The Wild and Wacky World of Adolescence!

I would say that, for the most part, I had a pretty good adolescence and teenager-hood. I mean, sure, there were some severely shitty parts. I was goofy and awkward and was worried that my boobs would never grow and no boys would ever ever like me ever. I worried that, because I was utterly mystified by algebraic concepts, that I might actually be stupid and that once this fact about me was discovered, I would utterly fail at life. I fought with my parents and occasionally thought they were total idiots. I snuck around and did stuff I wasn't supposed to. I drank too many wine coolers and barfed everywhere...way more than once. I smoked pot when it was around and I took Ecstacy a handful of times. I had crushes on "good guys" who were often times just as bad or worse than the "bad guys" I also had crushes on. I was bored out of my mind in my small town, but I managed to make the best of it with hilarious friends and lots of school and parties and hairspray.

But there is not enough money in the universe that would convince me to get in a time machine and do it all over again. Being a teenager sucks balls. Your body is all out of whack, your brain is equally screwy, and your emotions? Whoa. Total psychoville. You have no idea who you are and, if you start to feel self-assured for one single minute, something or someone smacks you down (or at least you think they smack you down...but who knows because you're nuts). You spend an inordinate amount of time wanting to crawl into a hole and disappear. I guarantee you that even the most beautiful/handsome, popular, and seemingly awesome kid at your high school secretly hated themselves and longed for their own hidey-hole sometimes.

So watching my young stepson--barely 12 years old--just beginning to struggle with all the bullshit that is adolescence breaks my heart. There's nothing I can say that will convince him that I, or any other adult for that matter, understands one iota what he's going through. Every teenager is sure that they're the only person on the planet who has ever felt the way they're feeling; to them, their angst and misery are completely unique and unprecedented. If they lack the coping skills or parental structure necessary to make it through the roughest of the rough patches, they shut down and withdraw. They can't, or simply won't, talk about it--whatever that "it" might be, which leaves those that love them totally ill-equipped to help or support them. You all enter a whirlpool of frustration and start to go down the drain together.

But BH is an amazing father, and if there's anyone who I'd want in this kid's corner right now, it's him. We're going to get through this as a family, and with any luck, F will come to know just how loved and supported he really is.

Also, I'm guessing we're that going to learn a lot, which will hopefully prepare us for The Geej's teenage years because I'm pretty sure they're going to be a freakin' doozie.

Talking With My Daughter About Prince

Yesterday while I was at work listening to my iTunes on random shuffle, Prince's "Baby I'm a Star" came on. I cranked it up all the way, did some borderline embarrassing chair bopping, and had to restrain myself from bursting into song. "Might not know it now, but baby you'll find out I'm a STAR!" I was already in a pretty good mood, but this musical boost put me over the top.

Later, when I left work, my Prince sing-along hit full tilt in the car on the way to pick up The Geej. Selections from "Purple Rain" were joined by classics from "1999," "Parade," and other albums of his. However, when I got to the Geej's aftercare place, the iPod was turned off, and the concert came to an end.

Until this morning.

We got in the car to head to school, and memories of the prior day's joyful, funky songfest made me hungry for more, so I turned on "Baby I'm a Star" again--where it all began.

This is the conversation that followed.

****
Geej: Mommy, can you turn it down.
Me: No.
Geej: Just a bit?
Me: Okay (turning it down one notch).
Me: "Baby, look me over/tell me do you like what you see?
Baby, I ain't got no money, but honey I'm rich on personality."
Geej: (Sort of horrified that I'm so in to it and clearly not "feeling it" as they say) What IS this?!
Me: This is Prince! Isn't it awesome?
Geej: No! It's HORRIBLE!
Me: (Ignoring her and continuing to sing) "I don't wanna stop, til I reach the top...I'm a STAR...whoa YEAH!"
Geej: Do you really like this?
Me: Um, clearly. Is it just too funky for you? (Smiling at her in the back seat)
Geej: (Unimpressed) No, it's just too awful for me.
Me: Oh come ON! This was one of my favorite albums in high school...it was one of the biggest albums of the decade! Prince is super talented. He can play a ton of different instruments--piano, guitar, bass, drums... And you should see him DANCE. He's AMAZING!!
Geej: Is he still alive?
Me: Yes.
Geej: How old is he?
Me: I don't know...maybe around 50.
Geej: So he's older than you.
Me: Yes. He's practically dead.
Geej: No, but when he's 50 MORE years old he'll be 100, and then he'll probably be dead.
Me: Do you want to see what he looks like (picking up the iPod to show her his picture).
Geej: (In a totally dry, teen-agery tone and timed perfectly with the soulful first solo guitar notes of "Purple Rain") No, Mommy. I don't care about Prince, and I've got to get out of the car or I'm going to be tardy.
Me: (Turning down the music) Okay. Well...I love you (kiss), and I'll see you this evening. Have a great day.
Geej: Okay. Love you. Bye. (Gets out of the car and walks toward the school doors).
Me: "Never meant to cause you any sorrow. Never meant to cause you any pain..."

And scene.

The Long, Stupid Story of My Lost/Not Lost Wallet

Back in December, I'd gone grocery shopping one Saturday morning, and while at the store, picked up a few stocking stuffers for Christmas. When I got home, I hurried to my closet to squirrel away said stocking stuffers, away from the eyes of husbands and children, then I headed to the kitchen to unload the rest of my purchases.

It was a fine day, and I was looking forward to a massage and salt-glo body treatment I'd scheduled later that afternoon at a day spa near our house. Earlier that month, I'd unearthed a gift certificate to the spa given to me by my mother the previous Christmas, and needed to use it prior to the expiration date.

When I grabbed my purse to make sure I had some cash with which to tip the massage therapist, I discovered my small, adorable pink metallic wallet that I bought in Portland last summer was missing. I fuh-REEEKED out. I immediately got in my car and flew back to the grocery store, asking the cashier in the lane I'd gone through if she'd seen it (no), the Front End Manager if it had been turned in (no) and the store manager if it had been turned in (also, no). My freak out continued. I am generally good in a crisis, say, if you cut the tip of your finger off and need to get to the hospital or if I back in to a police car when leaving a parking space. Cool as a damn cucumber. However, when I lose stuff that's important to me...stuff that I need RIGHT THAT MINUTE, I lose. My. Shit. I literally had to pop a Xanax just to deal. I immediately called the spa and cancelled my appointment (how would I pay them? My gift certificate was only going to pay for a portion of my services), and that just bummed me out even more because my gift certificate was expiring the next day. Then I ran to the bank to cancel my debit card and get issued a new (temporary) one. Then I got online and on the phone and started canceling credit cards. Thankfully, I don't have but a couple, but it was still a pain in my ass. I looked at my calendar, trying to figure out when the hell I was going to have time to deal with getting a new driver's license--a fate almost as horrible as having to go to the Social Security office for...well, for anything. And the whole time I'm going through all of this, I'm thinking to myself, "Where the fuck IS that damn wallet?!" I don't like it when stuff doesn't make sense--you know, like algebra and when wallets seemingly disappear in thin air. I was in a shitty, shitty mood for the rest of the day.

The next day, I found my fucking wallet on the floor of my closet, right near where I'd hidden the stocking stuffers.

Sigh.

Fast forward to this past Sunday. The Geej and I go to The Lorax. During the movie, I hang my purse between our seats, on the arm rest. Shortly after getting home after the movie, I realize that, DAMNIT TO HELL, my wallet is not in my purse. Grrrr... So, I put The Geej back in the car, and we head back to the damn theater. When I got there, I checked with the ticket booth (nope, but here, fill out this tiny "Lost and Found" slip in case we find it), the snack bar (no) and then asked the pimply 15 year old working the ticket checkpoint if I can go in to the theater and look around where Geej and I had sat to watch the movie. His answer: No. The movie's just started, so come back in about an hour and a half, and you can go in when it's over.

Um, no, Junior. That's not going to work for me. That's my fucking wallet filled with all of my Important Stuff and the cash I'd gotten from our pre-movie trip through the ATM, so you're going to need a bit more accommodating or get me your goddamned manager because your policy? Is stupid.

After speaking with the manager, I was allowed to go in to the theater. The previews were still running. There was a man and his son sitting in the seats Geej and I had occupied. I explained to him what was up, and he got out his phone (for the flashlight effect) and helped me look under and around the seats. No luck.

Having learned my lesson with the whole December "lost" wallet situation, I held off cancelling everything, and instead waited until Monday, hoping that the last clean of the evening at the theater would yield my wallet or that some nice citizen would turn it in and I would get a call. But no.

So Monday, I took the day off to hang with The Geej who--have I mentioned?--is sick. She'd been running a fever off and on since Friday evening, and I wanted to get her in to see the doctor on Monday morning. A good chunk of Monday is spent dealing with her under-the-weatheredness (diagnosis: bad bronchitis) and also, the whole wallet debacle. I even dragged my poor child to the driver's licence office so she could experience the fun that is our Government At Work.

By the end of the day, everything was cancelled, new cards were ordered, and I had my new paper driver's license folded up in my too-big-to-EVER-lose-it-without-noticing-right-away wallet.

Yesterday, I stayed home again with The Geej who, although no longer feverish, was still coughing like Lucille Ball. During an afternoon call with my boss, my other line rang and I answered it. It was the movie theater: they had my wallet.

Well, great.

I headed to the theater to pick it up, expecting all of the cash, etc. to be missing, but sweetbabyjeebus, it was all there! In tact!! I couldn't believe it!

But I've decided that I'm still going to carry the Big Ass Wallet from now on because this cute little pink sucker is too easy to misplace.

In non-wallet related news, we've discovered Cam Wow, and omg The Geej and I laughed ourselves to tears playing around with it yesterday.

Hell, even Doug got in on the fun.

Alright, that's all for now. More soon, chickens!

Girl Problems

Last weekend, while considering her reflection in the full-length mirror in my bathroom, The Geej asked me innocently, "Am I skinny, Mommy?"

The Geej who has yet to reach 50 lbs.

The Geej who wears size 7 super skinny jeans that have their adjustable waistbands taken all the way in so that they'll stay on her body.

The Geej who is almost always cold because she has zero body fat.

The Geej who is only seven and a half years old.

My heart sank with her question. I answered her honestly, "Yes honey, you're skinny."

But then I followed up with, "But what if I'd said that you weren't?" She looked at me, bewildered. I told her, "Not being skinny isn't a bad thing, honey. You know that, right?" She nodded her head, a bit confused, and returned to brushing her hair while gazing at herself. After a few seconds she asked, "But I AM skinny, right?" I didn't answer.

So this is what our world is like. With all of the advances women have made in most societies, how they look and dress still plays a huge part in how the world perceives them, and how they perceive themselves, and it makes my feminist blood boil.

But it's more than just the appearance thing that gets me. It's the fact that, now as the mother of a young girl, the overt gender stratification of the world around us leaps out at me as never before.

Go to Target, to the toy aisles. There are, clearly, aisles of toys intended for girls and aisles of toys that are intended for boys. The way the simple act of play is marketed and merchandised almost ensures that boys will not explore "girl" toys, and vice versa. When I first spoke to The Geej about reading some Harry Potter together, she balked at the idea because "Harry Potter is a boy's book." Same with Star Wars movies. [NOTE: I read the first Harry Potter to her, and she LOVED it. We're now reading the second. We'll get to Star Wars soon.] She's already self-limiting what she is willing to experience because of some "THIS is okay; THAT is not" bullshit that has seeped into her young brain.

And she is beautiful. Stunningly so. People--including strangers--comment on her looks all the time and always have. I rarely tell her she's cute or beautiful, choosing instead to focus on how smart and kind and funny she is. As a goofy looking kid, I didn't have people commenting on my looks very often. You know, if you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all. But to The Geej, she's already started to believe that her looks are one of the most important things about her. And how, as her mother, do I instill in her that they're not without bruising her confidence?

Being the mother of a girl is hard.

More Recent Discoveries

Follow-up to my original "Recent Discoveries" post, which wasn't really all that original.

Popcorn, Indiana's Wasabi popcorn. Seriously. Just go get some.

I actually like just regular old hummus way better than fancy alternately flavored hummus (ex. roasted red pepper).

Those new tires that I paid an assload for last month may have actually been worth it. It's been raining some here recently, and I'm not skidding around like I used to.

My attention span is not what it used to be.

I cannot stand the vast majority of Christmas music. Here's one exception.

This is probably the last Christmas that The Geej is going to wholeheartedly believe in Santa. This totally bums me out.

Tempur-pedic pillows are the answer.

I don't handle losing things very well (ex. losing my wallet, losing my keys, losing that thing that was just RIGHT HERE, etc.).

There is such a thing as "too much salad."

Sadly, sometimes virtual friends are more real than real friends.

My Daughter, The Goth

A few weeks ago, The Geej was playing one of those "virtual dress up" games on our computer. You know what I'm talking about: there's a generic male or female figure and you get to choose their clothes, accessories, hair, make-up, etc. Well, she LOVES these little games and plays them whenever she's allowed on to the computer. So I go in to check on her progress, and I notice that the figure she's creating isn't wearing the tranny Vegas showgirl-type outfit The Geej usually opts for. This virtual girl is dressed in black, with black hair and dark makeup, including black lipstick. When I ask what's up, The Geej rolls her eyes at me and explains, "Mommy, she's a goth." And even though it wasn't spoken, there was an undeniable silent "Duh!" that followed her statement.

So, I decided to play dumb, and asked, "What's a goth?"

According to The Geej, "A goth wears all black and is kind of spooky and has black make-up and wears spiky jewelry and can break branches and not even feel anything." She knows this because one of her friends from after-care told her what goths are.

Um...okay.

Fast forward to yesterday. We were invited to a "Pop Star" birthday party for a friend's 8 year old daughter. This was a first for me in terms of birthday party themes. And believe me, we've been to a LOT of birthday parties. The gist of it is: the guests come to the party dressed in their version of popstar finery, then the gals running the party rehearse a song with the group (of girls, presumably), add some choreography, get them all gussied up with some make-up and accessories, and then film a "music video" of the group performing the song. It's all very professional, with a backdrop set up, microphones, a digital video camera, etc.

The Geej is a total drama queen (surprise!) who spends a great deal of time singing in the shower, the bathtub, in front of the mirror, in the car, at breakfast....you get the idea.Suffice it to say, she was PSYCHED about attending this party. What we needed for the party (besides a gift, of course) was a rockin' outfit for The Geej. And without hesitation, she said she wanted to "be a goth." So we went to the gothiest place in the world: Justice! For Girls! Have you ever been to this place? It's like a sequin factory threw up all over a Justin Bieber concert. It's horrifying, and of course The Geej freakin' LOVES the place.

At Justice! we got a black skirt (sparkly), a black tank top (sparkly), and a black cropped sweater (also, sparkly). She wanted some black (sparkly) boots, but there weren't any in her size (thank Jeebus). Then we went to Claire's Boutique where I thought her head was going to explode due to the sheer amount of stuff that she wanted hanging from every wall and fixture. We ended up getting some black fingerless glove-type things (sparkly), some blue and purple clip-in hair feathers (sparkly) along with a necklace with the word "ROCK" on it.

We zoomed home, and my little sparkle goth tore off her normal clothes and put on her new duds, including some black (non-sparkly) leggings she already had. She was so excited by the completed ensemble, I was afraid she might explode. While gazing at herself lovingly in the mirror, she said, "I look HOT!" I thought BH might keel over.

So, in case you're wondering, THIS is what a seven year old sparkle goth looks like:

Spooky, no?

On our way to the party, I asked her if she wanted to listen to some goth music...you know, to get in the mood. And my Taylor Swift/Selena Gomez-loving child enthusiastically said yes. But by about the 10th bar of "Bela Lugosi's Dead," however, I think she was really confused. "When is she going to start singing? What is that noise they're making? Is that music? Why is he singing like that? Is that his real voice?" It was kind of awesome.

I can't wait to introduce her to The Damned.

My Little Citizen

When I had the fall parent/teacher conference with GJ's teacher (who I really like now, by the way), she told me that they're learning about communities and cities and government--just the basic stuff. But how they're doing it is she had the class found their city by naming it and drawing up a city charter that they all signed. This city, named M&M City (how 'bout that product placement, Mars, Inc.?!), was founded to be a place that's "fun for kids with lots of playgrounds and free candy and swimming pools." Now, for the past week, the teacher has been explaining what the different positions in city government are and encouraging the kids to run for office if any of the positions interest them and if they think they've got what it takes to be the Mayor, Mayor Pro Tem, judge, etc. of M&M City. So The Geej decided she wanted to be on the City Council. She had to write a speech and then give her speech before the electorate, and she also had to make a campaign sign. Elections are today. I'll let you know how it goes.

Her campaign sign: It's in the shape of a t-shirt and mounted on a drinking straw:

The speech reads: I want to be a council member because I like to help kids and I like to solve problems if people need help. I really like working with people and that's what council members do. I hope you vote for me. Thank you very much.

Recent Discoveries*

*A post idea blatantly stolen from my girl, Kathy.

In my quest to eat somewhat healthier, I got adventurous and tried a new smoothie at Whole Foods. It sounds disgusting--kale, coconut water, ginger, mango, strawberries--and is the color of baby diarrhea, but it's actually good! And I fucking HATE kale.

Quaker mini rice cakes, salt and pepper flavor.

Although I don't drink coffee, I am most definitely addicted to caffeine. In the morning, if I don't drink a Guayaki Yerba Mate tea, headache. In the afternoon, if I don't take 2 Extra Strength Excedrin by about
2pm, headache.

Whereas I used to not mind it if I had to do a bit of work during off-work hours (at night, on the weekends, etc.), now it really, really pisses me off.

It is very difficult for me to help The Geej with her school work. She doesn't read directions and then gets PISSED when she has to do her work over. She also goes nuts when I try and help her. Then I get frustrated with her, and it just escalates. She's in 2nd grade. This pattern does not bode well for the future.

Paying a little extra to subscribe to HDTV channels is totally worth it.

I really like watching post-season baseball.

Google+. I'm not sure what purpose it serves yes, what with all my Facebooking and Tweeting and whatnot, but I still really like the interface and how it's not all cluttered and stupid like Facebook. Also, none of my family or my right-wing, super-Christian hometown FB "friends" are on Google+, so there's that.

Nick Offerman is not only funny as hell, he's super fucking sexy.

Water heaters that break and need to be replaced on the weekend cost an assload.

Glimpses

Feeling a little schizo because of travel and work and work and work. So much to say. Sneaking time now before the first of two all-day meetings to blog. It feels almost criminal.

Some glimpses from the past few weeks:

Walking toward my gate at BWI, I hear applause begin behind me. Then build. I turn around and see dozens of WWII and Korean War vets--most being wheeled in wheelchairs, some hobbling on their own--toward the gate of their departing flight. Everyone they pass by in the airport stopping to give these old men a spontaneous standing ovation.

The beginning bars of Elbow's "Great Expectations" as I stand a few feet from the stage. Staring up. Beaming. Transported.

I am eating lunch alone in a cafe in Santa Cruz. I am seated near the window, looking out on a busy street. Great people watching. A woman skateboards past me. More confidence and cool in her little finger than I will muster in my whole life.

BH and I talk about travel. Again. We rarely go anywhere together as a couple. We've never traveled as a family. He doesn't share my need or desire to have something on the calendar to look forward to. These talks always leave me frustrated and tense. And there's still nothing on the calendar.

Watching The Geej put on a "dance show" for me in her room. She is wearing a purple sequin tube top and a red taffeta skirt. It is all twirling and hair flipping and lots of throwing herself on the ground. She has absolutely no rhythym but is fully committed to the music.

At a cat show with The Geej and our friend Irene. Sundancer, aka "Sunny" is a very large, orange Maine Coon. He is stunningly beautiful. I watch him get judged, then his owner picks him up to carry him back to their carrier table. We chat. I pet the cat. Later, I pass by their table, and Sunny is outside of his carrier, sleepily lying on his back on the table. I want to steal him.

Having an inebreiated discussion about politics with BH. He is grilling me about my beliefs and positions. I feel defensive. We are a microcosm of the enormously contentious philosophical divisions in our country.  We agree to disagree on a lot of things.

I am spending money on things. Summer camp tuition for The Geej. A new HDTV and media cabinet. A blue topaz pendant necklace. A couple of Pricelined nights at fancy hotels. I feel worry and a vague sense of guilt with every purchase. I wonder if I'm being frivilous. My upbringing has taught me that even small financial indulgences are bad.

Bending down in the mail room at work. My jeans are too tight. I feel the crotch begin to split. It is time to do something about my fat ass.

My Crazy Kid

A quicky while I've still got a few minutes left on this crappy airport wi-fi.

The Geej has long enjoyed role-playing type play. She's had a variety of characters in the past--Lisa, Karla, and some mysterious creature named Norway come to mind. However, they were always just variations on a theme. Each one was an older "Mommy" character who (surprise!) worked where I work, was married to Daschel and had a baby named Sally. She is always dressed kind of fancy and wears high heeled shoes. She also likes talking on the cell phone and is harassed frequently by a very demanding boss.

But lately, she's added a new character to her repertoire. It's a little old grumpy man who walks with a cane and has a very distinctive voice and odd mannerisms.  And this past weekend, she came up with a name for him: Yuta (pronounced You-tah) Jones. Where did this come from? I have no idea. She'll just randomly yell, "Vote for Yuta Jones!" or, "Yuta Jones does not like potatoes!" in her weird little old man voice, and it just about kills me. She has dubbed me Cecil Jones, Yuta's brother. We live in a cabin in the woods, and she wants to write a movie about us.

Here's Yuta in action:


Seriously people?! I don't know where she gets it.

And I Somehow Survive Another August

I know I've bitched about the heat and drought and whatnot, so I promise not to do that in this post. In fact, if you wanna read some really well-crafted weather-bitching, then I'd urge you to check out this fine blog by fellow Austinite and heat-sufferer, Kathy.

Even though the weather hasn't changed one little bit, I'm so effing happy that August is dunzo that I feel like dancing a very sweaty jig in the middle my crispy lawn. But I like my neighbors too much to do that to them.

I really have no news to report other than some random goings on.

The Geej is adjusting to her new teacher and being back in the school-groove. I really feel like her principal and school counselor are on top of things, which is super helpful when it comes to my piece of mind. So I think we're all going to survive second grade even if having to get her there by 7:35am, M - F is killing me dead.

Work is going well. I've been working on some projects I'm enjoying and that are requiring me to use the ol' noodle in a good way. And I'm busy. Very, very busy. My annual (not really annual since I haven't had one since 12/09) performance review is coming up next week, so you know. There's that. Last time, I got a whopping 2% raise after enduring a 2-year salary freeze. Who knows what will happen this time. In this economy, I'm just incredibly thankful to have a job.

Found out a friend of mine--my age and a mother of two--has been diagnosed with breast cancer. Again. Her first round was about a year-and-a-half ago, and she caught it early, treated it w/radiation, and it went away. But this time, it's more serious and she's opting for a double mastectomy. She's going to be fine--I just know it--but I also know that she's the absolute glue that holds her family together. I worry about how they're going to do during all of this almost as much as I worry about her. Fucking cancer...

Speaking of, my uncle who passed away from fucking cancer A YEAR AND A HALF ago STILL doesn't have a fucking headstone on his grave. What the disrespectful FUCK, y'all?! I'm not sure why this pisses me off so much, but it does. And it confirms, yet again, that I have no desire to be buried in a graveyard. The whole exercise is weird and creepy to me (as if death weren't weird and creepy enough).

Tonight, The Geej and I will be spending the night at Dah's house. Why? Well because Dah and her Plungette group will be marching in tomorrow's Oatmeal Festival parade, of course. I'm it will be filled with good ol' small town Texas charm and I'm betting that the people watching is going to be spectacular. I'll try and post some pictures post facto. BH will not be attending the parade, however, because he's going to go hang with his boys for the day. Seems the town they live in is having the grand opening of a bad-assed new skatepark, and the guys are pretty stoked about it. Do the kids still say "stoked," by the way? Oh, who the fuck cares.

Cautiously Optimistic

The principal at GJ's school sent me back a very thoughtful email. She offered some really valuable perspective and had some good suggestions, including letting GJ talk with the school counselor so that she knows she's being heard--by a grown up--at school.

GJ's report from her day yesterday was somewhat better, and some of her spunk has returned. She tackled her homework with gusto and even told me some HAPPY stories of things that happened in class that included MS. SECOND GRADE TEACHER.

So I'm going to stay on top of it, but for now things seem to be heading in the right direction.

Thanks to those of you who commented and offered advice. You know who you are...

Let's Talk About Dads

When I made up my mind to adopt The Geej, I was single and absolutely 100% believed I would remain that way. It wasn't that I'd "given up," per se. It was more like I'd come to terms with the fact that by entering this new and very intense relationship with my child, the liklihood of me having time or mental energy to focus on developing a relationship with a man was very, very slim. I'd been married, and that whole fiasco had made me gun-shy, to say the least. And really? Once I'd figured out that I didn't NEED a man in my life in order to a) live and b) become a mother, I felt powerful in a whole new way--a way that created a view of my future as a single mom that pretty much just stayed single. Besides, I'd never really bought in to that whole "girls need a father figure" thing because, quite frankly, the father figures in my life had either been absent and ghost-like at worst, or frustrating and maddeningly confusing at best. They hadn't been the strong men who you'd want your daughter to model her relationships after, and my mother had pretty much served as the primary role model in my life when it came to a parental figure.

So there are not words to describe how suprised and thankful I am to have a man like BH in my life. He is the father figure in The Geej's life who I would absolutely want her to model her future relationships upon. He is calm, understanding, patient, funny, loves nature, smart, dependable, loving and just a good, good person. Now that he is my partner in raising this headstrong, girly girl, I have no concept of how I would ever be able to do it without him. He helps me, not only in practical ways, but also in helping me see things through his wise eyes. He talks me through my daily parenting frustrations. And The Geej? She is absolutely crazy about him. She calls him by his first name when she's talking to him, but when she's talking ABOUT him, he is "my dad" or "Daddy."

So here's to BH: For not only putting up with me and all of my craziness, but for also coming in to my daughter's life and becoming her daddy.

I love you and am so thankful for you.

My current obsessions

Instagr.am. It's a photo taking/sharing app on the iPhone, and it is SO cool. I'm following people in Amsterdam, Russia, Korea, Japan and India (among some other home-grown folks). It's amazing how compelling and fun simple, everyday photos can be.

The dark circles under my eyes. Dudes. They're BAD. And I've noticed that in every single photo that's been taken of me in the past year or so, they stand out like a sore thumb. So I'm working with my very own personal make-up consultant (Jaye) to help cover up those suckers, because getting more rest just isn't a possibility at the moment.

The Geej's missing teeth.

The fact that she's now lost BOTH teeth on the top and is constantly flashing that toothless grin of hers at me is KILLING me dead. I can't get over how cute she is and how much it has changed the way she looks! God, she's getting so damn BIG!!

A new house. I know, I know... We're in NO POSITION to be even THINKING about a new/different house, but I made the mistake of asking BH to go see a place with me this past weekend, and I literally can't stop thinking about it. The house was pretty nice, but the LOT it was on was seriously fabulous. And now I've mentally moved into the place, painted, changed the floors (where needed), hung pictures, positioned furniture and begun landscaping. Sigh.

Our gardens. We've* begun to plant some things in the two raised beds that BH built this past fall. So far, tomatoes, chives, Anaheim peppers, and cilantro. We'll be planting other things as the month rolls on. We've also got blackberries, Italian parsley, oregano, and mint growing elsewhere. I'm hoping this stuff really takes off. How cool would that be?

*When I say "we've", I actually mean BH. He's the one with the green thumb and gardening know-how. I'm just there to lend support, really.

Missing SXSW. Once again, I have neither the funds or the time off necessary to enjoy South-by-Southwest. I guess I should just go ahead and admit that those days are pretty much behind me. In fact, I'm so out of the SXSW loop that I'm actually going to Longview on the 18th. That's right: Longview for Spring Break. Do I know how to party, or what?!

This sandwich I ate a couple of weeks ago at Haddington's. Ya'll it was INTENSE. It was this crazy take on a grilled cheese that featured a white truffle oil aioli, grilled haloumi, and sun-dried tomatoes. I'm sure it had 7 billion grams of fat because it was rich as hell, but OMG it made my toes curl and eyes roll back in my head with each bite. I think you can only eat a sandwich like that once a year without risking a straight-up heart attack, but damn, it would be worth the risk just to try it again.

My "listen up" playlist. I've only got about 650 songs left to go. Yes, it's taking me FOREVER, but it's been totally worth it. And now that I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel? Listening to it has become sort of an obsession.

Asparagus. This time of year, I just can't get enough. Stinky pee be damned!!

General Malaise

I don't know if it's the rapid passing of another year that's got me in a funk or what, but I am definitely in one.

Let's investigate, shall we?

Health:
Well, my shingles are not as painful as they once were (thank goodness), but now they're just sort of hanging out, looking gruesome and feeling uncomfortable. Thank goodness it's not shorts season. My biggest concern now is passing this nastiness on to BH or The Geej. I've taken precautions, but you just never know. In other news, I went to my semi-annual visit to my cardiologist yesterday, and my bad cholesterol has come down a bit. So, yay.

House:
Our house is sort of half-assed decorated for Christmas. BH doesn't really like all of the trappings of the season, so I try not to go too nuts. But going half-ass is somehow more depressing than not doing anything at all. Our cats have launched a full-scale offensive against the Christmas tree and its Ornaments of Doom. This is no surprise to anyone, least of all me. But it's still annoying as Hell. Cute, but annoying.

Also in house news, I'm ready to finish up the flooring by having the new carpet installed, but my bank account isn't. I was hoping to get the installation scheduled right after the first of the year, but it may be later than that now. Our carpet has never looked good: The color sucks and the state of the carpet itself is pretty sad. But now that the hardwoods have been installed, man does it ever look shitty.

There are parts of the house--especially the garage--that are beginning to look like they were interior decorated by psychotic hoarders. I wish I could spend like three solid days (or more) just de-cluttering and cleaning. I need to, but I just never have the right combination of time and energy to undertake this monumental task. Therefore, I just get more and more frustrated and disgusted by the whole situation.

Work:
The move on to the new team has gone well thus far. There are a still a lot of things we need to figure out about how we're going to fit in and priorities, etc., but so far, so good. I'm going to a big work meeting in Ft. Lauderdale in mid-January, so that should be interesting. I feel like I've got a lot to do to get prepared for that between now and then.

The Holidays:
I'm about 50% done w/my Christmas shopping, but I have NO ideas about what to get my mom and her fiance, my stepsons, or my inlaws. I guess I'll wrap up the remainder of what I need to do during lunch hour shopping trips since I don't know when I'll have time to do it otherwise.

Since I had to take time off for the shingles, I'll be able to take very little time off for the holidays. Having to choose between taking time off to deal with an illness or to be with family for the holidays is a shitty choice to have to make, but when you've got very little time off allotted to you each year, that's what you've got to do. I really love where I work, but (as I've said before) our paid time off policy SUCKS.

The Geej:
Man, that kid kills me. Her reading is getting so good, she's really enjoying math, and she's just generally flourishing and growing TOO DAMN FAST. She's so completely believes in Santa that it's just charming the Hell out of me. This is probably the last year that she'll have no doubts about the jolly ol' elf, and I'm just soaking it in. After today, she's out of school for two weeks. Thank God that the wonderful Dah will be taking care of her for most of that time. What would I do without her?! And this Sunday, I'm taking The Geej to see the Rockettes Holiday Spectacular. She is going to have her mind blown by the sparkliness of it all.

Chores:
I fucking hate grocery shopping with the fiery passion of one million suns. Well, not really the shopping, per se. It's the hassle of the shopping. The list making (which doesn't matter because I invariably forget something important from the list), the parking, the dealing with oblivious customers who are in my fucking way, the parking lot...I hate all of it. If I could shop in an empty store, by myself, and have my groceries magically delivered to my car, and then unpacked at my house and prepared into some lovely meal, I might--and I mean might--not hate it so much. But that's doubtful. Anyway, lately somehow our house has been getting down to stems and seeds in the groceries department, and it 85% of the time it falls to me to a) figure out what we need to replenish what's missing, b) plus what we might need to plan meals for the next few days and c) shop to get all of that stuff and then d) lug that shit home and unpack it and then e) whoop up something delicious and nutritious for dinner. And this is after working all day, fighting rush hour traffic, and picking up The Geej so that there's a six year old in tow during one of my least favorite domestic activities. Is it any wonder that after all of that I'm in a Grade-A shittastic mood?

Let's change the subject, shall we?

Thanks to a lovely hand-me-down from Dah, we now have a matching, less-than-a-year-old high-efficiency washer and dryer. They're kind of awesome, even though I'm still getting used to them. But regarding laundry: Why can't I ever stay on top of it? I mean, I know better than to wait until the weekend to do all of it (even though that's still when I do most of it), but no matter how much I do during the week, there is always more to be done. It seems like each morning, I'm starting a load before I leave for work, then I'm too damn tired to finish it up when I get home. So you know what I end up doing? Running the rinse cycle again the next morning (lest they get moldy), and aiming to complete the load that afternoon/evening. Sort of defeats the purpose of the whole High Efficiency thing, huh?

Miscellaneous:
God, I'm boring the shit out of myself just writing about this drudgery.

Look away, people. Look away...

Perhaps next post I'll be in a different state of mind.

Key Word: Sparkly

I have posted The Geej's letters to Santa for the past couple of years due to the fact that a) they're kind of funny and b) they provide a nice time capsule of sorts--a glimpse into the things that she coveted or thought were important at that particular point in her childhood. This year's letter is just as telling as the last couple have been. It tells me that she doesn't want to screw around with a lot of chit chat, and as with most females, you really can't go wrong if you just give her jewelry.

Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, the most girly letter to Santa ever written in the history of all things girly.

Dear Santa Claus,

I love you so much, Santa. You are so cool and nice and fun.

Here is my Christmas list:

Roller skates
iPod Touch
Sparkly dress
Moxie Girls Magic Hair Doll
Diamond earrings
Diamond necklace
Regular earrings
Nail polish that's sparkly
Peace sign necklace that has all kind of colors on it and earrings that match

I love you with all my heart, and I will never forget you.

--The Geej

From the back seat.

Yesterday evening, The Geej and I were sitting in traffic on our way back from our successful gravy boat/electric knife buying excursion to Bed, Bath & Beyond, and the following exchange took place:

The Geej:   When can I go visit my old (Montessori) school and (her favorite teacher) Miss Kim?
Karla May:   Well, honey, I don't know.
Geej:   I really want to go. For a whole day. Like when MY school is closed.
KM:   But the thing is, baby, your old school's calendar is the same as your new school. When your first grade school is closed, so is your old school. So going for a whole day would be kind of hard.
Geej:   (After a long pause, and with MUCH sincerity) Why does life have to be so horrible?

Pajamas are NOT the new black, damnit!!

DISCLAIMER: I am by NO means a perfect mother. I do not believe there is such a thing. I am, however, a mother who tries to give my kids what they need from me. Am I always successful? No. Do I keep trying? Yes.

Ever since The Geej started first grade at her new school, one of the things that has fascinated me is checking out the other parents. Are they younger than me? Older? What kind of jobs does it look like they have? White collar? Blue collar? Stay-at-home parent? How many kids do they have? Does the mother usually bring the child to school, or the father? What do they drive? Do they speak English? Etc. I do this not in a judgemental way, but more of a where-do-I-fit-in-to-this-spectrum kind of a way because this whole AISD public school thing is still new to me.

From my casually interested observations, I have surmised that, as I suspected, our elementary school is a mixed bag. It's about 45% Hispanic, 35% Caucasian, and 20% African American. The socio-economic norm is solidly middle class, with about 10% falling below that classification and another 10% falling slightly above it. The parents are mostly younger than me: in their late 20s to late 30s, and it is the overwhelmingly the moms who bring their children to school.

But no matter what our demographics, we all have to get our progeny to school before the dreaded "second bell" that rings at 7:40am or else they will be counted--GASP--tardy. It is preferable to have them in the cafetorium (GOD, I love that word) for morning assembly at least a bit ahead of that time however, so I always shoot for us to arrive between 7:30 and 7:35am. 90% of the time, I park, get out, and walk The Geej in. This is our preferred method of arriving at school. There are some mornings though when dropping her at the sidewalk (next to the 5th grader "Safety Patrol" kids who open car doors and sort of help direct traffic) is what makes more sense, either because we've caught more red lights than ususal on the way to school or because she's asked to ride to school with the convertible's top down.

Now, let me admit that this whole getting-to-school-at-the-asscrack-of-dawn thing was one of my BIGGEST concerns with the Geej's starting first grade. Why? Well, anyone who knows me knows that I am not (nor have I ever remotely been) a morning person. At all. Never ever. I mean, getting us to school by 8:50am used to be a big challenge for me while she was at Montessori, so you can understand why the mere idea of having to be at school well before the 7:40am tardy bell sort of freaked me out. Amazingly, it has been a rather pain-free adjustment, and no one is more surprised than me. I'm not going to lie and say I wouldn't LOVE to have at least 3 more hours of sleep every morning, because I sure as Hell would. But--aside from a few very close calls--we've not been tardy this school year. Not even once. And the added bonus for me is that a) I usually beat the worst of the rush hour traffic on my way to work, b) I always find a parking place in our crowded parking garage, and c) I've got about an hour of pure silence at work before all of the stragglers start showing up around 9:00am. So, yay!! Adjustment made. Life is good.

Which may begin to explain why the following drives me so damn crazy:

There is this woman--she appears to be in her early- to mid-thirties--who is the (I think, single) mother of a young girl at The Geej's school. This little girl is probably in kindergarten, first grade at the most. They literally live across the street from the school. Their front door is probably 50 yards from the door to the goddamned cafetorium, and yet... And yet this mother is always trudging across the street well after the tardy bell, dragging her daughter behind her, frustrated and saying, "Hurry! We're late!".

This mother wears pajamas and house shoes to walk her daughter in to the school. This mother does not wear a bra. This mother has substantial tah-tahs that could REALLY use a bra. And whenever I see this, it PISSES ME OFF in a highly irrational way.

Maybe (and probably) some of the being chronically late is the daughter's fault. She's hard to wake up. Or she screws around and plays with her Lucky Charms instead of eathing them. She is, after all, only five or six years old. But as her mother, this woman KNOWS that each morning will present these issues, but she still can't be bothered to get up, I don't know, maybe 15 or 20 minutes earlier than she currently does in order to create some "contingency time" and perhaps even put on some actual clothes and some appropriate undergarments and get her daughter to school on time?! You know, act like she actually gives a shit and try to set some sort of an example for her daughter instead of utterly phoning it in and doing what appears to be the bare minimum? (After all, her "commute" to school takes all of 3 minutes--and that's including hugging and kissing good-bye time.)

I'm telling you, this bothers me waaaaaaaaaaaay more than it should. Feel free to bash me for being a self-righteous twat, but I can't help but think that if I, the most non-morning person/sleep-loving individual you will ever meet in your entire lifetime can manage to consistently squeak in before the tardy bell (all while wearing Actual Clothes), really, anyone can.

WHATTAWEEKEND!

Friday
Left work. Ran home. Changed clothes. Then went with BH to Casa Columbia for dinner. Straight up awesome. HIGHLY recommend it. Then we went over to Bass Concert Hall for the Ray LaMontagne/Levon Helm show. We'd prepaid for parking, so that wasn't a problem at all. Walked in to Bass just as the opening act, The Secret Sisters, had wrapped up. Got a couple of drinks and got seated. Great seats. Floor level, center, toward the back. Ray and his band started their set with one of my favorite songs off of their latest album--For The Summer--and it was magical.

And it just got better from there EXCEPT for the HUGE douchebags and their dates sitting behind us talking their asses off the whole time like they were watching this on their big 98" HidDef LCD in their custom built home theater back at their Rob Roy McMansion while pounding some Shiner Bock rather than at a live venue where everyone around them had paid $50+ a ticket for a great musical experience. Holy FUCK, it was so rude and annoying. And all around us--TEXTING and IM-ing!! I've got to ask: Why even go to all the trouble and expense to go see live music when all you're going to do is sit around and gaze at your smartphone the whole time? What is the fucking point? If you can't disconnect from that goddamned contraption for an hour or so to go for a run or see a performance of some kind, then you've got a damn problem. Oh, where was I. Yes, the show. It was beautiful and amazing and I had chills several times due to the sheer lovliness of the music. Levon Helm's band was pretty great--boisterous and joyful. I smiled so much during their performance that my damn face hurt.

Saturday
Slept late (10:15am!!) then got up and started working my butt off. Lots of laundry. Dusting. Hand washing and putting all of the glassware back into the china cabinet. Dusting. Running to Lowe's. Dusting. Moving furniture back in from the garage. Dusting and dusting. Got ready and went downtown for dinner. The walked over to The Paramount to see the totally indescribable Tim & Eric show. Literally, it was indescribable. Those guys are nucking futs. I will say this: The audience was 75% male and of that 75%, 2/3 of them were bearded. I'm not sure what that means, but I found it interesting. I'm always curious what the elderly volunteer ushers think when I come to see stuff that's terribly odd and/or crude at The Paramount. I mean, it's such a classy joint, and I'm sure Mee Maw and PawPaw are very confused by what they see and hear during these shows. But hey--I'll see 'em on Friday for Louis C.K., who I'm sure is going to drop his fair share of F-bombs, so YAY!!

Sunday
Slept until 9:00am (Hooray!!) and then made breakfast for me and BH. He went off to work (yes, on a Sunday), and I made the World's Biggest Grocery List. Went to the horrible awful terrible HEB near our house. Came home and prepped stuff to put in the slow cooker to make a yummy white bean stew for dinner. Made a sandwich. Drank a Coke. Welcomed The Geej back from Dah's house. Welcomed the new piece of furniture we bought from Dah (a green chaise lounge for the living room!).



See it? There in the corner? So pretty and comfy!!

Began working with The Geej to clean up her room. Left to go to see Acro-Cats. Went to Whole Foods to take advantage of the wine cellar sale going on. Bought TWELVE bottles of wine and loads of produce b/c the produce at the shitty HEB near my house looked like ass. Went home. Ate the stew that had been cooking all day. Bathed The Geej and put her to bed. Watched "Boardwalk Empire" (can't help it; still loving it), and now I'm blogging. And yet, somehow, there's still laundry to be folded.

Whew. This? Was a great effing weekend. I am a lucky, happy lady.

Meaningful Meetings

I've stayed in touch with the woman named Pam who performed the home study before and after I adopted The Geej. She also decided to adopt as a single mother, and her daughter, Kara, comes from the same region of Russia as Gracelyn. I've kept up with them--seen pictures and watched Kara grow--thanks to email and Facebook, but today, we finally got to have the girls meet each other in person.

It was very cool to talk with someone who knows EXACTLY what the Russian adoption process was like. I am so glad this happened--for all of us. And these two little ladies are so very, very loved my their mamas.