Sorry Ladies, He's Taken

For as long as I've known my husband, he has traveled for work.  In the early days of courting me, he would often come home with goodies he picked up along his travels.  A guy who can shop for his woman is pretty hard to beat.

Then, the kids came along.  The shopping breaks went on.  His good excuse is that he tries to fly home sooner to see the family, so there's been no time for shopping.  Okay, okay.  I guess I'll buy that.

So when a recent snaffoo in travel arrangements left him stuck in Portland for many extra hours, guess what he did?

Bingo.  And there's no sales tax, so he was extra giddy.

He brought these lovely purchases home for his wife:

3 dresses (which look cuter on, than on the hanger):

A (bumblebee) top

A pair of camouflage bermuda shorts

And he didn't forget the kids...how cute are these?

And my new FAVORITES ...

I'm feeling lucky today.  He'll probably be feeling lucky tonight too.  ;)  So, can you guess where he shopped?

Breaking Gender Stereotypes One Set of Footy Jammies at a Time

Watch out world.  There's a Mom here who celebrates differences, encourages freedom to choose, and relishes in responsible decision-making.  

These kids are the face of innocence.  When is it that gender stereotypes will make them ashamed and embarrassed for wearing their siblings' clothes?  Guess what world?  When boys play with dolls, they learn to nurture.  When girls play with trucks, they learn mechanics.  And when kids are just left alone to have fun -- they do what feels good.  Remember that?   

I'm not shaking up the world because I let my kids wear different colors, but I hope I am because I encourage them to go with their instinct.  I hope compassion doesn't get lost when they head out the door.  I hope they seek diversity in friendship and experience.  

So shake it up.  Go on.  Tell me what you do.

Cheri's Call to Action

Please stop by Cheri's today to read her heartfelt outreach.  There is a family in need.  It only takes one person to change a life.  Maybe that person is you.

Eighty Five Degrees and a Visit From Nana

Home Sweet ... Where is Our Home?

As a child we moved around a lot.  There weren't any real reasons, or non-reasons that I know of.  Just life taking hold of my young mother and propelling us to a new destination.  There was a brief period when we lived in one house for 6 years.  After that, never did we live in a home for longer than 2 years.  And never did I mind the moving.

My mother was selfless when we moved.  Being the oldest, I always had first dibs on the best bedroom in the house, or in some cases, the only bedroom.  With new homes came new schools and I became proficient at either making friends quickly or becoming invisible slowly.  Both worked.  For many reasons I had been enrolled in eight schools in twelve years.  Going to college, the same college for four, okay five, okay six years was certainly a record (come on, I did one year of Grad school, cut me some slack).

But moving gets into your blood.  I don't even mind the packing.  So, if you've been playing the game you may know that we had a near miss with moving in a big way to Colorado.  Ahh, but here we are, and that's good news.  Roots have begun to grow.  I see them.  Feel them taking shape beneath my toes, and the toes of my sweet babes.  

But I must admit excitement at going house shopping tomorrow.  Imagining our furniture and footprints in each room is such a sweet and comfy place for the mind.  Heaven for a wanderer like me.  But I'm ready to stop wandering, and watch the trees around me grow, bloom, and fill out.  I'm ready to make marks on the wall where my children stood at each milestone.

Maybe we'll find our dream home tomorrow.  Maybe not.  But the looking and imagining is almost the best part.  San Diego is my home, our home.  I doubt we will question that again.  The journey ahead is one I will watch form and take place, like the trees around me.  Slowly.  Purposefully.  Peacefully. 

Underwater

I'm dying for a cup of coffee right now.  However, today I can not complain because the kids are BOTH napping.  Like, in their rooms.  But a good cup of coffee would pair really well with sleeping children in the house.

As I sit dreamily on the couch, my mind waves in and out of drowsiness.  My dreams sneak back into my mind, like a trick.  Remember this moment of your dream Jamie?  Yes, I tell myself.  And then it's gone.  Wait, come back, I liked that part.

Lately I've had many dreams of tattoos.  Sincerely, I find the art of them to be quite beautiful.  Now, it may be that I've fallen asleep one too many times with L.A. Ink, or Miami Ink speaking to me, so I suppose my REM didn't get too creative making the HUGE leap to dreaming about tattoos.  But, they do speak strongly to me.

I have two tattoos.  Nothing special.  A small daisy on my ankle that I got when I was seventeen of legal age.  I also have a  tramp stamp lovely fairy on the small of my back.  That one I got when I was around twenty two.

The thing is, I don't even consider myself a tattooed sort of girl.  I rarely think of the ones I have, so why am I dreaming of getting more?  What does it mean?

Lately I've had several dreams of getting a "sleeve."  I wake up disappointed that my artwork doesn't exist.  I dreamt of a gorgeous oak tree covering my shoulder and arm.  I'm sure that would go over really well when I went back to teaching.  And my kids would be so proud, right?

I've also had dreams of getting a mermaid sweeping around my fairy.  First of all GROSS.  I'm not a mythological lover.  I don't live in a world of Science Fiction.  I've never played Dungeons and Dragons.  The fairy is already far enough, but now this.  Why not just plop a Mickey Mouse head or Bart Simpson back there for lack of anything more creative.  So why the mermaid dreams?  

In my mind, it's beautiful.  Not like this...

Or this...

Or this...

There's some creepy stuff on Google.  

Oh well.  If anyone out there can interpret dreams.  Why is this girl wanting a tree sleeve and a mermaid going around her bottom?  What kind of screwy secret does that say about me?

In the meantime, I've found the perfect mermaid for now...  If only they delivered.

Calgon Take Me Away

Oh.  We had one of those days.  Well, not the entire day.  But it feels like it lasted about a week.  We had a Supernanny moment.  You know the one.  The one where Supernanny instructs the clueless parents on how to implement a time-out.  The kind where you want to shout at the television, "Get a back-bone you wimp-ass parent.  Who the f*#@ is in charge anyway?"  

Yeah, that was me at about 4:00 today.  The spineless freak going into a parenting rage.  

My kids, three and a half, and 27 days are not napping anymore.

I know.  I know.  It's okay.  Maybe their bodies don't require it.

Here's the thing.  YES, they do.  And my body requires their bodies to get the hell off me for an hour.  

So we play the game.  It goes like this.

Me:  You don't have to sleep but you need to go into your room for a REST.  I'll come get you when rest time is over.

2 minutes later... 

Annoying twin #1:  "Is rest time over?"

Me:  I SAID I'LL GET YOU when rest time is over.  Go back to your room.

Annoying twin #2:  "I heard something.  Is rest time over now?"

Me: " I swear we've taught you English.  And I swear you know what I mean.  I will tell YOU when rest time is over.  STOP asking.  Go back to your room."

Okay, you're rolling your eyes by now.  Use an egg timer.  Set an alarm.  Use a chart with happy faces and ... BLAH BLAH BLAH.  I know.  Shit.  

40 minutes later ... we're STILL playing the game.

So I grab an arm, march a kid back into their room while the other kid narrowly escapes my grasp while laughing something that sounded like, "You poor slob.  You'll never get us BOTH into our own rooms.  Give it up."

Ugh.

So yes, I'll try all of my teacher tricks.  I'll get the timer.  I'll find their currency (dessert).  I'll make a Rest-time chart.  But COME ON!  How did I lose the power?  Doesn't size matter (okay, let's not get into that)?  But come on.  I'm bigger.  I'm older.  I'm louder.  I can eat cookies whenever I want.  Don't they know R-E-S-P-E-C-T?

Don't answer that.  Just call freakin' Supernanny for me so that I can be humiliated on national television.

...they did end up staying until *I* came to get them.  But it wasn't really worth the struggle.  

SIGH...

So, I've now had ONE margarita, ONE Mexican beer, and ONE glass of Argentine wine.  Feeling a little better now...