Tuesday, January 30, 2007





"Yes, Saia, what is it?" he finally replies.

"I'm going to tell you something that is very very very important, okay?" she asks.

"Okay???" she repeats.

"OKAY?!?!?" she yells.

"Okay, Saia." He's the Marquis de Sade sometimes, I tell you!

"You should definitely never never never step in front of a car," she begins. "And you should never never never walk in the street without holding Mama's hand," she continues -- beginning to wag her finger a little now. "And you should never never never run in a parking lot. And you should..."

"Saia?" he interrupts.

"And you should never..." she continues.

"SAIA!?!?!?" Second attempt.

"I wasn't done, Santiago."

"But I have something VERY important to add," he says.

[Exasperated sigh] "Alright, Santiago, what is it?" she concedes.

"You should never never never go near a skunk."

Wednesday, January 17, 2007


"SAIA!" he yells as we slip through the toll booth this morning (gotta love that carpool lane, baby!).

"Yes, Santiago, what is it?" she asks, already beginning to look a little ashen as she prepares to pull the ol' think-I'm-gonna-throw-up routine since she's realized that even the slightest gagging or heaving will get her out of school and into Mama's office for the day.

"Saia, somebody has your truck!" he explains.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Santiago," she mumbles.

"Your truck, Saia. See? Over there. The one with your name on it."

And passing us in the slow lane is, for those of you that don't know, a truck from the Saia, Inc. trucking company from whence Mama stole her name.

And yes, I do realize that it's not gonna go over real well when she's 13.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007


Okay, so she did throw up 3 times on the way to work this morning. And to her credit (she's such a trooper), she warned me each time, so that I had enough time to pull over to the shoulder and hold her hair while she puked all up and down Highway 92.

But after a week and a half of this (on and off and alternating between the two of them), I finally decided to take her in this morning for a real live doctor's visit. So, we dropped off the boy at school, waved goodbye and took her in. "Stomach bug," they said. "Has to run it's course," they said. "We're seeing a lot of it," they said. And patted our heads as they ushered us out the door.

So she's with me at work today, not feeling the least bit under the weather suddenly and thoroughly interrupting my day with "Mom, I'm bored," but at least she's stopped spewing. For the time being, anyway.

Monday, January 15, 2007

Wednesday, January 10, 2007


Took the kids to see their first movie in an actual theater over the New Year's weekend. It was a 10:30am matinee of Happy Feet, and soooooo worth the $50. [Yeah, I know, I can hardly believe that's what it costs these days for a family of 4. What the hell!?!? I mean, even I remember when it used to just be a couple of bucks to get into a show, and if you went to a matinee (and not a butt crack of dawn one either) it was SIGNIFICANTLY cheaper. But noooooooo, the greedy media moguls make me resort to waiting anxiously at my living room window for this week's disgruntled postal worker to shove my previously viewed (and viewed and viewed and viewed) Netflix selection into my mailbox, so that I'm inevitably and forever relegated to being behind the times, out of touch, and totally clueless when the Oscars are handed out.]

ANYWAY...bitter pill swallowed...loved the movie. Had a great time. Chago ate practically a whole tub of popcorn (unsalted, unbuttered, of course) all on his own (and then threw it all up at bed time). And, as usual, they completely surprised me in that they weren't scared at all at how big the screen was or how loud the music was or how totally terrifying the monster seal looked. They asked a few questions here and there, but in general really seemed to understand what was going on. And when it was all over, they asked me to rewind it and skip the credits this time.

Click the PLAY button below to watch the movie trailer with the best song ever.

Monday, January 08, 2007


Alright, so since we only ever listen to children's music, rhymes, and stories on the way to and from school during the week [yes, you may safely assume I am well beyond loopy by Friday afternoon], we negotiated with the kids [because EVERYTHING'S a negotiation these days] that Mommy and I could listen to our music on the weekends.

And although we do take care to transfer the music to the front speakers when we're out and about to limit their exposure as much as possible to the likes of Snoop Dogg, Chingon, and [gasp!] the Dixie Chicks, we'll randomly hear one of them repeat a phrase from a song now and then when they've been particularly tickled by something.

For a few weeks a couple of months ago, they were hooked on Yung Joc's "I Know You See It" because of the little "eenie, meenie, miny, mo..." in the chorus. And before that you practically had to hold them down with both hands to keep them from bouncing all over the place to Dare by Gorillaz as they shouted at the top of their lungs, "IT'S DAY-UH!".

But this morning Chago woke up, came traipsing into the kitchen, and demanded that I play Fergalicious for him. And although it's a creepy enough for me to hear him singing, "D to the E to the L-I-C-I-O-U-S...", what I absolutely will NOT stand for is the blatant disregard for the English language: tasty is not spelled with an E, Fergie [as in "T to the A to the S-T-E-Y"]! For crissakes, what the hell are you trying to teach our children?!?!?!

Thursday, January 04, 2007


Well, if there was anything that could get me writing again, Lord knows it's projectile regurgitated milk curd. Mmm...mm...mmm. Man! There's just nothing like it.

No, seriously. There's really nothing freaking like it in the world.

It's almost alien the way that it just shoots out of their mouths. The force. The color. The rank, putrid perfume. It defies the laws of gravity, nature, and Murphy (I'm sure).

And, please, it's just not possible that this much crap could come out of my sweet little babies. It's just not. I mean, their little tummies aren't nearly that deep, their appetites hardly that vast. And for crissakes, it's not like I'm feeding them packaged spinach!!!

Okay, side note. I did have a good 20 minutes of Amy having to talk me down from the ledge when while trying to backtrack and figure out from whence this pukarama could have begun, I realized to my utter horror that I had indeed given them fresh spinach. Granted, it was frozen fresh. And in a ziploc bag (and, therefore, previously eaten). And...well...okay, it WAS from 2005. But still, it was a good 20 minutes of sheer terror, I tell you. Comfort me, dammit!!!

But here we are at home after 5 days of Chago spewing on and off and Saia unleashing the beast within on the way to school this morning...in the truck...on the bridge...with no exits...and in the rain [come on, follow the logic: we couldn't open windows -- aren't you glad this doesn't come in scratch 'n' sniff?].

Yeah, that's right. I USED to have nose hairs, too. But after spending 2 hours cleaning out the truck...with ten 4" x 6" lemony fresh WIPIES, for f*ck's sake...IN THE FREAKING RAIN...in my brand new Christmas red leather Prague heels [yes, the heels are fine, thanks for asking], I'm just a little beyond consolation at this point. I just hate times like this. Some nameless, faceless child at the bouncy house or the movies or the mall or the restaurant or the grocery store or the preschool or the post office has infected my children with the f*cking stomach bug -- AGAIN -- and I still don't have enough towels!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!