Tuesday, September 30, 2008

I Want to Keep the Shoe

My husband knows the rules.  There are two things OFF LIMITS to his judgement.  I can spend money on these things however I see fit, and he gets NO say in the matter.  Those two things are, of course:

1.  Haircuts
2.  Shoes

(And maybe about 14 hundred and 33 other things, but that's part of a woman's mystery.)

So when (one of) my (kind of) favorite black, strappy shoes pulled a little trick on me called The Shoe Is Separating From The Sole and another little trick called The Elastic Is About To Give On The Cute Strappy Part, I chose not to send them to Shoe Heaven.  Instead, I took them to Tiny's.

Tiny's Shoe Repair situated in a tiny little strip mall shop that likely once was a film drop-off, is occupied by two tiny little employees with (presumably) tiny little feet.  

So I walk in the tiny door.

Me:  Hi.  Uh, do you repair shoes?  (Dumb question.  Dumb question.)

Tiny Lady:  You want fix shoe?

Me:  Yes.  The sole is separating from the shoe part.  And it looks like the strappy thingies are just about to give.  

Tiny Lady:  Oh.  You LIKE the shoe?

Me:  Uh, yes.  I like the shoes.

Tiny Lady:  You want to KEEP the shoe?

Me:  Yes.  I'd like to keep both shoes.

Tiny Lady:  You want to PAY to fix the shoe.

Me:  Um, yes.  

Tiny Lady:  What you put on shoe?  

Me:  (Sheepishly...)  Well, I was hoping no one would notice that.  But, uh, I was kind of in a bind.  I was working and my shoe started falling apart so I did the only thing I knew how to do.  I used the hot glue gun.  

Tiny Lady:  Oh.  It cost more to fix hah glue.  I have to clean hah glue first.

Me:  Okay.

Tiny Lady:  You LIKE the shoe?

Me:  Yes.  I like the shoes.

Tiny Lady:  You want to PAY to fix the shoe?

Me:  Yes.  Please.  I'll pay.

Tiny Lady:  It cost 25 dollar.  

Me:  Okay.

Tiny Lady:  You LIKE the shoe?

(Sheez lady.  I know.  They're cheap-ass shoes.  I think I got them from Marshall's.  I think I paid about $15 for them, but YES, I LIKE THE SHOE.  I like BOTH shoes.)

Tiny Lady:  Your Husband like the shoe?

Me:  ........  Actually, no.

Which brings me back to my original point.  He gets no say in my shoes.  And Sunday, when I get my haircut, he better not ask me if I like the hair.

(Shoe photo from my Bitchy friends.)

(I miss you shoes.  Come back home safely.)

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

September 24, 2008

How is it that each birthday I absolutely can not grasp that you are a year older?  You are a year taller, longer, and bigger.  You are filled with a year's more memories, a year's more dreams, and a year of more stories.  May your story continue to develop into the perfect ending for you, both of you!

Had I known four years ago what lovely humans you would be today, already, I may not have been able to fully imagine it.  Though your years are young, your souls are bright and full of hope. 

To my independent, in-control, can-do, Pippi Longstocking way of dancing through life girl:  Happy Birthday Sweetpea.  You are my favorite girl on the planet!

"I hope you dance."

To my sweet, empathetic, loving, hilarious, Mr. Magoo little guy:  Happy Birthday Sweet-boy.  You are my favorite boy on the planet!

"I love you to the moon, and back."

Thursday, September 18, 2008

So You Think You Can Blog

As you know, I'm back to the land of full-time teacher.  It's a ride much like the ride of a parent.  I wipe tears (6 times today), apply band-aids, (2 times today), tie shoes (okay, actually I have a rule that I don't tie shoes ... because ... euughhh, do you know where those things have been dragged?), and of course impart wisdom on the young.  It's up, it's down, it's fast and slow.  But through it all those sweet little boys and girls remind me that it's all for the right reasons.  And I have my favorites.  I know, we're not supposed to but come on, if you saw that chocolatey skin and big eyes looking up at you, you'd melt too.

One quick teacher story:  Today I told a boy that his number was number nineteen.  "No," he told me, "my number is a 1 and a 9."  


So here's the crappy thing.  After finally getting my email/iPhone working again, my baby, my sweet, sweet Nikon baby has gone and died on me.  (Sniff.)  I can't help but notice the coincidence between my lovey Nikon's un-timely departure and the Husband getting his hands on it for the uber-excellent first day of school shots.  And you know, I'm finding it really difficult to blog without some good, photographic evidence to support my stories.

So, I'll just have to go to the archives...

(which reminds me, where did my little babies go?)

She goes from being walked...

...to doing the walking.

Friday, September 12, 2008


Something is seriously effed up with my computer AND my phone.  I'm headed to the Apple store tomorrow (after the gym, of course).  The point is, I have emailed like, every.single.one.of my blog and real life friends in the last week.  And they ALL are still sitting in my stinkin' outbox.  Why won't they SEND?

My apologies for my absence.  The gist:  

Aunt Linda: we got the Plasma car for Chase.  Yay.  Thanks.

Bitches:  I'd love to coordinate a night out.

Kate:  You had a baby girl today!  Holy moly.  Yay for Hailey.

Courtney:  I miss you.  I know you're in town.  Call me.

Jenn:  I missed your birthday and I've had a damn gift sitting in my kitchen for you for 4 weeks.  Love you.  

Mary:  Are you staying with us this weekend while Jenna delivers baby Carson?


Guess I'll have to pick up that telephone thing.

Run Forrest, Run

Back in the Olden Days...or something like that... for a wee period of time, I was a runner.  (Gasp)  Yeah, did you hear God laughing, 'cause I think I heard Him choke on his golden, angelic, saliva?

But really, I was.

My (now) husband was courting me.  I went along with it.  I courted back.  It just so happened that he liked a good margarita shaker, and I liked a good margarita shaker.  He liked lounging in the sunshine for hours, and I liked lounging.  He liked running, and I ... did not.  But I pretended for awhile.  I pretended so well that I got myself signed up for races, like with other people, who like, run and stuff.

There was the aptly named "Bolder Boulder" in my college town of Boulder, CO:

Being that it was a 5K, I thought it was okay.  I tried another.  There was the scenic and hill-acious La Jolla Half Marathon here at home:

And it.was.hard.  It kicked my butt.  But, there was a beer garden at the finish line so ... I kept running.  2 hours later, I had a coldie.

So I tried another crazy-ass one.  Those military folks, they know how to lay out some cruel and unusual punishment.  

I give you, The Mud Run:

There was another half marathon in there too somewhere, but then, it hit me.  I don't like running.  So, I stopped.  And I took up a new hobby called:  gestating, and birthing, and feeding, and wiping, and hugging, and rocking, and loving.

I also took up a little hobby called:  wine.

And now, damn, I think I need a new hobby because that old girl looked a little stronger than this new mama.  And although I gave up beef and pork last May (really proud of that BTW), it's not quite enough.  

But how does a working Mommy fit it all in?  Gym at 5:00am?  Ugh.  I dunno.  I guess I'll ponder it on my 2nd, 3rd, 4th glass of wine...

Any ideas on how to make it all work?

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Coming Clean

So, I let the cat out of the bag at school.  I told someone that I had a blog.  Now I can't do any ranting or major complaining.  One is all it takes (right Mr. R?).  

So I'll move on.


Him:  Lets' go for a ride.  Drive down the alley, this way.

Her:  No.  STOP!  Put your seat belt on.  NOW.

Him:  I did.  You put your seatbelt on.

Her:  Okay.  Let's go.  Drive over there.  

  No, there.

Him:  Do you want to drive?

Her:  No.  I want you to drive.  


Her:  I said, drive that way.

Him:  I am!

Her:  Turn.  Turn!  Hurry.  We're going to crash.

Him:  No we're not.  It's fun.

Her:  Aaauuugghhhh!  STOP!  You're going to crash.

Him:  You should drive.

Her:  No.  It's okay.  You can drive.


Her:  You're CRASHing!  

Him:  It's okay.  You have your seat belt on.

Welcome to the world of my old married couple:  Boy/Girl Twins.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

How Does This Work?

I've survived my first week back.  I haven't taught full-time since the kids were born, which reminds me, their birthday is coming up.  Guess who took over birthday party duties?  The husband.  Guess who took the kids to their first day of Junior Kindergarten at their new school?  The husband.  Guess who is taking them to their 4 year-old check up?  The husband.  Guess who packed lunches and made dinner this week?  The husband.  Guess who is taking Chase to get his hair cut?  The husband.  And do you know what?

It's really hard to let go.

I miss my Mommy duties.  I miss waking up and reading blogs.  I miss making the birthday party details come to life, chatting with the neighbors, taking the kids swimming mid-day, going to the library to hear some cheesy puppet show.  I miss it all.

If you've been pulling this off all along, Dude, you rock.  Because this.is.hard.

But it will all iron itself out.  It's a matter of getting efficient, getting into a routine, getting a solid system figured out.

Sorry to whine.  I had hoped to be my snarky self.  I'm barely hanging on right now.  And the husband.  The helpful one.  Yeah, he leaves tonight for 5 nights.  There was a time I celebrated this alone time.  But today, I'm feeling a bit anxious about the whole thing.

Here's the good news, the kids are thriving at their new school.  It's a fantastic place with fantastic teachers.  I know they are in good hands, and they love it.  And Patrick even took pictures for me of their first day at school ...

Wanna see?

Note to self:  Next time, give Patrick the point-and-shoot.