You just got Birk’d!

Let me begin by saying, I am very proud of The Man.

Yesterday, while we were at the park with The Beans, he was asked to participate in a pickup game of basketball– two on two to be specific by a trio of boys less than half his age. He could have been their father, and he accepted.

Lord only knows what possessed them to invite him. After all, he was napping in the grass, wearing cargo shorts, a tee-shirt and… wait for it… Birkenstocks. Nothing about him screamed “pick me, pick me” and yet they did. Maybe they were desperate for a fourth. Or perhaps they were intent on exploiting the 40 year-old hippie dude napping peacefully in the grass. Whatever the case, kudos to them!

Honestly, I was shocked he knew how to play. This was a natural assumption, considering he was a baseball player in high school, I’ve never seen him play, and watching the Lakers duke it out with another team while sipping beer and eating wings from the comfort of our sofa hardly qualifies one to actually play the game, right? Giving credit where credit is due though, his passing game was impressive and he sank several baskets. At one point he even did the quintessential “Jordan stretch maneuver” (aka the Jordan Nike logo) in an attempt to dunk the ball, despite the fact he was 5 feet too short and has never dunked a basketball in his life. This resulted in his left index finger having an up close and personal encounter with the pole holding up the basket. But hey…at least he tried. How many other 40-somethings would have been so bold? Yeah, I thought so.

The Man’s got game. Who knew?

So. The games are over, having been halted by a call from one boy’s mom, summoning him home for dinner, and the other two followed suit, leaving as well. At this point, The Man realized “Oh shit. I’m the old guy.” I gathered The Beans, and we patiently waited laughed as The Man limped to the car, already feeling the effects of his bravado, aching muscles and…um… age. He, of course blamed it on the Birkenstocks.

The best part though, has been hearing about it for the last 24 hours. The pride in his voice is something that’s been absent for a long time, so I have been more than happy to listen to the play by play, so to speak. On the flip side, the most entertaining is the realization that he is more “Cartman” Jordan than Michael Jordan. Oh, and the explanation he gave the doctor this morning when we went to have the injured finger examined. It’s now in a splint, by the way. This being said, it inspired him to commit to getting in better shape, not only for his health, but also so he can return to the same court, play another pick-up game and walk away talking smack, saying….

“You just got Birk’d.” 

This rollercoaster belongs in a theme park.

Looks pretty scary, huh?

Welcome to my point of view. Just a typical day in my life, recently.

As I mentioned here, life has been pretty nuts around the ole Calibama Ranch. And here’s the thing: it’s all family drama.  Okay, maybe not ALL of it.  But…whatever.

My struggle is with the fact that I built this family. Literally. Everyone knows each other because I packed my life up and drove to California 16 years ago. Might as well change my name to CATALYST, because that initial decision, followed by the marital union of The Man and me 3.5 years later, charted the life courses of no less than 8 people. Seriously. I’m not kidding, nor exaggerating. I’d list all the connections and such, but they aren’t my stories to tell and at the rate I’m going, I certainly can’t risk the shit getting any deeper up in here. Suffice to say, with the exception of one, who made the move here shortly after I did, and served a stint as my roommate for a bit in the early years…my closest girlfriends from college, are now family…for reals. Sister brought it full-circle, by leaving blood relation–complete with their own full-scale dramatic productions– behind in ‘Bama and creating my very own ‘friendamily’ here on the West Coast. It took me sixteen years…actually only thirteen to be exact…to do it, but masterpieces take time, right?

So.

Does that mean I’m responsible for this chaos? Please. Don’t. Answer. That.

At any rate, guilty or not, I have no regrets. None. Life has its highs and lows, peaks and valleys. Sometimes all in the same effing week. Even if the genie from Aladdin–complete with Robin Williams’ voice, a shiny gold lamp and a groovy magic carpet–suddenly appeared, offering me the opportunity to go back 13 years and do things differently, I wouldn’t. Every single introduction, experience, and life-altering event would remain intact, in its original, organic state. Honestly. Having all these people assembled together in my world interacting in such an amazing, tumultuous, meaningful way is a blessing, truly worth its weight in gold. Why, you ask?

Because I was given this life, and I appreciate every ounce of it.

Seriously Sucky Start to Summer Sabbatical

Honestly, this post was supposed to be about something else entirely.

That being, The Oldest Girl must attend summer school. Because she sucks ass at math, just like her mama. It’s not because she doesn’t try, it’s because she is entirely left-brained and creative, which severely impairs her ability to wrap her multi-faceted, artistically inspired mind around logical problems with finite answers. Go figure. She excels in EVERY OTHER SUBJECT, and barely passes math. Oh well. What’s a girl to do? I’ll tell you what. Drag her butt out of bed in time to BE AT SCHOOL, IN CLASS by…SEVEN-FREAKING-THIRTY, EVERYDAY for the first five weeks of summer vacation. Guess who has to drive her? Um…yeah. Me. With her complaining all the way there, and all the way back when I retrieve her two and a half hours later. You’d think she had done a stint in San Quentin.

Oh, the joys of motherhood. 

Anyway, that rant is what inspired the title of this little post.

Then lots of other shit happened, before I even wrote the first line. So I had to ‘save to draft’ with just a title, until now. Somehow, the title still seems appropriate, given the dichotomy of this past weekend. So.

We had both the incredibly joyous occasion of a birth happen in our family on Friday. (No..I didn’t give birth. My BFF did.)  Followed by the unexpected, tragic death of a beloved canine member of our immediate family on Saturday morning. 

I ask…WTF do you do with THAT?  Put on a brave face, and smile though your heart is shattered? Adding insult to injury, the circle of folks involved are all quite tight, so I had to break the news of Buster’s passing to my friend while she was still in the hospital, one day postpartum celebrating the best thing that has ever happened to her. Then, rush away to wrap my arms around my MIL and FIL, who are understandably inconsolable. To them, Buster was their child. And the grieving is just as intense.

One gorgeous, cuddly, innocent, perfect human child born, while another, equally gorgeous, cuddly, innocent, perfect canine companion is taken away. There simply is no justice in that. I’ve cried myself to sleep the past two nights, and so have The Man and The Girls. My eyes are puffy and red, and my head really hurts. Which come to think of it, may actually work in my favor this weekend while shooting a zombie movie. (more on that later)

But, here is the thing. Buster was majestic, respectful, obedient and never wanted anything more than to give everyone he met…human or animal…LOVE. And the only thing he sought in return was LOVE. He touched the lives of so many people in such a way that his memory will live in them for eternity. I believe he was given to all of us as a gift, a teacher, and when God believed his mission complete, he called him back home…without warning…

…and sent this precious angel baby in his place to remind us all to return to our true innocence and live our lives giving unconditional love always.  Who’s with me?

Anyway, I just needed to get that out. Hope you don’t mind.

I’m again, teary eyed and sleepy.

Night y’all,

N

DAY-UM. What a week.

YEEEEESSSSSS!

YEEEEESSSSSS!

My apologies for being away so long, but…

DAY-UM! I’ve had a week. Let’s recap, shall we?

Last Saturday started with CAKE FOR BREAKFAST, in honor of Sweet Pea’s 6th birthday. Would love to take credit for this genius tradition, but all the credit goes to my high school friend Sarah and her sweet family. Seemed like such a fantastic way to start a birthday, that we hijacked it from them. We’ve been at it for 2 full years now 🙂 Every birthday starts with cake. Even the ones that fall on school days. The Beans’ teachers just love me for this I bet. After cake and presents, we headed out to spend a gift card she received and to lunch at her favorite chain restaurant, California Pizza Kitchen, where I was compelled to perform a stupid human trick I learned in college while watching Mr. Wizard, when I should have been studying for finals. It involves counter-balancing two forks atop two toothpicks stuck in a salt shaker. More than a few dollars have been made by hustling unsuspecting people guys at bars who swear it can’t be done. Whatever, suckers. Not only can it be done, my daughters marvel at my ability to do it, thus earning me a spot in the “Cool Mom Hall of Fame”.

Stupid human trick. Try it. I dare you.

Stupid human trick. Try it. I dare you.

After lunch, the family headed downtown to the Flower Mart to gather the necessary supplies for this…

A gift of flowers for my MIL

A gift of flowers for my MIL

I must admit, I am beginning to really enjoy this new creative outlet I’ve stumbled upon with floral artistry. You might say it’s growing on me. LOL. Check out my first crack at it here. Both arrangements were well received. Thank God. As both were for very important occasions 🙂

The rest of Saturday went off without a hitch. It wasn’t until Sunday morning–Mother’s Day–when things got a bit chaotic. What? You aren’t surprised that MD in my house would be crazy? Yeah. Me either. Actually though, ITCHY is a better description.

After being awakened by the smell of a vanilla latte fresh from Starbucks delivered to my bedside, I was showered with homemade cards and presents, followed by hugs from all three girls who’d slept, snuggled around me, in my bed, all night long. This is an important detail to remember, because the next thing I did was discover that Sweet Pea had head lice, while washing her very long, blonde hair. On Mother’s Day.

I plan. God laughs; deciding to remind me what being a mama is really all about: exterminating unwelcome pests that have invaded my special day by hitching a ride from school, hanging on to the strands of my child’s hair. WTF? Adding insult to injury, it’s the second time since November, which was the first time EVER. For nine years we escaped, and then BAM…it finally happened. We got inducted into The Lice Club. I went ballistic. Not only did I treat all 3 small heads of hair in the house, spending a minimum of 3 hours sectioning/combing with the fine-toothed metal comb until their scalps were raw, I also replaced all the pillows, brushes, and hair accessories. I opted for the toxic shit called RID over the “natural remedies” because I wanted the pesky little fuckers dead, and couldn’t be sure that something eco-friendly would indeed do the trick. In addition, I sprayed down the sofas and mattresses, put the cushions out in the sun for 24 hours, bathed our dogs in medicated shampoo, and bagged up every stuffed animal they had ever touched for two whole weeks. Oh, did I forget to mention I also stripped all the linens from every bed and washed them along with The Beans’ backpacks on the sanitary cycle which uses extra hot water and takes 2 hours? Yep. Did that. Treated hubby and myself as well. To say I went off the rails the first time, is an understatement. The Man was ready to divorce me. Or kill me. Or both. Seriously.

Can you envision the horrified look on his face when I screamed “Mother Effer!! Sweet Pea has head lice again!” at an ear-splitting volume from the shower Sunday morning? Mother’s Day 2012 did not get off to a very promising start. And considering last year’s tragedy, I am now entertaining thoughts of dumping it from our slate of celebrations altogether.

Suffice to say, I repeated the eradication scenario and we were again, lice-free by Monday morning. However, I notified the school and kept Butter Bean and Sweet Pea home until their classes had been checked by the school nurse. Miraculously, Sugar Bean didn’t have it, so she went back on Monday. When Tuesday morning rolled around, imagine my surprise to see the same family who had it last time waiting to be head-checked in the school office again. Coincidence? Yeah, right. My girls never had it until being in class with this sibling pair. One in Kinder, the other in second grade. It was all I could do not to punch their mama square in the face, right there in front of the principal. Was my anger misplaced? Maybe. Am I headed to Hell in a chartered hand-basket? Probably. But so-help-me-God, nothing irritates me more than mamas who clearly don’t take the due diligence necessary to prevent recurrent lice on the heads of their young, who inevitably transmit the parasites to everyone who comes in contact with them at school. Feral children! Even chimpanzees “nit-pick” and groom their offspring. And before you go all “well maybe your kids were responsible”–don’t. Because the first time it happened, I assumed The Beans were the source, as they had just begun gymnastics at a new facility. However, if you read the post just before this one, you’ll know they haven’t been to the gym in 3 weeks. Nor have they had any playdates. So there. Honestly, as expensive as it is to treat the pests—$200 minimum, each time, when you have girls with long hair, because it’s not like you can shave their heads and start over, you know—you would think that alone would be motivation enough for periodic checks throughout the school year. Since mine got it in November, I have checked on a weekly basis. That’s how I found it the second time!! Maybe I should send her a bill for the cost of treatment. Whaddaya think?

Okay. Okay. I’ll get off my soapbox, because the rest of Mother’s Day was very pleasant, spent relaxing at a bbq at the home of the wonderful lady responsible for laboring The Man into the world and raising him to be the awesome hunk he is. So there. All was not lost to the freaking lice.

Let’s cut to Wednesday. Open House at school. Sugar Bean had to present her country report, complete with a food item representative of her chosen land. She studied New Zealand, which was fantastic considering one of my dear friends lives there and was able to provide us with lots of information, including the idea for me to make a Pavlova Cake. Since I only bake once a year…rum cakes at Christmas time… it was a bit daunting. All turned out fine and dandy, with this as the finished dessert:

a New Zealand Pavlova cake

a New Zealand Pavlova cake

Apparently it was tasty. The plate was literally scraped clean. I plan to make another for the family soon, so I can see what all the devouring was about 🙂

In addition to Sugar Bean’s country report, Butter Bean  had to do a project for display based on a Caldecott Award Winning book. She chose “I Know an Old Woman Who Swallowed a Fly”. Together, we made this dyorama, which I thought would surely win an award for my precious second-grader. It didn’t. A lap-top made out of paper won. I’m not bitter. Promise.

Anyway, judge for yourself.

Secretly, I love making shit like this. But don't tell anybody.

Secretly, I love making shit like this. But don’t tell anybody.

Yesterday was rather unremarkable stacked up against the early part of the week. In the morning, I went to be fitted for my bridesmaid’s dress which I will be wearing at the wedding of my niece, Meaghan, in September. Took The Beans for fro-yo after school, like usual. Two Thursdays ago, this very funny thing happened on the way to fro-yo, which, ironically is also about Meaghan. I also did some laundry. Gained some new Twitter followers. No unexpected surprises though. In fact, the only thing I can remember about it is that Lexi died on the season finale of Grey’s Anatomy. That really sucked. I was mad…for about 10 minutes. Then I turned off the tv and went to sleep. Nothing like when I found out GCB got cancelled. Loved that dang show! As Nicole Richie Tweeted earlier in the week, “We need to figure out who needs to bone who to keep GCB on the air.” Right on, girl. RIGHT ON!

And now it’s Friday. Well, actually Saturday. Which means I need to get my ass in bed, because boy do I have a helluva weekend full of events planned for the family, starting at 10 am tomorrow morning, and carrying straight through until 6pm Sunday evening.

Yes, there will be posts. And pictures.

Probably not ’til Monday though.

Nite y’all 🙂

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