I forgot where I was going with this….

He’s left me coffee a few times this week on the counter, but I didn’t know if it was fresh or from the day before or what. So yesterday when he says “You didn’t drink the coffee I made you!” I said “I didn’t know if that was from today! Leave me a note so that I know it’s fresh.” I expected a note with the coffee that said “FRESH” instead the smartass left this:

Sigh. It’s hard being me.

• I am not as strong as I thought. Son #1 is heavy. Really effin heavy. So is the effin wheelchair. It weighs at least 50 pounds without son in it. I am exhausted from putting him in and taking him out of the car and taking the kids to 2 doctors.
• It is absoultely impossible to get a kid in a wheelchair in and out of a car when you’re in a regular parking spot.
• Pushing a wheelchair uphill for several minutes makes me breathe like Rosie O’Donnell trying to run a mile.
• “Handicap accessible” is often a huge lie.
• Son #2’s pain threshold never ceases to amaze me. I took him to the pediatrician today and he has both an ear and sinus infection. He never complained.
• There are at least 201 ways to pinch the sh!t out of your fingers or smash them with the wheelchair. All of them completely unexpected. Then at least 40 of the usual ways you expect to smash the sh!t out of your fingers. I. HATE. THE. WHEELCHAIR. I am having flashbacks to when I first had children and going anywhere was so hard because you gotta carry so much crap with you, gotta heave the stroller in and out of the car, gotta buckle the kid in and take him out, Ugggghhhh! Just so you know, the wheelchair is the stroller from hell. It’s LIKE a stroller, but bigger, heavier and less compact. I hate it. Does Peg Perego make wheelchairs? Cuz if not they should totally get into it. The wheelchair SUCKS. It’s like the Walmart brand of wheelchairs. No seatbelt. Son almost slid out 3 or 4 times. Did I mention it’s EFFIN HEAVY?! I. HATE. IT.
• Listening to music that reminds me of Pop is not a good idea right now. My ability to cope with that got flushed with my super hero pee this morning.
• Even though it may be a beautiful, sunny day, the weather here will turn on you like the sibling you just kicked when mom wasn’t looking. I am soaked. I left and it was a beautiful sunny day. Imagine my surprise when the floodgates of hell opened and poured down on me. Nope. No coat. It rained in my shoes. My feet are still wet.
• When my cell phone caller id rings saying it’s Microsoft, I can not always assume it’s Steve, and that it could be one of the 50,000 other people who work there. Therefore hissing “YES?!” into the receiver comes off as rude. I must always answer with a polite Hello? even if I THINK I know who it is and even if it IS the third call from Microsoft inside of 5 minutes while I’m sitting there with the doctor.

When I was eight years old, my cousin showed me how to decorate cakes. By the time I was ten, I had a little business going selling cakes. On and off throughout my life I’ve sold cakes. I love cake decorating. It’s like art with food. I had kind of gotten away from decorating cakes by the time I had reached my late twenties, but having children renewed my cake decorating passion. I started making elaborate cakes again, spending hours and hours decorating them. We NEVER have store bought cakes. In fact, several times when crisis came around and making a cake caused great stress, Steve would suggest we BUY a cake. Everytime I look at him as if he’s suggested we eat garbage.

I don’t think I mentioned son #2’s birthday party is today. We considered cancelling the party, except the party place doesn’t have another opening until April and his birthday has already been postponed several times due to the wedding and funeral. So even though I am having a hell of a time with son #1 right now, you guessed it, I insisted on making son #2’s birthday cake.

 Lately I’ve seen this trend in cake decorating where a bunch of cupcakes are grouped together and iced like a cake. I decided this method would be the easiest and fastest way to get son #2 his birthday cake. I have to say, it’s a pretty fast method and son #2 is thrilled. And I got to have a little fun. Martha Stewart can just suck it.

This is you: 

This is you walking a mile in my shoes today:

Any Questions?

Thank you Bice for that picture. It perfectly describes my day.

Update: I should explain. Son #1 became angry that I stopped paying attention to him by going to the bathroom (damn cake) so he decided to try to be as destructive as possible. In fact, everytime I have left the room to go make food, answer the phone or go to the bathroom he has decided to destroy something using things he had (and I say HAD) accessible. For instance he took apart an ink pen and got ink all over the carpet, couch, sheets, his clothing and his body. He took a pencil sharpener and sharpened pencils until he had wood shaving everywhere. He carved up an eraser so there are shavings of eraser everywhere. He took scissors and cut up pieces of paper into tiny little pieces littering the floor. He is now banned from having pens, pencil sharpeners, scissors and erasers. He has thrown tantrums. He has lied to my sister telling her how I never pay attention to him and how I ignore him. I am at my wit’s end. The pancake girl looks like she’s having more fun than me. God Help Me!!!!!!

Nerf gun now resides on top the fridge. Son #1 shot son #2 in the eye. Last thing I need is another ER visit. Also those damn darts stick to my pajamas. I was walking around completely unaware I had three of them stuck to my back. Son #1 can move enough now to shoot me while I’m in the kitchen. Damn I hate that gun.

Soooooooo. Due to all the narcotics, son #1 is a little stopped up. And he hates prunes. Me being the sneaky, devious mother that I am, I made some heavenly chocolate cake last night and snuck a whole bunch of pureed prunes into it. Except…..son #1 was in too much pain to eat any last night. So the rest of us had lots of cake. The rest of us are pooping like crazy. And son #1 is still stopped up. Sigh. Chocolate cake for breakfast anyone?

Yes, those are nerf darts you see sticking to me. I pull them off, I get shot again. I change clothes, I find out they stick to pretty much everything. I’ve been shot about 400 times today. In fact I can not go within 30 feet of the family room without being riddled with darts by the bed-ridden son #1 like I’ve been involved in a gang shooting. I sent Steve an IM today saying “GD! I’ve been shot with that effin gun everytime I go anywhere NEAR the family room! He makes up excuses for me to go in there, lays in wait with the gun hidden and then shoots me while I’m running away!” In an enormous show of sympathy Steve replied “I am NOT laughing!”

I MUST remember to send a HUGE thank you to the people who ever so kindly brought that over to keep him entertained over the next few months. He’s entertained all right. I will plot my revenge. When’s that kid’s birthday?! 

Just to add insult to injury son #2 is sick, vomiting, fever, cough…..

Steve just came home after a very difficult day with son #1. Son #1 is demanding that my mom and I play a board game with them. He’s telling Steve we left him to rot on the couch all day. Apparently all care given today was sub-par from the nine year old perspective. (Reality: I’ve sat down twice today for about 5 minutes each time.) Steve says: Son, I think Grammy and Mom need a break from your tyranny for a few minutes. You need to let them cook dinner in peace.

This from the kid who I had to sponge bath today. Ew.

Steve says I’m going to lose all my readers since my blog has been so depressing lately. Thanks for sticking with me. I’d try to  make an effort to be funny, but I’ve been pretty much reduced to a babbling, crying fool. I’m too exhausted to write a blog entry so I’m just going to copy and paste an email I sent out to family and friends. Thank you for all your well wishes!

As some of you may have heard, son #1 had a skiing accident yesterday. He was taken by ambulance to Seattle Children’s from Snoqualmie. They determined that he had a compound hip fracture and he was rushed into emergency surgery last night. The surgery went well and they placed 3 screws in his left femur. (Steve asked the surgeon if he had borrowed his deck screws when we saw the size of those screws.) The surgeon said it was an unlucky break in a bad place. Although the surgery was successful, complications are the greater concern. In 30-40% of cases like this, tissue necrosis occurs and the head of the femur dies. In layman’s terms that means that son #1 would need a total hip replacement if that happened. This is a difficult break due to its location. He will not be able to bear any weight on it for at least 6 weeks. The doctor said it would be sometime this summer before he would be able to run again or walk without a limp. He will be in a wheelchair /walker /crutches most likely through the end of the school year.  Most likely, he will not be able to return to school for at least a couple of weeks. He is in a lot of pain right now, which I hope will ease in the coming weeks. He’s been through a lot but in good spirits except for a brief period this evening when we moved him home from the hospital. As for me, I’m tired. Both physically and mentally. I was only able to catch about three fifteen minute cat naps last night. My mom caught the first flight out here, arriving last night and should be able to help us out until Wednesday night so I’m hoping to get a little sleep tonight.  Son #1 appreciates all the well wishes that have been sent so far. Please keep him in your thoughts and prayers. If I have forgotten someone, I apologize, please forward this on for me.

I am sitting here waiting for a call from Steve. He took the kids skiing. I am not skiing this year due to knee surgery I had last year. He says son #1 has had an accident. He tries to break it to me slowly while I’m almost coming through the phone at him. He thinks son may have dislocated his hip. They are waiting for an ambulance. I am waiting for the call to go meet them at the hospital. Pray for my son…..

WHY my $16 blender works better than the copper $120 blender. PLEASE. I want to know.

Captain’s Log
Stardate 2/16/07 6:42 pm

It has come to my attention that the time and date stamp on my blog are incorrect. And ya’ll being the geeky bunch, you want accurate, Captain Kirk style, up to the minute logs with stardates and all. I’m here to please. I’m also needing to report to sick bay because I think Dr. McCoy stole my $50 tube of lipstick and is waving it at people. Super Hero pee still flourescent yellow.

Kirk out.

Helen Teixeira: i can barely stay upright
Helen Teixeira: I am so dizzy
Helen Teixeira: OMG I am dying
Helen Teixeira: I went out to wait in the freezing cold for the bus
Helen Teixeira: and it was a sub
Helen Teixeira: and about 20 minutes late
Steve Teixeira: ick
Helen Teixeira: i dont’ feel good at all
Helen Teixeira: I took a whole shitload of vitamins
Steve Teixeira: You’re going to wake up like Uma Thurman in that super hero movie
Helen Teixeira: I merely woke up with super hero, bright yellow pee
Steve Teixeira: Did it dissolve the porcelain?
Helen Teixeira: not yet
Steve Teixeira: try my green tea with honey.  It rules.

First, test to see just how slow your reflexes have become by trying to catch Cupid. Skip the IQ test and quit drooling on your keyboard. Try not to bite your tongue or throw the mouse when you catch a heart. In a retro Valentine’s game reminiscent of space invaders, you can go to Cupid training school.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

About every three weeks I have the same conversation with this old lady at the gym. She’s completely senile and every time-to her- we have this conversation for the first time. Except we’ve had this conversation about 200 times. I round the corner to my locker row where she has the locker below me. Invariably, she’s naked. And usually sitting naked on the bench with nothing under her. After the first time I saw that, I don’t even put the bottom of my shoe on the bench to tie them. <shudder> Anyway the conversation always goes like this:

S.P.L.: Oh, do you have a locker on this row?
Me: Sigh. Yes, I have the one above yours.
S.P.L.: Oh really? I’ve never seen anyone use that locker.
Me: Yep. That’s my locker.
S.P.L.: Well, you must have just gotten it then.
Me: Sigh. No, I’ve had it about 2 years.
S.P.L.: I’ve never seen you. You must work out at a different time.
Me: No. Always the same time. I always work out in the afternoon so there’s no crowds.
S.P.L.: Well maybe I’ll see you again!
Me: I’m sure you will.

It’s very hard for me not to add: “You’re going to get some serious pachanga cooties sitting on that bench naked like that. Not to mention you’re leaving a few behind. Small children put their hands there. I used to tie my shoes there. I used to put my stuff down there. You could get an STD doing that. I’m sure of it. Now put some clothes on. It makes me want to throw up a little.”

Oh, dear, sweet, senile pachanga lady, just please put some panties on before you sit down and for once will you remember that we’ve met?

Oh crap! You weren’t supposed to see my outline for my NOLA post…. You didn’t see anything!

Keep yourself occupied by looking at the photos from New Orleans….

Whose in charge of the google searches?!!! Someone searched for “Lazy, Fat Helen” and got my blog! Of course the search engines also brought “septic tanks and planes,” “stomach vacuum,” “what should a sissy husband wear to a wedding,” “frog butts,” “arms too hairy” and ”dream pregnant sausage,” but really, I’m offended with the whole lazy, fat Helen thing. Thanks for thinking of me, but I’ll pass. Oh and I’ll pass on the frog butts and pregnant sausage. I hate it when I dream about pregnant sausages. And then they have a litter of little vienna sausages. <shudder>

Also, I don’t know Erma from Louisiana, why you have eggplant sized ovarian cysts, or where Gullet’s cat is. I don’t have pictures of your kindergartner’s 2006 Christmas party, I can’t help that you’re going to get fired, oh but I do have a good word association quiz for you. Freak=??????

There’s only one person I can help. The dude looking for the “roses are red friendship poems”:

Roses are Red,
Violets are Blue,
You’re leaning too close to your screen
I can see your brain through your nose

Ok so that was a terrible poem.  Feel free to add your own roses are red friendship poem in honor of Valentine’s Day. We aim to please here. Except for the frog butt guy. You can go elsewhere.

My Star Wars horoscope:

What Is Your Star Wars Horoscope?

Steve thinks the inflicting pain part is particularly true. I thought the quick temper part was better.

It’s like they know me……

For some background history on the New Orleans trip, you must watch this video. My cousin sent it to me right before the trip so I spent much of the wedding yelling PINEAPPLE! PINEAPPLE RIGHT NOW!

Aunt: Honey, you are so pale. I think you’re anemic. You need to eat some meat and go get that checked out.
Me: Sigh. No, Aunt Vera. I’m not anemic. I just had a physical. I live in the Pacific Northwest. I get about 1/10 the amount of light that you do. We get pale in the winter up there.

<pushing my grandmother in the wheelchair up the ramp at a 45 degree angle>
<with surprise> Aunt: Dawlin’, you’re a lot stronger than you look. Fa’ such a little thang…….
Me: Sigh. Yes, I’m a lot stronger than I look. I lift more weight than half the boys at the gym.

<Aunt is cutting son #1’s hair- and yes I have a lot of aunts.>
Aunt: Helen! This chil’ is starvin! Look how thin he is! This boy needs some meat! His chest is caving in!
Me: Sigh. He does eat meat. And he’s been sick. He’s lost 5 pounds. And the caving chest thing is genetic. Philip’s (my brother) is the same way. Well, it was. Before he started eating beignets.

Me: Grandma, I think you’re hearing is going.
Grandma: What?
Me: I said, I think you’re hearing is going, Grandma.
Grandma: Dawlin’, I’m having a little trouble hearing you.
Me: Sigh. You’re hearing, Grandma. It’s worse since I saw you in April.
Grandma: Sigh. Honey, I just can’t hear you.
Me: MIRACLE EAR, GRANDMA! YOU’RE DEAF!
Grandma: Oh, yeah I’m getting a little hard of hearing.
Me: YOU NEED TO GET A HEARING AID GRANDMA!
Grandma: Oh no, it’s not that bad.
Aunt: Yes it is, Mama.

<Cousin who I haven’t seen in 25 years> 
Cousin: I can’t believe what a laid back, relaxed person you turned into. When we were kids, you were wound so tight and were so stressed out. Your mom was always on your case and you were jumpy and nervous. I just can’t believe how you turned out.
Me: <grin> This is the serenity that comes from living 1200 miles away from the nearest family member.

The cousin I haven’t seen for 25 years is standing with me and my other cousin, Alesia, that I was so looking forward to seeing and hanging out with. Alesia’s husband had just gone to go get us some coffee.
Alesia: (deadpan) I’m gonna get me some 28 year ol’ ass.
Me: (deadpan) Oh, I hate it when you keep getting on that 28 year ol’ ass.
Cousin: <alarmed> Are you two serious?
Me: <grin> No….. I learned sarcasm at an early age at Alesia’s knee. She’s the queen of sarcasm.

Aunt: Why aren’t you eating crawfish?
Me: I don’t eat meat anymore.
Grandma: But you can eat crawfish.
Aunt: Crawfish isn’t meat.
Me: It’s all meat. I don’t eat seafood and I don’t eat meat.
Aunt: But….crawfish isn’t meat.
Me: I don’t eat anything with eyes.
Aunt: <so helpful> We could pull the heads off for you….

Cousin: You won’t let your kids play video games BUT YOU LET THEM BUY VOODOO DOLLS AND PLAY WITH THEM? What in the hell IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

Where you at? I never say that. Ever. And yet…..I’ve said that a hundred times over the last week. You remember I said I sat there and practiced how to say words with a west coast accent over and over until I mastered them after moving here as a teenager? Well all that went straight down the tubes, ya’ll. And I’ve said ya’ll more times than I’d ever care to admit. I don’t think I’ve pronounced a hard R in 8 days and have drawled my vowels and made myself cringe. It’s bad enough that I was mistaken for a local at the hotel. Yeah. Don’t go there.

It’s always very hard when I go back to Louisiana. It’s so much a part of who I am and although it seems nothing has changed, I always realize very quickly, that although I am from there, I don’t belong there anymore. *I* am a different person. I understand their way of life and yet I’m not a part of it anymore. I understand their unspoken rules and am able to quickly assimilate back into their culture, and yet I feel like it’s a world away from my life as it is now. The sensation of being back is always brought home like an anvil within minutes because no one is ever in a hurry in Louisiana. They take their sweet time. If they do it at all. I always feel very frustrated the first few days I am there because I am still in my West Coast hurry. I still expect that when I ask someone to do something, it would be done. I expect things to move quickly when I’m in a hurry. But there….time has no meaning. You can call down and ask for toilet paper and clean towels to be brought to your hotel room. One time they brought it, one time it never came. Dinner is an ordeal that takes hours. No one is ever on a schedule. God forbid you have to be somewhere at a certain time and have to depend on someone else to get there on time. Like the day I called 30 minutes in advance for them to bring the car around, arrived at the valet and they hadn’t even pulled out the ticket yet. It took another 20 minutes to get the car and I was late. And you should know that I HATE being late.

Things are done differently down there. Money facilitates everything. Corruption is rampant. It’s all about who you know, where you grew up and what your name is. I can’t say I’m surprised, and yet I’m shocked that it’s been 18 months since hurricane Katrina and the place still looks like a war zone. There’s debris still piled high on the sidewalks. The money being sent to New Orleans is not going to the people who need to rebuild. It’s lining the pockets of the politicians and other disgustingly corrupt people and none of it’s going to the people who need it. The city is a shell of it’s former self. It’s filthy there. Places like the airport that housed people during Katrina are filthy and disgusting and it probably still needs a haz mat team. You can still see the water marks telling how high the water rose in just about any neighborhood. I drove to the section of Old Metairie where I used to live. It has the eerie sensation of a ghost town. You can see water marks up to the second story. And no one for miles. The homes and the area are deserted. People don’t seem to be rebuilding. I didn’t see any new construction at all. My parents drove through sections that still had the FEMA spray painted grids telling how many dead in the homes, how many animals, etc.

The French Quarter is relatively cleaned up. It has to be. Mardi Gras is coming up and this is where the tourists are going. But if you end up a few blocks off the Quarter, the buildings are boarded up, the debris still lining the streets, and not a soul in sight. It’s stunning and yet typical.

I have never seen such a massive police presence in the Quarter in my entire life. That’s a good thing, but I wonder if it was just a show for tourists during Mardi Gras. My cousin’s husband was followed a couple times by people with unsavory intentions. My brother’s wallet was stolen, most likely by staff, at Cafe Du Monde. It’s clear the crime rate is soaring in a place already crime ridden. I don’t think I ever walked more than a block and a half without seeing a cop or cop car or patrol. Which made me feel safer, but made me realize I had reason to be nervous.

Some people have returned to the Big Easy. They’re waiting too. They’re waiting for this city to be brought back to life. They’re waiting for the homes to be rebuilt. They’re waiting for stores and restaurants to open again. They’re waiting for neighborhoods to be repopulated. But no one sees a bright future. No one knows what’s going to happen. So they wait. They wait to see if this ghost town will come back to life. They wait to see if they can survive the rising crime. They wait to see if there will be jobs. They wait for the tourists to come back. They wait and they wait. The uncertainty is palpable. It permeates ever fiber of their being. It’s people are haunted. They are haunted by what they’ve seen and what they’ve been through and their uncertain futures. I wish I could say the city of New Orleans is coming back. That it will again be what it once was. But I fear it will never, ever be the same. I can feel it in my soul. 

Don’t despair. The New Orleans report is still to come, complete with photos and gossip. I just had to tell ya’ll about my hair. OMG. My hair.

Ya’ll. First and foremost. We gotta talk about my hair. OMG. My hair. 

New Orleans, Louisiana, Wednesday 8 pm: Stepping out of Louis Armstrong International Aiport, it’s raining. I am not alarmed. It rains all the time in Seattle. My hair is used to this.
8:04 pm. Something feels funny atop my head. Like my hair has grown or something.
8:08 pm Noticing out the corner of my eyes lots of wisply, curly pieces seem to be spilling onto my face. Reach up to touch hair. Feels alarmingly bigger.
9:38 pm Pass first mirror. Wonder idly who the chick is with the frizzy, big hair.
10:42 pm Hotel bathroom mirror. Heart stopping fright. Positive I must have been struck by lightening while outside.

Thursday 8 am: Perhaps washing hair will help. Used shampoo that gives me limp, flat hair at home. Hope for best.
11:28 am: Return from shopping. Discover horrific visage in mirror. Decide ponytail is the only way to go. Grim discovery: Ponytail holder does not go around usual number of times. Not imagination. Hair is most definitely bigger.
7:45 pm: Small cry escapes when confronting self in mirror. Moaning. Hair is HUGE. Considering joining circus.

Friday 7 am: Don’t dare to look in mirror. It’s too horrible to look at. Try shampoo again. Decide to load up on 10 times the usual amount of product in hair. Hope for best.
9:12 am: Still not enough product. Attempt anouther round of product. Wondering if Crisco might calm the frizz.
3:32 pm: Jesus. What in the hell has happened to my hair?! Anyone seen that Friends episode with Monica’s hair in Barbados? I’m living it. Can’t recall hair ever being this frizzy.
11:41 pm. Decide best course of action is to wash hair now for wedding and hope it greases up and calms down by wedding tommorrow.

Saturday 7: 25 am: Loud scream! Jesus God Almighty! I am sporting an orange microphone head. Panic sets in. Load up on product. Hoping it will weigh it down by start of wedding at 1pm. Decide hair has expanded exponentially since arrival. Hard to pass through doorways. Wondering what bald would look like.
9:33 am More product. Something has GOT to tame this beast.
10:16 am. More product. Hair doesn’t even feel real at this point. Wondering if pubic hair traded places.
11:02 am Extreme panic. Hair is ugliest in entire life. Just a  damned afro. Tried curling it. Hoping hot styling will make it fall flat.
12:13 pm Unroll hair only to discover it’s worse. Tears well up in eyes. More product applied. Can’t even tame it. Run out of time and have to leave hotel for church. Hoping outside air will do something for it.
1:00 pm: Many people commenting on how thick and beautiful my hair is. Lying m-fers. I know they’re secretly laughing at how huge it is. When groom’s sister tells me she loves it, I am wary. People are making fun of it. I know they are.
2:30 pm Reception bathrom: Staring in horror at my hair. Not even sure my face is under it. Realizing pictures were taken and hair moment preserved for all eternity. Decide to drink heavily.
7:02 pm Getting ready to go to parade so wrestle hair back into ponytail. Hair is now bigger than hair bands I brought. Big hair has broken 2 bands. After alligator wrastlin’ it into a ponytail, I’m wondering why I didn’t do that for wedding.

Sunday: 8:08 am: Must rinse out all product. Turns out more product not helpful. Wondering if small animals are nesting in hair. Hope springs eternal. Try washing again.
10:19 am: Decide it isn’t going to get better, only bigger, wrastle into ponytail again.
Decide not even to look in mirror anymore. Brings tears to eyes.

Monday: 6:01 am Decide to wash and wad it all up into messy knot at top of head. No hope left. Only sadness. Hope hair can recover.

Seattle, Washington. Tuesday: 7:42 am Fall to knees in relief at discovery that hair has returned to normal.

Leaving for New Orleans this morning. Wish me luck…..