the purpose of the guessing game?"

"So I can't draw Liz?"

"No."

"I don't want to share."

"But it will be fun."

"Fine."

Sharing crisis averted. (Apparently it went fine and she actually shared.) Its good to share.

Bunny has also been kind enough to share things from school with Mommy. Specifically, her cold. In Bunny, it was a mildly irritating cold that turned her into a mini-Darth Vader. But when she gave it to me, it morphed into a nasty, yucky thing that actually gave me vertigo. The everything is spinning, your brain is going crazy kind of vertigo, not the Alfred Hitchcock movie Vertigo. The movie version would have been much preferred, I like Jimmy Stewart. I did not like the head spinny version.

Maybe its not good to share everything.

Life As We Used To Know It

Bunny had a sleep over at Ama and Baca's last night. Its a common enough occurrence and we all enjoy it. Bunny, Ama and Baca love it because they get to spend time together. Frink and I love it because we get to spend time together, alone.

We get to talk uninterrupted. We can go to non-kid friendly restaurants and stuff ourselves with margaritas, chips and salsa. Or we can cook a dinner together that does not involve food in nugget, stick or dog form. We can watch movies that do not have any talking animals or animated characters. In other words we get to be adults.

We also love it because we get to experience a peaceful night sleep. The kind of sleep where you don't have one ear open waiting to hear your child's cries. Deep, restorative sleep. Sleep that is only interrupted by a cat who decides the most comfortable place in all the world is on your feet. A nine pound cat, who in that magical sleeping cat form now weighs 1,000 pounds. And you have to struggle out from under this magically heavy sleeping cat to find a more comfortable position.

But that interruption is minor and your sleep is blissful. When you wake, you have no idea how long you've slept but you know that you are rested. Its only by the faint light behind your curtains, that you realize it is morning. You fumble for your glasses to read the clock and see the numbers six, four, zero.

You smile and wait for the sounds you know are coming, the fumbling of a door knob and the running of little feet. You wait for 33 pounds to launch itself onto your bed. You wait for a little girl, still warm from sleep, to dive underneath the covers. You wait for knees to find your stomach, for feet to kick your thighs, for little hands to reach out for yours. You wait for your morning ritual to begin.

Maybe with your hands clasped together, you will drift back to sleep. Or on weekend mornings, like today, the three of you will lie there giggling and whispering of upcoming adventures. On weekday mornings, she will try to hide under the covers when daddy returns from the shower. I say try to hide because one cannot successfully hide when one is giggling and "whispering" in an outside voice. But daddy plays along, pretending she's not there in that wiggling, giggling lump under the covers, all so she can jump up and yell Boo! And then, at 7 a.m., you can go downstairs and begin the day.

The noises you are waiting to hear don't come. The house is quiet. You realize that she is not here. The enjoyable evening you shared with husband and the restful night sleep you had don't seem as wonderful. There is something missing.

The morning that should hold so much promise because it is yours alone seems rather empty. You could get up and head out the door to run, the pounding of your feet on the earth, the cool crisp air in your lungs would surely energize you. You could make a pot of coffee and putter around the house, open the computer and read the blogs you have been neglecting for so long. Or you could hold on to the sleep that is slowly leaving your body, pull it back to you and drift back into its warm embrace.

You could do any of those things, but your heart's not really in it. The light that makes your day brighter, isn't here. So you just lie there and wait for it to return.

Suddenly, you hear a cry and feel a weight jump onto the bed. Is it her? Your heart starts warm with the possibility that maybe it was just a dream. That maybe she is really here.

No, she is not here. Its just one of your fur babies. The cat has seen you move and is now demanding to be fed. So you give up, get out of bed way too early and begin your day.

And you figure as long as you are up, you should make your stupid football picks (winners in bold and red):

Houston @ Cincinnati

Detroit @ Green Bay

St. Louis @ Jacksonville

Baltimore @ Minnesota

NY Giants @ New Orleans

Cleveland @ Pittsburgh

Carolina @ Tampa Bay

Kansas City @ Washington

Philadelphia @ Oakland

Arizona @ Seattle

Tennessee @ New England

Buffalo @ NY Jets

Chicago @ Atlanta

Monday Night Football:

Denver @ San Diego

Combined score: 42

Check out the rest of the BFL action here.

Conquering Fear

Part of being a parent is getting over your fears for your children. You have to let go of the fears that they will get hurt, that they will cry, that they will hate you, so they can actually grow up and experience life. You also have to let go of some of your own fears so they can have the fun experiences that make up childhood.

This is my story of how I let go of my own fears for Bunny's sake.

I am afraid of birds. I hate their beady little eyes. I am scared of their beaks. I am terrified of their claws. I also think they are dirty and disgusting but that is neither here nor there.

I can appreciate them from a (safe) distance. In fact, I even have a bird feeder so we have lots of birds in our yard. I like seeing the cardinals, gold finches and sparrows flitting about (from a distance). They are pretty. I know that.

But they are also creepy. Especially when they fly. Especially when they fly near me.

Why yes I saw The Birds during my formative years. Why do you ask? Oh because seeing people pecked to death can totally contribute to a fear of birds. Yes, that is part of it.

But I had my own experience with birds when I was younger. On a Spanish club trip to Spain we visited a plaza where you could buy seeds to feed the birds (mostly pigeons, enough said). The birds would land on you and eat the feed right out of your hands. They would land on you even if you didn't have feed but had raised your arms. At first it was cool and then it wasn't. They wouldn't leave you alone. Their claws left scratch marks all over your arms. It totally sucked. And it was very reminiscent of The Birds.

So that in a nutshell is why I am afraid of birds.

Bunny on the other hand, loves birds. Of course she does. She loves going into the aviary at the zoo. There is a room there where the birds fly free. I hate it because they are flying around, swooping over your head. They could attack you at any time. I know they probably won't, but they could.

So I do my best to avoid the aviary. Or we run as fast as possible through this room to the area with the pretty birds behind glass. That I can handle. Most of the time this is no problem.

Until now.

Because our zoo has an exhibit where they have cages of cute (but deadly) parakeets, parrots and cockatiels. And then they give you a stick with feed on it and send you into the lion's den. The birds will then fly to you, hop on your stick and eat the feed. So there are birds everywhere, flying around, landing on people and there is no escape. Well I mean there is a door but you are still in a cage with the little buggers. And no matter how cute they are, I am sure they are one empty stick away from pecking someone's eye out.

Most of the time, Bunny's dad takes her to the exhibit to save my sanity. But we made the mistake of saying to Bunny this was the last week for the exhibit and she demanded to go. During the week. So I had to take her. I could have been mean and said no, but I didn't.

I got over my fears and walked into the cage of death. I even had my own stick. Birds flew past me and over my head. Birds landed on my arm and on my hand. Birds landed on my daughter. And I didn't hyperventillate. I freaked out on the inside but on the outside I looked like a normal sane person who isn't afraid of birds. And Bunny had a blast.