Birthdays. They Always Bring With Them a Deeper Desire for Botox.

I’m still collecting money for the Botox piggy bank, but I got one of the best gifts to stand-in…my two favorite Miami exports came into town!

This is Jessy, being 2007 white trash.
This is Jessy, being 2007’s best white trash.

Henry and Gus, best friends.
Henry and Gus, best friends.

Jessy and I share a hometown, as well as lots of college friends. She’s always been one of my best, funniest friends, but the week I had with her recently really solidified her as a Tier 1 friend. Few people would just lay around while babies are napping, eat a shocking amount of Café Rio, and buy me groceries. Jessy bought my groceries. Have YOU had a friend buy you food for a week?

Anyway, we’re both figuring out this mom thing, and our enthusiasm for a “quick trip” to swing by our friend’s Utah baby shower can probably be chalked up to stuck-in-a-car-with-two-babies naivety.

Due to a closed freeway, what normally is a 6 hour car ride to Salt Lake City turned into 9 ½. That’s a long time.

No, really.

That’s a reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally long time with two unhappy babies, both under one year old, who were tremendously jealous of their mothers’ forward-facing seats.

We made it to our friend Natalie’s shower, late, with tired babies. The shower was hosted by our friend Lauren, and Gus took up an obsessive fondness for Lauren’s beautiful china. It’s been years since I’ve had almost all my old roommates and best friends in one place, and I was thrilled to catch up with them in person, even though I spent most of my time rerouting Gus from the china, or wrapped gifts, or people’s plates of food…but mostly, the china.

Meanwhile, stationary Henry just sat nicely.

After Gus’s little hands chipped one of the cups, I found out it was Lauren’s mother in law’s china. That’s when we left (after apologizing).

After recovering from the shower, we talked arranged marriages.
After recovering from the shower, we talked arranged marriages.
Roommate bests!
Roommate bests!

The drive back to Las Vegas was quicker, quieter, and much more exciting after witnessing an almost-bum fight at a pit-stop (plot twist: angry homeless guy was pacified after being offered pizza by the other guy, happily every after, etc). By the time we got home, we were exhausted.

…but then we remembered Brian’s babysitting services and managed to go out.

Henry pulling Gus's hair, Gus eating Henry's binky. They're all about giving and taking.
Henry pulling Gus’s hair, Gus eating Henry’s binky. They’re all about giving and taking.

Seriously, SUCH a fun week. The only downside (besides taking 3 pictures) was being reminded how much I miss my best friends!

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Little Girls : Sugar and Spice :: Women : ???

Sugar and spice, and everything nice. That’s what little girls are made of.

As you grow up, some of the sugar must ferment. Things get a little spicier as you become older and hormonally imbalanced, respectively.

What’s your grown-up spice level?

A.) Ground clove—-You have been known to say, “No.”
B.) Medium Sauce from Buffalo Wild Wings— Lasers occasionally come out of your eyes, unvoluntarily.
C.) New Mexican salsa— Motorists still tremble at the sight of your car, even though you gave your “drivers on the road” voodoo doll to Goodwill, for Lent.
D.) African Poison Death Destruction Ghost Chili, seeds included*—You’re a mom.

*It’s exisitence is whatever.

If you chose A.), B.), or C.), don’t fret. People probably still like you, minus your family, sometimes. Friends will describe you as “sassy,” like you’re a feisty, cute 7-year-old with messy lipstick on.

But D.), D….DEEEE…

I am D. I am crazy. I. Am. Crazy.

I was answering "D," 6 months ago. Wouldn't that little bear bring out the mama bear in anyone?
I was answering “D,” 6 months ago. Wouldn’t that little bear bring out the mama bear in anyone?

I used to be an unopinionated, easy going, nice person. Then, I had a baby. As my tummy slowly shrunk, and my claws slowly grew.

Now, if a passerby looks at my child slightly strangely on a walk, my mind can only think of one thing…vengeance. Don’t look at my kid’s booger like that, construction man. Don’t linger by my basket, wheezing Target patron. Don’t sniff by us. Hit my baby with your wheel chair, hip replacement lady at Albertson’s, and I will discus-throw frozen pizzas at you SO FAST.

And to the man that flipped me off at a stop sign as I was handing my son a bottle?!


I’m sure there is a medication to solve this, but I’m not sure our insurance would cover that 100%. I pray I’m not the only choice D mom out there. Do the mom-talons ever recede?

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If You’re Not Yet Fully Commited to Reverence, Here’s a Game for You.

We have had an eventful month at our house. I have lots to say, but it seems that every time I start writing, I just start flinging word-poo rants all over the place.

For now, we’ll just start with “It’s Sunday!”

Today, we went to church just mildly late, which is as close to on-time as we usually get with baby naps involved. I chose my outfit strategically to look like I had a Sadie’s date.

Brian and I forgot to pack any sort of entertainment in the diaper bag. Whoops. Gus, who is the 11-month-old Usain Bolt, happily ran laps in the back of the gym during a talk on reverence. His little strides were muffled by tiny shoes, so I let him run free, grinning, and proud.

During the 4th lap, I reminisced on other situations of irreverence. My fondest was a game some guys in my church would play when we were teenagers. It’s not totally appropriate for church meetings, but it IS silent, so…


-Sit behind a woman with long-ish hair.
-Each player (3-4 is ideal),one at a time, takes a turn pulling a strand of hair that looks unattached to the woman’s head. You know how girls have hair floaties all over the place.
-Whichever player pulls a hair that is not a straggler, and indeed, still growing healthily out of the woman’s scalp, loses. She’ll turn around when she feels her hair being plucked, and eye contact and a smile from the loser is key in the game. So much shame, so much immaturity, so much high school fun.

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