My sister--the hurricane victim ;)

Before Ike hit Texas, I got lots of calls from concerned relatives. No, it's not coming to Dallas I would say. Remember Katrina and Gustsav, we didn't get one drop of rain. My well meaning cousin in Florida warned me Ike was different. It would still have force when it hit Dallas; I needed to be prepared to hang out in my closet with batteries and a flashlight.

I ended up giving in and buying some water and batteries. I even cleared a small area in my closet for our family of 6. I watched the news on Friday night as Ike neared the Texas coast. I started to get worried.

The next morning I went to my 7 am spin class. The sky was cloudy and there was a slight wind. Could it really hit Dallas? And then it rained. Not a downpour, not a gush. A lovely all-day gentle rain. The kind of rain that calls for a nice cup of tea and a Lifetime movie (or at the very least a Disney Channel Original movie). There was no wind, no lightning. Just the soft rain.

And the next morning the sun shone brightly. Even better, Ike left us with an amazing parting gift. A cold front that brought weather a San Diego resident would envy.

Sunday night my sister calls.

"I'm a hurricane victim, "she starts.

"What--you are in Ohio--Cleveland!"

"We've lost tree branches, Lizzy almost blew away in the wind. And we've been without power for hours."

"So you can't see the Browns game?" my priorities come through.

"No. Is it good?"

I look at the TV and notice goal posts waving and rain pouring on the field. It looked ugly (and not just the weather).

"We might not get power for days," she continues.

"That sucks," what else do you say?

And now days later, my dad in Cleveland  is cleaning the backyard filled with branches, and I am hearing about just how crappy the situation is in Ohio thanks to a hurricane, a tropical hurricane.

Oh and it's still sunny, 73, and perfect in Dallas. As much as I hate to admit it, this just might  be further proof God is in indeed a Cowboys fan (the Monday night game was perfect after all).

Please keep the residents in Texas' gulf coast in your prayers. It is still horrible and many may not come back home for a month. And if you can, click here to help. It is really a mess on the Texas coast.

Wordless Wednesday--Tea Time (not just for the ladies!)

I have a history of taking off my shirt

For almost the past twelve years, give or take a month, I have been pregnant, nursing or both.

It all started when I saw two lines on a cheap pregnancy test exactly three weeks after my honeymoon. It's true--we did more than ride around a bus with old people on Europe during those three weeks.

And almost ten months later when Miley was born, I nursed and I nursed more. I never even got my period back and then I was once again staring at two lines. And then a little over nine months later, Sarah was born and she nursed and she nursed. And surprise, I had, when she was 27 months old, a period. I felt a tad normal again and then less than a month later, two lines. Exactly 9 1/2 months later, Dino was born and he nursed and he nursed. But by 18 months, not as much--he actually preferred food over the boob. And again surprise, I got my period. I mentioned to the husband it was time for his big V. He did nothing and yes, less than a month later I was staring at two lines. Nine months later, Spanky was born and I got my tubes tied. And Spanky, like his brother and sisters refused all bottles and nursed. And  nursed some more. And for his second birthday, he nursed. 

Now Spanky is two and his very favorite thing to do is nurse. Anytime. Anywhere. And it's starting to get a little annoying. I want to wean, at least drop the constant night nursing I though we had finished but no, we still are. The problem--I weaned my others by getting pregnant and my milk drying out. I will not get pregnant to wean him no matter how tempting it seems at 3 am. 

So I am wondering how did you wean your baby? Did you go cold turkey or gradual? How long was the process? I know I need to start the process now or he will need to choose a college close to home!

My Aerobics Instructor has a Streak of Satan

I tried a new class at my gym yesterday--barbell  strength. I am not new to lifting weights, but I am more into the hand weights and body bar. I did not even know how to load up the bar bell.

So I ask the instructor for help loading up the bar. She walks over with me to the bars and plates and begins pulling out the largest weights and placing them on the bar. She says just one on each side is a great starting point. She shows me how to lock them in place. And then hands me several smaller plates so I can load up on larger muscle exercises.

Now usually, I glance around the room and see what everyone else is doing but honestly I was so caught up in making sure I had my step, hand weights, bar and plates that I did not even notice.

Once the class began, the instructor said to get out the bar bell and we begin to do step ups. She continues stating "We might as well start with our bar bell since the goal is to use the bar bell for the entire class."

Without thinking I put the  bar bell on the middle of my shoulders and start to do step ups. And it's hard. It is only the first 5 minutes of class and  I. am. struggling. What type of wimp am I?

And then I finally glance around the room. Out of the 30 some people in the class, about 6 are  like me, struggling with a big ol' weighted bar bell. The rest are smiling and stepping up and down with a body bar (a weighted bar that is usually at the most 15 pounds). Every bone in my body wants to switch but I don't want to look like a wuss and the instructor was so kind to fix my bar for me.

The class continues and I follow my supposed sweet instructor's advice. She even comments to my fellow classmates taking the easy route "I know you didn't wake up at 5 am to look good. You came to work so add the weight."

The advice makes sense and I struggle to fatigue with each and every exercise. set.  and. movement. I make it through the class and although a tad sore, I am pleased with my work.

24 hours later, I am not so pleased. My walk is much like those of a much older generation. Reaching for the bowls in the cabinet is a task too painful to even consider. Walking the kids to their classrooms this morning is a scary thought. And going to my five am spin class? Unthinkable.

So today I have a choice. I can tell my friend I am meeting for breakfast and coffee the reason I am walking and grimacing with each step that I 1. took a weight class I was ill prepared for and need to spend more time at the the gym or 2. I took a weight class at the gym and the instructor was a crazed psychco path who wanted to bring pain to each and every student.

There is the answer that is the truth and the one that helps the ego as sore as my calves. I don't like to be sore and perhaps I myself have the streak of satan ;)

A Lone Star Tradition

The other night Mike and I were blessed with the chance to go on a real date--no kids for five hours--dinner and a movie. I don't think we've done both together for at least five years!

For dinner, we went to a local Tex Mex spot and enjoyed the frozen margarhettias--I even had one and half--something I almost never do since I am still nursing Spanky. I figured I should be OK if I kept munching on the stuffed jalepenos and Hatch chili quesadillas.

Anyway, next to us was a table of two middle aged couples plus a much older couple--my guess, one of the younger person's parents. The waiter stood on their bench and announced to the entire restaurant it was the older woman's birthday, her 21st birthday.

Me, being a bit happy on tequilla myself mentioned that everyone who turns 21 should have a shot of tequlia.

My ever social husband Mike turns to the birthday 'girl' and asks if she would like to do a shot. The entire table explodes in laughter and birthday girl looks directly at Mike and says "Sure".

Mike calls over the waiter and tells him what he'd like to do. A true salesman, the waiter asks if we want the good tequila since it is her '21st' birthday after all.

"Absolutely," says Mike. "1800 Cuervo."

The waiter disappears and quickly returns with a shot, mentioning to Mike and everyone else that when she got sick, Mike would have to clean it up.

The birthday girl is handed her shot of 1800, a lime and a salt shaker. The entire place is now in a trance watching her. The room is silent. 

Her daughter (or maybe daughter-in-law) softly explains how to take a shot. 

Lick, slam, suck.

The rest of the table pulls out cell phones to capture the moment on digital film.

The birthday girl looks worried.

"You know, " Mike leans over to her. "You only want to take a sip and then share it with the table. That's what you do."

She suddenly looks at ease, licks the salt on her wrist, takes a small sip and shoves the lime in her puckered mouth. The restaurant explodes in cheers. The 1800 is passed down and enjoyed by the rest of the table--the anchor man at the end finishing off the remaining 3/4.

The table cannot stop laughing and begin to discuss how to put the moment on Youtube or at least somewhere in cyberspace. The daughter (or maybe daughter-in-law) is worried her siblings will never let mom visit Texas again. 

They are having the an amazing time.

Mike and I check our watches and realize we are late for our date with The Dark Night at the movie theater across the way.

The birthday girl stops us and thanks us. She confesses she just turned 83. And she was having a great night. We wish her a happy birthday and disappear in the crowd, giddy with the joy we brought to a complete table of strangers for the cost of a shot of 1800. It was one of those random acts of kindness I hope we can repeat again and again. Maybe not in the form of alcohol but somehow, somewhere for someone.

And I have to admit I plan on googling 'old woman doing a tequila shot' to see if it ever made it to the net :)

Just call me a Communist

Here's the deal. I hate Labor Day. For those not living under the stars and stripes, Labor Day is an American holiday to celebrate the American worker. So yeah, we are celebrating the fact that we do indeed work in the country with, what else,  a day off of work. Unlike those other countries like China and Germany that sit on their butts all day doing nothing I suppose.

Growing up Labor Day meant the end of summer--the beginning of school, last cook out of the summer and the beginning of crisp, cool nights. Now school starts before Labor Day. The new clothes are usually more 'summer wear'; no one is donning the 'fall' type purple jackets or moss green long sleeved tees on the first day anymore. And the start of school is the real end of summer--ask a kid.

But that is not my biggest issue. My issue is the fact that we work so hard to get kids on the 'back to school' schedule and then 'surprise!' it's a long weekend and you can sleep in like it's summer...again. And then you get to fight to get back into the early night/early morning sleep routine. Cranky kids and an extra day home. Oh joy!

Now if we could go back to starting school after Labor Day, I'd have no problem with the holiday. There would be real symbolism. I'd enjoy the end of summer feel it would bring. But when Labor Day is after summer has been history for a week or so--well this day is just a plain ol' pain in the butt. 

So yeah--I hate this American holiday even if it was originally created to celebrate the American Unions--tell me to go to Russia. Oh and by the way, I think baseball is boring and I make my apple pies with Fuji apples and sliced ginger. 

I never did drugs...

Nope, never did the drug thing but I am pretty sure if I ever did, it would be like this:

And now I have a head ache...