I don't know how she did it. She woke up early, ate a good breakfast and rested awhile before the big event so maybe that was a start.
Then the people showed up. She gave hugs, kisses, smiles and even the occasional courtesy laugh. She walked from room to room, checking on all her guests, smiling all the while. She ate a small bite of lunch because she was far too busy socializing to worry about nourishment. When it came time for the guests to sing Happy Birthday, she gave her brightest smile for all to see just how delighted she was that everyone was celebrating with her. Then she ate some cake, trying to remain ladylike but you know how messy cake can be.
She mingled with the younger guests, trying to make sure they were enjoying themselves. She opened presents and let the young guests see what they were. She examined a few of the birthday cards closely, then grinned and moved on to the next gift. They were private moments, no one really knows what her thoughts were.
The party lasted a good 3 hours or more and her smile began to fade. She was a little relieved when the crowd began to thin out. She gave goodbye hugs, kisses, smiles and the occasional courtesy laugh. As the last guest left, she yawned, rubbed her eyes and turned to me with arms outstretched.
I gathered up my beautiful birthday girl with her sticky hands and red-rimmed eyes, held her close and thanked God for blessing us with such a wonderful first year of her life. Happy birthday, my little Bellarina!
Monday, June 27, 2005
Friday, June 17, 2005
Chevy Chase
Okay, I don't know if it was a Chevy...looked sorta like one, but nevertheless it was a vehicle chase in California...again.
What's up with car chases? Do the suspects think if they keep driving that the gods will have all police cars and helicopters run out of gas simultaneously so he/she can get away? Do they think their own vehicle has an endless supply of gas or air in the tires? Or do they think there's a hijacker's refueling tanker that will drive up, refuel and drop back off so the chase can continue without interruption?
If you want a good nap, try watching CNN's coverage of a car chase while muting the sound. When you wake up, chances are the chase is still happening.
What's up with car chases? Do the suspects think if they keep driving that the gods will have all police cars and helicopters run out of gas simultaneously so he/she can get away? Do they think their own vehicle has an endless supply of gas or air in the tires? Or do they think there's a hijacker's refueling tanker that will drive up, refuel and drop back off so the chase can continue without interruption?
If you want a good nap, try watching CNN's coverage of a car chase while muting the sound. When you wake up, chances are the chase is still happening.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
So there was this pop star...
What do Michael Jackson and K-Mart have in common? They both have little boys' pants half off.
Badda-BA!
Please hold your applause. Or disgust. Whichever.
Let me just say that those jurors must've had a hard time NOT convicting the alien who used to be Michael Jackson. Did you hear their responses to questions? They obviously don't think he didn't molest boys...they just couldn't convict him on the evidence/testimony or lack thereof. So it was a total waste of the prosecution's time and taxpayers' money.
And did you SEE the freaks waiting outside the courthouse? Totally playing up to the cameras. Supportive of Jackson? Yeah, sure. Wanting TV time? You betcha. And the white doves released as each count was read as not guilty. *gag*
Some think Jackson will make a comeback. Well, he can certainly try. I will never buy another album though. If his song comes on, I'll change the station. Because, though he was found to be innocent in this trial, it was not due to a jury thinking he isn't guilty...they just didn't have enough to convict him. And in raising my daughter, I would never forgive myself for contributing one bit to Jackson's bank account if it ever does come to light that he did what many have always thought he did.
Sad, really. I loved the King of Pop as a kid. Had the silver glove and everything. But I can't believe the massive support he gets from other countries now. Are we blind or are they?
The end of my rant. Thank you.
Badda-BA!
Please hold your applause. Or disgust. Whichever.
Let me just say that those jurors must've had a hard time NOT convicting the alien who used to be Michael Jackson. Did you hear their responses to questions? They obviously don't think he didn't molest boys...they just couldn't convict him on the evidence/testimony or lack thereof. So it was a total waste of the prosecution's time and taxpayers' money.
And did you SEE the freaks waiting outside the courthouse? Totally playing up to the cameras. Supportive of Jackson? Yeah, sure. Wanting TV time? You betcha. And the white doves released as each count was read as not guilty. *gag*
Some think Jackson will make a comeback. Well, he can certainly try. I will never buy another album though. If his song comes on, I'll change the station. Because, though he was found to be innocent in this trial, it was not due to a jury thinking he isn't guilty...they just didn't have enough to convict him. And in raising my daughter, I would never forgive myself for contributing one bit to Jackson's bank account if it ever does come to light that he did what many have always thought he did.
Sad, really. I loved the King of Pop as a kid. Had the silver glove and everything. But I can't believe the massive support he gets from other countries now. Are we blind or are they?
The end of my rant. Thank you.
Saturday Night Rerun
I am a fan of Saturday Night Live. At least sometimes. I'll watch it for snippets of funny which are increasingly few and far between. Alas, the good times of SNL have been gone for years, but occasionally they crack some funnies.
Like, the rerun of this last Sat night with Asshton Kutcher. He's totally overplayed and overrated, but his skit was funny enough that I recorded it.
Opens in black and white similar to a Calvin Klein undie ad. But it is Kevin Federline. Unless you've been living in a wine cellar, he is the odd, gross dude who married Britney Spears.
Wearing the signature ballcap and scraggly hair, "Federline" is rolling around on the bed selling his new line of Federline underwear.
"Some people may think I stink...but I don't. Federline, yo." Running his finger under the top of his white briefs with the name Federline printed on them.
"I'm doing my own thing, yo. Just don't tell Britney" Running his hand across the sheets of the messy bed, turning provocatively in his undies.
"Federline, yo."
"Britney likes me best in my underwear. There's hers." Points to thongs in different locations, "But usually her panties are just in my mouth. Ha."
He looks to the pillow and says," I'm kidding."
Looks to the camera all gross-sexy. "No, I'm not"
Looks back to the pillow. "Yes, I am. No, I'm not"
Repeats this several times until obvious Britney boobage appears and he says, "I may be in trouble, yo. Federline...yo."
Okay, so writing it doesn't seem as funny but it sure was on the TV. Almost as funny as Justin Timberlake's dancing as the Omeleteville mascot. Or his Gingerbread man dance to MC Hammer on Ellen. Or Mr. Hanky on Southpark. Okay, Mr. Hanky is just nasty.
Like, the rerun of this last Sat night with Asshton Kutcher. He's totally overplayed and overrated, but his skit was funny enough that I recorded it.
Opens in black and white similar to a Calvin Klein undie ad. But it is Kevin Federline. Unless you've been living in a wine cellar, he is the odd, gross dude who married Britney Spears.
Wearing the signature ballcap and scraggly hair, "Federline" is rolling around on the bed selling his new line of Federline underwear.
"Some people may think I stink...but I don't. Federline, yo." Running his finger under the top of his white briefs with the name Federline printed on them.
"I'm doing my own thing, yo. Just don't tell Britney" Running his hand across the sheets of the messy bed, turning provocatively in his undies.
"Federline, yo."
"Britney likes me best in my underwear. There's hers." Points to thongs in different locations, "But usually her panties are just in my mouth. Ha."
He looks to the pillow and says," I'm kidding."
Looks to the camera all gross-sexy. "No, I'm not"
Looks back to the pillow. "Yes, I am. No, I'm not"
Repeats this several times until obvious Britney boobage appears and he says, "I may be in trouble, yo. Federline...yo."
Okay, so writing it doesn't seem as funny but it sure was on the TV. Almost as funny as Justin Timberlake's dancing as the Omeleteville mascot. Or his Gingerbread man dance to MC Hammer on Ellen. Or Mr. Hanky on Southpark. Okay, Mr. Hanky is just nasty.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Talk Amongst Yourselves
Wonder why our children in America have issues with the English language. Who's fault is it? Parents? Daycare? TV? Strangers?
From about the time a child is born, we talk to him or her...right? So why don't we talk to them as we would have them talk to us once they can speak? Do we really want our child to brush his teethies before bed? Or toofies, for that matter? Should she put socks on her feetsies before putting on her shoes, one footsie at a time? Is hers tired from playing all day? Does he need widdle kisses before naptime?
My sister knows just how it irks me to talk like some call baby talk. But no child I've ever known talks like that. Yet, people ALWAYS talk that way to children. Some words are okay like "night-night" or "bye-bye" and even "paci" for pacifier. I have no idea where "binky" for pacifier came from. Bad grammar and ridiculously made up words such as "nummies" for breastfeeding is just too much.
I want my daughter to be a baby until she's ready to be a big girl, but I also feel it is my job to teach her real words which are as just as easy to learn and don't grate the ol' nerves.
From about the time a child is born, we talk to him or her...right? So why don't we talk to them as we would have them talk to us once they can speak? Do we really want our child to brush his teethies before bed? Or toofies, for that matter? Should she put socks on her feetsies before putting on her shoes, one footsie at a time? Is hers tired from playing all day? Does he need widdle kisses before naptime?
My sister knows just how it irks me to talk like some call baby talk. But no child I've ever known talks like that. Yet, people ALWAYS talk that way to children. Some words are okay like "night-night" or "bye-bye" and even "paci" for pacifier. I have no idea where "binky" for pacifier came from. Bad grammar and ridiculously made up words such as "nummies" for breastfeeding is just too much.
I want my daughter to be a baby until she's ready to be a big girl, but I also feel it is my job to teach her real words which are as just as easy to learn and don't grate the ol' nerves.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Road Rage
Ever feel an intense need to insist loudly that you are right in a situation regardless of whether it even matters in the end? Me either.
This evening on our way home from Tommy's, a fabulous burger joint in West Fort Worth, I was taking a small detour through the arts district to see what was up at the Kimball museum. I am not originally from Fort Worth and have lived in the area only four years, but my daughter's pediatrician is downtown and I've become familiar with the streets since I've missed the turn to the doc's office at least 8 times.
So, as we drive leisurely through downtown, we decide to head home so our little one can have her bath before bedtime. I am very aware of where I am and quite confident I'm heading towards Hwy 30. Then it begins.
"Honey, where are you going?" My dear husband asks nonchalantly (at least he thinks I'll think so)
"To the highway, why?"
"Okay, but we're going North"
"Um, no...we're going South" I say, cheerfully.
"Yeah, so where's West?"
I eyeball him as I point to the west, which is obviously on my right. Then I turn to the right, heading west, until I get to the street that I KNOW leads me to the hwy once I turn left on it and continue SOUTH which will then take me to the Hwy to go east.
He starts to get antsy and mutters, "Jenn, you're going the wrong way. You need to turn back"
"No," I say, " I'm going the right way, there's the Masonic Lodge and there's 30"
He argues that he's lived here his whole life and oughta know downtown. Then he sees 30, just as I promised. When I pass the 30 West sign and drive under Hwy 30, he rubbernecks and asks NOW where do I think I'm going. I just point to the 30 East ramp as we drive onto it and look with triumph towards my sweetie. He refuses to give me props and STILL says I'd been going the wrong way! A ridiculous battle of directions ensues until I get so worked up, I'm losing all train of thought and babbling how right I am but about what I no longer know. I think I startle my husband with my intense verbiage. I cannot seem to let it go that I was NOT WRONG, about anything. Ever.
Needless to say, the conversation finally came to a long drawn out close once my love finally gave me the kudos I apparently so desperately needed (AND deserved).
That's called compromise, my friends. Let the wife be right, regardless, so everyone can just move on.
This evening on our way home from Tommy's, a fabulous burger joint in West Fort Worth, I was taking a small detour through the arts district to see what was up at the Kimball museum. I am not originally from Fort Worth and have lived in the area only four years, but my daughter's pediatrician is downtown and I've become familiar with the streets since I've missed the turn to the doc's office at least 8 times.
So, as we drive leisurely through downtown, we decide to head home so our little one can have her bath before bedtime. I am very aware of where I am and quite confident I'm heading towards Hwy 30. Then it begins.
"Honey, where are you going?" My dear husband asks nonchalantly (at least he thinks I'll think so)
"To the highway, why?"
"Okay, but we're going North"
"Um, no...we're going South" I say, cheerfully.
"Yeah, so where's West?"
I eyeball him as I point to the west, which is obviously on my right. Then I turn to the right, heading west, until I get to the street that I KNOW leads me to the hwy once I turn left on it and continue SOUTH which will then take me to the Hwy to go east.
He starts to get antsy and mutters, "Jenn, you're going the wrong way. You need to turn back"
"No," I say, " I'm going the right way, there's the Masonic Lodge and there's 30"
He argues that he's lived here his whole life and oughta know downtown. Then he sees 30, just as I promised. When I pass the 30 West sign and drive under Hwy 30, he rubbernecks and asks NOW where do I think I'm going. I just point to the 30 East ramp as we drive onto it and look with triumph towards my sweetie. He refuses to give me props and STILL says I'd been going the wrong way! A ridiculous battle of directions ensues until I get so worked up, I'm losing all train of thought and babbling how right I am but about what I no longer know. I think I startle my husband with my intense verbiage. I cannot seem to let it go that I was NOT WRONG, about anything. Ever.
Needless to say, the conversation finally came to a long drawn out close once my love finally gave me the kudos I apparently so desperately needed (AND deserved).
That's called compromise, my friends. Let the wife be right, regardless, so everyone can just move on.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
First Day Jitters
It has already started. The panic. The nausea. The sheer terror of being in a crowded room. I already know that I won't sleep the night before. So many questions. Concern. Fear.
What do I wear so as to not over do it or under do it? What will I say? What if I turn red when someone calls to me from across the way? Do I have to greet everyone or can I just focus on the task at hand?
Should I get there 5 minutes or 15 minutes early? It is the first day and I don't want to be first...or last. Should I wear socks or go barefoot?
I guess I'll just take a deep breath, remind myself that it is a positive learning and growing experience and I just might make new friends. Then I'll take little Isabella's hand and guide her into the room for her first day of Little Gym class.
What do I wear so as to not over do it or under do it? What will I say? What if I turn red when someone calls to me from across the way? Do I have to greet everyone or can I just focus on the task at hand?
Should I get there 5 minutes or 15 minutes early? It is the first day and I don't want to be first...or last. Should I wear socks or go barefoot?
I guess I'll just take a deep breath, remind myself that it is a positive learning and growing experience and I just might make new friends. Then I'll take little Isabella's hand and guide her into the room for her first day of Little Gym class.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Do you have all your shots?
Parenthood makes you crazy. Seriously. For all you non-parents, you won't understand until you experience it. For all you who are now professional parents, you are probably nodding your head and shaking it at the same time, therefore looking crazy. For those who are new to parenting, I'm sure you would like to continue reading but must go deal with the latest disaster/drama/fiasco.
I love being a mother but I am flabbergasted by how it has changed my brain. I don't think a moment passes that I'm not thinking as a mom. In a romantic exchange of dessert spoonfuls with my husband, I have actually tipped the spoon up once he got a mouthful, as I would my infant daughter. I even do the lick-the-finger-and-wipe to remove smudges or snot crust from my daughter. I always hated when my mom did that but I don't even think about it, I just see the offending object on Isabella's face and immediately move into action.
I have even EATEN the cookie or fruit that has fallen from my daughter's slobbery mouth rather than try to hassle with finding a napkin or trash. The fact I've admitted that is horrifying. Yet, I swear at the time when these strange Mommy Moments happen, it feels perfectly normal!
So what makes parents do things that grossed them out to see their friends do with their kids? Instinct? Convenience?
I can change the nastiest diaper ever on my own child, but I just about vomit immediately if I have to change someone else's kid. Even smelling another person's stinky kid is too much. Yet my daughter never seems to smell so disgusting, though I know she has to others cuz I've seen their skin crawl once they get a whif.
Parenthood is a whole new realm of reality. Yesterday instead of getting into the cuteness of the moment when a 3 year old tried to love on my 11 mo old, I questioned loudly in my mind whether the adorable tyke had all her immunizations. Like it'd really matter? Isabella will eat a dried piece of poop in the park if given the opportunity!
All you who will one day be parents...I look forward to your blogs of shock, amazement and awe.
I love being a mother but I am flabbergasted by how it has changed my brain. I don't think a moment passes that I'm not thinking as a mom. In a romantic exchange of dessert spoonfuls with my husband, I have actually tipped the spoon up once he got a mouthful, as I would my infant daughter. I even do the lick-the-finger-and-wipe to remove smudges or snot crust from my daughter. I always hated when my mom did that but I don't even think about it, I just see the offending object on Isabella's face and immediately move into action.
I have even EATEN the cookie or fruit that has fallen from my daughter's slobbery mouth rather than try to hassle with finding a napkin or trash. The fact I've admitted that is horrifying. Yet, I swear at the time when these strange Mommy Moments happen, it feels perfectly normal!
So what makes parents do things that grossed them out to see their friends do with their kids? Instinct? Convenience?
I can change the nastiest diaper ever on my own child, but I just about vomit immediately if I have to change someone else's kid. Even smelling another person's stinky kid is too much. Yet my daughter never seems to smell so disgusting, though I know she has to others cuz I've seen their skin crawl once they get a whif.
Parenthood is a whole new realm of reality. Yesterday instead of getting into the cuteness of the moment when a 3 year old tried to love on my 11 mo old, I questioned loudly in my mind whether the adorable tyke had all her immunizations. Like it'd really matter? Isabella will eat a dried piece of poop in the park if given the opportunity!
All you who will one day be parents...I look forward to your blogs of shock, amazement and awe.
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