I know what you're going to say. It's been 22 days Gabbie- New Year's has long since come and gone- most people have already given up their Resolutions and returned to their old ways- in short, Gabbie darling, you've missed your chance. However that is not entirely true. I could argue that the "New Year"
could also apply to the Chinese New Year (which is tomorrow- year of the dragon) or the Liturgical New Year which isn't until Easter, but either way the point is moot.
This is largely because I made my resolutions weeks ago. I'm really only writing about it today because of the 24 point list (one for every year that you've been blessed to have me among the living with a window seat) I have been unsuccessful in marking ANYTHING off my list... that is, until now. I'll let y'all know about them as I conquer them... or maybe I won't tell you anything. I digress, as of today I can mark number 12 off my list- make a new friend. Now there are only 23 to go...
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
whoops
Success is not measured only by your ability to accomplish something but also by how you go about doing it. Once upon a time success for me was achieving a goal on my own in the fewest steps, with little (if any) assistance, and as quickly as possible. Then I learned that not all things done quickly are efficient, independence can be a sign of pride (and therefore a precursor to falling), and few steps can also mean skipping important details. In addition to these details, it is not nearly as much fun, or as much of an adventure to do things by myself, and we all know how I feel about adventure.
Today my friend Bernie called and mentioned that her headlight was out and she was going to ask one of her brothers to help her replace it. Before I realized I had done it, I volunteered my warm, quiet, respectably boring, (did I mention humiliatingly healthy) evening by the fire in for helping Bernie fix her new minivan. She asked if I knew how to replace a headlight and I chuckled that I had seen it done once... eighteen months ago... on my PT Cruiser and not on a mini van. Needless to say I left out most, if not all, of those details. I quickly checked with Tio if he was willing to be my backup plan if I found myself in over my head, and then volunteered us both for the job. Little did Bernie know what I was getting all three of us into... did I mention that she loves me- and as a result she does not mind when I drag her along for little adventures occasionally? All I can say is that at least this time it did not involve a bog monster- don't ask.
So out to the minivan, in the dark she and I went, alternating holding her ten-month-old, the flashlight, and a screwdriver. Hmmmmm... hmmmm... hmmmmm.... next time I should bring a step-stool. Finally I managed to loosen a dark, plastic piece that bore a striking resemblance to the top of an apple juice carton that protected the light from water. About two minutes later I realized it was the wrong light. Note to self: next time double check that I am removing the right light. To be fair, there were three lights on each side, and I only managed to remove the plastic water protector piece from one of the front lights, and not the turn signal. Now I feel stupid. After five minutes of fumbling around in the dark (largely because I am not quite tall enough to see that part) I put it back and realized that I could not get to the right piece because of several superficial, aesthetic pieces covering the engine and at least one metal piece that served a purpose, but I could not tell you what that purpose was other than giving me a headache, and so we called on Steven. Steven came out and looked at it for a few minutes and said, "I doe know... to the INTERNET!" I stifled a laugh and grinned like an idiot as I thought, "and all the kings horses and all the kings men, could not put Bernie's car together again. To the Internet Tonto."
Fifteen minutes later we took apart part of the engine. Okay, we took apart part of the plastic facade and part of the front light. Okay, Tio took apart part of the plastic facade with plastic bolts and screws and the front light and I helped, but it was worth it. Ten minutes after that we managed to get the juice cap off and after several attempts we pulled out what I think was a mangled paper clip and the mutinous light bulb. Ahahahahaha, success! Then we pulled out the light bulb that Bernie had already purchased (with the help of several Wally world employees) and got ready to replace it. Three seconds later we realized it was not going to fit and we had the wrong light bulb. So off to the store we went- Bernie, baby, Bennie, and me.
Baby, gracefully fell asleep three seconds later. Also worthy of note- I used to think that people who went out in public wearing visible sweatshirts under over-sized denim jackets looked stupid. Today I realized that there is nothing stupid looking about being warm. Into the Wally world we marched, returned the wrong light, got the new light (with no help, I might add), juggling baby, old light, and new light, and were out again in ten minutes flat. Tee-hee-hee.
Then we returned home and put the car back together again, only forgetting to put one piece back (and therefore having to backtrack a few screws) once, and only scratching our head wondering what happened to two of the plastic screws for a few minutes. Then we were all done and I was very happy, not because the job was done, but because for some, success is the reward of accomplishment. I did not manage to fix it by myself, but I got to help and that is worth far more than a two minute, quick fix, efficiently effective could ever be. For the record, we decided that the missing pieces were never there to begin with as both the nuts and bolts disappeared in the process. I might accept that it was possible that we could have misplaced one or two things in the process, but not two of each evenly. After all, even the gremlins do not take things in pairs.
Today my friend Bernie called and mentioned that her headlight was out and she was going to ask one of her brothers to help her replace it. Before I realized I had done it, I volunteered my warm, quiet, respectably boring, (did I mention humiliatingly healthy) evening by the fire in for helping Bernie fix her new minivan. She asked if I knew how to replace a headlight and I chuckled that I had seen it done once... eighteen months ago... on my PT Cruiser and not on a mini van. Needless to say I left out most, if not all, of those details. I quickly checked with Tio if he was willing to be my backup plan if I found myself in over my head, and then volunteered us both for the job. Little did Bernie know what I was getting all three of us into... did I mention that she loves me- and as a result she does not mind when I drag her along for little adventures occasionally? All I can say is that at least this time it did not involve a bog monster- don't ask. So out to the minivan, in the dark she and I went, alternating holding her ten-month-old, the flashlight, and a screwdriver. Hmmmmm... hmmmm... hmmmmm.... next time I should bring a step-stool. Finally I managed to loosen a dark, plastic piece that bore a striking resemblance to the top of an apple juice carton that protected the light from water. About two minutes later I realized it was the wrong light. Note to self: next time double check that I am removing the right light. To be fair, there were three lights on each side, and I only managed to remove the plastic water protector piece from one of the front lights, and not the turn signal. Now I feel stupid. After five minutes of fumbling around in the dark (largely because I am not quite tall enough to see that part) I put it back and realized that I could not get to the right piece because of several superficial, aesthetic pieces covering the engine and at least one metal piece that served a purpose, but I could not tell you what that purpose was other than giving me a headache, and so we called on Steven. Steven came out and looked at it for a few minutes and said, "I doe know... to the INTERNET!" I stifled a laugh and grinned like an idiot as I thought, "and all the kings horses and all the kings men, could not put Bernie's car together again. To the Internet Tonto."
Fifteen minutes later we took apart part of the engine. Okay, we took apart part of the plastic facade and part of the front light. Okay, Tio took apart part of the plastic facade with plastic bolts and screws and the front light and I helped, but it was worth it. Ten minutes after that we managed to get the juice cap off and after several attempts we pulled out what I think was a mangled paper clip and the mutinous light bulb. Ahahahahaha, success! Then we pulled out the light bulb that Bernie had already purchased (with the help of several Wally world employees) and got ready to replace it. Three seconds later we realized it was not going to fit and we had the wrong light bulb. So off to the store we went- Bernie, baby, Bennie, and me.
Baby, gracefully fell asleep three seconds later. Also worthy of note- I used to think that people who went out in public wearing visible sweatshirts under over-sized denim jackets looked stupid. Today I realized that there is nothing stupid looking about being warm. Into the Wally world we marched, returned the wrong light, got the new light (with no help, I might add), juggling baby, old light, and new light, and were out again in ten minutes flat. Tee-hee-hee.
Then we returned home and put the car back together again, only forgetting to put one piece back (and therefore having to backtrack a few screws) once, and only scratching our head wondering what happened to two of the plastic screws for a few minutes. Then we were all done and I was very happy, not because the job was done, but because for some, success is the reward of accomplishment. I did not manage to fix it by myself, but I got to help and that is worth far more than a two minute, quick fix, efficiently effective could ever be. For the record, we decided that the missing pieces were never there to begin with as both the nuts and bolts disappeared in the process. I might accept that it was possible that we could have misplaced one or two things in the process, but not two of each evenly. After all, even the gremlins do not take things in pairs.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
My "Loving" brother
I love my brother Jip. I've loved him since he was born (an event that I do not recall with clarity). I loved him when he broke a window trying to sword fight with a mop staff against Danny, and we all got in trouble. I loved him when he showed me how to jump off the top bunk but failed to mention that there is always a proper way to land and I ended up going to the Emergency Room with what my Mother assumed (from my screaming and my refusal to walk- because of the pain) was a broken ankle. I loved him when he used to charge at me with his backpack and chase me down the sidewalk until Mother rescued me. I loved him when he used to ask if every boy in my class was my boyfriend- within earshot of said boys. I loved him when he cut in on my first real dance with a real boy who really asked me without bribery or threats from any of my brothers. I loved him when he flirted with my friends in Elementary School... and Junior High... and High School... and college... and I'm sure he would now if he knew any of my friends. I loved him when he convinced me to spend New Year's Eve watching all the Home Alone movies with a 12 pack of Mike's, salsa and chips. I loved him when he came to visit me in college and I didn't see him except when he arrived and when he left. I loved him when he asked every guy he met at my college if he ever liked me and warned them to never try to date me because he had seen me in the morning and there was not enough therapy in the world to get over that kind of scare. Oh yes, I love my brother Jip. I love him so very much, but lest you think that every one of my embarrassing stories growing up stemmed from something he did on purpose, tried to do, or accidentally did with flair- let me set the record straight, that it might not be all his fault.
I remember the early months of 91 with some fleeting memories. Mostly I remember searching in vain for the return of the stork to take back the wailing, stinky bundle that he had deposited unceremoniously into my fragile 2-year-old life. I mean I was used to nuisances- after all I already had one brother, but two! TWO! Was the arrival of a second brother really to be tolerated? After all, it was not long after the arrival of Jip that my cousin Carolyn got a little sister (I offered to trade- she said "no.") I suggested to my mother that there was still time- we could try making him a girl and no one would ever know the distance. I tried to help her out by telling her that Daddy would like another little girl anyways cause he already had Danny and Danny was boy enough for the rest of our lives. My Mother, trying not to laugh, reassured me that there was no changing him, what was done was done, and that God had intended for me to have a brother and that I should be grateful. Little did she know, I threw a mini tantrum at God that day and set to praying that Jip would magically turn into a sister... or a kitten- I was okay with either outcome.
My Father informed me that for better of for worse, we were stuck with him. I asked him why Jip had to be so whiny. He told me that he was a baby and that's what babies do. When Jip started to crawl I asked him why Jip had to get into everything. He told me that's what babies do. When Jip learned to talk and right off the bat learned to tease me, I asked Daddy why Jip had to be so annoying. Instead of the answer I was expecting- that's what babies do- Daddy changed his line to, "It's in the brother contract- look it up." I've been looking for this contract for the last 21 years. If I ever find it I'm adding an amendment- thou shalt not bug thy sister.
When Jip was still relatively small I went into my baby phase and played with my baby doll all the time. I had named the baby "Princess" (a name I now detest) but despite my love for my doll, at the age of two I was incapable of caring for her properly. My mother tried to help me- Daddy never did. On one day while my Father was home alone with all three of his offspring I came into the room with my a fore mentioned doll. Danny was playing in his room and Jip was sleeping in his crib. I dragged Princess into the room by her ankle. I ran her into a wall. I think I even picked her up a few times and dropped her unceremoniously on her head. My Father watched, thinking to himself, it's a good thing that's not a real baby. Unfortunately for all parties concerned, as he was finishing this thought, Princess started kicking, only to reveal that not only was this not my Princess, but to add insult to injury, it was my baby brother, in my dolls pink frilly clothes. If you look closely you can see his look of fear because he's so close to me while I look annoyed at being near him.
21 years later, Jip still loves to tell this story when introducing me to his friends. Then he laughs, leans over from his massive five-ten frame, and gives me a side hug, saying, "And we've had the same loving relationship ever since."
Geeze- you dress a guy up in girl clothes and drag him around a few times two decades ago and he never forgets it. In short, I love my brother, but I don't always like him.
I remember the early months of 91 with some fleeting memories. Mostly I remember searching in vain for the return of the stork to take back the wailing, stinky bundle that he had deposited unceremoniously into my fragile 2-year-old life. I mean I was used to nuisances- after all I already had one brother, but two! TWO! Was the arrival of a second brother really to be tolerated? After all, it was not long after the arrival of Jip that my cousin Carolyn got a little sister (I offered to trade- she said "no.") I suggested to my mother that there was still time- we could try making him a girl and no one would ever know the distance. I tried to help her out by telling her that Daddy would like another little girl anyways cause he already had Danny and Danny was boy enough for the rest of our lives. My Mother, trying not to laugh, reassured me that there was no changing him, what was done was done, and that God had intended for me to have a brother and that I should be grateful. Little did she know, I threw a mini tantrum at God that day and set to praying that Jip would magically turn into a sister... or a kitten- I was okay with either outcome.
My Father informed me that for better of for worse, we were stuck with him. I asked him why Jip had to be so whiny. He told me that he was a baby and that's what babies do. When Jip started to crawl I asked him why Jip had to get into everything. He told me that's what babies do. When Jip learned to talk and right off the bat learned to tease me, I asked Daddy why Jip had to be so annoying. Instead of the answer I was expecting- that's what babies do- Daddy changed his line to, "It's in the brother contract- look it up." I've been looking for this contract for the last 21 years. If I ever find it I'm adding an amendment- thou shalt not bug thy sister.
When Jip was still relatively small I went into my baby phase and played with my baby doll all the time. I had named the baby "Princess" (a name I now detest) but despite my love for my doll, at the age of two I was incapable of caring for her properly. My mother tried to help me- Daddy never did. On one day while my Father was home alone with all three of his offspring I came into the room with my a fore mentioned doll. Danny was playing in his room and Jip was sleeping in his crib. I dragged Princess into the room by her ankle. I ran her into a wall. I think I even picked her up a few times and dropped her unceremoniously on her head. My Father watched, thinking to himself, it's a good thing that's not a real baby. Unfortunately for all parties concerned, as he was finishing this thought, Princess started kicking, only to reveal that not only was this not my Princess, but to add insult to injury, it was my baby brother, in my dolls pink frilly clothes. If you look closely you can see his look of fear because he's so close to me while I look annoyed at being near him. 21 years later, Jip still loves to tell this story when introducing me to his friends. Then he laughs, leans over from his massive five-ten frame, and gives me a side hug, saying, "And we've had the same loving relationship ever since."
Geeze- you dress a guy up in girl clothes and drag him around a few times two decades ago and he never forgets it. In short, I love my brother, but I don't always like him.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Public Notice
It has come to my attention (again) that people don't know what to do with me. I've lived in Texas for almost two years now (yay!) and during that time I have lived with my aunt and uncle (double yay!). Now to clear up some of the misconceptions that seem to be circulating AT CHURCH of all places.
That's right, people I am not a secret daughter from my uncle's fictional previous marriage, or a lovechild of the 80's. I am not my uncle's second wife (as a nice gentleman in Fort Stockton found out), and, more importantly, I am not LDS, LSD, Muslim, or Mormon. I am not my uncle or my aunt's younger sister (okay, perhaps that one is reasonable. If Tia had been born earlier in the lineup of the ten children family she comes from, I very well might have been. And my uncle has siblings younger than I am... five of them actually, but I digress.)
As one unlucky church lady found out this morning, I am not the mother of my three Ukrainian children and I did not move in with my aunt and uncle so that they could have a stable influence in their lives (yes, because I'm so wild!) I'm twenty-three. I have a bachelor's degree. I am finishing up a Texas Teaching Certificate that I may or may not use. I do not have a boyfriend, fiance, or husband, and to the best of my knowledge I am not prepping to enter a convent. I do not have any children, biological, adopted, or surrogate. I frequently take five of my younger cousins, age 10, 8, 7, 6, and 4 to Mass with me. When they are not with me they are with both their parents, not their long absent father. It would be impossible for me to be the mother of the first two and illegal for me to be the mother of the next one. I suppose in all technicality I could have given birth to the youngest two but the likelihood of me have a four-year-old or a six-year-old is somewhere between "a snowballs chance in hell" and my cat spontaneously combusting into a chartreuse cashmere, life-size model of Yankee Stadium. In other words- no.
I love the kids all greatly and they are mine... but in the "I love you because you are my family" way, not that "I love you because I went through labor with you" way. For the record, their mother did not go through the conventional labor with the youngest three either... she went through a different kind of labor. I sometimes spoil them (okay, I usually spoil them) and occasionally they misbehave but that's because they are kids... and not because I am an ill-fit teenage mother (well I would be a bad parent right now but that's more because I'm not married than my alleged drug addiction and rampant party ways.)
There now, I just have to post this in the Church bulletin... and wear it on my persons at all times and THEN maybe people might stop guessing during Mass. Gosh, Father really needs to spice up his sermons...
Sincerely,
The Gabbie Lady
That's right, people I am not a secret daughter from my uncle's fictional previous marriage, or a lovechild of the 80's. I am not my uncle's second wife (as a nice gentleman in Fort Stockton found out), and, more importantly, I am not LDS, LSD, Muslim, or Mormon. I am not my uncle or my aunt's younger sister (okay, perhaps that one is reasonable. If Tia had been born earlier in the lineup of the ten children family she comes from, I very well might have been. And my uncle has siblings younger than I am... five of them actually, but I digress.)
As one unlucky church lady found out this morning, I am not the mother of my three Ukrainian children and I did not move in with my aunt and uncle so that they could have a stable influence in their lives (yes, because I'm so wild!) I'm twenty-three. I have a bachelor's degree. I am finishing up a Texas Teaching Certificate that I may or may not use. I do not have a boyfriend, fiance, or husband, and to the best of my knowledge I am not prepping to enter a convent. I do not have any children, biological, adopted, or surrogate. I frequently take five of my younger cousins, age 10, 8, 7, 6, and 4 to Mass with me. When they are not with me they are with both their parents, not their long absent father. It would be impossible for me to be the mother of the first two and illegal for me to be the mother of the next one. I suppose in all technicality I could have given birth to the youngest two but the likelihood of me have a four-year-old or a six-year-old is somewhere between "a snowballs chance in hell" and my cat spontaneously combusting into a chartreuse cashmere, life-size model of Yankee Stadium. In other words- no. I love the kids all greatly and they are mine... but in the "I love you because you are my family" way, not that "I love you because I went through labor with you" way. For the record, their mother did not go through the conventional labor with the youngest three either... she went through a different kind of labor. I sometimes spoil them (okay, I usually spoil them) and occasionally they misbehave but that's because they are kids... and not because I am an ill-fit teenage mother (well I would be a bad parent right now but that's more because I'm not married than my alleged drug addiction and rampant party ways.)
There now, I just have to post this in the Church bulletin... and wear it on my persons at all times and THEN maybe people might stop guessing during Mass. Gosh, Father really needs to spice up his sermons...
Sincerely,
The Gabbie Lady
Saturday, December 24, 2011
I didn't give Santa cookies
Why do we give Santa milk and cookies? I realize that most children love these things (and therefore would understand the joy of sharing one of their favorite things) but really? Who ever thought it was such a hot idea to stuff an already overweight, elderly, white male who is riding around the world, directing a sleigh pulled by reindeer with MORE sugar? More than likely the sugar will either a) push him into diabetic shock, or b) induce a sugar coma, or c) put him to sleep which might be a danger given that he's FLYING. (I'm personally rooting for the sugar coma myself.) Instead here are some alternative suggestions of what people should leave for Santa that he might enjoy more.
6.) Heating pad. It's cold in that sleigh... it's cold everywhere tonight. I might even consider leaving Santa a heating blanket, space heater, and thermal underwear, just to be on the safe side. That's all we need but to have to call the fire department because Deyet Norose (Russian Santa Claus) froze to our chimney.
1.) Cheese. It's healthy, it has protein, and according to one commercial, it gets you better loot than any stinkin cookies.
2.) Carrots. He should be on a diet anyways and even if he doesn't like them, I'm sure Rudolph and the other reindeer will, and that's gotta go somewhere with him.
3.) Monster energy drink. They guy has been cramming for this trip for months and then is up for a solid twenty-four hours delivering all the presents and goodies. I'm sure anyone in that situation needs something to keep him awake.
4.) Pesto. It's not just for the Italians and quite honestly it's good on anything, including (but not limited to) a spoon. If someone served me pesto I'm sure I'd come back over and over again... even just to look for scraps.
5.) Chocolate. Okay maybe that's not the best idea given that we nixed the cookies because of the sugar but really- it's a comfort food and if nothing else I'm sure Santa could bring it back to Mrs. Claus in order to get back into her good graces, so really, this is in his best interest.
6.) Heating pad. It's cold in that sleigh... it's cold everywhere tonight. I might even consider leaving Santa a heating blanket, space heater, and thermal underwear, just to be on the safe side. That's all we need but to have to call the fire department because Deyet Norose (Russian Santa Claus) froze to our chimney. 7.) A nice cold beer. Taken directly from a Calvin and Hobbes comic book. Given his body mass I'm sure old Saint Nick is not a light weight but just the same I'd encourage leaving a note that encourage him to wait until he is safely in his own home before enjoying his cold beverage of choice.
8.) BLT sandwich. Admit it, after a long journey a real meal (not just dessert) is really helpful to keep you moving and I'm sure Santa feels the same way.
9.) Coffee. See number 3. Same concept- fewer cavities. Actually, given how long he's been up, perhaps an espresso machine would be more in order.
10.) Jim. Okay, maybe he wouldn't want my cat but I would sure love to give Santa Clause my cat- I'd even be willing to bribe him to do it.
11.) Vacuum Cleaner. You know, to clean up all the ashy footprints he tracks everywhere.
12.) I actually don't remember what I was going to put here, and since it is late I think I'll just post this, and when I remember (because I always do) I'll post it in comments. Merry Christmas to all... and Feliz Navidad to everyone else. God bless and peace be your footprints.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
A million pairs of flip flops
We try to encourage a sense of thankfulness in this household. In order to make it fun and more tactile we put them on colored post its that change shape with the season. For spring we had flowers and butterflies. For summer we had Suns and for Autumn we have apples. I just found an old sheet of gratitude's or blessings and thought I'd share them because they make me happy. I'll include the age of the kids who added them.
1) A love of history
2) Coffee
3) Ancient Egypt -8
4) Fun books -8
5) For my Calvin and Hobbes book which I am reading right now -4
6) Cars II -7
7) Star Wars Wii -5
8) Sleep-10 Oh yes, she's growing.
9) Big cars
10) Notebooks and paper
11) Finn McMissile -8
12) Cars 1 -4. We like Pixar movies here.
13) Letters from my goddaddy -7. Unfortunately for 7, his godparents live just close enough that we can visit them but just far enough that it is infrequent. He lives for those letters and enjoys them greatly, showing them off to EVERYONE for a week.
14) My pink water bottle -5
15) Little play school kits -10
16) Traffic and the patience it provides
17) My godbabies
18) For Rose -8
19) For my big Pinky -4 She has two pink bunnies- the bigger is called "Big Pinky" and the smaller is called "Little Pinky".
20) The three butterflies -7 At the time we were raising five chrysalis from caterpillars to butterfly and when we had left that morning there were still only three butterflies who had emerged. We returned home a few hours later to find the last two coming out.
21) Air conditioning and fans -7
22) For my favorite color- pink- 5
23) Whipped Cream- 10 She had just snitched it from my coffee.
24) Tender compassions of our God
25) For little boys
26) All museums that I have been to -8
27) The great play museum -4 Cause, ya know, we got to play there.
28) For tractors and Texas- 7. I love little boys
29) Coming to live with Gabbie, Boo, Mama, Papa, and Bear. -5. I would just like to point out that in this lineup, *I* came first.
30) "Our" Ukrainian Treasures. -10. This was a running joke because we went to an exhibit on Ukraine entitled "Ukrainian Treasures".
31) Purple semis and orange butterflies and pink roses. All things that remind us that God loves us.
32) A million pairs of flip-flops, some of which match.
33) Disney and my family. -8. The order of this one amuses me.
34) Animal and Princesses and presents- peace on earth. -4. She is attempting to steal this from the Muppet Family Christmas
35) The letter "S" -7 This gratitude brought to you by Sesame Street.
36) for purple roses. -5
37) Weird cheeses. -10
38) Sage brush and chapparal. I have no clue what that last word is.
39)Cute Catholic Boys. I would just like to point out that though this one is by me; it is a running joke. I still think it's funny.
40) Daddy and everything he does for us. -8 says the little boy who didn't have to help make dinner because Papa made it before we got home.
41) For all my owies. -4. For a child who is constantly plagued with scratches she has an unusual fondness for them.
42) Toy Story characters -7
43) Jack, Bennie, and Aurora. -5. These are the names of our cars.
44) Archaeologists -10
45) Cellphones
1) A love of history
2) Coffee
3) Ancient Egypt -8
4) Fun books -8
5) For my Calvin and Hobbes book which I am reading right now -4
6) Cars II -7
7) Star Wars Wii -5
8) Sleep-10 Oh yes, she's growing. 9) Big cars
10) Notebooks and paper
11) Finn McMissile -8
12) Cars 1 -4. We like Pixar movies here.
13) Letters from my goddaddy -7. Unfortunately for 7, his godparents live just close enough that we can visit them but just far enough that it is infrequent. He lives for those letters and enjoys them greatly, showing them off to EVERYONE for a week.
14) My pink water bottle -5
15) Little play school kits -10
16) Traffic and the patience it provides
17) My godbabies
18) For Rose -8
19) For my big Pinky -4 She has two pink bunnies- the bigger is called "Big Pinky" and the smaller is called "Little Pinky".
20) The three butterflies -7 At the time we were raising five chrysalis from caterpillars to butterfly and when we had left that morning there were still only three butterflies who had emerged. We returned home a few hours later to find the last two coming out.
21) Air conditioning and fans -7
22) For my favorite color- pink- 5
23) Whipped Cream- 10 She had just snitched it from my coffee.
24) Tender compassions of our God
25) For little boys
26) All museums that I have been to -8
27) The great play museum -4 Cause, ya know, we got to play there.
28) For tractors and Texas- 7. I love little boys
29) Coming to live with Gabbie, Boo, Mama, Papa, and Bear. -5. I would just like to point out that in this lineup, *I* came first.
30) "Our" Ukrainian Treasures. -10. This was a running joke because we went to an exhibit on Ukraine entitled "Ukrainian Treasures".
31) Purple semis and orange butterflies and pink roses. All things that remind us that God loves us.
32) A million pairs of flip-flops, some of which match.
33) Disney and my family. -8. The order of this one amuses me.
34) Animal and Princesses and presents- peace on earth. -4. She is attempting to steal this from the Muppet Family Christmas
35) The letter "S" -7 This gratitude brought to you by Sesame Street.
36) for purple roses. -5
37) Weird cheeses. -10
38) Sage brush and chapparal. I have no clue what that last word is.
39)Cute Catholic Boys. I would just like to point out that though this one is by me; it is a running joke. I still think it's funny.
40) Daddy and everything he does for us. -8 says the little boy who didn't have to help make dinner because Papa made it before we got home.
41) For all my owies. -4. For a child who is constantly plagued with scratches she has an unusual fondness for them.
42) Toy Story characters -7
43) Jack, Bennie, and Aurora. -5. These are the names of our cars.
44) Archaeologists -10
45) Cellphones
Thoughts from the driver's seat
* I generally drive with small children in my car. It's one of the reasons I love my car but it also inspires me to frequently question what the rest of the world is thinking. I try my best to shield my chargers from harm- both physical, spiritual, and mental. These are some of the things that have come to mind while I have been driving. *
I hold grudges while driving- if you turtle back, break check, cut me off, road rage, or shove me over, I will attempt to think the best of you, praying that you are
a) rushing to your dying father's side.
b) your wife is in labor in the backseat... with triplets
c) your child is dying and you need to rush him to the hospital
I will pray for you as best I can but keep in mind I will never like, support, or respect any of the kitchy bumper-stickers I see on your car.
Ambulances, rain, and ramps are a reason to slow down- not pass me on the shoulder at high speeds.
If I recognize you as you do something to endanger my chargers or my car, expect to hear about it later. If I meet you later you had better pray that I am not interviewing you for a job, house, or interview- it will not turn out in your favor as I remember faces and license plates very well when I'm angry.
Speed limits are not a suggestion. Neither are turn signals.
I will laugh if you are pulled over by the cops because of speeding, driving recklessly, or you just failed to get off your phone long enough to realize you are being dangerous... and stupid... stupidly dangerous... dangerously stupid.
I realize my car is not as big as most on the road in Texas where the most popular vehicle is a double cab, double wide, pickup, but just because I'm small does not make me invisible and if you get too close I will lay on the horn.
If you have something emblazoned on your car and you wouldn't want your mother, your pastor, or God to read/see it, please don't. There are a great many things I would prefer not to explain to small children in this lifetime.
If I pass you while I'm driving, please don't take it as a personal affront on your driving- I'm probably trying to admire your sweet car from my rear view mirror.
If you are in a car, stay on the road. If you are not in a car, stay off the road.
Sometimes everyone slowing down would induce you to believe that you should as well.
I love Texas weather and the scenery in Austin; please don't ruin it for me by going crazy.
Life isn't a video game and wild weather is not a boost to the next level. Please be careful- I drive with small children.
You may be ready to die, but I'm not- see previous thought bubble.
If you are going twenty miles under the speed limit and there is not traffic, expect people to pass you and do not be offended. You may only take offense if we fire snowballs and/or water pistols at you. Wildlife on the road require caution, not blaring of horns or speeding up. The same finesse should be observed with accident scenes.
If the sign says it, please do it. They write the instructions down so that you can understand and be one with traffic rather than be one with the highway.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
You just can't make this stuff up
For anyone in need of a laugh... consider my week...
1.) Jonathan asked me the other day, "Which is older- God, Papa, or nothing?"
Of course I answered, "God."
He snickered and replied, "No, the answer is nothing- cause nothing is older than God."
2.) My goddaughter Maria, who claims to have attained seven years of age, tried to feed her fish chocolate today. Fortunately my Father and her Mother attempted a rescue mission but failed as one (or both) of them dropped the fish down the garbage disposal. He was later rescued via a spoon and my father's fingers, while my Mother, my Uncle, and at least one of my brothers watched on helplessly, holding their sides with laughter.
3.) Thoughts on Thanksgiving and the mass production and encouraged obesity of turkeys for the sole purpose of eating them. Anything that says, "gobble, gobble, gobble" deserves to be eaten.
4.) My other goddaughter- Irene- tried to wear my three inch heal, goth boots up the stairs. When I caught her she said, "Look! I'm Gabbie! Howdy, howdy, howdy!"
5.) When attempting to diet one should always consider listening to the post mortem, embalming techniques as described by the four-year-old. (btw- I'm not sure if it's spelled "mortem" or "mortum" or any other way because spell check continuously corrects it to be "moron.")
6.) When walking into the movie theatre to see the new Muppet movie, I lost two little girls who were too busy pointing out that there is a poster of Darth Maul, and screaming, "IT'S GABBIE!!!!"
7.) I am currently stalled on my last two scarves because the cat decided to get entangled in them some time in the last twenty four hours... Maybe I should just stuff Jim and give him to the kids instead of making them scarves?
8.) And if you still need a laugh... just consider the new Twilight movie, resting assured that a new book spoiler will be out soon. :)
1.) Jonathan asked me the other day, "Which is older- God, Papa, or nothing?"
Of course I answered, "God."
He snickered and replied, "No, the answer is nothing- cause nothing is older than God."
2.) My goddaughter Maria, who claims to have attained seven years of age, tried to feed her fish chocolate today. Fortunately my Father and her Mother attempted a rescue mission but failed as one (or both) of them dropped the fish down the garbage disposal. He was later rescued via a spoon and my father's fingers, while my Mother, my Uncle, and at least one of my brothers watched on helplessly, holding their sides with laughter.
3.) Thoughts on Thanksgiving and the mass production and encouraged obesity of turkeys for the sole purpose of eating them. Anything that says, "gobble, gobble, gobble" deserves to be eaten.
4.) My other goddaughter- Irene- tried to wear my three inch heal, goth boots up the stairs. When I caught her she said, "Look! I'm Gabbie! Howdy, howdy, howdy!"
5.) When attempting to diet one should always consider listening to the post mortem, embalming techniques as described by the four-year-old. (btw- I'm not sure if it's spelled "mortem" or "mortum" or any other way because spell check continuously corrects it to be "moron.")6.) When walking into the movie theatre to see the new Muppet movie, I lost two little girls who were too busy pointing out that there is a poster of Darth Maul, and screaming, "IT'S GABBIE!!!!"
7.) I am currently stalled on my last two scarves because the cat decided to get entangled in them some time in the last twenty four hours... Maybe I should just stuff Jim and give him to the kids instead of making them scarves?
8.) And if you still need a laugh... just consider the new Twilight movie, resting assured that a new book spoiler will be out soon. :)
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Why there are Editors in the World
*Ahem.
A letter composed by Four to her Godmother (who has not seen her in a little over a year)
as typed verbatim by the Gabbie Lady.
Dear Godmommy Cat,
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
Dear Godmommy,
Dear godmommy,
dear Godmommy,
That’s it.
Nothing else.
Buh-bye.
Mmm-hmmm. "
(There were interspersed giggles and snickers as well but I didn't write those down as I did not think they were important and therefore didn't write them down.)
Saturday, November 12, 2011
October
I don't do things by halves. When I am happy I am deliriously, uncontrollably, completely happy. When I am angry I can do nothing but grouch around the house. When I am excited I dance around, singing, and bouncing, barely able to contain my joy. When I am sad I don't talk to anyone. October was a bad month here in Texas. Some of the things were big like my best friend getting in an accident that totaled her car (everyone was okay and walked away from the accident... except for her eight month old who could not even crawl at the time) and some were little such as finding a gallon of near exploding, rotten milk in the back of my car (I had to spear it so it wouldn't explode- after I relocated it to the grass... far from my car. It exploded still). I could go on and on about how very EXCITING last month was but I'm not sure I could make it funny so I'm not going to try.
In college I was in a few bands, one of which was made up entirely of indecisive women. The week before a band competition we were trying desperately to come up with a band name and after several days of really STUPID suggestion I screamed in frustration, "Just come up with SOMETHING SERIOUS!" It stuck and forever afterwards that was our name. It was cheesy- we were in college- don't judge. The irony was that we never performed anything serious. We did a rendition of Dance with me Daddy that made everyone want a hug, and round of I Need A Hero that made every roll over laughing, and a song that we wrote called Set Me as a Seal (cause everyone needs a stereotypical love song) but we were far from "serious". The real irony that since my band disbanded (pun intended) I've been far more serious. I don't really share my emotions when they are the hardest to deal with and most of the worst parts of my life I don't talk about until years later. My silence this last month is the only way I can express how very hard it was and how scared I was. For the first time since I was five I cried in public and for the first time since I was eighteen I left a message on my brother's phone that was incoherent because I was so close to tears. I felt guilty having a birthday and I even missed Wilfred Owen's death day too! (For those that don't know- I LOVE Wilfred Owen... bordering on obsession) I won't show anyone what I wrote the week after we lost Jon but I will try to explain what I was going through.
In college I was in a few bands, one of which was made up entirely of indecisive women. The week before a band competition we were trying desperately to come up with a band name and after several days of really STUPID suggestion I screamed in frustration, "Just come up with SOMETHING SERIOUS!" It stuck and forever afterwards that was our name. It was cheesy- we were in college- don't judge. The irony was that we never performed anything serious. We did a rendition of Dance with me Daddy that made everyone want a hug, and round of I Need A Hero that made every roll over laughing, and a song that we wrote called Set Me as a Seal (cause everyone needs a stereotypical love song) but we were far from "serious". The real irony that since my band disbanded (pun intended) I've been far more serious. I don't really share my emotions when they are the hardest to deal with and most of the worst parts of my life I don't talk about until years later. My silence this last month is the only way I can express how very hard it was and how scared I was. For the first time since I was five I cried in public and for the first time since I was eighteen I left a message on my brother's phone that was incoherent because I was so close to tears. I felt guilty having a birthday and I even missed Wilfred Owen's death day too! (For those that don't know- I LOVE Wilfred Owen... bordering on obsession) I won't show anyone what I wrote the week after we lost Jon but I will try to explain what I was going through.
Grief
You wake up screaming
When there is not a sound
And you think someone’s grabbed you
When there’s no one around
It is the echoing silence
That’s so loud you cannot think
And you are scared to miss
What might happen if you blink
When you can talk to strangers
But not your best friends
And you keep hoping you’ll wake up
But this hell never ends
You feel guilty when you laugh
Because it means you’re still alive
And you wonder what he would have done better
If he hadn’t died.
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