For Laurita

Hey Lovely Laurita, these are for you! I've always been jealous of your eyelids. Damn you!

Prom Night

Awwwwwwww! Would you look at that cute little couple? How about that cute little couple with the goofy baby brother? Prom night just isn't complete without the family photo session.

Prom Night! Can you believe it? Geez. How old am I that my daughter is going to the Prom? Pretty damn old, that's how old. But anyhoo. Can you believe they're having prom on March 29? It's the middle of winter! I think it's 40 degrees out there and there's not a single leaf on a single tree. Not very prom-like, if you ask me. But prom night it is. The gods were smiling on me and I did not have to deal with the "can-I-stay-out-all-night-like-everybody-else" dilemma. First off, I would have said "no" because my daughter is only a sophomore. If she was a senior, it might be different. But luckily, Anna is in the middle of a big dance competition this weekend and she has to be back at the competition at 6:45 tomorrow morning. So when the prom ends tonight at 11:30, they're coming straight home. Well, that's the plan.

I remember having permission to stay out all night on my prom. I also remember being miserable at about 4:00 and wanting to come home, but staying out all night simply because I had permission.

Can I just say how much I like Anna's boyfriend? I have a huge soft spot for him. He is so sweet and cute -- and check out those teeth! He's a hard-worker and a good student. He doesn't smoke, his hobby is weight-lifting, and he's a lifeguard, too. I asked my friend, who happens to teach at his school, to check his permanent record. The report? "All the teachers love him, he's a great kid!" They have been dating since last summer. Awhile back, Anna decided to break up with him. I was pleading his case: "Are you sure? He's so nice, he's so cute...you don't find a guy like that every day." Fortunately he talked her out of it and they're still together. Easter Sunday, when I walked out to grab the newspaper, I looked up and saw about 50 eggs in our front yard. I went inside and said, "Paul, did you hide eggs in the front yard?" But no...it turned out that Aaron, (the boyfriend) had come over in the middle of the night to hide eggs in our yard. Eggs filled with her favorite candy. And there was one big egg with a gold bracelet with hearts and rubies and little diamonds. I said, "Wow, he reminds me of a boyfriend I once had -- his name was Paul and I married him."

So tonight they went to Ruth's Chris Steakhouse for dinner. Anna just walked in with her steak and almost caught me writing this post! She stuck it in the fridge and she's off to the dance.

Geez. I can't even believe my baby girl is going to prom.

Spring Break and Las Tres Hermanas

Ah, Spring Break! It continues. Endlessly.

I have had children at home with me since the first of March, either because of illness or vacation, or Easter, or spring break, it doesn't matter. What matters is this: I'm getting seriously behind on my ME-TIME! I haven't shopped a single spring sale. I have done virtually nothing in the garden. I haven't finished a book in ages. Lunch with friends? Forget it!

Seriously though. We saw "Horton Hears a Who" today. I fully expected it to be a rotten movie. It features one of my least favorite actors, Jim Carrey. Fortunately, he was balanced by one of my very favorite actors, Steve Carell. Steve was funny enough to make up for Jim's stupid over-acting which he managed to do, even though it was an animated film and all I had to endure was his voice.

We had a great Easter last weekend. Truly wonderful. And now there's at least 25 pounds of candy sitting around the house. The only thing that's saving me from diving in is that peculiar odor which comes from mixing chocolate with jelly beans and Mike & Ikes and Peeps. It's instantly recognizable and very unappetizing. Of course, I still manage to paw through the candy bags once in a while. But eventually the funky odor permeates the candy wrappers and the candy no longer tastes good. Even the kids lose interest. It's a strange phenomenon.

Let's see if I can post a picture from our Easter festivities:



I did it, I did it!! This photo is Las Tres Hermanas, on the left is Susita, that's me in the middle, and the Lovely Laurita is on the right. It was taken at the home of my brother and sister-in-law where we all gathered for Easter this year. It was a fantastic time.

God Made Man-Jobs...

...and one of them is teaching kids to drive.

I am still in a cold sweat. My knees are weak. I am not exaggerating. The only good thing that came out of Anna's third driving lesson ever is that little high you get when you've had a major adrenalin release.

For some crazy reason, I consented to be a passenger in the family van with Anna at the wheel. The child has driven for a total of 45 minutes in her entire life. Paul convinced me to load up the family and let her drive us all to Crown Center, which is in the middle of the city, and therefore in the middle of city traffic. It was a Sunday afternoon, so it seemed fairly benign -- until we got to the end of the driveway. That drive was the longest 30 minutes of my life. I spent the majority of the time with my head between my knees. Every time I looked up, she was accelerating into a busy intersection. I swear this happened: She confused the gas with the brake. When I let out an involuntary scream, she had an attitude with me. For godsakes! My life was passing before my eyes! What choice did I have? "ANNA, STOP...STOP...STOP!" Wow. I haven't had a good primal scream in ages, until today.

Paul said that letting her drive the van is part of the master plan. We need a new car anyway.

My Dad, God love him, taught me to drive. His teaching consisted of sleeping in the passenger seat. Was he really sleeping, or were his eyes squeezed shut out of terror? It really doesn't matter. What does matter is this: Teaching a child to drive is a man-job. I am officially excused.

I'd Rather Be In London

So I've renamed my blog. It was done quickly, and without much thought. I'm just not clever when it comes to titles. However, I figured the above statement would pretty much always be true.

Have you ever tried to type with a bird nipping at your fingertips? Trust me, it isn't easy. Bird has been on a big ol' Adventure Quest lately and it's beginning to wear on me. Sure, it's cute. She can open her little cage door and get herself out -- fly around -- search & explore -- then return to her little cage. But I always have to worry about stepping on her or closing her in a cabinet, and the toilet must always be closed. But I love her, so I put up with it.

But back to the title of my blog. I am ready to move on. I don't want to think about the stupid trial or my testimony any longer. I went through one hell of an ordeal, and it caused me tremendous pain. Now it's time to move on. And then I receive a call from a certain friend today. This friend has the transcript of the trial. Interestingly enough, I asked the prosecutor if I could get a transcript and I was told that it would cost thousands of dollars. But suddenly I have access to the transcript, free of charge. I asked my friend to copy my testimony for me. I want to know what I said. As time goes on, the memory of my testimony becomes foggier and foggier. It will be quite interesting to get my hands on that transcript.

I guess the point of this story is two-fold: I am no longer a witness. But just when I think I'm ready to move on, I get a phone call -- or some other reminder of the trial. It never really ends.

I'd Rather Be In London.

Other things happening: Well, kids are sick. David came home from school this morning because he vomited. He's pretty sick, poor baby. He is watching cartoons, but looking quite peaked. And Anna needs to be evaluated for back pain. She is unable to feel pressure on the right side of her back, no matter how hard you press. She can feel the touch, but not the pressure. For the 16-year-old kid, I think this is really weird. And she's my little health-nut. She eats the healthiest diet of any kid I've ever known, she exercises quite a bit with all her dancing, and she gets enough sleep. I don't know what's going on with her. I'm getting concerned. And poor Kathleen has a cold. That leaves only the baby, Little MJ, without a major health catastrophe at this time.

Good times.

Meanwhile, soccer and track seasons are starting. And spring is nowhere to be found.

Oh yeah. I need some London. Need it bad.

Random Thought Post

And now, for those who may be interested, (that's you, Laura), here is the translation of Paula's Spanish love song from "The 40-Year-Old Virgin."

"Whenever they clean my room I can't find anything. Where are you going with such haste? To a football game."

***

I had the weirdest dream last night. I was in China, waiting to board a chartered plane home, when I realized that my passport was in my luggage, which had already been checked and loaded on the plane. I frantically tried to communicate this to the Chinese authorities, using sign language. It was really quite stressful. Thankfully the alarm went off.

***

There's some strange bird behavior going on around here -- and it's not the pet birds this time. For about two months, a female cardinal has been pecking at my dining room window. She flies up to the window, pecks it with her beak and flies away. She repeats this behavior hundreds of times per day. Maybe she wants to get with Bird. It's kinda getting on my nerves...

***

I feel better today. I think I might need some retail therapy after the rough week I've had. I got some great silver, sparkly, ballet-flat type tennis shoes at Target. I mean, they're really, really great. But what to wear with something like that? It could take some research.

Sick as a Dog

Yep. I'm sick like a dog. No -- sick like a kid. I don't remember being this sick since childhood. That feverish, fuzzy feeling in my head...the muscle pain in my stomach from coughing so much...weird dreams...and most shocking of all:

The ability to shun my houseweork and watch TV all day long.

And just to put this into perspective for you -- I am a person that came home from cesarean section #4 and started a load of laundry. I shoveled snow moments after coming home with Baby #3. I don't DO sick.

Lest you think this is going to be a whining post, (which is well within my rights, all things considered), it is not. This post is an ode to the utter genius of that most vulgar of comedies "The 40-Year-Old Virgin." I confess that I spent several hours yesterday afternoon watching this masterpiece.

Let us revisit a few of the highlights:

The phone call to the Viagra Help-Line, when our hero Andy hadn't taken any, but is desperately looking for a solution for his priapism.

The "Know How I Know You're Gay?" segments

The empty apartment after Andy's friends clear it of all adolescent material.

Andy's reaction to the drunk girl's driving, shortly before she pukes in his face. "I just want to live!"

The scene where Andy takes his girlfriend's daughter to get birth control.

When Andy innocently calls his girlfriend a "grandma" instead of a woman whose kid has a kid.

The unforgettable speed dating scene.

Andy's boss recounting her first sexual experience with the gardener, then serenading him with a Spanish song, ending in the word "football."

The elderly Pakistani salesman and his diatribes, especially the one in which he claims to have a Brooklyn accent.

And best of all: The ending, in which Andy gets married, loses his virginity (in that order, which is somewhat redemptive) and bursts into song: "When the moon is in the seventh house, and Jupiter aligns with Mars..."

A finer comedy will never be made.