Confessional Crush…

I have a confession.  It’s a weird crush, I do admit, but I also know I’m so not alone on this one…


I was at the library a couple of days ago and picked up his latest offering- Medium Raw.  I don’t quite know exactly what it is about him.  I’m usually not into the cocky type, but I’m glued to the screen anytime he’s on Top Chef.  And, I can’t get enough of his opinions.  The dude has an opinion on EVERYTHING.

And, I don’t mind it one bit.  I know he should annoy me, but he just… doesn’t.


The future is now…

(via ffffound)

G’s birthday is Sunday.  He’s turning 11.  11 years ago today, I was sitting in a hospital room waiting to be induced.  By noon, I had the pitocin drip in, and I was sitting cross-legged on my hospital bed playing cards with my in-laws.  The contractions were super manageable, and there were constant threats of maybe sending me home to labor there for a little while.  Things get fuzzy around the edges of these memories.  I was pumped with a lot of fluids during G’s delivery.  Antibiotics for Group B Strep, drugs to induce labor, later an epidural.  His delivery wasn’t smooth, there were complications afterward, more drugs were pumped and I will always have positive associations linked to Demerol. 

But, he was a beautiful, beautiful baby.  He was (still is), the most compassionate child.  Empathy didn’t need to be taught to G, it was inherent in his DNA.  After a particularly trying night when he was a couple of weeks old, I remember looking down at him and thinking,

You will never be this small again. In ten years, you will be a boy and I will be older, and wiser.  You will sleep, and you will not need me as much, and I wonder who you will be then.  What will you be?

He’s funny.  He sleeps like a log.  He’s helpful.  He’s smart.  He’s absolutely wonderful.

I don’t know where I thought we’d really be at this juncture. It’s definitely not what I pictured the future to be like 11 years ago.  At times I’d like to think that he’s happy, really happy.  That he’ll look back on his childhood and remember it fondly.  My wish for him for this 11th birthday is for it to be a great one.  And, if I could add one more wish: to grow well.  Well, in the sense of becoming the person I know he will be.  Honest, compassionate, caring.  Those attributes are what makes G, well… G.

What the what.

Scene: Tuesday night.  Two couches perpindicular to each other in front of a TV.  G sitting on one couch, me on the other.  In my hand, the March Marie Claire (I really hate the layout of this mag), in G’s hands, xbox controller.  B’s perusing the internet looking at incline benches.

“Come and check this out, and tell me what you think.” B calls to me.

“Nice prices.”

“Should we get one?  Will you use it?”  I’m horribly cheap and I’ve been fine doing my sit-ups for free this whole time.

“I guess, but buy whatever you want.”  B’s and G’s eyebrows raise high- touching their hairlines. 

“Oh, really.  G, you heard her?”

G turns to B.  “Yeah, I heard that.  Now we can buy that leopard.”

He fumbles around some more on the controller, “No, wait…  A bull shark.  Yeah, much better.”


I can’t get this book out of my head:

I just finished it last night, and loved every part of it.  Books written in dialect usually get on my nerves.  I couldn’t finish On Beauty because of that little pet peeve of mine, but I was unfazed by it while reading this.  In fact, the Aibileen and Minny chapters were some of my favorite.  And, I’m so glad I wasn’t deterred by my list of supposed things that make great books in my stupid opinion, or things that make books “bad.”  Because, I loved this lovely story.  It was beautiful, infuriating, and awe-inspiring.  The Help is about courage, and overcoming the perceived perception of what is right and wrong.  Skeeter is a character that one should strive to become more like.  And, although she was young, and a little naive at times, I loved every little thing about her. 

When reading books about the segregated South, or Nazi Germany, or South Africa during Apartheid, I am constantly humbled by those that fought for their beliefs and strived to overcome the small mindedness and the absolute hate of the many.  Because that’s what denying equality, or de-humanizing a sector of the population truly is.  It’s Hate.  Capital H.  I so want to believe that if I lived during these eras, that I would be fighting for human rights, too. 

We all want to believe the best in us.  I know I do.  But, it scares me to wonder if I would kowtow to popular belief.  Or that I would deny what I truly believe in to appease others.  I’d like to think I wouldn’t.  But, then I’m reminded of the time when G, H, and I were driving home from their school.  The sun was shining, and state elections were coming up.  Prop 8 was a huge deal.  As we were waiting to turn on to the freeway, a group of Prop 8 supporters were holding banners, and shouting at the cars passing by.  Our windows were rolled down, and we could hear them yelling a variety of cutesy little phrases, “PROTECT OUR CHILDREN,” “SAVE MARRIAGE,” and my favorite “RESPECT FAMILIES.”  I was pissed.  Not just a little mad, but really mad.  What are we protecting our children from?  Two loving people that care enough about each other to commit their life together?  How on earth does marriage equality detract from the power of marriage, anyway?  Two men or two women getting married doesn’t devalue my marriage in any way.  All it does is confirm that at this point in time I’m part of an exclusive sector.  An exclusivity that I’m not proud of.  So, I yelled back.  I stuck my head out that window and I yelled to stop the hate, and then I yelled something so hippieish I was slightly ashamed, Equality Now.  But I wasn’t ashamed I was yelling these things, I was ashamed that I was sadly reduced to clichés.  G and H rode in the back with their mouths agape.  We had a long discussion because of my actions, but I wasn’t ashamed about that either.  And, although I fear that when the time comes I won’t stand up for my beliefs, I honestly know that’s not true.  Because I did.  And, I always will.

Profendement Decu

I don’t like French.  It’s hard to pronounce, and I can’t quite get the gist of it.  Italian?  Totally get it.  Spanish?  Makes sense.  But, French?  Nah, not for me.  However, I love French things- soaps, food, coffee, films, clothes…  This little bit of tid is more of an aside. 

What I’m profoundly disappointed in is the new Radiohead album.

Great artwork, though. 

It’s always with a touch of sadness and regret when I have to admit to myself that one of my favorite artist’s new thing, whatever that may be, might suck a little.  Cohesively, I get it.  The songs on this album weave beautifully together, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not bored by song number 4.  That’s halfway through the album!  By the time I hit “Give Up the Ghost,” I may or may not be sleeping with my eyes open.  The album is redundant after the first two songs, and I’m wishing it were more by the middle.  I hate comparing albums to previous works, so I won’t.  But, I’d love it if I would just read one honest person admitting that this isn’t what they’ve waited 3 years for from Radiohead.  Every single music blog has comments ranging from “it’s okay,” to “brilliant!”  And, it’s just… not. 

So far, 2011 has been a little meh in the music department.  I’ve been downloading and listening to albums like crazy lately- but I still haven’t found what I’m looking for. 

And if I’m quoting U2, that’s when I know I’m in a music slump.  Woe is me.

Introducing G to Google…

“B and me were riding around his house and we found a BMX track last Saturday,” G whispered while watching his brother’s basketball game.

“Did you?” I asked.

“Yeah, can we go next weekend?”  Hope filled his little ten-year-old eyes.

“Sure,” I answered.  I have to admit, it was a non-committal, “Sure.”  I wasn’t even positive he would remember.  But, I knew we had nothing planned the next weekend.

The first question he asked when I picked him up from school on Friday was about the BMX track and if I remembered saying we could go.  I should’ve known he would remember.  We drove by the track on the way home from school and discovered an 8 foot tall chain link fence surrounding the track.  It was run by a church, and apparently closed.  Huge bummer.  We came home and told B about it, and he insisted that maybe there was another way to get into the track and that we would look the next day.  Saturday came, the boys were psyched, we went to the track and the gate was… still locked.  Bummer times two.

I told G that maybe we could find another one.  We could type a search into Google and see what pops up.  The kid was amazed.  Digital generation?  Not this kid.  We went home, he typed some junk into Google, and alas- a map popped up.  A very tiny, non-descript map of trees.  Yet the more we zoomed out, the more identifying landmarks I found.  And the more I realized that this supposed track was right down the street from our house.  G and I scouted the area, found the non-descript trail, with the non-descript trees, and at the end of the super-steep trail angels sang, and trumpets played: a middle of nowhere BMX track.  So we went home, alerted the neighborhood, and the BMX gang rode to the new found track.

(image found here)

Just kidding, but how rad are those bikes/kids?!  We went home, picked up his brother and bikes and they rode that track for hours.  On our way home G said that he was so happy Google was invented.  I’m just happy he now knows more about Google than 68% of the college students I speak to daily.

A related, but un-related story: While watching the Super Bowl last night, an image of George W.  and Laura Bush flashed on the screen.  Because I like to make sure my kids are on top of their game, I asked them who that was.  At that time one of the kids from Glee was singing “America, the Beautiful.”  G answered, “I don’t know.  Her parents?”  I horrifically asked H if he knew who that was.  He responded correctly, and G promised he knew that was him, he was just playing around.  Oh, God- I so, so hope so.  He’s a pretty, pretty kid, but he can’t just get by on his looks. 

At least he now knows how to Google things.  He may or may not really need it.


My best friend is having a girl.  And, I’m super psyched.  I’ll be flying out her way at the end of March to paint a mural on the lovely little lady’s nursery walls.  Her bedroom theme?  Owls.  Adorbs.  I’m kinda struggling with placement issues because the room is surrounded in beadboard, but I found this perfect little inspiration piece: