Boo!

It was a dark and stormy night. Ok, so it was only dusk, but it was getting dark fast. And it wasn't stormy, but in Texas in October, it could have turned stormy at any time. But I digress.

All Hallows Eve was upon us, and la familia de García set out on our Annual Trick or Treat Pilgrimage around the hood.

Strange tradition this is. You start by going to your local mega mart to buy 10 pounds of Halloween candy to hand out to the neighbor kids. Then, as soon as it gets dark, you leave the house with your own kid dressed up in a get-up, that at least for us, involves Princess garb, AGAIN. Your kid knocks on the neighbors' doors, and essentially begs for their candy. After an hour or so of this, you go back to your own house and begin to pray fervently for the love of all that is holy that now all the neighbors will send their kids to your house. Because now you have not only the 10 pounds of candy you paid for, but also the 10 pounds of candy your kid managed to collect on the pilgrimage.

I understand from some of my clients in other states that when their kids trick-or-treat, the kids get candy and the grown ups get beer. That would have made this night even better!

Anyway, LittleG is looking adorable in her blue princess gown and tiara, with just the right mix of glittery make up and stick-on jewels. She is, by all accounts, the most beautiful princess in the hood. And the neighborhood little old ladies LOVE her.

Thank heavens MrG was along, because we really needed a pack mule, and he served the cause well. By the third house, we had accumulated a pretty yellow gift bag with a bright green bow, two plastic character doll toys, and a specially created ziploc bag, crammed with so much candy that it wouldn't fit into LittleG's bucket. Like I said, the neighbor ladies LOVE my kid.

So off we go, with me handling flashlight duty and MrG on bag duty. LittleG has her spiel. It goes something like this: Ring the bell, and when the grown up comes to the door, put on your most adorable princess face and shout Happy Halloween. Shove your bucket towards the candy bowl and say Trick or Treat, then earnestly say Thank You. If you're feeling particularly lucky, give them that spectacular smile and hope they shove more candy in your bucket.

We'd been at it awhile when we turned the corner and found a scary yard, decorated with inflatable creepy guys and plastic tombstones, covered in fog from the fog machine. And of course, the spooky scary music was playing from someplace. Suddenly, our little princess puffs herself up like a fish who sees itself in a mirror and begins stomping her feet, and begins yelling...."I AM NOT SCARED! I AM A BIG GIRL. AND MY. DADDY. HAS. MY. BACK!!!!"

TAKE THAT, SCARY MONSTER! And leave our kid alone.

I don't know how many years we have left of Halloween fun, but I can only hope they were as much fun as this one was for us.

And for all you readers at the office, YES, I am bringing the Halloween candy to share with you all!

Ok, I get it now

I have to admit that I've been a bit confused by all the social networking sites. Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, LinkedIn.....What's the point, I've wondered, about following your acquaintances electronically?

Do I really need to know that my old roommate is cleaning house? Or that a colleague is counting down the minutes to 5 pm? I've sort of lurked and watched what a BigWig Hoohah in our industry has put on his Facebook page, and I'm pretty shocked that he is just a regular guy. Seems to travel a lot and have some political leanings, but beyond that, a regular Joe. No, not Joe the Plumber. I'm not going there.

There's a blogger down in Houston that I have a total girl crush on. This chick is hysterical. She writes about reality TV and some random clips of her life. I CANNOT. GET. ENOUGH. OF. HER. And now, thanks to Twitter, I know exactly when she heads out to the Super Target to pick up her Halloween Oreos. What a strange world it's become, huh?

Anyway, I've recently become addicted to Facebook. Lots of my family members have Facebook pages. It's fun to get on and see their profiles, as they are much more willing to put pictures out there than I am. As much as I share in this forum, and Lord knows it's too much sometimes, I still guard the privacy of MrG and LittleG. It freaks me out thinking that some random whackjob might see a picture of my kid and stalk her on a field trip or at the park, so I don't post family photos. My brother and my cousins do, though, and I like seeing updated photos of their spouses and kids.

My college roommate has a Facebook page, and I am fascinated by the life she leads. She's here in Texas and she acts, and apparently does it pretty well. It's been interesting to read her take on politics, and I'm pretty sure she's never speaking to me again based on our polar opposite points of view. Regardless, I still like to lurk and live vicariously through her as she is young and rich and beautiful and smart. She's always rushing off to this audition or that, or hobnobbing with the pretty folk. What a contrast to my 9 to 5 gig.

This week, I watched a pretty ugly fight between a friend of mine and some random person she went to school with years ago. Seems that neither of them realized that what they were posting to each other was being shot all over cyberspace. Odd, to stand on the sidelines and watch. Sad, to talk to her face-to-face the next day and realize how much her former friend's words had hurt her.

Facebook and sites like it have opened up a whole new world for all of us. I've learned all sorts of things about who is friends with whom at work, and that the Mean Girls really are mean girls. Not that I would EVER log on at work (because that would be WRONG), but I can tell you that many of my colleagues do.

I have found friends I hadn't thought of in years, and one in particular that I had thought about often but had lost track of. We were BFFs when we were young, say three decades ago, and thankfully she had a very unique maiden name. She used it in her LinkedIn profile, and we've reconnected.

We found each other a few years ago - before I was married maybe? Or before LittleG? I can't remember and it really doesn't matter. We lost track of each other again, and that was sad for me. But I have found her again, and I've found that visiting with her again through email is as easy and carefree as it was in the 70s. Of course, back then, we used paper and ink and stamps and envelopes! OMG I feel old.

How strange to think that we have found each other again after all of these years, and that some silly little website is to blame for it. We're having lunch next week, and I am positively giddy at the thought. I hope that time and different lives have not taken us in such opposite directions that it will be uncomfortable for either of us. And while I like to think we would be a big part of each other's lives again, it's hard to know, really, what paths our lives have sent us down.

I have some advice for you young 'uns out there. Be sure you pick friends and lovers with unique or unusual names. Sure makes it easier to find them a lifetime from now.

Hugs to all, and please go update your Facebook pages.

It's hard to argue with logic like this.

A little geographical background. I live in Irving, Texas, almost the former home of America's Team, the Dallas Cowboys. The eastern side of our city is adjacent to Dallas. Dallas has full liquor sales, hard stuff and all, on darn near every street corner in the city. Gas stations and grocery stores alike sell beer and wine, and liquor stores sell everything from practice beer to the hard stuff.

Irving is voting again as a city on whether we want beer and wine for sale within our city limits. Currently, if you'd like to have a party and serve beer, you have to drive to Dallas to buy it. Some of us (many of us, actually) think it makes more sense to be able to buy beer here, while you're loading up your grocery cart with things like cheese dip and tortilla chips. Not only is it easier on us heathens that, God forbid, drink alcohol, but it also keeps the tax revenue in our city instead of sending it next door. And this is just for beer and wine, not the hard stuff.

Anyway, this is the third time this has been on the ballot, and over the years we've heard all sorts of arguments against it. Today, however, takes the cake.

A caller to a local radio station says that he is voting AGAINST the beer and wine referendum. Because, get this, our city has public transportation. Einstein, the caller, believes that allowing beer and wine sales in Irving will encourage the homeless to hop on a bus and come here to buy their 40 oz cans of Schlitz Malt Liquor.

So tell me this. If I'm a bum in the City of Dallas, am I really going to part with my beer money to hop on a bus and come to Irving so I can find a grocery store?

I don't even know what to say.

I heart Helen

Republicans, please move along. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Everybody else, please click here. Helen Said it!!!.

Helen Philpott, 82 years old and a brand new blogger. I think I may be in love.

You betcha!

I proudly cast my vote for That One today.

Regretfully, my friend standing beside me cancelled out my vote, but thank heavens we live in a country where we are free to believe how we wish to, and we can still be friends with those who vote for the other guys.

Whether you're blue or red or purple, get out and vote. It's your right and it's your privilege. People have fought and died for your right to cast your vote, so take the time to make them proud.

An open letter to the nice family at Sam's on Sunday

Dear Family,

What a nice family you seem to be. Mom, Dad, little fivish or so girl in her sassy denim jeans. Hanging out together, strolling through Sam's on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Holding hands by the muffins in the bakery.

Oh man, little one, you look pretty puny, a little green around the gills perhaps. Oh no! Don't do it! Suck it up, sis. You can make it through Sam's without barfing. Or, maybe not.....

Good job, Mom and Dad, for promptly comforting your little spewing offspring in her moment of need. It sucks to be little and sick, and when you're the grown up, the only excuse in the world for leaving your kid's barf on the floor is so you can whisk her away, home to the bathtub, fresh jammies and her teddy bear, where with a little time and a little Pedialyte, she'll be good as new.

It was nice that you scooped her away from the scene she'd just made, to suffer her wet jeans and humiliation in the privacy of your Lexus SUV, hopefully with leather seats. Too bad, though, for the poor bakery chick who was left to deal with the devastation your little geyser just left.

I have my own little girl, so I wondered several times during the next 30 minutes I spent in the store about how your daughter was faring. Did you get her home, I wondered, before Round 2? Or God forbid, before Number 2? Because if what came out one end was an indication of what was coming out the other, poor you! And poor, poor Lexus.

Imagine my surprise then, when I finished my shopping and headed to the front of the store. Lo and behold, there you all are. Drippy wet, in the cart before me, sat your little angel. In her soaking wet jeans, smelling to high heaven. I said "smelling" folks, not "smiling."

Seriously?

You're too busy to stick around and clean up the mess your kid left on the floor, but you still have time to finish up your shopping? Are you kidding me? Not only have you befouled the bakery, but now you've polluted the air in the rest of the store with God only knows what kind of rotavirus, norovirus, astrovirus PLAGUE.

Nice, though, that you had time to pick up the giant bag of potatoes and some extra Tide. Smells like you're gonna need it.

Thanks a helluva lot for that, folks. We need more self-centered jackasses in the world, and we certainly need more kids with tummy bugs. It's not enough that your kid is sick, so now you have to drive her, dripping down the aisles of the local warehouse store, spreading her nasty stomach virus to all the shoppers?

It's a good thing I have turned into such a germ-a-phobe, because I was barely arms length away from spraying all of you from head to toe with the giant can of Lysol I picked up on aisle 33.

Shame on you for your lousy treatment of your own kid, the poor bakery chick, and all the innocent shoppers you might have infected. Next time, why don't you go to Costco instead? My membership has expired there.

Best regards,
MrsG

A love note to my sister-in-law

Being a big sister is hard work. You have to love the baby. Kiss the baby. Bring mommy the wine. Watch out for your brother. You're the big sister now, so we're counting on you. Damn you child, where is that wine????

For years and years I put up with my little brother, tagging along, taunting me and my little sister, getting into things, stealing attention that so rightly belonged to me.

I could be a little mean at times. When he got old enough, I loved to send him to the grocery store on his bike to pick up "feminine things," armed only with a fistful of dollar bills, his beloved Mongoose bike, and the instructions to get the ones in the pink box. He either didn't know or didn't care what he was being dispatched to buy. That's not really part of this story, but 25 years later, I still find it just hysterical....

Anyway, my kid brother eventually grows up. And I use the term loosely, because he was just this punk kid when he married his bride at 22 whopping years of age. They were both so young. My sister-in-law, who is extremely close to her own family asked my sister and me to stand in their wedding as a bridesmaid, the first step in making us a part of her family. I remember standing back in the brides room, with nervous energy so thick you could cut it with a knife, listening to my sister-in-law's mother say to her, "now honey, it's not too late to call this whole thing off." In hindsight, it was, because there was a groom, a church full of people, and a room full of bridesmaids in beautiful purple gowns. Truly, at that point, it was too late, but in Texas, it's in bad taste to throw down with the mother of the bride.

My sweet sister-in-law declares that she's going to do this, someone gives her mother some smelling salts, and off we all march. Step. Wait. Step. Wait. All the time, I'm watching my baby brother's face as we stutter stepped down the aisle. When his bride swept out of her hiding place, I swear I could feel the jolt of energy that shocked my brother into reality at the front of the church.

They make it through the vows somehow, throw a fabulous party for all of us, and leave for their honeymoon in Jamaica. My innocent sister-in-law had led a fairly sheltered life, and I think being offered marijuana their first hour on the island damn near convinced her to give back the ring and tear up the marriage license.

They return from their honeymoon still married, thank heavens, and begin their life together in a little house in our hometown. One night while my brother was out of town, she called me, and together we painted their front bedroom a dark dark green color, in full high gloss. At night, from the front yard, the room glowed an eerie green and hinted of a science experiment gone bad. It took my brother about three coats of primer and a half a dozen coats of a more reasonable paint color to turn that room back into something livable. I'm not sure he ever forgave either one of us for that indiscretion.

Shortly after they were married, my brother decided he would do some small home improvements. One project led to another, and soon, the house was torn to shreds, from stem to stern, as he proudly nickel and dimed his way to a beautiful new old home, DIY style. My sister-in-law lived for years, YEARS I tell you, with exposed rafters, no kitchen, only one working bathroom. And if she griped about it, she sure didn't do it in front of us.

I have laughed with her and at her over the years - laughed until I cried, in fact, on more than one occasion. Funny things she's said, a night out with me and my girlfriends at a sing-a-long bar at the West End. So many times we've laughed.

And then, in March of 2000, I stood in the hallway outside the nursery at Baylor Medical Center in Grapevine, and I cried until I laughed, looking at the beautiful baby boy she and my brother had brought into this world. I looked into that tiny baby's face and could see my brother, who I loved with every cell in my body, and my sister-in-law, who I now loved just as much. It happened again when my niece joined us two years ago. Watching those two children grow up has been a highlight of my life.

Shortly after my father died two years ago, my brother and his family had their little house on the market, thinking it would be nice to upgrade and knowing that it would take some time to sell their home. Funny how life works out sometimes. Around the time my niece was born, they got an offer on the house that they just couldn't turn down.

My mom, a new widow after 42 years of marriage, opened her home to my brother and his growing family, and soon, her very empty nest included her grown son, his wife, and his two children, one only a few weeks old.

It is a testament to my sister-in-law that she holds family so near and dear. This is a woman, just one month postpartum, who packed her life up and moved. IN. WITH. HER. MOTHER-IN-LAW. God Bless Her.

As they say, shit happens, and the two month stay turned into a two year stay, or darn close to it. For lo those many months, my sister-in-law respected my mother's space, looked out for her, and was her friend. She spent time with my mother on a level that I could never have provided, and she, probably more than anyone, eased my mother's transition into the "new normal" that she's living with today.

My sister-in-law has been a part of our family now for fifteen years, and I honestly can't remember a time without her. Nor, after all this time, would I want to.

We are very different from each other. She has strange OCD tendencies that cause me some level of confusion and concern. We don't agree on politics in any form or fashion. She is a blond fashion plate, which I find alternately annoying and terrifying. I think she and my brother laugh at my minivan behind my back. And you know what? I'm ok with all of that. My sister-in-law is not perfect, but none of us are.

She is a terrific wife and a loving mother, and she has stood by my brother through thick and thin. She has his back, and he has hers. They are just a nice couple to be around, because you know they really like each other. If any of us need her, she drops what she's doing and is there for us. She loves our family and mourned the loss of my father as much as any of us. She has brought these awesome children into our world and has become a vital part of who we are as a family.

I think back often to that night 15 years ago, and I'm so thankful that she didn't call it off. We would have missed the Experience That Is Robin. I cannot imagine how different things would have been for all of us.

Happy birthday, SIL. We love you!

Miss, why is the trashbag buzzing?

A funny story to share.....

In the interest of good dental hygiene, LittleG had collected quite a grouping of toothbrushes. My original motto was "if it's cute and I buy it for her, maybe she'll use it." For the record, I have since changed the motto to "pick up the damn thing and use it now."

Oh, but she had the best toothbrushes: A cute little blue one with a duck on it. And a purple one with Zack and Weezie (Dragon Tales). And about three or four random Disney Princess brushes. And some others - too many to name, all cluttering up my hall bathroom, in various states of God only knows what kind of decay.

I had had enough, one evening, of the clutter. And knowing what I knew about my then barely four year old, I decided that stealth was the best approach to removing said germ factories. So I began removing them, late at night, one at a time, for what seemed like weeks, and tossing them in the big trashcan in the garage. Because heaven only knows if she'd found them in the bathroom trash, she'd have moved them back into the rotation.

My evil plan was working perfectly, and LittleG was none the wiser. I had bought her a fancy new purple Barbie brush, and she was in love with it. One evening I slipped the final old toothbrush, the piece de resistance....the battery operated Barbie brush....from its place on the counter. I headed down the hallway towards the garage when something distracted me. Absentmindedly, I put it on the kitchen table. And then I promptly forgot about it.

Until morning time, when I swooped into the kitchen nanoseconds before LittleG, and spied the evil germcatcher on the table. Rather than fight the battle with LittleG, I swept the toothbrush off the table, smooshed it into the trashcan and covered it with the Cheetos bag from the night before. Don't judge me, people.

We were leaving to go out of town for a family adventure just as the maid arrived to do her thing. She's busy in the kitchen, we're busy in the bedrooms and getting the house ready to close out for a few days. Somehow, we find ourselves (me, LittleG, and MrG) in the garage with a very startled maid.

By this time, she's a little pale, and she's pointing with a trembling finger to the trashbag she's dropped on the floor. It's the one from the kitchen. And it is buzzing like there is no tomorrow. The Cheetos bag is flush up against the bristles of the toothbrush that are now spinning like crazy because somehow when she jostled the trashbag around, the switch on the toothbrush flipped on.

"Miss," she says, "why is the trashbag buzzing?" And I, of course, cannot reply, because to do so would be to uncover my deceit and brand me forever as a liar and a traitor to that sweet baby child who loves me so.

So I just smile and wave her off, leaving her thinking God only knows what of me and my vibrating trash bag......

Come on, November 4

I have a distant but dear friend who is a staunch conservative. I meant STAUNCH. In all caps. You know, the kind that sends me 5 emails a day extolling the virtues of McCain/Palin. I love her anyway. She can't help how she was born, so I try to shrug it off.

I'm trying hard, here folks. I do not want to engage her in an intellectual discussion about the candidates. I respect her right to be a hard right-to-lifer. As a Catholic (converted, not cradle), my own views on right-to-life have been radically altered. Or maybe it's because I'm a mom now, but either way, I'm a lot closer to the middle of the road on that issue than I used to be. But, I digress. My point is, I validate her right to believe the way she does. Sometimes when you're friends, you just have to agree to disagree.

After sitting ALL DAY in a training session (which by all rights entitles me to the mother of all temper tantrums!), I hit the hotmail account and find multiple SARAH IS CLOSEST TO GOD and OBAMA IS THE DEVIL emails in my inbox. I seriously thought I was going to hurl myself down the stairs of my building. I contemplated it and decided four flights was just enough to eff me up but not enough to kill me.

My challenge is that I don't want to start a debate with her, don't want to argue with her, don't want to lose her as a friend. She has no idea how I feel about her choice of candidates, and I don't think I can point out my point of view without alienating her and damaging our friendship beyond repair.

So, I just click and delete, click and delete. Click and delete. All while silently seething, and wanting to reach through cyberspace and shake some sense into her.

My friend has the right to trumpet a woman seeking to leave her five children (one special needs, and one pregnant teenager) as she serves the second highest office in the land, despite the fact that my friend gave up her "away from home" job to stay home and be a full time mom to her girls. Spin it how you will folks, a woman who becomes second fiddle to the most powerful man in the world will be leaving her children.

My friend has the right to throw her support behind a feeble old white guy who doesn't know how many houses he owns (8), who owns 13 cars (3 of them foreign, despite the fact that he says he only buys American), even when she herself was denied a new car for years after she quit her day job.

My friend has the right to put her money where her mouth is when it comes to a candidate whose city charged rape victims for their own rape kits, despite the fact that my friend's husband works in law enforcement.

What is eating me alive is that my the very family values that my friend holds so dear are exactly why I can't sign off on the red team this year.

Palin? She leaves her children. For a job. She seeks to change the rules about my child's reproductive behaviors when she cannot control those of her own children. And if what I'm reading is true, Bristol wasn't the first one in her family pregnant out of wedlock. In case you're wondering, she married on August 29, and her firstborn son was born the following April. You do the math.

McCain? He began dating his second wife before he divorced the first one. Allegations ran wild that he had an affair with a lobbyist, and he was one of the Keating 5, accused of messing around with federal regulators in a bank case.

She leaves her family high and dry. He lies, and he cheats, and still, my friend thinks he and his VP pick are the lesser of two evils.

I love my friend, and although her presence in my world is not huge, it is hugely important. And so, I will click. And I will delete. For the next 40 or so days.

Hello, all.....

Thank you, loyal readers, for clicking in and checking on me. I guess that should say "thank you Mom and those other three of you, whoever you may be!"

I've been away for awhile because frankly, my brain is full right now. This is the first time I've taken any actual interest in politics (I know, damn two percenter!), and I am absolutely fascinated by the behavior in both camps right now.

Politics really has been top of mind for me lately. It's like a nasty car wreck. I know I shouldn't look. But I JUST. CAN'T. LOOK. AWAY!!

I've read the fact check websites. And CNN. And MSN. And the radical liberal democrats' sites. And the whackjob republican nutcase sites. I'm amused at the number of people who don't live in the States who are commenting on our politics. And I have to give a shout out to some of you. By gosh, you take this stuff seriously!!!

And yet, I don't necessarily think that's the sort of thing you want to read about here. And it's certainly not what I want to write about. Although, I did, two posts ago: My Give-A-Damn's Busted . Just couldn't help myself.

The whole situation right now is just incendiary. Friends are disagreeing. There is ugly talk in the lunchroom at work. It's conservatives vs. liberals right now, when it used to be just a group of friends. Moms are disagreeing with daughters, and brothers with sisters. I hate that. Why can't we all just get along (whine!!)....

I feel the way I feel, and I respect your right to feel the way you feel. I don't want to try to change your mind over to my side, and I sure as hell don't want you trying to change mine. So, let's just agree to disagree. It will all be over in about 7 weeks, and we can go back to the status quo.

In the meantime, I will try to come up with something funny or interesting that somehow doesn't revolve around the GOP. I'll just leave you with this.

That feeble 72 year old white guy who doesn't know how many houses he owns? Well apparently, he created the BlackBerry. Really, you say? Absolutely. Read it here on CNN: McCain Advisor: BlackBerry, a miracle he helped create

Go figure. Seems only fair, though, since Al Gore invented the internet. That's reaching across the aisle, folks!

Lady Steele, modern superhero

I've been looking for a catchy name for my blog. While my initials may be absolutely enthralling to those of you who bestowed them upon me, they really aren't that exciting for the rest of the world.

My new name came from my BFF, and there's a funny story behind it. It involves a small dog, a metal baby gate, a late night phone call, and a set of bolt cutters.

The story is not so funny yet to my BFF, so you don't get the details now. But at least I have a not-so-boring blog name.

No animals were harmed in the making of the blog title.

My Give-A-Damn's Busted!

Or so I thought. I didn't think I had a blog entry in me, but I've gotten a little second wind today. Lucky you.

August was a busy month at Casa Garcia. LittleG has been in swim lessons, which has thrown a royal wrench in our evenings for the past month. I'm happy to report that she is finished with her lessons, and we all survived. Regretfully, in the water she still has more confidence than skill, but hopefully we've gotten a good foundation started for a nice strong swimmer someday.

I haven't posted anything lately because I've been busy. And tired. And I've had some damn cold for a week now that's really mucking up the works. So, I've been cranky, and admittedly, that's not the best for blog writing. Would that I could come up with 1,000 or so words of total humor or poetry. But lately, not so much.

I spent a long weekend at home thanks to a free day off on Friday (thank you very much, Frank Anton) and spent some quality time with MrG and LittleG. That was nice. I also spent some time on CNN.com. Which, regretfully, was not so nice.

I have to preface this with the statement that I usually vote Democratic. Not always, but usually, and that's what I was sort of kind of considering planning to do this time around. Now, for sure, it will happen.

You staunch Republicans can just skitter away now. I acknowledge and validate your right to your opinion, and I expect the same from you. If you don't want to read bad stuff about your Republican superhero, it's time for you to click someplace else. Try www.johnmccain.com.

For the rest of you, thanks for sticking around. First, I am absolutely astonished at the choices John McCain has made in the past week. I totally get that he would chose a woman as a running mate.

Makes perfect sense, hits that white female demographic, avoids the "one of the good ole Republican Boys club," the whole nine yards. Reach out to those Hillary supporters and at the same time hit the right wing nutjobs with an ultraconservative. Two birds, one stone. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it.

But a woman with a special needs child at home? Call me whatever sexist name you will, but as a mom myself, if I had to choose between being there for my child or for my job, my child would win. Hands Down. 100% of the time. Maybe that's why I'm not in politics.

Why in the world would an old guy teetering on the brink of Aged One choose a mom with a special needs child to be his backup? If the Republicans want to win this thing, they better exude some confidence in the people that they choose to run on the ticket. And frankly, I suspect moms all over the nation feel the same way I do. You're a mom, first, before you're a political figure. And if you think for a minute that you could put the needs of your child behind your job, then you're not the kind of person I want leading our country anyway. And why in the hell would you want to work for a guy who might ask you to make that choice sometime?

Is that sexist? Well, yes. Is it reality? Yes to that, too. The same argument could be made for fathers of special needs kids. But you know what? I'm not a dad. I don't have that frame of reference, so I can only speak personally of being a mom. And for me, my kid wins over my job. Every. Single. Time.

My second gripe is that he has been all over Barak's ass about his lack of experience. Apparently, experience doesn't really matter since McCain's backup guy (I use the term loosely) has only been a mayor of a small town, and a governor for less time than Obama has served in the senate. If experience is really important, than McCain should damn sure pick someone with some experience in the event he or she needs to take over someday. If it's not, he needs to shut his piehole on the experience issue.

And the final nail in the coffin for me is the pregnancy of Palin's 17 year old daughter. I absolutely do not believe that the American public has any right to go after her daughter. No holds barred, it's a line we should NOT cross. But for a staunch conservative to stand on her soap box and preach abstinence to the world while her teenage daughter is out getting herself knocked up just seems hypocritical and sanctimonious to me. It's clear that teaching abstinence alone just doesn't work. And you need to look no further than Palin's own family to prove that point.

If she's really that strong a leader, you would think she could control what's going on in her own family. And the argument could be made that if her own daughter doesn't respect her authority, how in the world can she expect millions of total strangers to do so?

Back to this being a mom thing... if she thinks her daughter is going to marry this boy and live happily ever after without any help from her, she's nuts. I was 36 years old when LittleG was born, and I was on the phone with my mom MANY times a day during my pregnancy and LittleG's infancy (thanks, Mom, unless I chased you off earlier).

If Sarah Palin thinks her parental job ends because her teenaged daughter gets married, she needs a serious reality slap upside the face. She's either going to sell her daughter short by not being there when she's needed, or she'll sell her job short. She can't be both places at one time, and God forbid, her kid need her at a time when she's called on to step up and play the lead role on her own. Somebody's gonna lose that fight. Will it be us or her family? It's hard to say which would be worse.

Say what you will about the Palin's making the decision not to terminate either pregnancy - what you feel about abortion is yours to own - the conservatives who embrace this family and hold them up as examples are falling far short. The best example Palin could have shared with the world is a teenage daughter who didn't get herself pregnant to start with. And in the absence of the best example, the second best example would be for a mom to be there when her kid needs her, not off playing politics with the good ole boys.

Overall, I can't decide what is worse - that John McCain might have failed to vet his candidate and was blindsided by the news, or if he knew before he settled on her and he chose her anyway. Either situation shows an astounding lack of political acumen on his part. I. Just. Don't. Get. It.

My favorite quote about McCain came from Jack Cafferty, who called him "a feeble looking 72-year-old white guy who doesn't know how many homes he owns." Read it here: The Land of Make Believe

I guess that pretty much sums it up for me.

Dumb and Dumber

Oh my gosh! (Given the tone of this blog, I resisted the urge to use OMG; that just seems sanctimonious). I'm grumpy, I have a toothache, and I CANNOT BELIEVE what I've read online over the past week. So you get a rant today instead of a charming story.

First, some genius over at the Dallas ISD has proposed a "second chance" policy for students who fall short at school. You can read all about it here: DISD's Second Chance Grade Policy

The gist of it is that students who fail a test will have the chance to retake the test, with no penalty. Students who fart around and don't turn in their homework assignments won't get zeroes for the work. Instead, they get a second chance to turn in their work. If they still don't turn it in, they still don't get a zero, at least not until their parents have been contacted.

Kids who get their stuff in on time don't get extra credit, but now DISD will throw a bone to the ones who totally blow off school, because it's not "fair" to them to be punished because they didn't do what they were told.

WTF? If the whole point of school is to prepare these kids for the "grown up" world, then the school district should be held accountable for NOT doing its job. Teaching these kids that they can just blow off assignments without repercussion sells them all short and sets them up for failure. Getting their parents involved seems like a great idea, but that should have happened in grade school, so doing it now probably won't amount to a hill of beans.

You think my boss will throw me a bone if I blow off a meeting or decide not to turn in a project? Hell no. Oh wait, maybe he'll call my mom first, before he fires me.

These kids are going to learn that in the real world, my boss would just give me another chance to do what I should have done we he asked me the first time.

And those overachieving idiots who actually do the work they are asked to do will just sit back and say nothing when I'm given a second chance to do my work? I think not.

Second, the "I can't believe I just read this" award should go to Ken Smith, the senior lecturer in criminology at Bucks New University in Buckinghamshire, England. He went public in a big way with his ideas this week on CNN.com. He's suggesting that we just do away all together with punishing students for misspelling. Read the full story here: Making an Arguement for Misspelling (sic).

His argument is that these poor dumb bastards can't spell and will never be able to spell, and an educator who spends time correcting spelling mistakes is taking away from the real teaching he could be doing. What a crock of crap!

Ok, so maybe this blog should have been two postings, not glommed into one. I am just SO pissed off that this is tolerated!!! A school district, for Pete's sake, telling kids it's ok not to do their homework! If they aren't teaching kids to do their work, who is going to? And an educator (I use this term very loosely) saying it's ok not to spell correctly? Again, if a teacher isn't teaching it, who the hell is going to?

These kids can't spell because they are not being held accountable for spelling. They text message, email, and IM their friends all day, and their friends don't care if things are spelled correctly, or in many cases, spelled at all. Their parents are either too busy, too disconnected, or too stupid themselves to teach their kids. And now, the school districts and some educators are outright giving up the fight.

What a shock this group of kids is going to get when they finally hit the workplace!

I feel like a crotchety old middle age person, but I just don't understand why this is ok - with anyone! I'm not really blaming teachers (well, except for the one stupid enough to get on CNN.com with his theories), because heaven knows most of them try hard to teach what needs to be taught. And please save the flaming emails. If you're a good teacher and you care, you can feel validated that there are LOTS of good ones of you out there, including some I'm related to directly.

I guess I really blame all of us: Parents who allow their children not to learn, because either they don't know themselves or they just don't care. Teachers who tolerate poor study habits and non-participation, then change grades after the fact to move the troublemakers out of their classrooms and into the next. Newscasters who for some godforsaken reason cannot write copy without dangling modifiers. Email writers who tell people to contact "myself" with questions. Bloggers who don't use punctuation, or capital letters, or correct spelling. The Rosie O'Donnells of the world who blog to a huge audience and can't be bothered to write like they've ever had an hour of education in their lives.

We ought to be using the tools we have in this age of instantenous global communication to improve our lives and our writing and our educational levels. Instead, it just looks like we are using the tools to spread the word about what's wrong, not doing something to fix it. And that's a damn shame.

I'm through now, I think. Thanks for reading and have a nice day.

She gets it, sort of

Some mornings are just worth starting. And today was one of those.

I think every little girl ought to know that her dad's got her back. She needs to know without hesitation that her daddy will be there for her, no matter what. Whether it be a scuffle on the playground, or mean girls in junior high, or a broken heart in college, every little girl deserves to know her daddy's got her back. So I've been telling her that, often.

This is how it played out this morning:

LittleG? LittleG? Wake up, my love, it's time to start our day.

Hi, Mom.

Did you have a good night?

I got up to go potty and Daddy tucked me in.

That was nice of him.

Yeah, Daddy's got his back on me.


And there you have it, folks.

Rain, Rain, Falling Down!!

First, Happy Birthday Mom and Addison! We wish we could have been there with you today to celebrate, but keeping Typhoid Mary home seemed like a better idea. We love you guys!

For the record, as I began this blog today, it is 3:20 pm on Sunday, August 17. Here's what our local ABC affiliate has on its website about our weather......


Yes! It says it's 84º. In Texas. In August. During what should be the hottest part of the day. I actually can walk out on the patio barefooted without my skin searing and sticking to the pavestones. I may even be able to cook the cedar plank salmon for our dinner outside on the grill without getting heat stroke.

There are birds in the yard again. I don't know where they go when it gets too hot to breathe, but they are back, and that's all that matters. The squirrels are tormenting the dogs, and I don't have to worry about heat exhaustion for rodent or canine. (You might wonder why I care about heat exhausted rodents, but if you have to ask, you've never met Lilly, or seen her bring a dead squirrel carcass to the back door. But that's another blog).

It's probably worth noting that during 3 out of the next 4 days, we're forecast to have rain and thunderstorms. Please note that the highs don't get much into the 90s, and Tuesday night, a bone chilling low of 69º is in store for us.

CAN. NOT. WAIT.!!!!!

After a brutal few weeks of 100+ temperatures, it looks like we are in for manageable heat, and maybe some much needed rain. I understand from the guys on TV that "Rain" is that wet substance that falls inexplicably from the sky. They say there will probably be enough rain make mud in the yard where the grass used to live, before it turned brown and burned to a crisp.

The weather guys are all in a dither, using phrases like "severe thunderstorms" and "chance of localized flooding." Like either one of those is such a bad thing! I say BRING. IT. ON.

I woke in the night last night because our house seemed unreasonably still and quiet. I realized that the A/C unit had cut off for the first time in probably 3 weeks. I got up and checked the thermostat on the wall to see if it had cut out because it finally burned itself up, or if it had in fact brought our house to a comfortable temperature. I was shocked and ecstatic to see that the A/C had not died and in fact had brought the temperature in our house down BELOW the set point on the unit. Alert the media!!

So there is hope that Casa Garcia won't explode from the heat this week. If we can get LittleG well, everything will be right and good in the world.....

Rotavirus, you ugly bastard

LittleG has been bitten again, and I suspect it was by the Rotavirus bug. We've been through this a few times, and at least it seems to be getting easier on all of us. According to a number of medical websites, Rotavirus is one of the most common causes of diarrhea, and severe infection. Children with a rotavirus infection have fever, nausea, and vomiting, often followed by abdominal cramps and frequent, watery diarrhea. So goes life at Casa Garcia this weekend.

Rotavirus, from the Latin Roto-Rooter, is proof of a vengeful God as far as I can tell. It is clearly designed to clean out the pipes in the most unpleasant of ways.

We've escaped the throwing up part, but not the tummy ache and various and sundry fun things that go along with that. I thought the worst had passed (no pun intended), but she's back at it again.

My mother and my niece have a shared birthday celebration tomorrow, and unfortunately, we will miss both of them. This started on Thursday evening and really isn't showing any signs of subsiding, so I'm just hanging on for the ride at this point.

Did I mention Thursday was my birthday? What a great way to spend a birthday evening......

At this point I'm forcing bananas and pedialyte popsicles. The worst part of all is that she wants to eat but whatever I give her blows right through her. As I write, she's scarfing down toast. Cross your fingers.

The upside is that all this time at home has given me some good ideas for future posts. Stay tuned!

Babies, Babies, Everywhere!

What is it about new babies that makes them so fabulous? Is it the soft skin, that wonderful baby lotion smell, the promise of a new life? The little noises they make? The gurgles and giggles and smiles they can’t control?

Fabulous. All of it, just fabulous!

This has been a particularly fertile year for the people in my immediate orbit. From my niece who was born in September to girlfriends at work and friends of our family, each little person brings something new to the party.

This blog celebrates the lives of 12 special babies and the people who love them:

Catherine C. ~ September 14, 2007
Emma A. ~ December 27, 2007
Davis W. ~ February 9, 2008
Finley L. ~ February 20, 2008
Cameron A. ~ April 14, 2008
Syndey B. ~ April 17, 2008
Natalie G. ~ May 2, 2008
Emma E. ~ May 28, 2008
Gavin S. ~ June 20, 2008
Katelyn D. ~ June 28, 2008
Rylee M. ~ July 31, 2008
Madison M. ~ August 5, 2008

In this group, most remarkably, there are 12 little minds who know no bounds.

When I think about how technology has changed in my lifetime, I am almost overwhelmed at the possibilities for the technology these children will have at their disposal. What new gadget is some geek out there working on right now that one of these children might ultimately use to impact life as we know it?

Will one of these grow up to cure cancer? Win the New York Marathon? Find an alternative energy source that will save our planet? Maybe one will be the next president of the USA, or the guy who pulls the rug out from under the president someday.

Whatever their destiny, I know at the very least that these children will touch those who love them to their very core. Welcome to our world, little ones. We’re glad you’re here.

On Saturday

I was reminded today (thanks, Aunt Carol!) about a piece that my aunt wrote after my grandfather died. I was only four when he passed away, and my memories of him are fleeting. This piece is beautiful in its simplicity, and I think it's worthy of being seen by whomever will take the time to read it.

On Saturday
He died on a Saturday morning. He went quickly and quietly through a narrow door that separates breath from silence. He knew only a little pain.
He lived as he died, quietly, easily, unafraid.
He lived with faith and hope in a world of despair.
He lived with happiness and love in a world of hate.
He lived with pride in a world of disgrace.
He lived with patriotism in a world of anger, with peace in a world of turmoil, with loyalty in a world of deceit.
He lived with optimism in a world of pessimism: he saw blue skies in a world of black clouds.
He lived simply in a world of confusion, kindly in a world of cruelty, relaxed in a tense society.
He loved the young, with all their ignorance and all the stars in their eyes that reflected the twinkle in his own.
He loved laughter amid tears of pain and despair.
He loved blue: blue eyes, blue skies, blue seas in a world growing black with fear and pollutants.
He loved a puppy, frisky and bright and eager to try whatever he asked of her. He loved the love she returned to him.
He loved a wife and family that tried to show the love they knew for him, as he loved the children of his children who told him of love in their laughter.
He died on a Saturday morning. He left no will, no money. But in his death he left a wealth of love.
He was my dad.
~ Darla-Jean Ogg

The ones who don't matter

I’m always trying to impart the wisdom of time to LittleG in ways that she can hold on to forever. You know, the sticky-note-of-life kind of sayings? The one I’m contemplating this weekend is this….

“The ones who matter will know, and the ones who don’t matter, just don’t matter!”

I say this because I’ve seen in my own life, and I’ve lurked enough on the blogs of others to know that we all get our knickers in a twist at times because people believe one thing about us when clearly what they believe is not right. It’s not fair, and it sucks, but there’s really not a damn thing you can do about it.

Case in point. I left a job in 2000 where I had worked for five years because I had a chance to get a better job making more money and doing better work. At the same time I was leaving, the receptionist who had been there for two decades was also leaving. Becky got a big beautiful write up in the company newsletter, and I got nada. Zip. Zilch. Nothing.

It hurt my feelings at the time because I felt like people would think I’d been fired. It was important to me that everyone know that I had made that change by my own volition. I wanted the write up in the newsletter. I wanted to be publicly thanked for my five years of service and wished well as I packed my little box to move on to the next place. Instead, nothing. No email, no parade in my honor, no breakfast with bagels and muffins. Nada.

I bitched and moaned to pretty much anyone who would listen and it finally dawned on me that the people that mattered to me – my friends, family, immediate coworkers and sales reps who knew me from all over the country would know that I had made the decision to leave. They had heard from me where I was going and what I would be doing. The people who mattered to me would know.

And the folks that didn’t matter, well, they just didn’t matter. Who the hell cares if some guy I don’t know in Podunk North Dakota thinks I got fired? Was my service to this particular company going to be tarnished by some random guy who all of a sudden realized I wasn’t there any more? Big whoop if it was. Here’s the beauty of it – his opinion of me just flat doesn’t matter.

I’ve found that this is a good lesson to hold on to. It’s too easy to be concerned that so-and-so at the office looks down on you because you’re not a size zero and all your clothes don’t come from Ann Taylor or what such-and-such salesperson thinks about your numbers in comparison to his. It’s a cinch to get sucked in to what the neighbors think about the state of your yard or the time you spend away from home. The fact of the matter is that the people who matter to you will know your situation, and the folks that don’t matter, well, they just don’t matter.

So don’t get sucked in to what others know or think they know about you. Just do your thing, keep your head up, and never let the haters get you down. Because, frankly, the haters just don’t matter.

Zoey 201, Starring Jamie Lynn Spears

Ok, I’m going to crawl up on my high horse and rant for a while about this. Give me a break, will you? I have a daughter who is thankfully too young to understand or be affected by the recent stupidity of Jamie Lynn Spears and her handlers. My kid’s been insulated thus far, but thousand of others have not. For that, I have deemed Zoey, her mother, and those idiots at Nickelodeon rant worthy this week.

With the future of the Zoey 101 series in question after the show’s 16 year old star managed to get herself knocked up, the writers have pitched their new show ideas for the 2008 fall season. Check them out here!

Zoey 201
Episode 1 – Spring Dance!
As the 2008 Spring Formal approaches, Zoey is devastated to learn that she can’t squeeze into her brand new White House Black Market Evora Cocktail dress. Turns out that size zero doesn’t really work when your baby bump finally pops. And worse than that, she can no longer wear her adorable shoes and has to shove her fat feet into flip-flops and hope that her ankles don’t swell before fourth period.

Episode 2 – Baby Got Back!
Zoey is perplexed by the changes in her body, but she loves her new curves! Her boobs are huge now, which Casey the baby daddy just loves. That ship has sailed my friend. No huggy, no kissee, until she gets a weddin’ ring.

Episode 3 – And Baby Makes Three
Zoey and her entourage are in line at Starbucks when her water breaks, sending them all scrambling to the hospital. Zoey, who has been worried about getting ink in the national tabloids, hasn’t even finished her childbirth classes! Ill prepared for the miracle of birth, she can hardly believe the explanation she gets when she asks what an episiotomy is.

Episode 4 – Forever is an Awfully Long Time
Zoey and her baby daddy bring their little bundle of joy home to their gazillion dollar mansion, cleverly evading the paparazzi by having Hannah Montana make a surprise appearance at the hospital. Their happiness is short lived, however, when they discover that their little bundle of joy requires some level of parental involvement. You know, the 24/7 kind – diapers, food, lullabies, clothing, shelter, nurturing, and on and on and on.

Episode 5 – The True Price of Happiness
Diapers and onesies and bottles, oh my! Zoey learns the hard way how much a baby can cost when she finds out she’s got to give up her Blackberry so she can pay for diapers. Aw, Zoey. Sucks to be you! You should have thought of this before banging your boyfriend before you were old enough to drive legally, and for being foolish enough to get caught in a big way. No pun intended.

Episode 6 – The Hostile Takeover
Since Zoey’s big sis has been in so much trouble, Zoey’s Daddy has been appointed to oversee her finances and keep her life in check. Zoey’s mom has been running the show, and she has clearly made some REALLY stupid choices. The court appoints Daddy to oversee Zoey’s affairs. Too bad Daddy wasn’t in charge when Mom decided to turn Zoey’s pregnancy and subsequent delivery into a media circus, complete with front cover tabloid coverage. Will Daddy’s involvement bring the family closer together or tear them apart? Tune in to see!

Episode 7 – Season Finale – Goin’ to the Chapel
After the first exhausting weeks at home with their spawn, Zoey and her baby daddy decide to take the plunge. Zoey is so excited because she just knows that being married is going to be the best!!! All her problems will be solved and she will be in love forever. Having a baby may be hard, but when they get married, everything will be easier! Join Zoey as she shops for mommy-and-me wedding attire and plans every excruciating detail of her magical day. This episode brought to you by the good folks at OK Magazine, David’s Bridal, and Pampers.

Next season, on Zoey 201, the first year, things get touchy at home as the happy couple and their baby grow up together. Zoey, our new Mrs. Baby Daddy, battles with her nannies – the one her dad hired to take care of her, and the one she hired for her own child. Watch as her parents fight to see who can pimp her out for their own personal gain. Don’t miss a single exciting moment!

I have to say that this isn’t aimed at Jamie Lynn. She’s just a young, dumb kid who made some bad choices, and found herself pregnant at 16. I applaud her for the decision she made not to end her pregnancy, because, truly, that would have been the easy way out. For everyone, I guess, except her baby.

The real targets of this rant are Jamie Lynn’s mother, Lynne, and the folks over at Nick. When she found out Jamie Lynne was pregnant, Lynne should have taken her immediately out of the spotlight. Instead of taking her to some nice quiet place to give birth and raise her child, Lynne turned her daughter’s illegitimate pregnancy into a media event.

When news of the pending arrival made it to Nick, instead of sending a very clear message to teens everywhere that teenage pregnancy is NOT ok, the studio hoo hahs issued a statement that they stand behind her. They even kept her show on the air. Why take this chance to send a moral message to the teens of this nation when instead you can continue to milk your cash cow for all it’s worth?

Shame on Lynne, and shame on Nick for the way they handled this. Let's face it - kids are going to mess up. Lord knows I made my share of bad choices back in the day. But I didn't do it in the public eye, and the folks who took care of me certainly didn't air my dirty laundry on the front cover of OK Magazine and on the airwaves.

Mechanics say the darndest things!

I don’t know the origin of this or if it’s true, but it’s funny stuff, so I thought I would share .

After every flight, UPS pilots fill out a form, called a “gripe sheet,” which tells mechanics about problems with the aircraft. The mechanics correct the problems, document their repairs on the form, and then pilots review the gripe sheets before the next flight.

Never let it be said that ground crews lack a sense of humor. Here are some actual maintenance complaints submitted by UPS pilots (marked with a P) and the solutions recorded (marked with an S) by maintenance engineers.

By the way,UPS is the only major airline that has never, ever, had an accident.

P: Left inside main tire almost needs replacement.
S: Almost replaced left inside main tire.

P: Test flight OK, except auto-land very rough.
S: Auto-land not installed on this aircraft.

P: Something loose in cockpit.
S: Something tightened in cockpit.

P: Dead bugs on windshield.
S: Live bugs on back-order.

P: Autopilot in altitude-hold mode produces a 200 feet per minute descent.
S: Cannot reproduce problem on ground.

P: Evidence of leak on right main landing gear.
S: Evidence removed.

P: DME volume unbelievably loud.
S: DME volume set to more believable level.

P: Friction locks cause throttle levers to stick.
S: That's what friction locks are for.

P: IFF inoperative in OFF mode.
S: IFF always inoperative in OFF mode.

P: Suspected crack in windshield.
S: Suspect you're right.

P: Number 3 engine missing.
S: Engine found on right wing after brief search.

P: Aircraft handles funny.
S: Aircraft warned to straighten up, fly right and be serious.

P:Target radar hums.
S: Reprogrammed target radar with lyrics.

P: Mouse in cockpit.
S: Cat installed.

And the best one for last . . .

P: Noise coming from under instrument panel. Sounds like a midget pounding on something with a hammer.
S: Took hammer away from midget.

Did this conversation really just happen?

Mommy?

Yes, LittleG.

I get a car when I turn 16, right?

Who told you that you get a car when you turn 16?

I don't know, Mom. I just know. I'm really smart. So, do I get a car when I turn 16?

I don't know, Sugar, we'll have to see. Maybe you can have this car when you turn 16.

What car will you have, Mom?

Maybe Mom will have a new car by then.

Mom, I've got a plan. How about you keep this car and I get a new car?

I'm not sure I like that plan. Let's talk again about this - 11 years from now work for you?

WTF...she's not even 5 yet, and she's already negotiating for a car, and a new one at that. Clearly, I am ill equipped to deal with this!!!

Sure Happy It's Thursday, not TGIF

Oh, the sheer unbridled joy of a vacation day all to myself! I scheduled it last week - just a day for me. And in advance, so I didn't have to come up with some lame-ass reason for calling in sick that no one would be believe anyway. I did it right - no karma is going to wreck this for me!

A day to clean out the closets, or not. A day to take a nap, or not. A day to have a long lunch with a girlfriend, or not. The whole dang day, with the exception of an hour's worth of errands. Mine, Mine, Mine, all Mine!!!

You already know where this is going, don't you?

What good is a day off if you're on mom duty all day? And so it began, as I was dropping LittleG off at daycare:

Mommy?

Yes, LittleG.

My ear hurts.

Hurts like it needs a kiss or hurts like you're sick?

Like it needs a kiss.

Smooch.

Mommy?

Yes, LittleG

My ear still hurts. Can I go see Doctor Kay?

We'll see, baby. I will call and get you an appointment for VERY late this afternoon.

Ok, Mom.

Hello, pediatrician's office? I need an appointment for my kid. What do you have late in the day? Oh, everyone is out today? That's a shame. How about tomorrow? 2 pm? Great, I'll take it.

My Mommy Instinct told me right then just to listen for the "Brown Eyed Girl" ringtone to bust out from my current POS phone. Lo and behold, it did.

MrsG?

Yes, Miss Sally.

LittleG has been complaining that her ear hurts.

And, just like that - vacation day, gone. Poof!

Luckily, we have an after hours urgent care clinic at our doctor's office. There is a note on the check-in desk that says to sign the arrival time sheet and that the receptionist will begin checking patients in at 5 pm. The doctor could arrive as late as 5:30, so be prepared to wait. In other words, sucks that you're sick, but please sit down until we call your name.

LittleG and I got there at 4:25 and signed in. That's when the karma kicked in for me. At 4:30, the receptionist magically appeared. At 4:35, the doctor strolled in. We were first on the list, in and out of there, prescription in hand, before the stroke of 5. And that included wait time at the pharmacy.

So we are a few hours in on the first dose of Augmentin. She ate a good dinner, had a nice bath, and conked out three songs into the night night music.

If the karma holds, then she'll be good to go by Monday when we are supposed to start swimming lessons. I shudder to think how our luck would have gone if I'd rolled the dice and called in sick today instead......

Ever forward, friends.

Praise the Lord and pass the Munchos!!

I read on CNN today that Rep. Barney "The Doob" Frank has recommended that the government spend a little less time and money chasing the casual pot smoker.

You can read the full story here: Legislators aim to snuff out penalties for pot use..

The Doob seems to think that what most of us do shouldn't be any business of the government. For the record, I also believe that should extend to the privacy of one's own home and bedroom. This from a heterosexual 40-year old wife and mom. But that's another blog.

You won't find me siding with the lawmakers very often, but here's a resolution I could really get behind.

Party on, Wayne. Party on, Garth.

9 Days and Counting!!!

Well, I've done it. I've jumped on the iPhone band wagon. On Monday, I stood in line for 30 minutes at AT&T where a nice lady named Theresa stifled a giggle when I asked her if there was any chance at all I could get a phone that day.

With her coworkers snickering at me, Theresa tapped out some stuff on her keyboard, I swiped my Amex card, and she sent me out of the store with a promise to call as soon as the phone gets to the store. Two weeks, she says, but they've been coming much sooner, like 10 days. Much sooner to me is 10 hours, so clearly we are not on the same wavelength.

I'm beginning to feel like a teenager in love. I keep driving by the AT&T store, hoping against hope that Theresa will be dialing my current POS phone at the exact minute I am driving by. It's the grownup equivalent of "is he looking through the window?" In the meantime, the people in the Chipotle across the street probably think I'm a stalker.

I CAN. NOT. WAIT. to get my hand on this little electronic nugget! 16G of space that I can fill to my little heart's content. And it's BLACK - dark and sinister like the bad Spiderman guy. No mamby pamby white one for this minivan mom!!!

I've been surfing the Apple website for three days now, trying to figure out how not to go broke buying cool stuff for the phone. My wish list is long and distinguished already. There's a shopping list that will surely revolutionize the way I work the Walmart. (That sounds a little dirty, but you know exactly what I mean!!). And electronic books, because the audio books and real live ink and paper ones I have in my "to read" stack certainly are not reading themselves. And games, and music, and navigation, and something called Twitter, which I can apparently use to broadcast my every move. Heavens - I may never turn the damn thing off!!

I sort of feel like LittleG...."Mom, is it time yet?"
"Mom, when will it be time?"
"Mom, this is taking forever!"
"Mom, is it time yet???"

Come on AT&T, help a mother out here, will ya???

My uncle, Don Ogg

Donald L. Ogg

September 24, 1943 ~ July 17, 2008

Unique. Eccentric. Unusual. Odd. Curious. Weird. Exceptional. All of these are words I've used or heard used over the past ten days to describe my uncle, Don Ogg. They are all perfect descriptions, yet none by itself quite does him justice.

My uncle was the second of five children, and my aunts referred to him as the Odd Ogg. He lived a strange existence over the past decades, often living in warehouse space for cheap or for free for various employers over the years.

He had a childlike innocence and a happy nature that went to his core. He was who he was, and he was happy with his place in life. He took pleasure in his hobbies, his family, and his faith, not necessarily in that order, and he was a joy to be around.

It was often said that he marched to the beat of his own drummer. I can assure you that he marched to the beat of a drum he built himself out of sticks, dirt, some washers, and duct tape. And maybe some magic.

He was a Boy Scout leader for many years and led his scouts proudly. He was so good with children, from the scouts to Vacation Bible School, to my generation of cousins, to my daughter and his other great nieces and nephews. He had the patience of Job with the children, and was as trustworthy as they come. I always knew my child was safe when Uncle Don was on kid duty, and I was thankful for the times they spent together.

Dyslexic in the days before it was recognized as a learning disability, my uncle learned to get by in a world that was wired differently than he. I personally think the guy was brilliant, but on a different plane than the rest of us. He made things with his hands - clothes and tools and gadgets, and even built his own vehicle. Not once, but twice.

He served our country in the Navy and was honorably discharged. He was proud of his service to our country, and one of his wishes was that we bury him in the veterans cemetary, which we did on July 22nd.

I don't think any of us really understood this strange man. He loved the earth and was just happy existing in whatever place he happened to land. One thing that was clear was that he loved us, unequivocally and without question. And we loved him, too. We just didn't know that so many others felt the same way.

He was a "mountain man," fiercely proud of his group of friends. His hobby, inexplible to this city slicker, was historical reenactments. He and his cronies would get together and camp out the way folks lived in the 1800s, complete with homemade clothing, hats, tents, and black powder rifles. One of his friends memorialized him on his blog here: Don Ogg Memorial, and it's clear to see that the mountain men loved him, too.

His church was important to him, and we knew his church family was a big part of his life. What we didn't know was that he was such a huge part of the church. We honestly didn't know what to expect when we headed to Yoakum, Texas, to lay him to rest.

We found a loving church family who is mourning the loss of my uncle, quite possibly as much as we are. This group could have looked down upon his long hair and beard and "mother earth" ways, but instead, they wrapped their arms around him and welcomed him into their church. They trusted him with their children and relied upon him for Vacation Bible School, Sunday school, and church celebrations. They celebrated his life and his passage to heaven, and I can tell you that no one in that church doubts where Uncle Don ended up.

We are so grateful for the people who traveled from far and wide to pay their final respects. Big, strong men cried with us as they told us of their histories with, and their fondess for, a man unlike any other. Young and old alike were touched by him.

We take comfort in knowing that so many people loved him, and we are thankful for the people who were with him when his time came to go to the great big campsite in the sky. The doctors tell us he probably went very quickly and did not suffer much.

The ones who suffer are those he left behind. Yet even that suffering is bittersweet, because we know he's moved on to a place where there are no tears, and there is no sadness. I suspect he's surrounded by others who moved on before him ... his parents, his grandparents, and my father, just to name a few. MrG speculated that upon Uncle Don's arrival, my father quit playing cards with his army buddies and welcomed him to the party. I'd like to think that's how it played out.

Life will go on here, and I hope that we all take something away from our time with Uncle Don. Whether it be the wonder of watching the sunrise over camp, the sheer joy of watching a child laugh, or the desire to build something out of nothing, it would be a shame to waste those lessons.

Rest in peace, Uncle Don, and I'll see you on the flip side.

47 Things

Our family has had some sadness this week that I’m just not ready to put out there yet for the unwashed masses to read about. I’m still processing how I feel about our loss and how to properly pay tribute to a man unlike any other in the world,who touched not only my family, but hundreds of others around him. I’m going to think on this one awhile, and I really hope it will be worth it when it finally comes out.

In the meantime, I want to give a shout out to my Uncle Jim, who got a little coverage in Finding your passion at work. Uncle Jim and I have a lot in common, one of which is a strange attraction to the numbers 74 and 47. Since I’m feeling pretty lazy and this has been one beat-down of a week, I’m going to give you my top 47.

The 47 things on this list fall into one of three categories: guilty pleasures, things I can’t live without, and random stuff that brings me joy. It’s impossible to rank these in order of importance or preference. For those of you who haven’t been paying attention, I need some sort of order in my life, so here’s my list, alphabetically:

1. A brand new novel from a favorite author
2. A fresh satin pillowcase, cool on my face at night
3. A handful of precious friends who mean more to me than they will ever know
4. Afternoon naps
5. Ahi Tuna Tower and Sundae Roll from Bluefish
6. Being recognized for an accomplishment in a group of my peers
7. Big Brother and Survivor
8. Brand new babies – soft and powdery, full of promise
9. Chick flicks
10. Chocolate mint ice cream
11. Decorating cakes
12. DVR
13. Family I truly, truly love. You know who you are.
14. Hearing my nephew say, “I love you Aunt NiNi”
15. Hearing my niece laugh
16. Holding hands with people I love
17. Hot salty popcorn and Milk Duds, all mixed up together at the movies
18. Icy cold beer
19. Landing a really big sale
20. Landing a small sale I had to work really hard to earn
21. Laughing with my best friend till my sides ache and tears run down my face
22. Lilly, greeting me as though I am the most important person on the planet
23. Lincee Ray from Ihategreenbeans.com
24. LittleG, tousled and sleepy, first thing in the morning
25. Making people laugh or touching them enough that they cry
26. Michael Row the Boat Ashore
27. MrG
28. My iPod
29. My SonicCare toothbrush
30. Peeps
31. Play that Funky Music by White Cherry
32. Pretty necklaces
33. Seeing MrG and LittleG curled up together watching a favorite show
34. Shiny cars, fresh from the car wash
35. Singing Veggie Tales songs with LittleG in the car
36. Starbucks Iced Venti Quad Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte
37. Sugar cracking on a crème brulee
38. Texas A&M
39. Desiderata by Max Ehrmann
40. The first rainstorm after a long hot summer
41. The perfectly mixed Cape Cod
42. The season’s first chill in the air
43. The warm spot the dog leaves when she’s curled up on the foot of my bed
44. The way a freshly made bed with fragrant, soft linens feels when you first slide under the covers
45. Trinity, lounging on the patio even though the pavestone is probably hot enough to sear flesh
46. Watching You’ve Got Mail
47. Wendi Aarons

You think you can come up with 47 of your own? I’d love to hear your list!

Meditation? I think NOT!

A trusted advisor recently suggested that perhaps some meditation might do my soul some good. Please note that says meditation, not medication, which I really think would be a better bet. But I digress.

So, following the lead of my trusted advisor, I ordered Shakti Gawain's Creative Visualization Meditations on CD from our friends at Amazon.com. “Great news!” my email proclaims! The CD is in stock and will be sent immediately!

I eagerly await my new CD as surely the mere action of downloading such powerful meditations onto my iPod would bring about a new, Zen-like calmness.

After a week or so of increasingly more urgent desires to be peaceful in my soul, I jump on to Amazon to check the status of my order. Because as we all know, just because they say it will ship doesn't really mean it will ship. Lo and behold, my Amazon profile shows that the CD was delivered to my office by JR's Courier Service. At 8:00........P.M....... on June 30.

A reminder for those of you who work from home, or anyone who has never worked at or driven past a corporate America office building, there's not really ANYONE AT THE OFFICE TO ACCEPT A PACKAGE AT 8:00 P.M.

I take a deep, cleansing breath, and call our friends at Amazon.com. Which is no small effort, since you won't find a customer service phone number very easily online. But again, I digress.

Our friends over at GetHuman.com/ helped, though, and soon enough I was connected to a great guy who called himself Ted. Technically, I'm pretty sure Ted's real name was something like Rashid or Farhan or Saeed, but since I'm such an ugly American, he dumbed it down for me.

I explained my situation to Ted, and he proceeded to use his best meditative voice and tell me that my package had indeed been delivered. Says so right there, at 8:00 pm on June 30. Clearly, Ted has that whole long distance thing working for him, so I am not able to punch him in the nose.

I try not to sound like a psychopathic killer when I request calmly that he track down JR (whoever the hell he is), and ask for signature proof of delivery. At that point, Ted's manager, Bob, who is spying on our call with his manager button, uses sign language to tell Ted that he would be better off just shipping me a new CD because he's pretty sure his continent is really not that far from the US after all.

Ted mythically changes his mind and tells me, Miss Gar-sha, that he will indeed ship me a new one right away. At no charge whatsoever to me. Good thinking, Ted, and thanks, Bob, for the help.

The very next day, our friends from UPS show up with a fresh new package from Amazon.com, which coincidentally has a warehouse close enough for me to see from my office window. Good job, guys in brown!

I open my new package, fingers trembling with the energy field from my soul. Or maybe the quad venti iced latte, hard to tell. I open the package, check out the jewel case, and my heart actually skips a beat. Or maybe doubles up. Whatever it was, it was not fun. And the cause of my discomfort???......

The genius who is Shakti Gawain (but please call her Cindy), has packaged her CD in a jewel case with the covers reversed. That’s right campers. An item that’s aimed at high strung, neurotic, OCD types has a front cover that faces upright, and a back cover that is upside down. It just keeps getting better!

I feel my blood pressure begin to rise and decide this is not a good way to start. But, I’m not about to call Ted again and ask for my money back, so I plug that sucker in and dump it into iTunes. I synch my iPod and find a quiet place to contemplate harmony in the universe.

May have been bad judgment on my part, but I decided the most peaceful place I could be is prone on my bed with the lights out and the ceiling fan blowing.

I hook up the ear pods, push the button, and stomach the intro about how I will find the fulfillment I’ve been looking for by utilizing daily meditations and tapping into the strength of my energy field. At this point, Cindy loses me because she shouldn’t use the word “utilizing” when “using” will work just fine.

I suck it up and get past her poor word choice when she launches into the Grounding Yourself technique. I’m paraphrasing here, but she basically tells me to imagine two energy fields, one coming up from the ground and one coming down from the sky, converging in the center of my being, flooding me with powerful, relaxing energy, connecting my inner soul to all things that are right and good in the world.

Didn’t I just use words like high strung and neurotic? In my world, the two energy forces don’t converge in my center. They run head on into each other and explode, spewing little cosmic pieces of my innards all over my psyche.

At that point, I make the mental call to suffer through this for a few more minutes and if Cindy doesn’t bring it around for me, I’m through. Two hours later, MrG wakes me up and takes my iPod away.

So I decide a couple days later that Cindy needs another chance. I get settled, again in the bed with the lights off and fans on, and search to find the tranquility in my spirit. I get past the exploding innards thing and decide that Cindy might be on to something. She leads me gently through some deep breaths and introduces the Pink Bubble technique.

That’s as far as I get, folks, when MrG comes in again (damn him, can’t he find another room to sleep in??), and takes my iPod away from me. This time, he doesn’t wake me, because he can’t. Whatever is in Cindy’s pink bubbles, it’s sure as hell doing the trick for me.

The jury is out right now on whether I give Cindy another chance or not. I’m sort of sorry to admit that I’ve not even made it to the halfway point of my Creative Meditations. Apparently, if I keep trying I’m going to open my energy centers, do some affirmations, and take a deep relaxation journey…..I’m getting sleepy just thinking about it.

We kind of got off to a rough start, Cindy and me, but I’m glad I gave her a second chance. I might just give her a third shot. At the very least, I’ve gotten two really good nights of sleep out of the deal…..

Friends from far and wide

Ohmygoodness.....what a shock! I have an analytics program that tracks website visitors, and I was shocked to see today that I've had visitors from 11 different states!!

CA, CO, OK, TX, MS, AL, IL, KY, VA, and NY! And some random Canuck! Take Off! (BTW - Take off is an expression of disbelief in the great white north...)

How nice. I've gone international!! Surprisingly, I have almost as many visitors from Washington DC as I do from Texas. Must be W and his gang checking up on me.

Whoever you are and however you got here, thanks for reading!

MrsG

My brush with celebrity

Sometimes I think I'm just a mom and that my only claim to fame will be this fabulous child MrG and I are raising. Other times, I count myself lucky to have rubbed elbows with some really famous folks:

Ann Richards - I was a Texas Jaycee (B/CS to be exact) in the very late 80s, and we were traveling to Abilene for some sort of Jaycee political shindig. Ann Richards was either running or just about to run for the office of the Governor of Texas (who knew? I was in college and drank a lot then....). Anyway, she was at the convention center for some sort of function, and I got my picture taken with her. She was about as nice a person as I'd ever met, and I watched quietly in stunned silence a few months later as my very Republican Aggie boyfriend and all of his buddies swore at the television screen as she defeated Clayton Williams, Jr.

Tom James - this name may mean nothing to you, as it did to me the first time I heard it. All I knew is that he was an unhappy customer. The story is too long to tell, so here it is, condensed. Unhappy guy, really outstanding customer service and sucking up, helluva sales job, happy guy. After we got him all fixed up, I found out that he was the head of James Industries, the company who makes Slinky toys. Not only that, but he is the son of the guy who actually invented Slinky. And, the most amazing of all, my friend Tom James is the person who figured out that Slinkies can walk down stairs. He sent me an autographed Slinky one time, and I count it as one of my favorite possessions. By the way, he autographed the box, not the Slinky.

I've also had the opportunity through my job to meet Frank Abagnale, the guy Catch Me If you Can was written about. Same with Chris Gardener, from the Pursuit of Happyness. And early this year, I spent a few amazing minutes visiting with Archie Manning, the father of Peyton & Eli Manning.

I could tell you all about how I was supposed to ferry Cal Ripken around the back of the Mandalay Bay Convention Center on my scooter, but then I'd have to fess up to a change in plans that left me broken hearted. I also got to see Magic Johnson as he walked past me in the hall (man that guy is TALL!), but I didn't get to actually meet him.

My only real brush with fame came in college when I was a disc jockey at the local radio station. I was Deanna Scott, on 98 Country, K.O.R.A. I was the worst DJ ever to hit the Bryan College Station airways, but in hindsight, it's a cool little piece of trivia.

I'll probably never be famous, and I truly think that my fifteen minutes of fame is being spread out in 14 second increments. But it's good to know I've met some cool people. And I'm glad for my blog friends who faithfully check in with me a couple times a week (thanks, MK) and make me feel interesting.

Random Friday Stuff

Here's an update on the dog. After several vet trips and approximately 1 1/2 mortgage payments later, we think she's on the upswing. Dr. B (aforementioned BEST.VET.IN.THE.WORLD!) tells us she seems to be doing better.

He did some exploratory surgery to see if he could figure out what the problem is, and so far, all we have to show for it is some stitches. On the upside, she is chasing Lilly around again and playing tug of war with the rope. So, I guess that's good news. And really, the best news of all is that we don't have any bad news.

I had a big ugly deadline at work yesterday. Being in sales can be as exhilarating as it is terrifying, and believe me I've been on both ends of the spectrum all week. I had a major sale close today, much more than I had planned or prepared for, but I was delighted for my success. My numbers aren't where they need to be yet but we still have a few days of wiggle room, so the final tally remains to be seen. My goal over the next week or so is to try to get a good night's sleep each night and go in fresh, prepared for whatever the day may bring.

In spite of the fact that our office officially closed at noon today for summer hours, I stuck it out until after 5 (5:05 qualifies as after 5!) and just kept on plugging away. I'm really proud that I had the internal fortitude to do what needed to be done, even when no one was watching. I think that has something to do with work ethic or maybe integrity, but regardless, I was proud of myself for not throwing in the towel and going for a martini around 2.

So, toot toot for me. Speaking of Toot, Toot, I have to give a shout out to my baby sister who has been nominated as a Woman to Watch in the Illinois CPA society. She is a CPA who until a year ago was at a public firm in Chicago. She was recruited as a CFO for a homebuilder and has somehow managed to keep the ship afloat during the past year, riding the wave of housing woe after housing woe. People she worked for and now works for said really nice things about her, and even if she doesn't "win" I think she's truly proud to have been nominated. And I am proud for her. And our dad, who was himself a CPA, is surely smiling down upon his youngest daughter.

I'm a little sad that the Bachelorette has come to an end. I truly can't stand the show, but I got hooked on Lincee Ray's blog a couple years ago, and watching the show just makes her writing that much better. You can read all about her at (ihategreenbeans.com).

I'm excited that Big Brother will be starting again this weekend. We are having Fajita-Rama at Casa Garcia, where the foolish among us (read me and my best friend) will watch the premier of the summer season. And of course, there's a blog to go along with that,too. Catch Hamster Dame on (sillyhamsters.com).

MrG and I will have some quality grown up time this weekend, thanks to Nana. I think we are going to do something exciting like buy new barstools for the kitchen. And I'm definitely getting a pedicure. And maybe a nap. Good times, friends, good times.

Happy weekend to all, and cross your fingers that my muse comes up with something interesting for the next blog.

Hugs,
S

Baby Boomers

H.Y.S.T.E.R.I.C.A.L.!!!

1. Turn your speakers on.
2. Click below.
3. Laugh your tired old ass off.

BabyBoomers

Might hit a little too close to home for some of us, I fear.

Lincee's Bachelorette Blog

I have an update on Lincee and her blog site.....here it is from Lincee herself:

"It was down due to high traffic. Then Jason got it back up. And then I posted. And it was up for five seconds. And now the server people are having some sort of weird connection between Eurpose and the US. So it's there...you just can't log on. I think I might jump out my window. Keep checking. Should be fixed soon. "

Friends, a moment of silent prayer, if you will, so that Lincee doesn't fling herself from the window. The second story fall isn't enough to really hurt her, but she might break a hand or something, and then she couldn't blog. And that would suck. For all of us.

Let's hope this downtime gives her the chance to work on her important list of questions that we all submitted.

Trinity Ann Garcia, part 2

1 sleep deprived mommy + 1 huge ugly deadline at work + 1 dog with a gimp = 1 overly emotional blog entry

The short story about Trinity is that she has a wound on her back paw that's about a month old. The vet thinks she has a spider bite. All we know is that she's been uncomfortable and alternately bleeding and infected. I'll save you the details, but it's been several trips to the vet and more money than I want to consider. All for a damn spider bite.

I wasn't too worried about her until last night when MrG said he was afraid she was going to lose her leg. Cue the dark scary music and let the waterworks commence.

I was too freaked out to sleep well - after all, that sweet dog snuggled against me under the covers could be losing her leg. Heavens, what if she's so badly infected that she dies? Oh my gosh, is she breathing right now? What will we do when we lose her? LittleG will be crushed. Can she breathe under there? Rewind. Repeat. Rewind. Repeat. You get the picture.

Anyway, Dr B (http://183animalhospital.com/) the world's greatest vet, by the way, says she is improving but we need to keep an eye on her. Another shot, another chunk of cash, and she's home with us tonight. Thank heavens.

We are boarding her for the Annual 4th of July Pilgrimage to Pecos to visit Los Abuelos and the Tias, so she will be in good hands over the weekend.

Keep your fingers crossed and whisper a novena to St. Francis of Assisi that our sweet girl gets better soon. And if you would, please, say your prayers and pass the prozac that I make it through it all.

Trinity Ann Garcia

Sweet Trinity Ann
Tiny puppy in a cage
For us, instant love

Baby powder scent
Soft and sleek with eyes aglow
You called out to us

We held you tight
And knew what love you would bring
To our home and hearth

For eight years now
You have loved us without fail
Faithful companion

Sitting on my lap
Warming my soul with your love
Keeping me centered

Mornings in the yard
Each night as you hop in bed
Always near to us

Now our fear for you
As you’re just not getting well
That you might be lost

We love you, brown dog
And our lives have been so full
With you in our midst

Get well for us please
We cannot bear to lose you
Our hearts will break