Saturday, February 27, 2010

My Golden Child

Name: Alexandra Faye
Born: February 17, 1993
Weight: 8lb 3 oz.
Place of Birth: Mater Misericordiae Hospital, Brisbane, Queensland, Australia

This is my very favorite picture of me and Ali
together. She looks like a little baby doll. I had made her little outfit which looks like an old-fashioned baby dress with pantaloons and an apron. The fabric actually has little polka dots on it. I always got so many compliments when she was wearing it because it brought out her blue eyes. She was a beautiful baby. I couldn't believe that I could be part of making a child so breathtakingly beautiful. This was winter so I would say she is about four months old.

This is her on her first birthday. Doesn't that look like fun to clean up. Actually, she was always really messy.

She would stuff her cheeks as full as they would go with food and then spit it all out and then eat the small, pre-chewed pieces. Now, she is a verminophobe. Don't even touch her roll to pass it to her or she won't eat it.

Her calling as a fashion model started young. This was at our house in Brissy (Brisbane - pronounced Briz-ben). She looks to be about two years old. We moved to the US when she was three.

It's a shame these photos fade with time. I'm going to become a pro at Photoshop soon, and restore them one day. This dress is actually a light blue and this was her Easter dress when she was eight years old. Her baby sister had a matching dress and they looked so darn precious together!

This is Ali at nine years old with her older cousins when we went back to visit Oz. They've all grown up to be beautiful young ladies. Imogen and Lizzie are both Uni students (that's Aussie for "university") and Ali is doing well in high school.

This is Ali when she was a blonde. It bothered her that her eyebrows were always darker than her hair, so she dyed her hair darker. Ask me if that slightly broke my heart. She was always my little blondie.

Here she is at age 17 with a cute, nice boy from her school on the night of the Preference Dance. Aren't they adorable. She still looks beautiful with dark hair and she is wearing the perfect color.

I think everyone should be lucky enough to have a daughter like Ali. She is so kind hearted, responsible, talented, smart. I never have to ask her to do her homework and she usually helps around the house if I ask her. She sings amazingly and will be in her high school musical as "Gertrude McFuzz" in "Suessical the Musical."

You know, as I was writing this I got a phone call from her and she had just gotten in a car accident. She is okay - her car not so much. Some one pulled out in front of her and they collided. She hurt her ankle, but it's not broken. How scary! I'm glad that her and the other teen (who JUST barely got her driver's license) are okay.
I just couldn't imagine if anything happened to my golden child.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

"Oh My Heck" Wednedsay!

Do you really think I can keep up "Oh My Heck" Wednesday? I'm sure there are enough things that have need of exclaiming "Oh my heck" but I'm lucky to post every week on a consistent day. Though I'm trying to do better.

Do you know what this is a picture of? It's my next door neighbor mowing his lawn in the middle of February. In Australia, that would be the norm, but this is desert mountain area! There are still patches of snow on the ground! Nothing has grown in four months!

I had my daughter take this picture out of our bathroom window. It's the only window on that side of the house. I really wanted to get a picture of him last week when he was shoveling the snow. Not in his driveway, however, shoveling the snow off of his front yard. I thought if I did a U-turn on my street and stopped in front of his house and snapped a picture with my camera, it might be a little obvious and not very appreciated. So there went that great photo opportunity.

In my neighbor's defense, he does have a very well manicured lawn. In fact the house on the other side of us has a well manicured lawn as well. You know that saying "if there are no rednecks in your neighborhood, it's probably you." That's not really a saying, I think I made it up. Well, we happen to meet yards with the only retired people on the street. And they are both very focused on their lawns.

Then there is us, we, "those" people. A business owner who works overtime, a wife who works full-time to provide health insurance, a teenage son who doesn't do what he's darn well told, a very busy over-achieving teen daughter and a tiny daughter who isn't able to maneuver a lawn mower. We are freakin' lucky to have grass and a fence (to hide all the redneckness) at this point!

There's another saying, "The grass always seems greener on the other side." Well, it's actually true in this case.

I just have to make one addendum. Spellchecker accepted "heck" but rejected "freakin'" and "redneckness." Looks like "heck" is an official word - woo hoo! Now lets all become fans of "Droppin' the 'g' out of the 'ing' in the American language."

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Too Good Not to Share

You know when you find a good thing and you gotta tell friends about it? Usually it involves calories, but I want to share my friend's wonderful post. Lisa is so funny and talented and I have gotten to know her more in the last few months. Her (not much) older sister and I were very close friends in high school, so I've known her since we were hot young babes.

Even though she is so awesome, please don't love her more than me. Okay, if you must, I won't blame you.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

The Santa Spy

"Mom, do you believe in Santa?" asks Mimi.

"Yeah. Why do you ask?" I say.

"Well, I'll get to that point in a minute," she says, sounding much more mature than she is. "Do you remember the present I gave Santa?"

"No. What was it?"

"It was a painted piece of wood. Remember, it said 'Merry Christmas' and 'Joy to the World' on it?" You might remember this from "Redneck & Green Season."

"No. What about it?"

"Well, the other day I asked Dad for some batteries and I looked in the place in your closet that the batteries are always kept and I found the present I gave Santa."

"So do you think Dad is Santa Claus?" Don't even go there after my letter to the Easter Bunny.

"Also, why do you have a letter that I wrote to Santa in your dresser?" she asks accusingly.

"What do your friends think, do they believe in Santa?" I say, slightly diverting her question. I don't think we ever had an official talk with the older two, I think it was just understood after awhile. The parent handbook never said you had to have this conversation - just the "birds and bees" one.

"Well, most of them believe in Santa - except Clara. And Santa's handwriting looks a lot like your handwriting," she says. I'm thinking, "Yes! Proof that mom is the only Santa." After thinking about that one, if Jared were to write the name tags out on the gifts, the kids would think Santa delivered the gifts to the wrong house. I typed all his papers for school, so I can say that. I can hear them saying, "Who's this present for? It says 'SCILHT'" Yep. Must belong to some kid from Scandinavia.

"So what do you believe?" I ask.

She says frustratingly, "I don't know what I believe anymore." So, I wasn't ready to have that talk anymore than I was ready to explain the tampon commercials. I think we had a subject change, which wouldn't surprise me because that's how Mimi's brain works.

Do you remember when you "knew" about Santa? I think in 5th grade I was still wondering. Then a friend said, "You don't still believe in Santa, do you? HA! It's your parents, Doofus!" My response, "Of course I knew that, duh." Then swallowed hard and tried to hold the tears back. I'm not a confrontational kind of person so I never approached my parents about this subject, or the birds and the bees. Gosh, so much info in 5th grade - and you get periods, too?! Which ironically we referred to as Santa being here.

We were always told if we quit believing in Santa, he'll quit coming. So even if we knew it was our parents we didn't admit it. It always baffled me how he would get into our house when we didn't have a chimney. That really bothered me. The answer was Santa has a magic key and that's how he gets in all houses. Still disturbing that someone has access to your house like that. I might have to get Seth or Ali to give her the talk, I don't think it would be as traumatic. Then they can add, "Don't tell them you know" and it will be a silent understanding.

Friday, February 19, 2010

Friday Confessional

Ooops! I forgot to add the button of Glamazon, who is my new BFF.

Okay, for those who don't know, I have a confession. I really like those morbid mystery shows that solve crimes. Not the Hollywood kind, the true story kind. I watch them on TRU TV, and ID TV - love 'em! My husband and children ask, "Why do you like those shows about murder?" It's not about murder. It's about finding the murderer with DNA, forensic science and stuff. It's about me taking notes so I can hide their bodies and outsmarting the authorities.

So, my husband, Mr. Red Personality, Mr. Control Freak, brought me home some chocolates tonight. Does he think this makes up for him being a total @%*(&@# the other day? Even if they are Ferrero Rochers? Does he think that punching below the belt with total lies can be forgiven with 7 ounces of chocolate hazelnut goodness?

I'm suspicious now. I think he's trying to kill me. We all know that 7 ounces does not equal 7 ounces. I think he wants me to gain weight - a lot of weight. Then I might feel the need to exercise and being in the bad shape that I am I will most likely die. It would probably be a slow and painful death. First, labored breathing. Then flushing of the skin and breaking into a sweat. My heart would start pounding, pounding, pounding until it exploded. The death would look natural and he would get away with the perfect crime.

I'm writing this so the world can know if this happens, it was premeditated murder. Tell the coroner to look for a slight odor of bitter hazelnuts. Someone contact Keith Morrison of Dateline NBC to do a story on me. Please tell him I was well loved and very funny and don't let them say I died doing what I loved the most. I really hate that saying. Remember, they could only say that if I died choking on a piece of cheesecake.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Too Peed to Blog

There is nothing nice to say. Amazing how husbands that you can love so much on Valentine's Day can really make you feel like slipping them a bit of cyanide a couple of days later. No - that wouldn't work. They can always tell by the smell of bitter almonds.

I guess I'm feeling a little unappreciated this week. Today is Ali's 17th birthday and I guess my husband felt it necessary to start a fight.

At work we had an inservice about choking. Our Workforce Development Officer asked if anyone has choked or been with someone who was choking and if you knew what to do. I wanted to say I've wanted to choke my husband before, but didn't.

I will blog about my Birthday girl another day - when I'm not peed.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Dear Freakin' Easter Bunny, I'm Resigning

Dear Freakin' Easter Bunny,

I am done. I am finished with shopping for tooth rotting candy and useless trinkets for cutesy baskets that don't get appreciated anyway. Point in case:

When Mimi was three she came down stairs on Easter Sunday to get ready for church. She sat down at our counter on the bar stool and with her usual morning grumpiness she barely glanced at her Easter basket. But it was there. In front of her. There was a darling little sequin purse in the shape of a cute little bunny. She grabbed the purse and flung it over her shoulder as hard as she could, surprised she didn't fall off the bar stool. "I already gotta purse," she sputtered.
She looked at her basket, still scowling and grabbed the cute little stuffed animal puppy and sent that flying over her shoulder. "I already gotta puppy," she spewed.
Her older siblings looked at her in horror. It was like a bad Disney movie where the spoiled princess doesn't appreciate anything.
When you thought there was nothing else to say she says disgustedly, "Candy, candy, candy! There's too much candy!" It's amazing how a child that looks like a cherub could spew such utterings.
After getting some breakfast into her and she had time to wake up, she put her bunny purse over her shoulder and carried her puppy and a stash of candy to church.
But here's my complaint, Mr. Easter Bunny. I'm tired of shopping for just the right treats to make sure my children have their favorites. I really don't like getting Easter Egg dye on my fingers. My creativity has run out for little trinkets and sometimes money left in plastic Easter Eggs. And for what? A few minutes of gratification and some stupid imaginary rabbit who stops procreating for a night to drop off goodies to good girls and boys to get the credit of my hard labors.
I admit I have enjoyed using your yearly visit as a leveraging point for good behavior. But I'm going to break it to my nine year old, my seventeen year old and my nineteen year old this year there is no such thing as a carrot eating, egg packing, chocolate hoarding rabbit that comes to our house. The only thing rabbits leave are droppings - little chocolate covered raisin looking droppings.
By the way, the tooth fairy and Santa Claus will be receiving similar letters. Because it's not that they are in reality your parents - they are ME! All ME! Dad has nothing to do with it. He is always surprised on Christmas morning, too! And a fat man in a red suit gets the credit!
So I hereby resign as you. "Why?" you ask. Because you just had a birthday and my kids couldn't take the time to make a sentiment for all you do for them. But I will cherish my Santa letters, and tooth fairy letters with tiny little replies because the tooth fairy is so tiny and writes tiny.
It's not that I feel unappreciated, that I work full time now after being a stay at home mom for years so I can provide health insurance for my family. I still try to keep the house clean and bills paid and attempt to open a can or frozen dinner for them. Life has changed. So I'm going to give myself my own *&%@ presents and make myself feel special for one *&%@ day! So when they find out the Easter Bunny is not real - they are on their own. I'm leaving chocolate covered raisins.

Saturday, February 13, 2010


Sometimes words are just not enough. Pictures can say so much more. So when I was shopping at an Asian grocery store with my mom and husband, I couldn't believe my eyes.

First I should say it's my birthday and we went out to a yummy Gastronomy restaurant where I had the best salad with crab and jumbo shrimp in it and two Diet Cokes. So as we were shopping nature called. Then it started yelling and I know I'm going to pay a big embarrassing price for not listening to the first calls one of these days. So, I looked for the restroom in this Asian grocery store. Wouldn't you know? The women's restroom was "Closed from people flushing unflushables." True. That's what the sign said. Then a worker lady yells and points to the door next to it and yells, "Go in that one!" Well, that's what I was about to do with or without her permission.

This is what I see:

I really couldn't believe that this was real life, but I was desperate. So the view from the loo was this:

After flushing legitimate flushables, I ask you see a sink? Neither do I. Lucky I ate ribs last week and kept my little handi-wipe in my purse.

You'd think by now I would have a phobia of public toilets. I actually Googled that to see if there was an actual name for that phobia. There is not. You'd think there would be a term describing an actual condition that I know a lot of people have.

There's "verminophobia" which is the fear of germs. "Pathophobia" is the fear of disease. Another scary one is "Coprophobia" which is the fear of feces. I read a simple description, but not designated term called "toilet phobia." Most of us have had toddlers that we swear had that one, but when you think about it in proportion, if you had to sit on something the size of a small swimming pool that could swallow you whole, you would be afraid, too. Maybe have a little aquaphobia.

I learned about a phobia called "alektorophobia" which is the fear of chickens. Now, I know a lot of people and none of them are afraid of chickens, but I know plenty of people who put a toilet seat liner on and still hover over the toilet in fear of germs, disease, urine, butt sweat, fecal matter or even the toilet bowl ogre. WHY does this fear not have a name?! This is a legitimate condition and I am very close to having it. I am signing up for a gymnastics class next week just so I can maneuver the public restrooms.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

My Doppelganger

They had "doppelganger week" on Facebook. A doppelganger is a German word for any double or look-alike of a person. I couldn't think of anyone famous that I looked like. Famous people don't look like me. I'm just a nicely kempt motherly-looking person. I'm sure Pee Wee Herman could make me look like a million bucks. But I guess he's not really known as the "Sexiest Man Alive". Is he even a man? Ew-hew-hew. I just shuddered.

Finally, tonight I realized I do have a doppelganger! You know, when I changed my profile picture for Shades of Blonde, no one - not anyone even mentioned they noticed the change. At first I was a little insulted. It has just hit me now that I look freakishly like Barbie! I even have a tattoo on my butt that says Mattel! I quit wearing blue eye shadow years ago, but by golly - the resemblance is spooky! No wonder no one noticed.

It was fun seeing people post pictures on Facebook of famous people they have been told or thought they looked like. Some were not so accurate. Me, I'm stopped all the time and asked, "Are you Barbie?"

"No, but thanks. I have bendable knees and elbows and my head doesn't spin all the way around." Well, not on a good day, anyway.

But what Barbie and I do have in common is we both have pierced ears, bleached blonde hair, big chest (but mine are real), matching tattoos, accessories for every outfit and sometimes I lose my head. I know, you're wondering if my head is empty like hers, too. It is chockers full of good and intelligent thoughts!

I have to point out some other differences. She is quite a few years older than me, which reminds me of the next difference - I haven't had any plastic surgery. She looks 17 every year. I was trying to get away with being 29 and well, it wasn't working for me. Barbie wears false eyelashes. At one time it was just one big horizontal eyelash. I always wondered as a child if that was painful in anyway.

Another difference is my eyelids actually close and I'm going to go and close them right now in my Barbie dream bed with my Ken, who wears so much gel in his hair it looks plastic.