I forgot where I was going with this….

Just wanted to wish you all a Merry Christmas. I am off to Louisiana tomorrow to see my Grandma so blogging may be sparse for the next week. I leave you with the gingerbread house made by son #1….

He strapped Gingy to the roof in a most disturbing fashion:

I know, it scares me too… ;D

You just got RickRolled.

I subscribe to slang o’ the day on Google and this was today’s slang.

Origin: Computer/Internet Slang
Definition: Being duped into watching a Rick Astley YouTube video.

Just so you know, I was brutally RickRolled first. I made sure I RickRolled Steve and the kids too. Son #1 stared wide eyed and slack jawed at the screen and said “Mom? What the hell is that?”

Update: I rickrolled my brother in law. He said “What the HELL?!?!” while I laughed my ass off then said “But I can’t stop watching it…..it’s like a train wreck…..sweet pants…..” lol.

Steve and I created and recorded a special little message for you all here.

Have a wonderful Christmas and may all your dreams come true in the new year!

Many blessings to you all, 
Helen

Bah Humbug. My Christmas good cheer was ruined today by Barnes and Noble. On December 13 I placed a big online order (about a third of the total gifts for the kids and Steve- yeah we like books here!) When I checked out, it said the order would be here in three business days. Well today is SIX flippen’ business days later and guess what? NO ORDER!

I checked online only to discover they weren’t planning on sending me the order until December 31. I tried to control the building rage and calmly called them. I was told that 16 of the 23 books had shipped yesterday, although UPS still hasn’t scanned them into the system so that almost always means they haven’t left Barnes and Noble yet. Oh and guess what? They sent them ground from the east coast (that’s five days for those of you who don’t know your coast to coast shipping times.) Oh the trying of my patience!!! The woman kept saying “They COULD get there by Christmas.” I said “Could or might isn’t good enough!” And she kept reassuring me there was a chance. Finally I said “Do you have kids?” And she was silent for a few minutes then said “no.” Then I said “Here’s the deal. I can’t let my children’s Christmas hinge on ‘maybe’ so I’m going to order from somewhere else and return this order. Cancel the remaining books in the order.” And do you know what this women tells me? She can’t. EVEN THOUGH THEY HADN’T SHIPPED. I said “Boy, you really want to make sure I don’t EVER shop with Barnes and Noble again, don’t you?” And all she said was “Sorry.” So I had to go to Amazon.com this afternoon and pay NINETY TWO dollars in shipping to overnight the same order I placed nearly two weeks ago with Barnes and Noble.

What I don’t understand is why so many companies these days think that their customers will take their abuse and still come back? They don’t even care about customer loyalty. I worked for Nordstrom and Neiman Marcus for many years and these type of situations always make me wonder what’s happened to customer service? What has happened to “the customer is always right”? What the hell has happened to “We want your business”? Because the message I keep getting from so many companies today is “We got some of your money already and don’t care if you ever come back!”

There are ways Barnes and Noble could have made things right today. Especially since I pointed out to the girl that my 16 books were probably still in the warehouse somewhere. But she didn’t want to take the time to find out if there was anything she could do. She also couldn’t be bothered to put a supervisor on and she didn’t care that I walked away angry. It’s bad enough that several of those books were for son #2’s birthday and did not arrive. Had they delivered on their three day promise, they would have been here on time. But to be cavalier about getting it to me for Christmas when it’s clear I ordered it in time, is unacceptable.

She tried to tell me that UPS has been really good about getting packages to customers this time of year. Really? Because I ordered a king cake from New Orleans to be delivered on son #2’s birthday. It never came. The website said it was out for delivery and it never arrived. And UPS couldn’t be bothered to try find out where the driver and truck was. Even though it meant my son didn’t have a birthday cake for his 7th birthday.

I used to own an online business and UPS is so bad about getting things to people on time that I stopped using them in my first month in business. When I’m given a choice of shipping companies, I always choose someone else.

I believe that eventually these companies will receive their come uppance. Once the customer service starts slipping, it’s never long before they are filing bankruptcy. And word of mouth is what builds brands, businesses and loyalty. It’s hard to do that when the word of mouth is “YOU SUCK!” Hey Barnes and Noble YOU SUCK!

Mom let us stay up really late last night. Like, two hours past our bedtime! So when I got up at my usual time, I wasn’t tired AT ALL. The first thing I did when I got up was made sure I made the same amount of noise as a marching band to wake the rest of the house up. Mom always appreciates that. I totally woke up my brother right away so that we could fight play.

When Mom got up, she was, like, all grouchy. She’s really scary when she gets out of bed with her hair sticking up all over the place and she’s all angry and stuff. And boy, was she angry. She thinks me and my brother were fighting for two hours already, but we weren’t. Well *I* wasn’t anyway. HE was doing all the yelling and screaming. Then we had breakfast and fought over toast. *I* wanted the first two pieces because I said I wanted toast first so I get the first two pieces. My brother can wait. And Mom made eggs. Yuck. I only like eggs the third Sunday of every month and only if they’re made at precisely 8:33 am. Sometimes I like them on the second Wednesday of the third week of Advent but only if they’re cooked at precisely 155 degrees over an open flame with a tea kettle on the stove. Mom muttered something about being picky, but I have no idea what she was talking about.

At ten Mom had to take me to occupational therapy. It’s an hour drive each way. Me and my brother fought argued talked the whole way there and back. Mom later tried to say that she warned us over and over to stop fighting discussing things. She even tried putting on Christmas music to remind us about that Santa guy, but we were busy discussing things still.

We stopped by Daddy’s office and had lunch. Then we came home and fought played for a couple of hours. Mom had to mail a package so she loaded us back into the car with the package in the back. Then we screamed at each other over who was touching the package. *I* wasn’t doing anything. As usual my brother was doing all the screaming I was just putting my whole body on the package. Mom was starting to look a little weird at this point. She claims our screaming almost caused an accident. Like, her face was all twitchy and stuff. I have no idea what was wrong with her.

When we got home my brother and I had to go to the bathroom at the exact same time. Even though we have three bathrooms, *I* called this one. We both ran to the bathroom and pulled our pants down and started shoving, pushing, punching and screaming tried to go. Then Mom got all weird. It’s like she snapped or something. She yelled ‘THAT IS IT!” and we were all surprised and stuff. Because she had to pull us apart over the toilet while we were trying to get to it first. Then she yelled “BED! BOTH OF YOU ARE GOING TO BED NOW!” I have no idea why either. Man, she’s grouchy today.

But I’m ten. I don’t take naps and I certainly was not tired. I had been fighting playing for seven hours straight! So I did what I always do, since I was, like, 1, and I yelled and screamed and kicked and cried about how I wasn’t tired and I wasn’t taking a nap. I’m ten. I don’t take naps. Naps are for babies. I’m not spending my Christmas vacation taking a nap! I screamed for a whole half an hour!

Then, it was weird. I don’t know what happened. Mom was standing over my bed waking me up. She must have done something to make me fall asleep. Because I’m ten. I don’t take naps. Then *I* was all grouchy. Mom said Dad said we had to get up because she was going to Hapkido and he demanded she wake us up so that he could put us to bed while she was gone. I have no idea why but she called him a weasel.

Well, anyway, for some reason I’m going to the office with Dad tomorrow while my brother stays home. Mom still looks a little weird….

 I’m jumping on the trendy bandwagon here. I was reading a blog entry by Carrie, where she wrote a letter to her 18 year old self. It’s an interesting concept coming up for the second time in the last few weeks, because I was watching the show Journeyman and he is traveling through time and encounters himself at about the age of 18. It made me wonder what I’d tell myself if I did. So I thought it out, and here it is. It’s not nearly as easy as you think. If you consider some of the experiences that shaped you, would you change them? This is what I came up with. 

Dear Helen of 1987,

Oh my. Where do I start? I have so much to tell you, so much advice to give you, but you are so stubbornly defiant I’m really not sure you’ll listen to me.

First of all, I know that it’s been a rough few years. You’ve been through so much. But you made it. I know it doesn’t feel like it yet, but these dark days are almost over for you. Most kids that have been through what you’ve been through with your family, end up doing drugs and living on the street. You’ve done all right, kid. No one ever said that to you, so I’m saying it. You worked three and four jobs, never knowing where you’d sleep that night, and still you stayed in school and graduated. Somehow you survived. I know you have trust issues, but there are people you can trust. Not every adult who gets close to you will try to hurt to you. You know in your heart those people you can trust. Stay close to them and listen to them and learn from them. It won’t always be like this. Eventually you will realize that some of those adults in your life now that have helped you out over the last few years will ALWAYS be there for you when you need them. Go ahead. Trust.

There’s a cute guy you will meet in art class this year. Don’t even talk to him. He’s poison. It will take you YEARS to extricate yourself from that mess and not without significant collateral damage. It’s better if you never even strike up a conversation with him. And I know it’s an odd thing for me to say, seeing as how you and I both try to live life without regrets. But trust me, you will regret it. The other relationships along the way, although not ideal, won’t do you that kind of damage. Heartbreak is temporary anyway. Although it feels like you will die, you learn to get over it.

It’s going to take you a year and half to figure this out on your own, so let me save you some trouble. Go to college. You can’t make it in life without a degree. Living paycheck to paycheck on Top Ramen and generic macaroni and cheese is going to get old really fast. Besides, there’s someone I want you to meet there. He will change your life forever. Just because you didn’t get into the one college you wanted to go to, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go somewhere else. You won’t even care about that college a year from now. Also, stick with that Art degree. Being happy in life is all about doing what you love. You love Art. Don’t worry about how you’ll make money doing it.

In October of 1989, Caleb is going to ask you to call him. Borrow the change to use the phone, and just do it. His life depends on it. Sometimes there are no tomorrows to do it in. It’s all about that whole living life with no regrets.

Enjoy this time in your life. It’s the most carefree time you’ll ever know. Enjoy college. And when that really, really tall guy comes to your dorm room and tries to make a move on you, just let him. He’s gonna get you in the end anyway. You can save yourself the whole boyfriend-with-a-brain-tumor nightmare.

You should also try some martial arts now. Maybe judo? Cuz, you’re really going to love it. Trust me. You’re going to get some serious satisfaction out of beating the crap out of people. It’s liberating.

Oh and in 1997 you’re going to climb up on a ladder and the dog is going to dig a hole under one leg of the ladder while you’re on it and you’re going to fall off the ladder. You’re going to still be having back problems 10 years later. Stay off the ladder, Dummy.

One more suggestion I have for saving yourself a whole lot of grief: Leave California. In 2002, when you first start talking about it? Just do it. Don’t wait. By 2004, you’ll SO wish you had already left.

That guy, Andrew, you met the first day of 10th grade? He will always be your friend and watch out for you. Even though he threw you in the pool and sprinklers fully clothed a million times, turned freezing cold hoses on you in the dead of winter and will TP your bedroom when you’re out of town when you’re 35, still keep him around. He’s a good guy. 

It will take you 28 years to figure out that you hate Catholicism and why. Don’t wait until after college to start exploring other religions. Despite what you’ve been taught, Catholics aren’t the only ones going to heaven.

In 1994 the dog is going to get knocked up. You are dying to keep the white puppy she has. GIVE IT AWAY! The dog is mildly retarded and crazy enough to need Prozac. You WILL REGRET IT. My advice is to not keep ANY of the puppies but if you do, I happen to know that Foster turns out to be a good dog.

Last, I leave you with a few things I would tell any 18 year old:

• Despite what your mother told you all your life, sexy is not having nice clothes and your hair combed nicely. Sexy also isn’t just on the outside. What people find sexy is confidence and happiness coming from the inside and loving who you are first. Although, a female priest will tell you years from now “When all else fails, dazzle them with cleavage.” She’s right, you know.
• Stay away from credit cards. It will never go well for you.
• Learn to trust yourself. You know your body best. If you think something is wrong, it is. Don’t listen to family or doctors telling you it’s all in your head. It’s not. It never is. Find someone who will listen to you. Don’t waste your time with people who don’t.
• That’s good advice for friends too. Don’t waste your time with the people who don’t listen to you. Ask yourself what positive things do you get from the friendship? If you can’t name anything powerful, get rid of them. Sometimes friends will end up being your worst enemy. Make sure you’re not being emotionally stunted in your relationships with your friends. Seek out new people and new friends. Don’t just stay with what’s comfortable. Make sure to always BE a friend, too. Look for when people need help and offer it, they don’t always ask. When they do, make sure to move heaven and earth to help. Be there and be a good listener. Also you’re eventually going to figure this out, but most of the time they don’t even want your advice. They just want you to listen.
• Don’t spend so much time worrying about “finding the right guy.” And it will never be who you think it will be. The best relationships come from being true friends first and enjoying each other’s company. You won’t die alone. The people that do make those choices.

Oh Helen, you have so much ahead of you, so much to look forward to. There’s this really special Friday the 13th that brings someone into your life that will change your life forever. It happens again Christmas 2000. Remember to enjoy every little moment with them.

Oh and call your grandmother. She worries.

Love,

Helen of 2007

scene: Son #1 is now sick with a high fever and cough. It’s bed time and I tell him to take his cough medicine.

cue western showdown music and tumbleweed.

Me: Take your medicine.
Son #1: OHHHHHH! It’s YUCKKKYYYYYYYYY!!!!!
Me: Sigh. Just take it. Don’t be a big baby!
Son #1: NOOOOOOOOO! I don’t like it.
Me: Oh honestly! Just take the damn medicine.
Son #1: No.
Me: What did you say?
Son #1: No.
Me: Come again?
Son #1: No. I’m not taking it. And you can’t make me!

cue another round of showdown music as the stage goes dead silent.

Me: (squinting) Oh I can make you.
Son #1: (suddenly a little less sure) HOW?!
Me: I’ve alligator wrastled Simba many times and shoved medicine down his gullet. I won’t even break a sweat.

Simba “I’ve been alligator wrastled” Teixeira

Son #1 is suddenly less sure and completely fascinated.
Son #1: You gave him that medicine?
As proof, I show Simba the bottle of cough medicine and he crinkles his nose and lifts up his lip in a decidely Elvis fashion. He looks at son #1 as if to say “Doooode. I’d just take the medicine. She isn’t effin’ around.”
Son #1 looks back and forth between me and the dog. Defeating that dog is not to be taken lightly.
Son #1: But it’s liquid. You haven’t shoved liquid down his throat! You can’t get the liquid down my throat!
Me: (squinting again.) Oh I have. Have no fear. You are taking that medicine and I’m perfectly willing to wrastle you for it. (It’s hard not to grin at this point.)
Son #1 sits down in front of his medicine totally defeated. The dog looks at him as if to say “Dooooode. Smart move.”

Steve and I always spend the few days after sparring class trying to assess what injuries were sustained and to what degree. When your adrenaline is juiced way up you don’t notice the blows. Last week I rolled out of bed and moaned “Oooooh I feel like I was in a fight.” He helpfully said “You were. Several, as a matter of fact.”

He woke up this morning complaining of a butt injury. I have no idea how one would sustain a butt injury, but I know I didn’t kick it. He picked me up in a big bear hug earlier and I started screaming “EIIIYAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! PUT ME DOWN! THINGS ARE HURT!” Apparently I sustained several blows to rib cage, but I can’t remember when. The only injury I remember getting yesterday was jamming my finger. Course, I was kneeing the dude in the nuts as I sustained such injury, but I’d call it even. I totally almost broke a nail. ;D Hey wait, he was kicking me in the ribs as I kneed him in the groin. THAT’S what happened. He said “Well……that’s an effective way to counter that kick.” Ooops. My bad. I just reacted. They don’t call Hapkido Korean street fighting for nuthin’! These Karate people need to learn to fight dirty. To hell with all that honor and dignity stuff. ;D

During point sparring, my opponent was a 16 year old kid who is 6′1″. (Reminder: I am 5′4.5″!) He had all the cards- reach, youth, speed and three years of boxing. I altered the style that usually works for me and it cost me the match. I find that stepping in close and throwing as many punches as fast as I can, usually knocks my opponent off balance and works for me, but I also get hit doing it. Which doesn’t bother me except that in point sparring, those hits score. Sigh. I was trying to stay out of his reach. Which is practically across the room. You’ll be happy to know that he did receive multiple blows to the head for his trouble though. Steve got his ass kicked (hey maybe that’s what happened!) by a guy who is new (white belt) to karate but a fricken’ black belt in a couple of other martial arts. I heard a black belt yelling last week when he was sparring with him “HEY! This guy isn’t a white belt!”

There’s a Human Weapon episode where they are training in a rice field and wrestling a water buffalo and the guy demonstrating nearly gets drowned by the water buffalo (to see a clip of that go here and click on where the buffalo rumble on the right side.) And Bill leans close to the camera and says “That didn’t work! That’s Water Buffalo-1, Fillipino guy-0 .” Yesterday was Water Buffalo-2, Teixeira Family-0.

It’s that time of year where bloggers all over the world start awarding and memeing and in general spreading blogly joy. And I know I just made up a whole bunch of words, but since the blog police were laid off for Christmas, I’m pretty much doing what I want.   Oh wait. I always do that. So Judy awarded me a Merry Christmas award. I’m not really sure what it is, but it sure is puuurrttttty, isn’t it? Since I never follow the rules, if you’re reading this, you just got Merry Christmas awarded. Because that’s how I roll.

So then I’m surfing around, minding my own business, when Tendrils decided to maim me. I mean meme me. Hey, that’s three me’s in a row. MEME ME! No, I haven’t been hitting the eggnog.  It’s always like this in my head.

SO without further ado, my Christmas maim. I mean, meme. Oooohhh three me’s again.

Wrapping paper or gift bags? Gift bags are somehow wrong at Christmas time. Annoyingly so. Especially due to peekers. So I wrap ‘em.

Real tree or artificial? I’ve never in my life had an artificial tree. We usually go to a tree farm and cut down our own, although the last 2 years we’ve used the same live tree and will drag it inside again this year. One year when I was single and broke, some of my friends showed up at the door with a Christmas tree with lights already on it. I suspect that they liberated it from someplace, but I was overjoyed to have a tree. That’s what friends are for. To steal shit for you for Christmas.

When do you put up the tree? Sigh. It’s still not up.

When do you take the tree down? When it becomes embarassing to still have the tree up. lol.

Do you like eggnog? No. Ew. lol.

Favorite gift received? Christmas 2000. My son.

Do you have a nativity scene? Yes. But son #1 would not stop playing with it when he was little and several of the figures are broken. He broke the baby Jesus!

Hardest person to buy for? Ugh. My father. Hands down. He hates everything you give him and returns it and has everything he needs. He even shops for himself around Christmas time just to make sure no one can buy him anything he likes. His sister is the exact same way. I don’t even give her gifts anymore because she hates them. Sigh.

Easiest person to buy for? Son #1.

Worst Christmas gift you ever received? I was engaged many moons ago to someone else and he gave me a mixer for Christmas. I don’t know if that was the worst, but certainly an odd gift from a fiance. Turned out I loved that mixer more than him and still have it. lol.

Mail or email Christmas cards? Neither. Since having children I just don’t even do it. lol. I suck.

Favorite Christmas movie? The old Rudolph movie with the clay animation. I LOVE those movies.

When do you start shopping for Christmas? Ideally in October. But that doesn’t always happen these days.

Have you ever recycled a Christmas present?  No. I just can’t bring myself to do that. There’s something inherently wrong with that.

Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Fudge. Oh God, the fudge. Reminds me of my grandma.

Clear lights or colored on the tree? Clear.

Favorite Christmas song? It’s a real toss up between White Christmas by Johnny Mathis and Jimmy Buffet’s Christmas Island. lol.

Travel at Christmas or stay home? We try to stay home. We’ve spent the last 15 years being pulled from my family’s to his and we’ve finally put our foot down and said we’re staying home.

Can you name all of Santa’s reindeer? Yes. I just checked.

Angel on the tree top or a star? Depends. Son #2 loves the tacky aluminum foil star glued onto a toilet paper roll but I secretly love the angel.

Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? We let the kids open a few on Christmas Eve, but save the majority for Christmas morning.

Most annoying thing about this time of year? OBNOXIOUS SHOPPERS!

What I love most about Christmas? The magic of the season and watching people open gifts I’ve given them.

Since it’s Christmas and I want to spread the love around, I’m given’ ya’ll ALL the Merry Christmas award AND maiming, I mean, memeing you. Thank you, Bloglines, for making it so easy to tag 50 people. LOL! Happy Holidays everyone!

:: acid indignation ::

Adventures of Ethan 

A Mommy Story

Alfred Thompson the Cyberspace People Watcher

bloggingseattle

Böh-logging

Candid Yammering

charlie’s house

Chaim

CHRONICALLY SICK, BUT STILL THINKING I THINK

GreyTinspirations

Hearts Wide Open - Adopting from Kyrgyzstan

How many calories does bullshit have?

Iced Mocha

is there a doctor in the house?

Jeff

joey moggie

Just talking out loud…

Licensed to Blog

Life in the Country

Maryamie

Melusine and the GreenMan

Mommy Has Tattoos

Mommy off the Record

My Life as a Hotfessional

nacho underpants

Nemma

Nick

Nickie’s Nook

Nothing to See Here…

Oh, The Joys

Pointless Drivel

Robodad  

Sabrina

Space and Time

Tendrils’ Ink…

TexBlog

Thoughts from the delirious mind

Toddler Planet  

United States of Motherhood

~~Sugar Queen’s Dream~~

Since November 19, I have had a sick child at home every day except for three days. And those three days? I worked at school. Seriously. We’ve got the plague here. Son #2 has now missed more than three weeks of school this year. I took him to the pediatrician yesterday and word is he’s got pneumonia. Ummm Hmmm. Pneumonia. Sigh. Then son #1 woke up in the middle of the night last night with fever. I know. Defies belief.

Every year I have the goal of never having to go to the mall during the holiday season. This year I’m finally going to make that a reality since I haven’t been able to leave the house for a month. I’m done shopping and everything is going to be delivered to my doorstep. Woo Hoo! And guess what I asked Steve for this Christmas? I said I didn’t care what I got for Christmas just that he be done by the first week in December. HE is the one who usually forces me into the mall on the 23rd or 24th because he waited until the last minute and can’t find what I want. And much to my shock, HE DID IT! First time in his life! I know. It’s enough to bring tears to your eyes, isn’t it?

I hate the mall during Christmas time. HATE. IT. I hate the pushing, shoving, obnoxious people totally destroying my holiday good will. The long lines, invasion of personal space and frantic shopping put me in the foulest mood. EVER. Before children, I was done Christmas shopping by Halloween. A few years after son #1 came along it slid to Thanksgiving and last year I was running around on the 23rd!

I hope you too are done with your holiday shopping and can relax and enjoy the Christmas season. I leave you with a haiku:

Don’t curse your bad luck
Until you’re sure it’s not good.
A blessing disguised.

Years ago I stopped running to the store in food stained t-shirts and sweats with baby food in my hair and spit up on my shoulder. Because every single time I did, not only did I run into to someone I knew, it was always either an ex-boyfriend or some guy I’d had a terrible crush on for years. NEVER failed. I can’t remember the last time I went out in public and thought “Who am I gonna see?” I’m older. Wiser. I don’t do that anymore.

So tonight, after Hapkido I had to run to the store and my precise thought was “So what? Who am I going to see?” Oy. You know where I’m going with this, right? I never go anywhere in my karate uniform except the dojo because I feel like a doofus. But tonight? It’s nine p.m. people! Everyone I know is already sleeping! And who’s going to notice my uniform pants that are supposed to be short but look like floods if you thought they were regular pants? And the fact that I am wearing athletic socks and tennis shoes and look like my 90 year old grandmother? PSHAW! I’m not going to see anyone.

So imagine my horror when I’m bent over looking at something on the bottom shelf at the store and a kid’s voice behind me says “Hi Mrs. Teixeira!” Frick. Just Frick. Shouldn’t she be in bed?!?! I don’t even turn around because the kid is going to be too young to drive which means they are accompanied by a parent. Sigh. I stand up and turn around. It’s a girl from son #1’s grade. And she’s with her dad. Whom I’ve never met. Couldn’t have possibly come with Mom tonight, eh? “Hiiiiii…..” Yes I’m the dork in the floods and my tennies, nice to meet you. To my relief he’s looking at my face and not at my clothing (I was really thinking the big puffy coat would hide all my problems.) But that’s only because he’s probably already spotted my floods and had to hide the look of horror. Oh the humanity!

Then I go to get in line and Oh. MY. GOD! Another dad! What did I do to deserve this universe?!?! I hide behind a display until he paid and left. Actually it wasn’t a display. It was a sign on a post. It didn’t hide me. Sigh.

I call Steve on the way home and tell him to break out the camera. Because I’m at least going to get a blog entry out of my humiliation.

Smokin’ hot, aren’t I?!

It’s hard living with an amnesiac. It’s like the movie 50 first dates but worse. If I thought a video would help every morning, I’d do it.

It’s well known fact that Steve hates some of my vegetarian food. This morning I was eating tempeh “bacon.” He walks over and picks a piece up. “NO! You don’t like that!” I yell. Undaunted, he starts to take a bite and frantically I yell “YOU’VE TRIED IT! YOU HATE IT!” And still he takes a bite. He looks at me in horror as it hits his tongue. His mouth opens but no sound comes out. The fakin’ bacon falls to the floor and he runs to the sink and opens his mouth under the faucet while I laugh until I cry. He turns the faucet sprayer on and tries to power wash his tongue. I can barely breathe I’m laughing so hard. He tries gargling as he shudders. As I finally regain my composure and ask him “WHY would you taste that after I told you that you didn’t like it?” Defensively he says “I thought it might taste better this time.”

Sigh. Yeah, except he’s done this before. Clearly he forgot.

So soon after Man Brain in Motion, I’m afraid I have to report Man Brain in Motion, Part Duece. I’m in the kitchen with my back to the dishwasher when Steve says “Stupid natural crap!” I don’t even have to turn around to know what’s happened. I look up at him with a look that questions his mental aptitude to which he replies “That stupid natural dishwasher soap of yours is crap!” I’m more than annoyed because I still haven’t turned around and yet I know what’s happened again. “Steven! I can not believe you’ve done this again!” And the look on his face changes, suddenly wary. Like a spark of a memory…and yet, no, not so much. Still with bravado he says “That natural stuff doesn’t work! Look what it’s done!” I whirl around “What it has done?! What YOU have done! Show me what you used!” And I fling open the cabinet. He knows he’s stepped in it somehow, but he still has zero recollection as to how or why this is not going his way. As I kick the cabinet door with the confidence and annoyance that says this indeed has happened before, he says “I will do so at a later time less embarassing to myself.”

“You used dish liquid AGAIN didn’t you?!?!” With steadily decreasing confidence he says “I did NOT! It says dishwashing liquid!” I pull out the bottle and demand he show me where. Feebly he says “Dish….SEE?!” “WHERE?!?!” I yell “It says DISHMATE! NOTHING ABOUT DISHWASHERS!” He backs out of the kitchen with “It’s still crappy……” And I am left with this:

Being the oldest child, I was not privvy to the experience of having older and wiser siblings. The closest thing I had was my cousin who is three years older than I am. However, in the last decade or so, SHE apparently has gotten younger while I continue to get older. At my sister’s wedding someone asked her how old she was and she stated an age five years younger. As the person walked away I leaned over and between clenched teeth said “You lyin’ bitch!” She looks surprised and said “What?!” and I said “You can’t possibly be that age because that would make you younger than me and I distinctly remember you being born before me.” Obviously caught in the lie but unwilling to admit defeat, she says “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” We both burst out laughing but I let her have that on account of her getting so old and all. 

It was at my older younger cousin’s knee that I also learned sarcasm. She is the most sarcastic person I’ve ever met in my life and I learned how to be a complete smart ass from her. Or maybe it’s genetic or contagious. I’m not really sure. ANYWAY! A couple of weeks ago I got one of those recipe emails where you forward your favorite recipe to two people and you’re supposed to get 36 recipes in return. The only recipe I got was one from my supremely smart ass cousin:

Ok my favorite recipe:

1 cup of your favorite cereal

3/4 cup milk

enjoy  lol

On second thought, it’s probably better I didn’t have any older siblings….

I scare the principal. I know fear. I can see it in his eyes. He sees me and wonders what classroom of the school have I destroyed today? Halloween last year was the last time I was pretty sure I was going to be banned from entering classrooms anymore. Until today.

It all started in Spain. Seeing a whole bunch of work by Antonio Gaudi, I was inspired. I thought Gaudi was more artist than architect. I decided to take on a huge mosiac project with the kids. I bought real tile at Home Depot, smashed it up with a hammer and brought it in. The kids were fascinated and thrilled to be doing real mosiac (not those crappy paper mosiacs or plastic jewel mosiac.) I tell you, they were just as passionate about it as I was because they willingly gave up their recess the day we laid the tile. One child gave an oral report on Gaudi the next day.

We were supposed to grout it today and the kids have eagerly waited an entire week to grout. However, you know the craft mosiac grout you buy at Michael’s? NO WHERE TO BE FOUND. I tried 5 craft and hobby stores. An hour before I was supposed to teach I realized I had run out of time to find it. So I went to Home Depot and bought the real grout. The kind that’s in your bathroom. I was scared. Grout is already hard enough to work with. But the real stuff in the hands of 24 ten year olds? It strikes fear in my heart just typing that.

As it turns out, my fear was more than warranted. An hour into the project, the desks were flooded and the entire room was grouted except the celing. Although I suspect if I checked, someone probably got grout there too. Did I mention this was REAL grout? So the desks, chairs, floors, door handles, sinks, countertops and the children were grouted. They had grout in their hair, on their clothes and in their shoes. The teacher had to call the janitor in because the grout stopped up the sink. But did that slow the kids down? Oh no it did not.

And in the middle of 24 grouted kids, desks, chairs, floors, door handles, sinks, and countertops, in walks the principal. It’s like the dude has some sort of destruction radar. He opens the door, takes two steps in, sees the mess and sees me, raises his arms in the air, like something might get on him and says “Uhhhh, I think I’ll come back later.”

Years ago, on Oprah, I saw this guy who wrote a book called “The Gift of Fear.” On the show he talked about how listening to that little voice inside your head that says “something is wrong” will save your life. I try to pay attention to that vague unease, because when I was 13, it saved me from being kidnapped by a stranger. Twice.

Today I was driving home and at the last minute, decided not to take my usual route home so that I could take a more scenic drive. I made this decision at the last possible second, so I was in the wrong lane and had to quickly and awkwardly change lanes from the turn lane. When I glanced in the rear-view mirror, the car behind me did the same thing which caught my attention. As I’m driving along, I glanced in the mirror a few times and thought that car behind me was driving oddly. Almost like a cop does when they’re following you, but somehow not. So then I realized that the thought that this guy behind me was following me had crept into my subconscious.

I felt silly for even thinking it, but something about the way he drove made me think this. So I started slowing down then speeding up, adjusting my speed significantly and still the way he drove told me he was following me. At the road I take to go home, I turned right, turning on my blinker well before the street. As soon as my blinker went on, so did his. My heart started to beat faster, but I still wasn’t convinced that he was following me. I looked on my navigation system map to see if there was an upcoming area that I could take four rights and kinda go “around the block.” I didn’t see one, but I saw a roundabout. I took the roundabout all the way around until I was going back the way I came. I slowed down to almost a stop in the roundabout so that I could get his license plate number in case he was following me. My heart skipped a beat when he followed me all the way around and was also heading back the way we came. Confirmed bad guy behind me. I started to scroll through my navigation system trying to find the nearest police station. I *know* where it is, and yet I couldn’t remember at that moment. Funny how stress makes your mind go totally blank. Like when my kids are seriously hurt and I can’t remember the doctor’s phone number.

I got to the end of the road and turned left, still going back the way I came, trying to send the message that I knew he was back there. He got it. He pulled over and sat there, so like a bat out of hell, I floored it. I suspected he was trying to wait until I decided to come back that way. I didn’t go back that way. When I got home, I called the police. They told me to keep an eye out for the car and they would run the plates and see if it raised any red flags.

All the times in my life that I have been in truly dangerous situations were because I had ignored that little voice inside my head that said “Danger!” and said to myself “You’re being silly.” The author of that book emphasized over and over to never, ever ignore that little voice.

If you’re wondering why I didn’t call 911 while in the car, it was because years ago, a guy cut me off on the freeway and then I passed him and gave him a dirty look. Which enraged him and he started chasing me. Son #1 was a baby and in the back seat and I was FLYING down the freeway, weaving in and out of traffic, with this guy chasing me, terrified that he was going to shoot me. The 911 dispatcher kept telling me to pull over. Which I didn’t want to do in case he had a gun. I wasn’t scared for myself as much as for son #1. Quite honestly, I was terrified that if I called 911 today, the dispatcher was going to tell me to pull over. And you know what? No way in fricken’ hell I was pulling over. Sorry 911. Take a flying leap. I didn’t make it to my age by stopping and ASKING trouble to come get me.

So now I wonder where this guy picked me up. Was he following me around the store I had been in? I had only been in the car less than five minutes when I first noticed him. I’m hoping to never see that guy or his vehicle again. It was definitely a scary day. Son #1 asked me when he got home what would I be worried about it for? That I could just Hapkido him. I reminded son #1 that you always assume the other guy is a black belt. I don’t want to find out whether or not he’s a black belt.

I have to tell you a little story about my friend, Jen. I’m grinning right now just thinking about her. She’s hilarious. We were at son #2’s soccer game awhile back and she takes out some lip gloss and puts in on. Then she starts talking a mile a minute and gets even faster. ”Have you tried this stuff? It’s the lip plumping stuff.” I inspected it. ”No. Does that even work?” “Oh my God! Ok. So the first time I tried it, it set my lips on fire. ON. FIRE. I tell you! I thought I was having some kind of horrible allergic reaction. It burned SO BAD! And I didn’t even know what was happening. My lips felt puffy, but that’s because I think they were swollen from whatever is in here. So I wasn’t sure it was working and WOW, it totally burned! But then I tried it again. And it totally burned again. Same thing happened, but you know? Nothing else happened so I guess it was ok. So I kept using it. Andyouknow? Ithinkitmightactuallywork. BecausenowthatIhavelipcancerIdon’tevenfeelit!”  She announces triumphantly. And then she pauses for a breath as Steve and I stare at her in horror then crack up laughing. “Look at my lips! They’re plumper aren’t they?”

So now Steve and I randomly begin sentences with “Now that I have lip cancer…..”

Yesterday Steve and I finally got to go to a sparring class together. Between us and the kids, we know almost every sensei in the dojo, but yesterday we encountered a sensei we’d never met. Although Steve and I have been doing this for the same amount of time, he is a higher belt rank than I am. This is the only time this will happen, as Hapkido belt tests are every three months and Karate belt tests are every four. It just so happens that his first belt test fell before mine.

Wedded Bliss, but with Headgear
So the instructor sees that we are the lowest belt ranks in the room (in addition to another student from my Hapkido class who is the same belt rank as I am.) White and yellow belts are the most dangerous students in the dojo. We do not have the control yet to not hurt people and just enough knowledge to be dangerous. So Sensei tells everyone to pair up and Steve and I paired up, anxious to finally be able to go at it on a PADDED floor. As soon as he sees Steve’s size and our belts he walks over and says “I don’t want you two sparring until I can make sure you’re safe, lemme look at all the white and yellow belts one at a time.” When Steve and I looked at each other, he caught the look and said “Oh wait. Do you two know each other?” Steve said “We’re married.” And I said “And we do this in our living room.” Sensei looked shocked as hell, but a slow smile spread across his face and he grinned and said “Well then, by all means, have at it.” He didn’t have to say that twice!

It Tolls for Thee
I have gotten a chance to spar already in Hapkido a few times, but this was Steve’s first time sparring. I’ve repeatedly told him “I can’t wait for the first time you go to sparring class. Then some black belt is going to kick your ass instead of you kicking my ass all over the place.” Steve not only has arms twice as long as mine, even if I throw a kick, his arms are still long enough to hit me while I’m kicking him. Sigh. It’s very hard to spar with him. He’s got boxing experience too and our sparring sessions are usually me just getting my bell rung. True to form, Steve rung my bell two minutes into our sparring session. Oy.

Body Blow, Body Blow, Body Blow…
After I sparred with Steve, I sparred with the guy from my Hapkido class. He’s a high school aged kid also with boxing experience. He knew Steve and I went at it, so he and I went at it full force too. You’re supposed to just touch the other person and pull back, but he and I were trading near full force punches and kicks. I whispered that we might get in trouble doing it, but we grinned and kept doing it. I do have to say, that I did tweak my shoulder blocking a particularly hard round house, but I had fun.

Bring it
After that, we traded partners about every three minutes and so made the rounds around the room. Probably at least half the class were black belts. One thing you quickly learn in Martial Arts is to respect the belt. If you’re smart, you also learn that sometimes even people with the lowest belt rank have experience in either another martial art or boxing or something else. The key is to never underestimate your opponent. What I’ve learned so far is that people see that I’m a woman, I’m the lowest belt rank, and I’m in my late thirties (that’s painful to say). And they immediately make the assumption that I’m afraid to fight or trade punches. I find that if I take advantage of that and aggressively step in close even though I’m being hit, I surprise them and they start backing up. The only people I’ve not been able to back up is black belt men about my age, although usually older.

So, You Like it When I Beat You Up? 
One of the older male black belts I was paired with yesterday began with just light touch punches. Then he wanted to show me something and had the fastest hands I’ve ever seen. He feigned six punches to my head and face before I even lifted my hands to block. I said “HOLY COW!” and then blinked a few times, because I had literally blinked and received 5 punches in that amount of time. I said “Do that again.” He looked at me incredulously. “WHAT?! You want me to do that again?” “Yes please!” I said. Still standing there in disbelief he said “WHY?!?!” I said “See that big guy over there? That’s my husband. Have you sparred with him yet?” He says “Oh, yeah. That guy. He’s really fast.” I said “Exactly and he does what you just did to me, except harder, just to show me he can. I need practice and I need to figure out how to defend that.” “AAAAAAAAAAAhhhhh. Ok. Now I get it.” And he proceeded to fricken Bruce Lee me with a hundred fricken punches. It’s better not to even blink with that guy. I was getting better, faster and starting to see openings. And by the end of that session, I was trading respectable strength punches with a bad ass.

The Enthusiastic Blue Belt and His Garage Sale
My most comedic sparring session was with a kid not much older than son #1. He was several belt ranks higher than I am, but I could quickly see he was new to this. Also I couldn’t bring myself to actually make contact with him, because all I could think of was that I wouldn’t want an adult punching on MY son. I said to him “If you don’t retract your kicks I’m going to grab your leg.” And again he kicked without retracting so I grabbed his leg and held on to let him know I could. Undettered, while I’m standing there hanging onto his leg, he’s punching me all over the torso and head and saying “Yeah, but I’m still hitting you!” I sighed and said “Well if we’re fighting and I’m going to grab your leg, I’m going to put you on the ground. Do you know how to fall safely if I do that?” He nods. “Ok, if you kick me again without retracting, I’m going to leg sweep you.” The kid grins. He was really cute and enthusiastic. So, he kicks me again and I grabbed his leg again, but I’m still reluctant to leg sweep him hard and let him go down like he’s supposed to, so I hang on to him during the leg sweep and lower him to the ground. Again, if it were my son, I wouldn’t want an adult to just lay him out. So I’m leaned over him from lowering him down. He still fell, but only from about a foot (he weighed almost as much as me, so I couldn’t PUT him down.) I look down and his belt has come untied, his uniform open and untied, his helmet had come off and one glove. It looked like a garage sale with his equipment all over the place. And still he’s hitting me and grinning. “Look!” he says “I’m still hitting you!” I sighed again. Oy. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that if I leg swept him for real, I wouldn’t have been leaning over him. By the time he redressed and got himself together again, our session was over. I’m still grinning over this kid. SO cute, but SO much to learn.

Cut Me, Mick, Make Me Bleed
When class ended I was taking off my equipment and I called over to Steve without looking up ”So did you finally get your day of reckoning?” His silence caused me to look up and then he said “Uh, yeah. Do you see my lip? I got side-kicked in the face by a black belt. I also got punched in the nose and the eye.” He also informed me that he back fisted son #2’s black belted sensei in the face, and traded a few other injuries. Sigh. Better them than me. “It was fear. They see how big you are and how long your arms are and it’s a perfectly natural response.”   

My Testosterone Imbalance
After sparring class, I was talking to Steve in the lobby and I said “It was nice to spar with people my own size today. However I’ve decided that I like sparring with men better than women. The pace of the sparring is much slower with women and most of them just keep backing up and disengaging. Men don’t usually do that. They get in there and fight.” A mom sitting nearby overheard me and said “Oh my God. Did you just say that you LIKE sparring and you’d RATHER spar with men?” I grinned and said “Yeah, it was more fun and faster paced.” She shook her head “FUN?!? Oh my God.”

Yeah. Oh. My. God. It was fun.

Part 1 of Everybody was Kung Fu Fighting