Texting at 4:15 PM yesterday:
ME: Koala called...another kid pushed IV and he bit his lower lip. They iced it. Is it time to teach him how to sucker punch or is that when he gets to the Big Bear classroom?
MJB: (from the gym) I can't understand you. Why don't you talk like a normal human being for once.
ME: Nevermind.
*20 minutes later*
ME: You could be a little nicer sometimes.
MJB: It's that kind of attitude that gets IV a busted lip.
Friday, October 30, 2009
IT'S AFTER MIDNIGHT...
Halloween memories:
1. I loved, loved, loved dressing up like a bunny for Halloween. I think I probably dressed like one for 4 years. Jimbo? He liked Dracula. With fangs and fake blood. There is a picture of us standing together before Trick-or-Treating with him acting like he was going to suck my blood. He has a bloody fake human hand. I look both irritated and mock-scared. I still give him this look. Especially when he talks about bordeaux futures.
2. My Grandpop Oros had a little leaf hauler that attached to his riding lawn mower. One year, we used it as a mobile T-or-T unit. It was both LOUD and SLOW but made for one of the best T-or-T rigs around. Bolivar kids were JEALOUS.
3. Instead of dressing slutty and half naked in college, Ginger and I opted for Pippy Longstockings and Army Girl. I braided G$'s hair over a wire hanger which worked INCREDIBLY WELL. When you're broke, you make do. Or make a hair DO.
4. I owned a really cool house in Amarillo, 300 Sunset Circle, or the Hollywood House - because Sunset Circle is close enough to Sunset Strip when you live in the Ama-skrilla.
Our Halloweens evolved into full blown events with kegs and hundreds of dollars of candy and everyone's favorite beligerent drunk, Curt Cornett, hanging a giant spider from our oak tree and the boys "baiting" kids by putting mock spilled candy bags below it. Nothing like adding massive amounts of Fat Tire ale to a corner lot house in a high traffic neighborhood. Nice.
5. Having someone dress up AS YOU for Halloween - and even more importantly - having EVERYONE KNOW EXACTLY WHO THEY ARE makes for an interesting self-awareness exercise:
Yes, I am THAT weird.
And THAT cute.
And I really do wear some pretty dumb things.
As in, I might have spent the better part of a year adding to my wife beater, trucker hat and ratty jean collection.
It happens when your place of business is a block from the best thrift store known to man. And when you work with musicians. And when your home away from home is the Golden Light Cantina. I'm just sayin'.
Poor Grace duct taped her boobs to make them look like mine. I don't even want to know what THAT says about me.
6. A better exercise in self-awareness? Have a child. Dress him up as a Tootsie Roll. Or as Tom Cruise in "Risky Business." That might be weirder than trucker hats.
7. I walked IV into his classroom this morning in his new Tigger halloween shirt, armed with individual Halloween packs of goldfish crackers and cubed cheese and I realized that I AM THAT DORKY MOM. The one who gives you stickers for Halloween. The one dressing her son in a Tigger shirt. That's me. WOW.
Happy Halloween everybody! Go carve a pumpkin! Spook someone! Watch Friday the 13th!
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
xoxo
Liz and IV
1. I loved, loved, loved dressing up like a bunny for Halloween. I think I probably dressed like one for 4 years. Jimbo? He liked Dracula. With fangs and fake blood. There is a picture of us standing together before Trick-or-Treating with him acting like he was going to suck my blood. He has a bloody fake human hand. I look both irritated and mock-scared. I still give him this look. Especially when he talks about bordeaux futures.
2. My Grandpop Oros had a little leaf hauler that attached to his riding lawn mower. One year, we used it as a mobile T-or-T unit. It was both LOUD and SLOW but made for one of the best T-or-T rigs around. Bolivar kids were JEALOUS.
3. Instead of dressing slutty and half naked in college, Ginger and I opted for Pippy Longstockings and Army Girl. I braided G$'s hair over a wire hanger which worked INCREDIBLY WELL. When you're broke, you make do. Or make a hair DO.
4. I owned a really cool house in Amarillo, 300 Sunset Circle, or the Hollywood House - because Sunset Circle is close enough to Sunset Strip when you live in the Ama-skrilla.
Our Halloweens evolved into full blown events with kegs and hundreds of dollars of candy and everyone's favorite beligerent drunk, Curt Cornett, hanging a giant spider from our oak tree and the boys "baiting" kids by putting mock spilled candy bags below it. Nothing like adding massive amounts of Fat Tire ale to a corner lot house in a high traffic neighborhood. Nice.
5. Having someone dress up AS YOU for Halloween - and even more importantly - having EVERYONE KNOW EXACTLY WHO THEY ARE makes for an interesting self-awareness exercise:
Yes, I am THAT weird.
And THAT cute.
And I really do wear some pretty dumb things.
As in, I might have spent the better part of a year adding to my wife beater, trucker hat and ratty jean collection.
It happens when your place of business is a block from the best thrift store known to man. And when you work with musicians. And when your home away from home is the Golden Light Cantina. I'm just sayin'.
Poor Grace duct taped her boobs to make them look like mine. I don't even want to know what THAT says about me.
6. A better exercise in self-awareness? Have a child. Dress him up as a Tootsie Roll. Or as Tom Cruise in "Risky Business." That might be weirder than trucker hats.
7. I walked IV into his classroom this morning in his new Tigger halloween shirt, armed with individual Halloween packs of goldfish crackers and cubed cheese and I realized that I AM THAT DORKY MOM. The one who gives you stickers for Halloween. The one dressing her son in a Tigger shirt. That's me. WOW.
Happy Halloween everybody! Go carve a pumpkin! Spook someone! Watch Friday the 13th!
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
xoxo
Liz and IV
Thursday, October 29, 2009
WAR OF THE WORLDS
My items on Kroger conveyor belt:
Egg beaters
Edamame
Organic Peanut Butter
Cottage Cheese
Tuna
Dude behind me puts the following items on Kroger conveyor belt:
5 rolls of Jimmy Dean breakfast sausage
3 packages of bacon
He gives me the stink eye.
I return it.
Egg beaters
Edamame
Organic Peanut Butter
Cottage Cheese
Tuna
Dude behind me puts the following items on Kroger conveyor belt:
5 rolls of Jimmy Dean breakfast sausage
3 packages of bacon
He gives me the stink eye.
I return it.
OCD? ME?
HOOOOOOO BOY!
I just purchased one KILLER Christmas present.
I like to hold myself in high regards in the gift giving department. I like thoughtful gifts. You've probably read about a few of my gifts on this blog.
But seriously people, the worlds just ALIGNED today and I found a fabulous present for MJ. And I bought it.
I just felt a sudden wave of relief wash over me because I finished purchasing ONE Christmas gift.
Now I only have 24,437 other friends and family to shop for. Great.
I just woke up this morning and realized HOLY FRIJOLE, I have less than two months until Christmas and before then I have to run a half marathon, go to a wedding, go to Sponsor Party, PUT ON A FREAKING HOLIDAY BALL, oh yeah, and I think Thanksgiving fits somewhere in there...
Seriously, we have two free weekends from now until Christmas. Insanity.
Have you started your Christmas shopping? Are you a early bird or a last-minute-stnading-in-line-on-Christmas-Eve sort of person?
I won't judge. Promise.
I just purchased one KILLER Christmas present.
I like to hold myself in high regards in the gift giving department. I like thoughtful gifts. You've probably read about a few of my gifts on this blog.
But seriously people, the worlds just ALIGNED today and I found a fabulous present for MJ. And I bought it.
I just felt a sudden wave of relief wash over me because I finished purchasing ONE Christmas gift.
Now I only have 24,437 other friends and family to shop for. Great.
I just woke up this morning and realized HOLY FRIJOLE, I have less than two months until Christmas and before then I have to run a half marathon, go to a wedding, go to Sponsor Party, PUT ON A FREAKING HOLIDAY BALL, oh yeah, and I think Thanksgiving fits somewhere in there...
Seriously, we have two free weekends from now until Christmas. Insanity.
Have you started your Christmas shopping? Are you a early bird or a last-minute-stnading-in-line-on-Christmas-Eve sort of person?
I won't judge. Promise.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
THE HARD WAY
About 8 months ago, I decided to make an investment in an alarm system on the Ball House.
*This is a Public Service Announcement to all G Town Robbers: Alarm System. Owner with .357. Please take note. Thank you.*
Nothing particularly scary happened to prompt this, I just figured that a single gal with a toddler living in a house with 13,256 windows should maybe be safe.
Plus, my front door wasn't exactly secure, seeing as how I have maybe once or twice either had too much wine or too much toddler and forgotten my keys and oh, maybe actually pushed the front door in.
As in, pushed it in without having to like put my full body weight into it or use a tool. Like, just push it in.
Well, all that is fixed now but in true Liz fashion, I don't exactly know all the intricacies of the system and how to set codes for people and turn the volume down or whatevs.
I call ADT a lot.
I'm sure they love my questions.
So here's what I DO know: my alarm has an "away" setting and a "stay" setting. Obviously for when I'm "AWAY" and when I "STAY."
So let's just say that the other night someone in my household set the alarm to "away" before bed.
Sidenote: there are two other someones in my house and one can't reach the buttons and the other might have had too many Bud Heavies and listened to a little too much Iron & Wine. I"m just sayin'.
And so at 5:30 AM, I stumbled downstairs to get a pacifier from the dishwasher and when I rounded the corner into the living room...
THE ALARM WENT OFF.
As someone who doesn't know my alarm system whatsoever, I have NO IDEA what the alarm sounds like when it goes off. I assume that it's like in the commercials when that chick is on her treadmill and the dude breaks the glass and it's like a somewhat tolerable, mildly alarming noise.
I AM SO VERY, INCREDIBLY, COMPLETELY WRONG.
This thing goes off and it's like the end of the GD world, with sirens and lights and sh*t that basically does two things:
1. Sends me into an immediate cardiac arrest.
2. Acts like a direct shot of quadruple espresso directly into my jugular and when I say that I have NEVER IN MY LIFE jumped and run so fast, at such an early hour, to that friggin' alarm panel...I am NOT KIDDING.
My heart continued to race for an hour.
So I catch my breath, run to the dishwasher, grab a pacifier and head back upstairs to...
Silence.
Sleeping baby.
Sleeping MJ.
So the moral to my story is that it's a damn good thing I have an alarm because this CRACK SQUAD that I have living with me sure isn't going to twarth any burglaries...although they might snore them away.
*This is a Public Service Announcement to all G Town Robbers: Alarm System. Owner with .357. Please take note. Thank you.*
Nothing particularly scary happened to prompt this, I just figured that a single gal with a toddler living in a house with 13,256 windows should maybe be safe.
Plus, my front door wasn't exactly secure, seeing as how I have maybe once or twice either had too much wine or too much toddler and forgotten my keys and oh, maybe actually pushed the front door in.
As in, pushed it in without having to like put my full body weight into it or use a tool. Like, just push it in.
Well, all that is fixed now but in true Liz fashion, I don't exactly know all the intricacies of the system and how to set codes for people and turn the volume down or whatevs.
I call ADT a lot.
I'm sure they love my questions.
So here's what I DO know: my alarm has an "away" setting and a "stay" setting. Obviously for when I'm "AWAY" and when I "STAY."
So let's just say that the other night someone in my household set the alarm to "away" before bed.
Sidenote: there are two other someones in my house and one can't reach the buttons and the other might have had too many Bud Heavies and listened to a little too much Iron & Wine. I"m just sayin'.
And so at 5:30 AM, I stumbled downstairs to get a pacifier from the dishwasher and when I rounded the corner into the living room...
THE ALARM WENT OFF.
As someone who doesn't know my alarm system whatsoever, I have NO IDEA what the alarm sounds like when it goes off. I assume that it's like in the commercials when that chick is on her treadmill and the dude breaks the glass and it's like a somewhat tolerable, mildly alarming noise.
I AM SO VERY, INCREDIBLY, COMPLETELY WRONG.
This thing goes off and it's like the end of the GD world, with sirens and lights and sh*t that basically does two things:
1. Sends me into an immediate cardiac arrest.
2. Acts like a direct shot of quadruple espresso directly into my jugular and when I say that I have NEVER IN MY LIFE jumped and run so fast, at such an early hour, to that friggin' alarm panel...I am NOT KIDDING.
My heart continued to race for an hour.
So I catch my breath, run to the dishwasher, grab a pacifier and head back upstairs to...
Silence.
Sleeping baby.
Sleeping MJ.
So the moral to my story is that it's a damn good thing I have an alarm because this CRACK SQUAD that I have living with me sure isn't going to twarth any burglaries...although they might snore them away.
Monday, October 26, 2009
IT'S THE GREAT PUMPKIN
IV and I went to the pumpkin patch this weekend with our fave cousins, Kristin and Tyler, and let me just say this:
Do you KNOW how to make a 16 month-old's day?
Surround him with perfectly mini pumpkins that have stems that you can carry from here to there and to there and here and oh, maybe put them in a wagon, or maybe just throw them on the ground and then go climb under a safety fence.
I swear there are times that I just want to dunk him in gravy and gobble him up...seriously, look at that hair and those cheeks:
IV picked out his own little plump pumpkin and took it for a spin in the wagon:
And we took the second annual haybale picture with K and T:
And you wanna talk about making mama feel like TOTALLY old? Like, old with grey hair and socks with pom poms on it kind of old?
Here was my Pumpkin Patch Posse one year ago:
Every day, it just keeps getting better and better.
Do you KNOW how to make a 16 month-old's day?
Surround him with perfectly mini pumpkins that have stems that you can carry from here to there and to there and here and oh, maybe put them in a wagon, or maybe just throw them on the ground and then go climb under a safety fence.
I swear there are times that I just want to dunk him in gravy and gobble him up...seriously, look at that hair and those cheeks:
IV picked out his own little plump pumpkin and took it for a spin in the wagon:
And we took the second annual haybale picture with K and T:
And you wanna talk about making mama feel like TOTALLY old? Like, old with grey hair and socks with pom poms on it kind of old?
Here was my Pumpkin Patch Posse one year ago:
Every day, it just keeps getting better and better.
Friday, October 23, 2009
THEY DID LET ME DRIVE ON THE AUTOBAHN AT AGE 14...
Shout out to the MKR and Pappy:
Visit My Parent Were Awesome and give some love to yours!
My faves from this really unique and fun idea for a website:
Visit My Parent Were Awesome and give some love to yours!
My faves from this really unique and fun idea for a website:
WINDOW EXPERTS
We got a cold front last night.
"The cold air seeps right through your windows" complains MJ.
"I know. At least I have drapes now." I reply.
"But it's like the panes of glass don't even fit the window frames."
"They were made 130 years ago. What do you expect?"
"Oh, so now you're a window expert?"
Sigh. Old houses. The Ball house just simply breathes...air passes in and out...heat, cold, it makes no difference. Just part of it.
It doesn't really bother me. I wear socks. I peel off layers. The shutters bang open and shut in the wind.
Just part of it.
My Writer's Almanac this morning was very fitting:
Gravity
by Louis Jenkins
It turns out that the drain pipe from the sink is attached to
nothing and water just runs right onto the ground in the
crawl space underneath the house and then trickles out
into the stream that passes through the backyard. It turns
out that the house is not really attached to the ground but
sits atop a few loose concrete blocks all held in place by
gravity, which, as I understand it, means "seriousness." Well,
this is serious enough. If you look into it further you will
discover that the water is not attached to anything either
and that perhaps the rocks and the trees are not all that
firmly in place. The world is a stage. But don't try to move
anything. You might hurt yourself, besides that's a job for
the stagehands and union rules are strict. You are merely a
player about to deliver a soliloquy on the septic system to a
couple dozen popple trees and a patch of pale blue sky.
"The cold air seeps right through your windows" complains MJ.
"I know. At least I have drapes now." I reply.
"But it's like the panes of glass don't even fit the window frames."
"They were made 130 years ago. What do you expect?"
"Oh, so now you're a window expert?"
Sigh. Old houses. The Ball house just simply breathes...air passes in and out...heat, cold, it makes no difference. Just part of it.
It doesn't really bother me. I wear socks. I peel off layers. The shutters bang open and shut in the wind.
Just part of it.
My Writer's Almanac this morning was very fitting:
Gravity
by Louis Jenkins
It turns out that the drain pipe from the sink is attached to
nothing and water just runs right onto the ground in the
crawl space underneath the house and then trickles out
into the stream that passes through the backyard. It turns
out that the house is not really attached to the ground but
sits atop a few loose concrete blocks all held in place by
gravity, which, as I understand it, means "seriousness." Well,
this is serious enough. If you look into it further you will
discover that the water is not attached to anything either
and that perhaps the rocks and the trees are not all that
firmly in place. The world is a stage. But don't try to move
anything. You might hurt yourself, besides that's a job for
the stagehands and union rules are strict. You are merely a
player about to deliver a soliloquy on the septic system to a
couple dozen popple trees and a patch of pale blue sky.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
JEDI MIND TRICKS
Last night - a timeline:
10-ish: I fall asleep while MJ is reading white papers about high value feeder calves and low acreage ranching.
1 AM: I wake up to busting bright ass reading lamp. MJ can't sleep and is reading a book by that crazy obnxious Jim Cramer guy. The cover is a huge picture of his face. It is alarming at any hour, nevertheless 1 AM. I go back to sleep.
4 AM: I have the worst dream I"ve had in a loooooong time. An incredibly bad, vivid dream that I had to wake myself from because I was on the verge of having a MAJOR panic attack in my sleep. Sweating and all. I roll over and tell MJ. He tells me to go back to sleep.
While I'll spare you the details of the dream, MJ told me this morning that IV woke up when I did from my bad dream. I didn't hear him but MJ did. And let me tell you this: there is a connection, a deep rooted, unnatural connection between a parent and a child, especially a mother and child and I don't doubt for a second that IV sensed my unrest, my anxiety, and it woke him.
The power of a soul is no laughing matter, people, I swear it.
10-ish: I fall asleep while MJ is reading white papers about high value feeder calves and low acreage ranching.
1 AM: I wake up to busting bright ass reading lamp. MJ can't sleep and is reading a book by that crazy obnxious Jim Cramer guy. The cover is a huge picture of his face. It is alarming at any hour, nevertheless 1 AM. I go back to sleep.
4 AM: I have the worst dream I"ve had in a loooooong time. An incredibly bad, vivid dream that I had to wake myself from because I was on the verge of having a MAJOR panic attack in my sleep. Sweating and all. I roll over and tell MJ. He tells me to go back to sleep.
While I'll spare you the details of the dream, MJ told me this morning that IV woke up when I did from my bad dream. I didn't hear him but MJ did. And let me tell you this: there is a connection, a deep rooted, unnatural connection between a parent and a child, especially a mother and child and I don't doubt for a second that IV sensed my unrest, my anxiety, and it woke him.
The power of a soul is no laughing matter, people, I swear it.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
UPDATE
In the past week I:
1. Talked Craig into wheeling our mail cart through the back of Bob Lyons Post Office on 59th Street just to see what goes on inside there.
Apparently I missed out on that field trip in elementary school.
We got yelled at and pretty much in a LOT of trouble but hoooo-boy, was it worth it to see all those machines and conveyors and cubbies and stacking, sorting, filing, wheeling, stamping action!
2. Have been around more pot smokers than I knew existed. Welcome to Austin.
3. Have been in the coolest ranch-style single story home in existence. Welcome to Austin.
4. Was surprised with a roadie pinot noir in Childress, Texas, complete with a red roadie dixie cup. Perfect for a road trip and the end of an exhausting week.
And, no, it's not rude to show up to a friend's house for dinner with an opened bottle of wine as long as you (1) share and (2) have backups.
5. Got down on my knees and cried and prayed. For the first time in a long time. And realized I needed to do it more often.
6. Have taught IV where his nose is. Actually, I can't take credit for that, MJ started it. Although "nose" and "NO!" sound remarkably alike and IV knows "NO" a whole lot better than "NOSE." Go figure.
7. Broke out a long sleeved shirt and a my beloved leather buckskin jacket. That jacket has seen some miles. I wore it the second night I met MJ. I'm pretty sure it was my charm and good looks that attracted him but the jacket's not a bad gig either.
8. Had my child grab my hand and lead me somewhere. Wow. Talk about incredible. Oh, the places we'll go!
9. Have held three newborn babies. Geez, talk about kicking the hormones into gear, just add water and baby smell and teeny, tiny socks and onesies. Done.
10. Have never been more thankful for someone in my entire life. Thankful for little things like back rubs and unloading the dishwasher and dropping diapers off at school. Thankful for medium things like fixing my front porch and closing all my floor vents.
And thankful for big things, like loving me despite my flaws and issues and insanity.
Have a great week everybody!
xoxo
Liz
1. Talked Craig into wheeling our mail cart through the back of Bob Lyons Post Office on 59th Street just to see what goes on inside there.
Apparently I missed out on that field trip in elementary school.
We got yelled at and pretty much in a LOT of trouble but hoooo-boy, was it worth it to see all those machines and conveyors and cubbies and stacking, sorting, filing, wheeling, stamping action!
2. Have been around more pot smokers than I knew existed. Welcome to Austin.
3. Have been in the coolest ranch-style single story home in existence. Welcome to Austin.
4. Was surprised with a roadie pinot noir in Childress, Texas, complete with a red roadie dixie cup. Perfect for a road trip and the end of an exhausting week.
And, no, it's not rude to show up to a friend's house for dinner with an opened bottle of wine as long as you (1) share and (2) have backups.
5. Got down on my knees and cried and prayed. For the first time in a long time. And realized I needed to do it more often.
6. Have taught IV where his nose is. Actually, I can't take credit for that, MJ started it. Although "nose" and "NO!" sound remarkably alike and IV knows "NO" a whole lot better than "NOSE." Go figure.
7. Broke out a long sleeved shirt and a my beloved leather buckskin jacket. That jacket has seen some miles. I wore it the second night I met MJ. I'm pretty sure it was my charm and good looks that attracted him but the jacket's not a bad gig either.
8. Had my child grab my hand and lead me somewhere. Wow. Talk about incredible. Oh, the places we'll go!
9. Have held three newborn babies. Geez, talk about kicking the hormones into gear, just add water and baby smell and teeny, tiny socks and onesies. Done.
10. Have never been more thankful for someone in my entire life. Thankful for little things like back rubs and unloading the dishwasher and dropping diapers off at school. Thankful for medium things like fixing my front porch and closing all my floor vents.
And thankful for big things, like loving me despite my flaws and issues and insanity.
Have a great week everybody!
xoxo
Liz
Friday, October 16, 2009
REFLECTION
Awhile back, my College Style BFF Ginger (G$ - HOLLAAA) gave me a really interesting book.
It is called "Keeping the Love you Find" - and it is extremely self-help and extremely something you would judge another person for reading and extremely gay-looking with a mauve softcover binding accented with an extremely average, yet professional doctor portrait sort.
Get me?
But I trust G$, she is awesome and solid and she totally knows me, all the flaws, all the baloney, and she gave me this book to work on. Because it helped her. And she is a rock, man, the best.
Annnnddd....this book is a doozy.
It asks a lot of questions.
You know what questions and answers start to show you?
Patterns.
Oh, boy.
It has a lot to do about relationships but it also has a lot to do with self reflection and how your relationships are affected by you and the choices you make...over and over again, unfortunately.
And throughout all of this questioning and answering and thinking, I realized something. The question was:
What is your biggest fear?
And while I think normally I would say something commonplace, like "failure" or "losing someone," my gut answer shocked the hell out of me.
My biggest fear is that I am not fulfilling the potential within myself and my potential to others.
My second biggest fear is that my stress and worries keep me from being the best person I can be to the people I love the most. I don't give myself fully and positively to them because I am so consumed with stress and worry, about finances, about life, about houses, about careers.
And so I went through the same traditional Liz cycle of FREAKING THE F OUT and then calming down and making a list.
In a notebook.
Because this is what I do.
I am a list maker.
And a notebook addict.
And I decided that I have a choice.
A choice to either worry and fret, knowing that it will do nothing helpful, or I can get an f-ing grip and put my best foot forward. Walk into the house with a smile and leave it all at the front door in a big heaping pile with shoes and bags and backpacks and sippy cups and dog leashes.
I can stop picking up the house and kitchen incessantly, knowing full well that everything behind me will go right back on the floor, be dumped out, turned over, dirtied, etc. all at the hands of a 16 month-old and a 31 year-old.
I can stop being irritated about not being able to work out as much as MJ, because you know what? I am doing what I can. When I can. And my son is more important than my triceps. I can stop feeling guilty about not working out every day because you know what? A walk on the seawall with IV is just as good in my book as an hour pounding weights at the gym.
Actually, it's a million times better.
And I'm running 13 miles on November 15th. That's not something that everyone can do. Right? Right.
I can let it go.
Let. It. Go.
Whew. I feel better already.
It is called "Keeping the Love you Find" - and it is extremely self-help and extremely something you would judge another person for reading and extremely gay-looking with a mauve softcover binding accented with an extremely average, yet professional doctor portrait sort.
Get me?
But I trust G$, she is awesome and solid and she totally knows me, all the flaws, all the baloney, and she gave me this book to work on. Because it helped her. And she is a rock, man, the best.
Annnnddd....this book is a doozy.
It asks a lot of questions.
You know what questions and answers start to show you?
Patterns.
Oh, boy.
It has a lot to do about relationships but it also has a lot to do with self reflection and how your relationships are affected by you and the choices you make...over and over again, unfortunately.
And throughout all of this questioning and answering and thinking, I realized something. The question was:
What is your biggest fear?
And while I think normally I would say something commonplace, like "failure" or "losing someone," my gut answer shocked the hell out of me.
My biggest fear is that I am not fulfilling the potential within myself and my potential to others.
My second biggest fear is that my stress and worries keep me from being the best person I can be to the people I love the most. I don't give myself fully and positively to them because I am so consumed with stress and worry, about finances, about life, about houses, about careers.
And so I went through the same traditional Liz cycle of FREAKING THE F OUT and then calming down and making a list.
In a notebook.
Because this is what I do.
I am a list maker.
And a notebook addict.
And I decided that I have a choice.
A choice to either worry and fret, knowing that it will do nothing helpful, or I can get an f-ing grip and put my best foot forward. Walk into the house with a smile and leave it all at the front door in a big heaping pile with shoes and bags and backpacks and sippy cups and dog leashes.
I can stop picking up the house and kitchen incessantly, knowing full well that everything behind me will go right back on the floor, be dumped out, turned over, dirtied, etc. all at the hands of a 16 month-old and a 31 year-old.
I can stop being irritated about not being able to work out as much as MJ, because you know what? I am doing what I can. When I can. And my son is more important than my triceps. I can stop feeling guilty about not working out every day because you know what? A walk on the seawall with IV is just as good in my book as an hour pounding weights at the gym.
Actually, it's a million times better.
And I'm running 13 miles on November 15th. That's not something that everyone can do. Right? Right.
I can let it go.
Let. It. Go.
Whew. I feel better already.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
MEANWHILE...
This past weekend, we all made a pilgrimage to The Ranch, AKA "Camp Rogers" for fun, relaxation, lots of Turning Leaf wine (J-Lef and I do NOT recommend it) and toddler action, all in God's Great Outdoors.
YEEHAW! Let the games begin:
The gang's all here: Jimbo, J-Lef, Pappy, MKR, Liz, MJ and IV (mad because he can't get down in the mud)
The reason for the outdoor season, Little Ones! IV is "The Next Big Thing" -
The MKR, fun with paper bags:
The Ranch was SOOOOO muddy - the Land Rover felt right at home, plowing through the muddy fields and ditches! Pappy warned us to wear boots - IV wanted to trade in his Pumas for a nice pair, already broken in:
Jimbo and his fancy schmancy lawyer socks:
Hey Jimbo! Bet they didn't teach you how to operate one of THESE in law school:
Dinner, Camp Rogers' style:
*note the three bottles of red wine on the left. They are about to be demolished in less than an hour. I digress.
Short intermission: Jenny and I were forced to start drinking anything that wasn't tied down, including two bottles of Turning Leaf chardonay, which might possibly be the WORST wine ever bottled. The next day we determined it should come with a warning label: Do not drink. EVER.
Turning Leaf times, Liz and J-Lef:
Wise man once say, "those who do not drink Turning Leaf show up early to breakfast"
Wise man also say "those who wear fancy socks cannot get away with Two Day Wearing"
IV and MJ, at one with nature:
The two loves of my life:
A final reminder: guns don't kill, Jimbo kills. Unless you're a hog. Then you're safe.
Until next time, we heart Camp Rogers!
YEEHAW! Let the games begin:
The gang's all here: Jimbo, J-Lef, Pappy, MKR, Liz, MJ and IV (mad because he can't get down in the mud)
The reason for the outdoor season, Little Ones! IV is "The Next Big Thing" -
The MKR, fun with paper bags:
The Ranch was SOOOOO muddy - the Land Rover felt right at home, plowing through the muddy fields and ditches! Pappy warned us to wear boots - IV wanted to trade in his Pumas for a nice pair, already broken in:
Jimbo and his fancy schmancy lawyer socks:
Hey Jimbo! Bet they didn't teach you how to operate one of THESE in law school:
Dinner, Camp Rogers' style:
*note the three bottles of red wine on the left. They are about to be demolished in less than an hour. I digress.
Short intermission: Jenny and I were forced to start drinking anything that wasn't tied down, including two bottles of Turning Leaf chardonay, which might possibly be the WORST wine ever bottled. The next day we determined it should come with a warning label: Do not drink. EVER.
Turning Leaf times, Liz and J-Lef:
Wise man once say, "those who do not drink Turning Leaf show up early to breakfast"
Wise man also say "those who wear fancy socks cannot get away with Two Day Wearing"
IV and MJ, at one with nature:
The two loves of my life:
A final reminder: guns don't kill, Jimbo kills. Unless you're a hog. Then you're safe.
Until next time, we heart Camp Rogers!
Monday, October 12, 2009
DON'T NEED NO STINKIN' TENZING NORGAY
IV has been waking up at 5:30 AM and pitching a royal fit.
Why?
Because getting up means two things: Sesame Street and MILK.
Why would YOU not want to get up? Seriously; WHATEVS.
Except that our TEAM does not get up until 6 AM. Comprende?
So MJ and I are lying in bed, listening to IV holler at us at 5:20 AM on Saturday morning when we hear a noise:
Thunk.
Silence.
"Did he just get out of his crib?" I whisper to MJ.
"There is NO possible way" MJ replies.
And then through the darkness comes a little figure, marching, blanket in hand, pacifier in mouth, directly into our room, through the doors, straight up to our bed.
People, do you KNOW how tall a crib is? Do you know the sheer strength it took to hoist himself up on the top ledge, throw a leg over, bail out and land (all without injuring himself, mind you) and then grab his blankie and pacifier and head directly for us?
It's still boggling my mind.
Dear God,
OK, so I know I was a bit of a HANDFUL as a child. But SERIOUSLY, I GET IT. You can stop now.
Love,
Liz
Why?
Because getting up means two things: Sesame Street and MILK.
Why would YOU not want to get up? Seriously; WHATEVS.
Except that our TEAM does not get up until 6 AM. Comprende?
So MJ and I are lying in bed, listening to IV holler at us at 5:20 AM on Saturday morning when we hear a noise:
Thunk.
Silence.
"Did he just get out of his crib?" I whisper to MJ.
"There is NO possible way" MJ replies.
And then through the darkness comes a little figure, marching, blanket in hand, pacifier in mouth, directly into our room, through the doors, straight up to our bed.
People, do you KNOW how tall a crib is? Do you know the sheer strength it took to hoist himself up on the top ledge, throw a leg over, bail out and land (all without injuring himself, mind you) and then grab his blankie and pacifier and head directly for us?
It's still boggling my mind.
Dear God,
OK, so I know I was a bit of a HANDFUL as a child. But SERIOUSLY, I GET IT. You can stop now.
Love,
Liz
Monday, October 5, 2009
TALK TALK TALK
IV is incredibly close to talking now - he babbles incessantly and whenever we pick him up from school, we all talk the entire drive home.
I haven't a clue what he's saying but he definitely is telling us all about it!
He says "mama" and "bye bye" and "IV" although it sounds like "EYEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEE" with the letters all drawn out. We talk constantly to him, pointing and telling him the words for everything. We try both spanish and english and he just soaks it up like a little sponge.
MJ was trying to teach him "beach" the other day as we drove down the seawall and I SWEAR when we were driving home last night he looked out at all the surfers and waves and said "BEACH!" - and then said it about 35 times over.
MJ and I both just have a feeling that one day, the words are going to come and there's going to be no stopping him...he's like mama in every other way, why not that one?
I haven't a clue what he's saying but he definitely is telling us all about it!
He says "mama" and "bye bye" and "IV" although it sounds like "EYEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEE" with the letters all drawn out. We talk constantly to him, pointing and telling him the words for everything. We try both spanish and english and he just soaks it up like a little sponge.
MJ was trying to teach him "beach" the other day as we drove down the seawall and I SWEAR when we were driving home last night he looked out at all the surfers and waves and said "BEACH!" - and then said it about 35 times over.
MJ and I both just have a feeling that one day, the words are going to come and there's going to be no stopping him...he's like mama in every other way, why not that one?
Friday, October 2, 2009
DOTE (INSERT LIZ)
How is it possible that a John Mayer song just launched me into a lake of completely self-serving want, want of someone to just freaking dote on me, just for a few hours, a few days. Maybe longer.
I pose the question to Kelley:
"Why is it that all the doters you date are either unattractive or have some other MAJOR flaw, like, um, having a criminal record?"
Kel says to me: "Doting gets old, Liz."
My response: "I just haven't had it in a REALLY LONG TIME, KEL."
Things I would want from My Doter:
1. Open doors for me all the time (a la "Excuse me Miss" - Jay Z) and get up when I I get up from the table (a la my brother, Jimbo Brimbo).
2. Dinners cooked for me every night. Except sushi. Sushi isn't something you should make at home, for some reason it seems like a literal recipe for disaster and probably involves health code violations.
3. "Band of Horses" playing the soundtrack to my life, everywhere I went. There's a song for every occasion!
4. JEWELS. LOTS AND LOTS OF JEWELS. Now, we all know how much I can't stand Heidi from The Hills but...the moment when Spencer proposes to her on the top of the ferris wheel and he has this ENORMOUS diamond and he says "will you marry me?" and she says "with this ring? OF COURSE."
And you know what? That's OK Heidi, we all get you. We may not admit it, we may not EVER say that, but WE. GET. IT.
5. Unlimited back rubs and spooning, even though you may not be able to sleep that way. Welcome to a lifetime of Liz being happy and you being tired.
6. With a bonus side of unlimited diaper changes and early morning re-pacifying. Thank you very much.
7. Flowers. A waste of money? Says YOU. You girls who don't get flowers. You know you want them, wasteful, wonderful, smelly-good, scrawled boy handwriting on a card flowers.
8. OK, I'm done being selfish now. Just needed a minute. Thanks.
9. OK, one more: can you write sappy, lovely things about me in poems?
I feel better now.
I pose the question to Kelley:
"Why is it that all the doters you date are either unattractive or have some other MAJOR flaw, like, um, having a criminal record?"
Kel says to me: "Doting gets old, Liz."
My response: "I just haven't had it in a REALLY LONG TIME, KEL."
Things I would want from My Doter:
1. Open doors for me all the time (a la "Excuse me Miss" - Jay Z) and get up when I I get up from the table (a la my brother, Jimbo Brimbo).
2. Dinners cooked for me every night. Except sushi. Sushi isn't something you should make at home, for some reason it seems like a literal recipe for disaster and probably involves health code violations.
3. "Band of Horses" playing the soundtrack to my life, everywhere I went. There's a song for every occasion!
4. JEWELS. LOTS AND LOTS OF JEWELS. Now, we all know how much I can't stand Heidi from The Hills but...the moment when Spencer proposes to her on the top of the ferris wheel and he has this ENORMOUS diamond and he says "will you marry me?" and she says "with this ring? OF COURSE."
And you know what? That's OK Heidi, we all get you. We may not admit it, we may not EVER say that, but WE. GET. IT.
5. Unlimited back rubs and spooning, even though you may not be able to sleep that way. Welcome to a lifetime of Liz being happy and you being tired.
6. With a bonus side of unlimited diaper changes and early morning re-pacifying. Thank you very much.
7. Flowers. A waste of money? Says YOU. You girls who don't get flowers. You know you want them, wasteful, wonderful, smelly-good, scrawled boy handwriting on a card flowers.
8. OK, I'm done being selfish now. Just needed a minute. Thanks.
9. OK, one more: can you write sappy, lovely things about me in poems?
I feel better now.
THE MIRACLE OF LIFE
My mind and heart are still spinning from all the emotion: Davis Alan Perez is HERE!
Yesterday was a whirlwind of texts from Lindsay:
"Dr. is sending me to the hospital - we're going to have a baby!"
"Can you let the dogs out?"
"About to get an epidural"
So I picked up IV, we packed him a bag and he, MJ and YoYo had BOYS NIGHT! while I scooted up to St. Johns, cookie cake in hand (Lindsay's only request for her birthing process: LARGE COOKIE CAKE.)
Side Galveston Rant: PEOPLE. IT'S A LONG DRIVE TO GET TO THE DANGED MAINLAND. WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO LIVE UP THERE? MIGHT AS WELL BE RHODE ISLAND.
Kel was texting me the entire drive for updates and I started to think that I might have already missed the birth...or that I would miss it because NASA ROAD 1 IS RIDICULOUSLY FAR FROM GALVESTON.
Ahem.
Somehow, after a wrong turn at Wendy's, righted by a correct turn at Fudruckers, I made it to Christus St. Johns.
I found the birthing center and asked the on call nurses for help in finding them. The nurse directed me to a room but made sure to inform me that "they are preeeeetty busy right now."
So I found the room, door closed. I could hear Brandon counting - COUNTING! COUNTING THROUGH PUSHES!
The great thing about St. John's is that in the hallway, they have these little alcove waiting rooms...so I perched on a little chair in one of those about 10 feet away.
I started timing Brandon's counting. It was 7:37 PM.
Bran was counting about every two minutes. WOW!
Nurses came and went.
I got nervous.
I journaled.
I picked my cuticles.
I texted everyone I knew.
I caught up on all my blog reading from the iPhone.
I had a bite of cookie cake. OK, maybe two bites.
I WAS FREAKING OUT! WHAT ELSE WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?
AND THEN...
I heard a cry. A very loud and bold cry.
DAVIS HAD ARRIVED!
7 pounds, 13 ounces, at 8:26 PM. 9 months of waiting, watching Lindsay grow and plan and prepare. And now he was here.
Bran came out a few minutes later - and ten minutes after that, I was allowed to go in and see them all!
I will give props to St. John's for this: the delivery and your room, everything, it's all in one. So they cleaned Davis and Lindsay up, cleaned up the room and - TA DA! Welcome visitors! And Davis gets to stay right there, no taking him away!
He is a precious bean, sandy blonde curls and blue eyes. Long fingers. It had been a LONG time since I had held a newborn...and never have I held one so soon after being born, except my own.
Lindsay is a great friend. She is one of my best friends. I cannot even begin to tell you how lucky and blessed I am to have been a part of this with her, from start to finish, from breakfast burritos to sonic cream slushes, from boppys to bella bands.
Welcome Davis. IV can't wait to meet you.
.................
On the way home, I text messaged MJ to update him and said "I can't help it honey, I'm ready for more."
His reply: "You should see this one here. Birth control."
So rowdy he fell asleep on the kitchen floor
Yesterday was a whirlwind of texts from Lindsay:
"Dr. is sending me to the hospital - we're going to have a baby!"
"Can you let the dogs out?"
"About to get an epidural"
So I picked up IV, we packed him a bag and he, MJ and YoYo had BOYS NIGHT! while I scooted up to St. Johns, cookie cake in hand (Lindsay's only request for her birthing process: LARGE COOKIE CAKE.)
Side Galveston Rant: PEOPLE. IT'S A LONG DRIVE TO GET TO THE DANGED MAINLAND. WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO LIVE UP THERE? MIGHT AS WELL BE RHODE ISLAND.
Kel was texting me the entire drive for updates and I started to think that I might have already missed the birth...or that I would miss it because NASA ROAD 1 IS RIDICULOUSLY FAR FROM GALVESTON.
Ahem.
Somehow, after a wrong turn at Wendy's, righted by a correct turn at Fudruckers, I made it to Christus St. Johns.
I found the birthing center and asked the on call nurses for help in finding them. The nurse directed me to a room but made sure to inform me that "they are preeeeetty busy right now."
So I found the room, door closed. I could hear Brandon counting - COUNTING! COUNTING THROUGH PUSHES!
The great thing about St. John's is that in the hallway, they have these little alcove waiting rooms...so I perched on a little chair in one of those about 10 feet away.
I started timing Brandon's counting. It was 7:37 PM.
Bran was counting about every two minutes. WOW!
Nurses came and went.
I got nervous.
I journaled.
I picked my cuticles.
I texted everyone I knew.
I caught up on all my blog reading from the iPhone.
I had a bite of cookie cake. OK, maybe two bites.
I WAS FREAKING OUT! WHAT ELSE WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?
AND THEN...
I heard a cry. A very loud and bold cry.
DAVIS HAD ARRIVED!
7 pounds, 13 ounces, at 8:26 PM. 9 months of waiting, watching Lindsay grow and plan and prepare. And now he was here.
Bran came out a few minutes later - and ten minutes after that, I was allowed to go in and see them all!
I will give props to St. John's for this: the delivery and your room, everything, it's all in one. So they cleaned Davis and Lindsay up, cleaned up the room and - TA DA! Welcome visitors! And Davis gets to stay right there, no taking him away!
He is a precious bean, sandy blonde curls and blue eyes. Long fingers. It had been a LONG time since I had held a newborn...and never have I held one so soon after being born, except my own.
Lindsay is a great friend. She is one of my best friends. I cannot even begin to tell you how lucky and blessed I am to have been a part of this with her, from start to finish, from breakfast burritos to sonic cream slushes, from boppys to bella bands.
Welcome Davis. IV can't wait to meet you.
.................
On the way home, I text messaged MJ to update him and said "I can't help it honey, I'm ready for more."
His reply: "You should see this one here. Birth control."
So rowdy he fell asleep on the kitchen floor
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