The Giving Tree

Fair warning -- this post is going to be sappy as hell.  Sentimental.  Cloying.

I am in that kind of mood. 

When I went to mass this morning, I was so grateful to Greg for staying home with the boys so I could go to mass on my own.  No one pulled off my pants, stuck their hands down my blouse or repeated "Look Mama!  It's Father Roger!" all through mass. 

The mass was beautiful.  I love the advent colors -- purple with gold.  I love the candles, I love the symbolism, I love the prayers.  Mostly, I love the people at Mass. 

 The Giving Tree was up -- this is our way to provide The Ark with gifts and needed items for the year.  We select an ornament off the tree.  The ornament has a child's age and gender on it, with an item that needs to be purchased.  These kids need toys, but more than that, they need toiletries, clothes, medicine.  What they really need is a safe and loving home, but unfortunately, the Giving Tree isn't much help there.

The Ark is an emergency shelter for kids who have to be removed from their homes.  Usually, they have to be removed because of violence, neglect and abuse.  Frequently children are removed in the dead of night, when drinking and drugs bring out the worst in those who are supposed to protect them.  These kiddos come from all ages, races, religions and income levels.  Most of them come from poverty -- if only because the poor have fewer mechanisms to control the damage done by the violence. 

As soon as mass was over, families descended upon the tree -- taking one, two or three ornaments.  People where waiting four and five deep.  I know many of the families clamoring for the ornaments. When you know people, you learn their struggles.   I saw people who suffered layoffs this year.  People who have suffered miscarriages and other medical emergencies.  People who have several small children at home.  People who are caring for terminally ill parents.  I saw people who struggle with addictions of their own.  I saw single parent families and even a family that lost a child.  Struggling families who couldn't wait to help the kids at The Ark.

We're going to do what we can too.  We'll give.  It will be nothing compared to what we have received.  I am grateful for the chance to attend mass on my own.  More than that, I am grateful for the chance to be a part of this Parish family. 

Back to the Routine!

After a week of being a SAHM, I am thrilled to be back at work.  It was great spending time with my littles -- most of the time.  But honestly, we are all pretty sick of each other right  now. 

This morning I eagerly put on my makeup, picked an outfit and got ready for work!  yeay! 

Today was also the first Back-to-School morning in a week.   

Number 1 Son couldn't find his long pants. He had no idea where they would be. "Son. You figured out there was NO SANTA when you were 3. You can't figure out where your goddam pants are????  Did you even LOOK in the drawer?  I didn't think so."

Number 2 Son decides to dance in his underwear all over the house. before, during and after breakfast. I have to tell him over and over and over and OVER to get his clothes on. Then he cried because I yelled.

Number 3 Son acts like he's 6 months old & wants to be carried everywhere. Won't eat his breakfast because he's cold. After he's dressed won't eat it because he's laughing at Number 2  in his underwear.

Husband is yelling at everyone to hurry up.  Yelling at Number 1 Son to get his jacket.  Yelling at Number 2 to put his shoes on.  Yelling at Number 3 for spilling his yogurt.  Did it ever occur to Husband to give 1 the jacket, put shoes on 2 or put 3's yogurt in a bowl for them?  No.  Because they are old enough to do it themselves.

I agree.  They are old enough.  But if you want it done with a minimum of shouting and/or tears. . .. it's best to help them out a little.  And you yelling?  That's not helping.

Now I know why Mother drank.

In honor of my wedding anniversary. . . .

This photo was taken on October 10, 1992.

I used to keep it on my desk at my job in a staffing agency.

One day in 1999 an acquaintance came by for help with her resume. 

Her: "Is this YOU?"

Me: "Yep."  (Internal me: uhh. . .Duh.  Of course it's me.)

Her: "Are you still married?"

Me:  "Yes.  We've been married about 7 years already."  (Internal me:  How many divorced people keep their wedding photos on their desks?  Dumbshit.)

Her: "So that's your husband"

Me: "Yes"  (Internal me: No -- that's the waiter. Cheezus.)

Her: "He's very good looking"

Me: "Thank you"  (Internal me: Damn straight!)

Her:  "I mean, he's really good looking"

Me: "Thank you"  (Internal me: yeah -- you said that)

Her: "I mean. . . .I mean, he's SO good looking!"

Me: "Yes, he really is".  (Internal me: WTF?)

Her: "I just can't get over how good looking he is.  Not that your husband wouldn't be good looking.  But he's really good looking"

Me: "Thanks.  Very much.  Now -- about your resume. . ." (Internal me:  You think he's too good looking for me.  OMG.  You think I should be married to someone who looks like Louie Anderson.  You are a real bitch).

I haven't seen her for several years. ..I  kinda doubt she's reading my blog.  But if I ever see her again, know what I'm gonna say?

Me: "After 18 years and 3 children he's still great looking.  We still can't get enough of each other either.  So suck it, bitch!"

If you see her, give her the message, willya?

Girls & Girlfriends

No this is not about lesbians. 

Sorry, guys.  (I mean the men guys)

One of the best gifts of fat is that being fat has allowed me to have so many girlfriends.  Weight issues are one of the many things that bond women to each other.  And since I didn't spend my high school years being sired around town by cute guys, I spent lots of Saturday nights with my girlfriends.  Who I totally dumped whenever I DID get a date.  (Karen, Fran, Kristen, Nanci, Leslie, Liz: I'm so sorry!)

There is a type of girl that I pretty much can't stand tho. 

No, it is not the "Skinny Girl". 

In fact, I think it is mean spirited to say "She's so gorgeous, I hate her".  We all say it.  And we think we are being flattering.  But really, we're being mean.  So let's stop it, 'kay?

The girl I can't stand is the girl-hater.

The girl who doesn't have any close girlfriends, just close guy friends.

The girl who would watch football even if she were by herself AND there was a Sex in the City marathon on TV.

The girl whose best Friend is a guy who is madly in love with her but she just doesn't like him like that.

I hate that girl.  Wait.  I don't hate her.  She just bugs me.

Not because I care if her friends are guys.  I don't care if she likes football.  That's not why she bugs me.

She bugs me because she uses men to annoy other girls.

She bugs me because she says things like:  "I prefer guy friends because girls are just so catty"

Really?  Because that was pretty much the cattiest thing I have ever heard anyone say.  Ever.

The funniest thing about girl-haters is that guys can't understand why the rest of us are so annoyed by her.

My husband went to graduate school with one of the worst offenders I have ever met. 

She never said two words to him in school.  When the class got together socially (i.e with significant others),  suddenly she found him fascinating.  She laughed at all his jokes.  Even the really dumb ones.  He wore a crew cut back then & she made a point to run her hands through his hair.  She sat next to him whenever she could.

Don't misunderstand me.  I was not jealous. 

I was not jealous for two reasons.

1.  Greg had no idea she was flirting with him.  If she had given him a lap dance he still wouldn't get it.  Bless him, he just has no idea when someone flirts with him.  Even me.  If I can't be subtly romantic with him.  I have to say "kiss me now" if I want a kiss. 

2.  I knew she didn't like him.

Frankly, I was a little annoyed that she didn't like him because he really was one of the hottest guys in their class.  She really should have liked him.

I thought maybe I was feeling a little jealous, until I happened to chat with a few of the other wives.  She did the exact same thing to their men.  None of us can stand her. 

Fortunately, most girls are girlfriends.  Not girl-haters.

But they are out there.  And we girlfriends are on to them.

Crushes, Puppy Love and The Real Thing

There are some men that I think are dreamy.   You know what I mean.  They make me sigh.  And swoon.  And giggle.  I guess you could say I have a crush on them.

My boss is dreamy.  He is.  He's about 6'2", slim, with a lantern jaw, bright blue eyes and silver hair.  He is also the consummate southern gentleman.  I've always thought he was very handsome, but now that I really know him, I simply adore him.  He is as beautiful inside as out.

Dr. Mark Escamilla is dreamy.  Yes, he's very nice looking, but his dreaminess is more because he is so innovative, so connected, and so real.  He also has the most beautiful family -- lovely wife and 2 precious littles.  I swear I'd give the man a kidney if he needed it.

Vic is dreamy.  I mean it's obvious.  Incredibly fit, handsome, and so encouraging on my fitness journey. 

I even have a tiny bit of a cougar-crush on Ricky, who is Vic's assistant.  He is just the nicest guy.  Also very handsome, if you think Leonardo De Caprio is handsome -- and I know you do. 

I love these guys.  I do. When I get all swoony over Dr. Mark, or Vic, or any of the many many many men (and women) that I have a crush on, the casual observer may misconstrue my intentions.



Because I don't wanna kiss them or anything. 

I don't want  my children to look like them. 

I don't want to grow old with any of them.  (In fact, I am pretty sure I will be dead by the time Ricky is old)

The man I really love is Greg, my husband.  He's the one I want to kiss, etc.    He's the one my babies look like.  He's the one I want to grow old with.

Greg knows that I think the world of these people.  He also knows that he is my whole world. 

And he knows I think he's super dreamy. 

Doing it all. . .

Are you impressed with me that I an a mother of three, work a full time job, blog, go to graduate school, blog, workout regularly, blog, and volunteer at my church?

Don't be.

Because there is no way I could do it without my husband.

Husbands are funny.  Wives like to get together and roll our eyes over the silly things they do.  Like teach our children to burp their ABCs.  At least they know their ABC's right?

My husband works two jobs -- three if you count the "architect-on-loan" deal he is doing right now.  My husband works most of the weekend, because architects are all about deadlines.  And budgets, which is why he doesn't bill most of his weekend work.

My husband does the dishes every night.  We don't own a dishwasher, and he can't stand to see dirty dishes left over night (I can), so he does them. 

My husband really likes our kids.  I like 'em too, but Greg thinks playing with them is the funnest thing since skateboarding.

My husband gets that my job is super important to the family because there is less a threat of layoff as with his, and because I carry the insurance.  He also gets that I really enjoy it.  He supports me going to school because he knows that I need a Masters in order to move ahead. 

He supports me volunteering at church.  Really, we're both volunteering.  I am at the church, he is at home with the boys.  Believe me, both are important.

He doesn't read my blog unless I make him.  Which is good, because he would be super embarrassed if he knew that I was writing about him.

I just thought you should know. 

It's my husband that enables me to do it all. .. .

I don't know how he does it!