Dinner with Ladies

Sounds harmless, doesn’t it? What if I tell you that it was written in Tony’s handwriting on our calendar? What if I tell you that “ladies” is actually code for “harem”? Yes, my dearest and most darling husband went to dinner with twelve women. One man, twelve women. He might as well have written “Dinner with my bitches” on the calendar. This was a holiday dinner for the night staff at the ER. You’d think they could find one more man to attend, even a gay male nurse would have added an ounce or two of additional testosterone, but no, it was Tony and the Hooches. As you can probably tell, I was a bit jealous when I discovered the male/female ratio at this dinner. My father tried to comfort me with words of wisdom. “Twelve women!” he says, “That’s every man’s nightmare. Now if it was two women…”

Have A Great Day Today

Seriously. If you're reading this, make today great. Why not? What's option B? You live in the greatest country where you decide how you want to live your life. You have your health. You have spouses/boyfriends or children, or family, or friends (or possibly all of the above) that love you for who you are. You are truly blessed, it's just that sometimes (and we all do it) you forget. So seriously, have a great day today. Take time, or do something for yourself, or one of your loved ones, or even a complete stranger. One way or another, just have at least one moment of pure, unrestrained joy today. A moment when you just say to yourself "hey, life is good. I'm going to remember this moment - how I feel, where I am, what I'm doing for a long time".

I mean it. Stop reading this. I'm not going to be sarcastic on this one. Just enjoy the day.

Why don't you believe me. Fine...shizzle my nizzle. Happy - I did something non-serious. Now get out there.

The Christmas Card Picture you won't be getting in the mail...

If I could attach sound you'd hear "WAAAAH! WAAAAH!" Blame daddy though. He got irritated by the fact that they wouldn't stop rocking and wanted to be photographed reading books which they then started using as weapons...so this picture was taken right after their father rather forcefully took the books away.

How Black Am I?

Hold that thought for a moment. I’ll get back to that in a minute.

First, check out this picture of my girl Condi. Does she look pissed or what? Listen, say what you want about Georgie Porgie (and yes, I know I’ll catch crap because I did vote for him) but don’t pick on Condi. First – she’s smart as hell. Second – her dream job is to be the NFL commissioner. Third – she’s smart as hell. Listen, given the current administration that one is important enough to repeat. Actually, the only reason I’m posting this picture is because I laughed out loud when I saw the look on her face. I can relate to this one. Apparently whatever I’m thinking shows up on my face all the time. Tony constantly calls me out – hey what’s so funny when I’m thinking of something amusing, or what are you mad about when I’m thinking about something annoying. The thing is I don’t even realize the fact that my thought process has made its way to my facial expression. So then I’m embarrassed and have to say oh nothing. So I guess poker player is off the list of possible careers…

So, how black am I? Seriously. How does one determine blackness? It was far easier when people married and procreated in their own race. I would have been perfectly fine being either all white bread or all dark meat. But no – my parents have to do the cool 60’s interracial thing and confuse the crap out of me. Let’s review. Fact 1 – my maternal grandfather is black. Really, this one is black and white (pun intended). Fact 2 – my paternal grandparents were white. Okay, we’ve got ¾ of the puzzle solved. But maternal grandma (may she be in heaven watching Howard Stern re-runs and sipping sex on the beach as I type this) – well, that’s where things get complicated. She was definitely 100% Cape Verdean. So was her husband. Since they were the same ethnicity, they were not considered interracial. But her actual complexion was really light skinned. Interestingly enough (and this is totally normal given the mixture of the Cape Verdean population), most of her siblings were/are fairly dark. So does she count as a white or a black? Historically I have erred on the side of being conservative, so I called my self ¼ black. Which explains the nickname “Quarter Homes (homes being the derivative of Homie – of course). However my sister, the maneater, is known as “Half Cracker” to her college friends. Now how can she be a half if I’m only a quarter? Don’t even get me started on my sister BKD-H, whose wedding cake topper featured a Black man and a Puerto Rican woman.

One thing is for sure. When it came to college and scholarship applications I was all in favor of checking the black box (I don’t think they were PC enough to call it African American sixteen years ago). Actually, I may have even checked off Samoan. I didn’t have the balls to check Asian. For the record, no one did stop me from accepting my scholarship as Alaskan-Indian of the year. I’m not paying that money back either - I’m sure it’s in my gene pool somewhere.

Two Little Men and a Baby

I was talking to a friend this weekend who asked me "did your kid really sing baby got back?" Do you embellish or make any of this stuff up?

The incredibly truthful answer is that no, I don't embellish any stories that involve the boys. I don't have to - this is the insanity that is my life. If you don't believe me ask anyone that's spent more than a few minutes with my children. Or ask Jake to sing Baby Got Back to you. With my kids I laugh every single day. I also scream, get mad, and wonder why I ever quit my job for this. Parenting brings out your true colors. And I'm not perfect. I don't think I'm a bad mother, and I would die for either of my children without hesitation. But they definitely try my patience. However they also amaze and astound me on a regular basis.

Today's story involves a game they play called Steph and Tony. You know they are playing this game because they wear our shoes. Jake uses this deep voice (he is always Tony) and says stuff to Clint like "hello, sweetie" and "oh baby, i love you". For some reason he only plays the part of loving Tony. He's never said "oh baby, but I haven't washed my truck in two days". So here was today's episode - it kinda caught me by surprise:

Jake: Sweetie, get in the car. We're going to the hospital to have the baby.
Clint: (for some reason also in a deep voice - even though he is me) Okay.
Jake: The doctor needs to get the baby out.
Clint turns to me. Lifts his shirt.
Clint: Doctor, get this baby out.

I, now playing the part of the doctor, hand him the invisible baby.
Steph: Is is a boy or a girl?
Jake: It's a boy.
Steph: What's his name?
Jake: I don't know...we'll know when he's 2.

And no, before you ask - I am not, nor am I trying to become, pregnant.