29 & Holding....

29&Holding was a key chain given to my mom for her 30th birthday. Although I was 4 when she turned 30, I remember seeing all the pictures. She had a big 80's blow out in the summer of '85. Big hair, acid washed jeans, and a nasty male stripper in a blue thong. Her cake resembled a giant cock. Complete with chocolate sprinkles for pubes... (so gross mom, so gross.) All I know is I have been WAITING to turn 30 since I can remember to have a party like that!!!

As I sit on the easement of my 30th birthday, I've begun to reflect on some things....

~ I wish as child I would have had more integrity. I know that is not something most children have but it is important in creating good adults.

~It took 29 years, but I stopped biting my nails. I haven't stopped picking at them though.

~My parents are such good people. I can't believe how lucky I was to get them. Although, they both admit they weren't the best they could be... I couldn't imagine better. Richer yes, better no.

~My brother truly is my best friend. He is a wonderful man and I never thought he'd be half of who he is today. I am more proud of him than I could explain. He is an amazing dad, stellar friend, and he is the reason I am proud to be an American.

~I've messed up a lot of opportunities in my life. Although, the path I am on now isn't the one I began with, I intend to make the 'Best of What's Around.' (thanks Dave Matthews)

~ I definitely understand what "taking care of yourself, first" means. Making sure I am healthy is the best gift I can give my children.

~ Therapy is an essential part of my life. I don't care why, but paying a stranger to talk about my problems feels good. I see why men hire prostitutes. I realize hookers are probably cheaper, but the only piece of paper they have is a summons for solicitation. I prefer a diploma.

There is plenty of other stuff, but I can't remember. I'm getting old. My 30th birthday party is in 16 days. It is 80's theme. Lots of acid washed jeans and big hair. No blue thongs or penis cake.... I'll make sure and take lots of pictures that my daughter can see. (Obviously, before 20 shots of Patron and Jager.)

Dirka Dirka Playground Dirka

Well, it has been a day. I attempted to be a good mommy today and it backfired. We took Brynn to the mall today so that she could play in the big indoor play area. It was semi peaceful and very clean. Brynn was one of the older kids there. So I felt safe taking a few seconds to update my Facebook status... Now, before you start judging me, there were ten other parents on their crackberries and several conducting calls. Brynn was on a fierce cycle of sliding down the waterfall with her new friend she named Car-Car. (She introduces herself to every little girl her age there and then brings them over to meet me. By this time she has already forgotten their names and made up new ones.) Anyhow, as I am logging into Facebook, I no sooner click update status and I see another mother carrying my crying baby over to me. SERIOUSLY, ten seconds I look down and she has broke something. Well, the good news is that she was fine. The other mother was paranoid because her daughter had broke her arm there before.... and why they came back I will never know. Brynn shook off her injury, literally. I kissed her ankle and she was back to being Baby Gaga.

I then decided it was in my best interest to put up my phone and watch her intensely. Another mother entered the play area. And out of the other open 85 seats, she chose to sit by me. Now, I know that I'm pretty hot and maybe it was my fur lined Remetee hoodie I got for Valentine's Day, but I wasn't looking for company. I don't want to make random conversation and lie to you about how cute your hairy ugly baby is. She tells me how cute Brynn is, so I now feel obligated to lie and tell her that her little tranny is cute. I still don't know what it was and it had some foreign name so ......yah.... Mind you , the mini-tranny is maybe 16 months old. She just lets the little weeble wobble wonder around and become the home base for a game of tag. The child wonders out of the 'play' boundary and she doesn't notice until I alert her. She then answers her phone and begins talking in THE loudest most annoying dirka dirka language ever. 85 other spots and she had to sit next to me. I guess I picked the wrong day to leave my Saudi to English dictionary at home. I almost asked to see if I could talk to my friend in the Army over in Iraq. How big of a place could it be?

Finally, I decide I can't take it any longer. I bribe Brynn with the gallery of bubble gum machines and we abort mission. I guess it is simple karma that because I don't like people, people like me. Karma, I hate you. But I thank you for the extra 20lbs an ex's wife has gained. That was mighty awesome of you.

Mean-iac & Psychlopedia

The last two days have surely wearied thin on my patience, but they have been wonderful? (Yeah, that's a question mark.) Each day the kids say the funniest things. And like every parent, I think they deserve airtime.

Today my 6 year old asked if I was a mean-iac? Apparently after my reaction to a word that definitely belongs in 'Urban Dictionary,' he became enthralled with it and wanted to use it in every sentence. My daughter then coined the phrase psychlopedia. That is where facts are found. Crazy facts. I encourage all of you to start using these words incessantly. But know that as you do, I need 5 cents every time. As the words are now property of The Duncan Children's College Fund.

My daughter woke from her nap and came into my bedroom asking if we could lay down together. I stopped what I was doing and laid with her. She wanted me to hold her babydoll for a minute while she had some water. I gave her the babydoll back and then complimented her mothering skills.... which at the age of three are better than mine at 30. She looked at me so serious and asked, 'Who's my baby's daddy?" Trying not to laugh because it induces a mad coughing fit, I told her I wasn't sure. She then reassured me that he was at church because that is where all good daddies go. Know I know what Maury must feel like.

I've also begun to notice that if I acted like a three year old I would for sure be on a 5153 at Ben Taub. She is now walking around being a chicken singing "Mary had a Little Lamb" in chicken clucks. Which sounds pretty awesome. Much better than her rendition of "Jingle Poop."

We are still sick in the H1N1 house. At least the house is uber clean, with the exception of all the germs. I realize that may sound a bit oxy-moronish, but it's not. You'd never know three cold zombies have been livin it up with LEGOs, tissues, and capri sun all weekend. There isn't a straw wrapper to be found on the floor!

It's also Valentine's day. My Valentine is 2000 miles away working his fanny off in L.A. He is such a hard worker. The four days a month he actually works;) It's a shame he makes more money in a weekend then I do in three months. Which is pretty amazing if you put into consideration that he doesn't take his clothes off. I received a beautiful box of tulips from him Friday. My daughter is convinced that Prince Eric from the 'Little Mermaid' sent them to her. Seeing how she can read better than me, it is possible. Hopefully we'll go to dinner when he gets home. We've already discussed that our versions of 'nice' are totally different.

Ending this blog on a high note. No one has peed themselves nor thrown a tantrum. Pretty amazing....

Sanity Shimanity

I sit here and listen to my to sick children fight over who ate their Lunchable cheese to look more like Spongebob. Currently, I have a double ear infection and a sinus infection. The children both have colds. It's like H1N1 had a direct hit in my house. You know what is more alarming than the rampant sickness.... the rate in which a three year old is asking for medicine. She is a bonafide children's cough and cold junkie. I'm afraid if I leave her toddler oral syringe laying out I am gonna find her in a back alley, perfectly healthy, trying to cram it in her arm.

I decided to start blogging, not because my words will change your life. But because this is the only coping skill I have left that may save my own sanity.

The kids got in last night around 5pm from their grandparents. They were in full sugar high when they arrived and seem to be in a similar state 17 hours later. I'm not sure if the pop-tarts and jelly doughnuts they feed my kids are legal in all 50 states... at least they shouldn't be.

I look around and see 'My Little Ponys' and race cars everywhere. And hear the sound of the Wii..... Mario knocking coins out of the sky sounds beautiful compared to the opera they attempted to perform earlier. Truthfully, I thought it was a audio massacre. I'm sure neither will pursue careers in music, so I'm not worried for the public's safety.

We are attending church tonight to see their grandfather preach. The mayor of Houston will also be in attendance. We are very proud of Grandpa Randy and all that he and his partner Grandpa Dan have accomplished for the GLBT community. I don't care what people say, these men are two of the most selfless, dedicated, amazing men I have ever met. They work hard for others but most importantly, Jesus. Which is a million times more than I can say for myself.

While deciding what to wear to service tonight, I tried on a few sweaters. My son, who is 6, asked, "Why don't you wear a tshirt and show off your new tattoo." I appreciate that my son loves me that much he isn't scared for me to enter into the house of God with a giant octopus on my arm. I told him it wasn't appropriate. I do value others and respect people a little more than that. I also attempted to tell him that anytime he wants me to wear long sleeves and look like a regular mommy, I will. Making the decision to color my body in is something that excites me everyday. I don't regret it now and in 30 years if I do, science will be different. But out of respect to my children, I'd never leave the house looking like I left a tattoo convention. Maybe a craft convention. With long sleeves and shoes I am just as normal as the next mother. Except my arms and feet are inscribed with art. Some of the art has come from the children. Most has come from the greatest artist on the planet. Just my personal opinion. And if I want yours, I'll beat it out of you.

Well, I think this small coping mechanism has worked well. I feel calm. Happy and my children have calmed down as well. Advice from my new therapist is to find more coping skills and this will be added to the list. Unfortunately, my coping skills must consist of not creating anything tangible. However, this is a little different. It didn't include a pencil or hot glue gun.

After writing this, I learn my 6 year old decided Mario was more important that peeing in the potty. So much for my sanity..... maybe I should write another blog....