Rolling on Shabbos.

In honor of our anniversary, and also to celebrate Jason's birthday, we're rolling on Shabbos at the Superbowl in Tarrant this Saturday night. We're all dressing up as characters from The Big Lebowski, and I think it's going to be a great time. The lanes are officially reserved from 8:00 until 11:00, and I'm AWFULLY excited about it. I hope to see some serious action from The Jesus, The Dude, Walter, and all the heavy hitters. I hope to see you all there.

Four. Or five. Or six, if we're starting with the first time I really thought about you.

I've been thinking a lot about friends and lovers and family and what it all means, what it means to be friends and lovers and family.

I've talked a lot lately about trying, making a concentrated effort to be a good person.

I just think that it's so hard to be sincere and honest AND think about the effect you're having on other people. Not impossible, but hard. It takes a lot of thought and time and attention span to think that way, to think about the future and other people's brains and your own brain and your desires and feelings and other people's desires and feelings. It's easy to say what you want to say, to put your two cents in, to make your opinion heard. It's harder to live the life that you want to live and hold onto everything that you love.

I've had a lot of concerns lately about Kane, his being eleven, his being in sixth grade, his inching towards teenagerhood. We've all either been through it or are heading towards it, so I know it's not an impossible mountain to climb. But I feel very much like I wish it could be easier, or I wish he could just already know the self-aware, stand-up, impossibly smart person that he's going to be in ten years. I wish we could skip this part where people are mean and it hurts him. He told us recently that he can't wear this particular jacket he has, this corduroy jacket with a fleece collar, a jacket that Jason and I both have exact versions of, because "I already get called a nerd enough". It's heartbreaking in a very personal way having been a person who had to start finding ways to endure acne jokes at the age of eight, a person who was "weird", a person who wore clothes from Bargain Town and went to school not knowing that there was anything about her that deserved ridicule. And I know that a lot of us withstood ridicule, that I'm not special in that experience. But that doesn't make it any easier when your eleven-year-old tears up when you ask him how his day was.

Jude is pretty solid right now. He tears up when we make him do his homework, or when sundown is too close to let him wander the neighborhood, or when we won't let him have that thirteenth piece of candy. He is impossibly cool. I wish I was as unapologetic about my coolness.

I feel constant pity for their mother, a woman who tries to find ways to spend less time with them. She is missing out on her children, on actual human beings that her body made, and when I look at Reed and every time my body aches because I have to leave him with people who are not his family I wonder how Mary can seek this out, can actively seek out how to spend less time with them. Every time I hear them talk in their sleep I think how it's a special gift, an inside joke that she's giving away to a crazy person who obsesses about socks.

Reed is a powerhouse, a tiny little person who has his own agenda and his own rules and tells us all about his life at every chance he gets. He tells us that there are boogers in his ears, that the kitty hit him, that he wants wadah and fizzy-fizzy and be-bies (water and coke and french fries, the basis of any healthy diet), and I ache to my core when I look at him because I know that I have an open invitation to totally fuck him up if I make him anything like myself. PLEASE, GOD, LET HIM BE NORMAL, let him be sure of himself and unafraid and steadfast and hardworking, let him be a good man who takes care of his family and loves his wife/husband/significant other/children/whathaveyou, let him be a person who can stay calm and remember himself and let water slide off the duck's back, PLEASE just let him be a rock, a stable person who loves life and sucks it through his teeth at every turn.

And God, while you're at it, please let me be a woman who is constantly thankful for the man in my life, a man who is a rock and is constantly reminding me how to be positive and excited and happy for my life.

Happy anniversary, Jason. I love you.

All these poses, these beautiful poses.

All these poses, these beautiful poses.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Know what happens when you go out into the hall to take pictures at two in the morning after a lot of beer-drinking?

Reedy.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Well, we had a lovely Thanksgiving. We ate Thanksgiving dinner about four times, I think, and I am feeling good about it.

Jason's birthday was yesterday; he is now not only an old man, he's an older man. We celebrated by going to his brother's house where we drank beer, watched the kids scream, and tested Reed's limits concerning his bedtime. IT WAS INTERESTING. I told Jason that part of what is so disorienting about being with his family is that they MUST have the television turned up to THERE, that level where you can't hear anything but the t.v., and they won't ever let you watch something for more than five minutes. I'm serious. I watched maybe ten minutes of a football game, five minutes of Father of the Bride, five minutes of some kind of special about Garth Brooks, five minutes of country music videos, and five minutes of some movie with Diane Keaton and Mandy Moore. After a while you forget where you are and what you're doing there.

There's a lot coming up, including our fourth wedding anniversary and the party we're throwing in honor of it (and in honor of Jason's birthday). I'm also planning our Christmas party, Reed's birthday party, and working on our Christmas cards. Lately I've been holding it together pretty well, even enjoying moments in which I feel like I can handle all of this. Don't worry; it'll pass.

Now is the time for pie.

DSC_0182.jpg
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Wow. My bad. I have been really terrible at getting to the computer lately.

Work has been really, bizarro crazy lately. I work in an industry that really capitalizes on the holidays, on people's desires to have their houses look like the houses in the magazines at Christmas time, and it makes for an interesting work day.

We went to see Captured By Robots on Sunday night, and it was AWESOME. If you haven't seen robots play instruments and sing then you haven't lived.

Reed is right smack-dab in the middle of the terrible two's. He'll turn two in a couple of weeks, but believe me when I say that the terrible part has begun. The last couple of weeks have been filled with tantrums, writhing fits, screaming until he's hoarse, kicking and screaming, crying and screaming- basically all things that make me want to stick my head in the front door and slam it repeatedly. Right now as I type this, he's in the living room screaming and crying because he wants to sit on the desk and poke the caps lock key. I CANNOT TYPE THAT WAY. My caps placement is very specific.

Two of my oldest friends got married last Saturday, and we were fortunate enough to be able to be there and take pictures. It was really lovely and sweet, so sweet that we all had tears in our eyes by the time it was over.

But it's okay; there was beer hidden in the basement. Once we found it, the crying was remedied. Wonder if the same thing would work with Reed?

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. Thank you for reading, for being my friends, for caring, for listening. I hope your day is filled with as much screaming and pie-eating as mine will be.

Amanda,

You know, it's been a long time. A long time that we've been friends, a long time that I've gotten to know you, a long time since I used to get mad every time you and Deanna got the last seat on the bus because that one would bounce you the highest when our clinically insane bus driver would drive us down that back road with all the curves and bumps at about sixty miles an hour. That was fourteen years ago, and if anyone had asked me then if I would be attending your wedding, if I would count you as one my favorite people, I would have said "I don't know but that bitch needs to let me sit in that seat JUST FOR ONE FREAKING DAY, God!"

I was in the midst of a hormonal breakdown back then. LUCKILY THINGS HAVE CHANGED.

Amanda, you are one of the nicest, just sincerely nice people I have ever known. I know that sounds trite and meaningless, but I mean it an the most meaningful way, because no one I know is always nice. I'm not always nice, my kid is not always nice, and you are always nice. You are thoughtful and sweet and when I have a conversation with you I can see that you are not only listening to what I'm saying but also emoting, thinking about how I feel about whatever tripe I'm whining about that week, and it makes me feel immediately close to you.

I'm so glad that we're still friends, and that we can still talk like old friends when we see each other. It can be hard sometimes to hold onto what makes people want to be friends in the first place. When you and John moved away I prayed that we would still be buddies and feared that we wouldn't. Luckily I'm an idiot and besides the fact that we don't see each other as often, it didn't really change anything.

I'm not going to spout off any random marriage advice, because let's face it, I'm lucky that Jason has put up with me this long. You and John have been living together for a while now, so not that much will change. The main thing will be the mentality- knowing that the only way to break up now is an expensive legal procedure.

It's also about knowing that you live with someone who looked at you and thought, "I need to find some way to bind myself to that woman forever, because she is just that awesome." It's a beautiful thing, and I know that some people find marriage altogether unnecessary, and that's understandable. But I find it to be lovely and exciting and awe-inspiring that people are able to think that about each other- able to think that it's not enough to wake up every day looking at each other, not enough to eat most meals together or help each other with chores or go places together. Marriage is, at least some times, for people who want to go one step further, who want to cement that breathless feeling, that wiggle in the tummy with something spiritual and ceremonial that isn't just to let other people know how you feel, but also to let your girlfriend/boyfriend know how you feel.

Plus, if it doesn't work out, you're entitled to half of his shit. GO FOR THE TV, AMANDA.

I'm obviously kidding.

If Jason and I had more money, we would have gotten you guys awesome presents. Possibly a pair of Segways. As it is, we can offer you our friendship, support, and a pair of smiling faces. Oh, and three kids- if you guys are ever in the market for a few kids, call us. We can hook you up.

Some times I get the menstrual cramps REAL HARD.

First, I made myself a plate of heavenly goodness, a crispy, fluffy, cheesy gift from the heavens, a Mexican omelette this morning. I have honestly never had a Mexican omelette before. I was on my way home from dropping Reed at school and I was thinking about making fried eggs, and I OF COURSE started thinking about salsa and sour creams, so I decided to throw some tomato and cheese in an omelette, stick some salsa and sour creams on top and go to town. It was RIGHT, is all I have to say.

Second, Reed stayed in bed until nine o'clock this morning. I cannot tell you how wonderful it was, how much I thought God has finally decided to throw me a bone, how utterly confused I felt when he finally seemed ready to get up. He woke up at his usual time, but when I tried to get him out of bed he laid down and yelled "NOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOO!", closed his eyes, and covered up. As I was out late playing poker last night, I didn't have the energy to force him out of the bed, so I went back to bed myself. He stayed in bed and sang and counted and dozed until nine, NINE I TELL YOU, when he finally called out "Daddy at work?" which is baby talk for, "I know that my father is at work, so I will just have to deal with the fact that I have to hang out with the lesser half of my parenting team, my mother. Okay."

If my child suddenly turns into one of those kids who stays in bed until nine o'clock, it will be okay if I die because my life won't be able to get any better.

Third, lots of things. Last Saturday I helped two other people put chair covers and sashes on 400 chairs. I was bent over from ten until four that day, and not in the good way, okay? But that night I spent time with some of my best girlfriends and helped celebrate the fact that John and Amanda, two of my oldest friends, are getting married this Saturday. Besides the requisite excitement about this new step, this beautiful moment in their lives, I'M excited because Jason and I are taking pictures. We are slowly but surely building up our wedding portfolios, and it's good. Also, I'm continuing on my path to becoming a good person. I notice little changes, little differences in my thought patterns, and it feels good. My grandfather who I never met always said, "Remember who you are." I'm working on it.

Now is the time for my ass to grow.

Last night was Halloween, and it was another Halloween in which we didn't really get any good pictures of our children in their costumes. Kane was a dementor, Jude was a scary clown, and Reed was a monkey. Again.

You know how when you put clothes on cats, they sort of freeze up and act dead? That's what Reed does when you dress him up in a monkey costume. He would be very still, and wouldn't move his head but instead would look at you out of the corners of his eyes, as if to say, "SHIT THE BED. I'm in a monkey costume and I can't get out."

Jason and I didn't dress up this year for the first time since we started this adventure we call Trying To Deal With Each Other's Shit (except for the Halloween when I was pregnant; nothing counts during pregnancy). I'm going to have to go back and find some old pictures, because we have been some interesting stuff- a professor and a naughty school girl (I was the school girl, surprisingly enough), '70's porn stars, nuns. Good stuff. But we already have a good idea of what we're dressing up as next year. Only 363 days to go!

But at least I can fill these next few hundred days with eating candy. Kane and Jude are really good at replenishing my candy stash- Jude alone brought home 243 pieces of delicious candy last night.

If only one could trick or treat for bigger pants.

Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez.

Well, New Orleans was wonderful. I always tell everyone that every time I'm there I feel like I'm home, and then I get sad when I have to come back to Alabama. Jason says it's because I was born in Louisiana. I don't know, but I know I love it.

While we were there, I rekindled my love for Talk Soup. I also learned a lot about jelly fish and predators that use the ambush technique to capture their prey. I ate Mexican food, Vietnamese food, Spanish food, and Whole Food. I went to a house party where there was a sweet dj who opened up with early Michael Jackson. The weather was really perfect for being New Orleans- sunny and breezy, perfect temperatures for walking in the Quarter without getting hot and sweaty, cool enough at night to wear a pretty sweater.

Being back home with Reed is fun. This morning after he ate breakfast, I picked him up from the table to find that he had oatmeal underneath both of his arms. The kid can get oatmeal in his armpits. He lets the good times roll, let me tell you.

Check.

Well, last week was semi-productive, in that I got some things done that had been on the to-do list for a few months. Yes, MONTHS.

I got my oil changed. Well, I got Jason to get my oil changed while I was at work. It got done, okay? This is good because we're driving to New Orleans this Friday, so now we won't break down in Shit, Mississippi where there are no gas stations and no friendly faces. Look, I know every state has some places that creep foreigners out, but driving across Mississippi is pretty bleak. Especially when you do it late at night. Fortunately, this trip will be made during daylight hours, so no worries.

I also got my license renewed. It expired in June, people, and I've been thinking all these months how bad it would be to get pulled over and have my car impounded because I'm not prompt. But now I don't have to worry about that at all. The problem is that the new picture is awful, really AWFUL. It makes me wish that you could just bring your own picture to the DMV and let them laminate that onto your new license. I've got quite a few that I wouldn't mind whipping out every time an officer says, "Have you been drinking?"













Because once he saw it he'd think, "Well, obviously not THAT much."

Fun with counting.

Oh, man, work is getting me down. Don't you love having someone say "Hey, you!" and snap their fingers at you? It's marvelous. I marvel at it. Really.

The job search is discouraging as well, as I have gotten no phone calls. Except from bill collectors.

Those guys don't do much for my morale either. I have gotten repeated phone calls from not one, not two, but THREE different collectors for bills that I paid already. Yes, the whole telemarketer auto-dial thing has been explained to me. I still fucking hate it. I think that technology ain't as far ahead of its time as it thinks it is when I can pay a bill online, the money can come out of my checking account, and OLD NAVY AND THE GAP still want to call me THE NEXT DAY, and then THE DAY AFTER THAT, and then AGAIN AND AGAIN for DAYS IN A ROW to ask me why I haven't paid my bill. It apparently only took them about two weeks to get caught up; they've finally stopped calling. At least the Target people politely invite me to check out their clearance racks when they call to collect.

In related news, Old Navy has placed a note on my account that says, "She won't hesitate to use the word 'fuck' when you call her." I hope all their people are eighteen and up.

They.

I'd noticed lately that every time I use our computer, there's a folded piece of paper hanging over the top and front of the monitor. I figured that it must have some important password or some other kind of information that Jason didn't want to lose, so he put it there where he could get to it easily.

One day when I sat down to check my email, Jason said, "Oh, yeah, had you noticed my paper?" I nodded. He said, "I hate that fucking webcam being stuck in the top of the monitor. I just know that 'they're' watching me."

It totally cracked me up. And you know, since that day, every time I pick my nose sitting at the computer, I figure "they're" laughing. And then I pick up that piece of paper and hang it over the webcam.

A bunch of girls who sing "Wasted On Your Love" AND cover "Round and Round" by Ratt? They're alright with me.

Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Thanks to the generosity of my good friend Dave, I went to see The Donnas at Bottletree last night. Thanks to the generosity of my good friend Brock, I took some nice pictures of them. Honestly I didn't really know anything about their music; I was pleasantly surprised. I have to admit that, listening to their music on Myspace today, I think the live show is much better than the recordings. They are raw, energetic, tough, and tight. Somehow all that gets lost on the recordings.

The wedding on Saturday went extremely well. The weather was more perfect than I could have asked for- very sunny, a light breeze, warm but not hot. We got a lot of great pictures, and I'll be posting some soon to my Flickr. I figure we should get them to the happy couple before we start posting them to the internets.

The girl who hooked us up with that wedding told Jason that she has two more lined up for us. SCORE. Liz, my first-born child is kind of a pain in the ass, but I'll give you the next one, I promise.

Reedy.

Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Tomorrow morning, Reed will take the last dose of the antibiotic that his doctor prescribed last week. He's finally acting well; the fever has been gone for nearly a week, and the cough has quieted quite a bit in the last few days.

He will probably remember this last week as one of the best in his life- not because of all the love and tenderness he's received from his mommy and daddy, but because of all the suckers. We ceased to be able to get him to take his medicine somewhere around last Friday. He would literally writhe about, scream, and spit the medicine out. After I had offered him everything I could think of, including daddy's car and mommy's credit cards and all of Kane and Jude's toys, I randomly said, "What about candy? Do you want a nice sucker?" The moment those words left my lips he sat up, turned to face us, opened his mouth and swallowed the medicine. As there were quite a few days of antibiotic left, we went out a bought a large bag of Dum Dums. Every morning and evening now, I say "Okay, it's time to take your medicine." He replies, "Candy?" I say, "You have to take your medicine." He replies firmly, "Sucker." Like at first it's an exited question- you mean it's time for candy? But when I let him know that he's definitely going to be swallowing some nasty medicine, he lets me know in no uncertain terms that I'm going to be wearing it unless I'm prepared to buy him off with a tasty treat.

Kane's results from taking the SAT and the ARMT (Alabama Reading and Math Test) at the end of last year finally came in and it's official- he's a genius. Seriously, the kid got a perfect score on several different sections, and is in the 95th to 100th percentile in most subjects. He's smart like Reed is big. He's been invited to join the scholar's bowl which is the team of nerds that travels to other schools to see if they can out-nerd the other school's nerd-team. It's okay; I can say that because I was on the nerd-team in high school. I'm saying it from the inside.

Anyway, he's really freakin' smart. NOW do you see why I start to rip off my own fingernails when he says he can't remember to put his socks in the dirty clothes or put his dishes in the dish washer?

(For any of you who don't see, it's the irritation. That's the answer.)

I know, I KNOW, that there is at least one person right now who is thinking about leaving a comment about how Kane is just SO SMART that he is INCAPABLE of thinking about mundane, every-day things, that he has SO MUCH going through his head at any given moment that I cannot reasonably expect him to think about such tiny details as where his soiled clothing ends up at the end of the day.

To that person I say, you're probably right. You know, for me, dropping my clothes in the hamper or picking up my dishes after I eat is automatic; it's almost an autopilot kind of thing. I don't think about it, I just do it. It's kind of like how people automatically move or duck when someone throws something at them. Kane, on the other hand, gets hit with stuff all the time. Seriously, literally, he never seems to be able to get out of the way. He gets hit in the face with balls, and he doesn't pick up his socks. That's the price he has to pay for being able to recall every second of every episode ever of Naruto.

Bitter pill.

Oh, man, so I almost DIED last night. I mean, I probably didn't almost die, but I had a bad experience. So, same diff.

My doctor prescribed me phenergan last week when I was having this really long, drawn out stomach virus. Last night I was feeling really crappy, so I decided to take one. I had noticed that when I swallowed them they started dissolving really quickly, because I can always taste them a little- they taste pretty bad, too. Anyway, last night I thought, "This will knock me out and make me feel good and make me sleep really well, so why the hell not?" So I pop the little sucker in my mouth and take a swig of water and swallow. Lo and behold, the damn thing sticks to the back of my throat and starts dissolving- I could feel that it stuck right to that little place that opens and closes when you swallow. Let me tell you, IT FUCKING BURNED. I kept swallowing water and finally the majority of it went down, but there was still a nice little hunk stuck there, dissolving and running down my throat and FUCKING BURNING.

The next thing I knew it felt like my throat was closing up because it turns out the lining of my throat was absorbing the phenergan and getting numb. It got pretty hard to swallow, and talking was weird, and I can't say enough about the SON OF A BITCHIN' BURNING, y'all. I was guzzling water and shoving candy and popsicles down my throat as fast as possible to try and wash all of it down.

Anyway, I survived, but God I SO ALMOST DIED LAST NIGHT.

Nowadays.

Oh internets, how I love thee.

Reed and I have been sick all week long, and I just haven't walked the eight feet from the living room into the office/rec room/stinky cat litter room to do anything on the computer. Now I am salivating just thinking about all the good stuff I can do; you know how when you check your email and all your favorite websites daily it never takes you long to get caught up? But you know how when it's been a while, there's lots and lots of juicy stuff to read and look at? I love it. Go Fug Yourself, here I come. Dooce? Yes, please.

Reed and I both had a stomach virus, one that has lasted almost two weeks at this point. I think mine has gone away, but Reed is still having orange, squishy poo. HAHA! I bet you didn't wake up this morning thinking, "I'm going to go read about someone else's bowel movements." Gotcha! I've also got some nasty sinus stuff and a cough, and Reed has a pretty nasty ear infection that in turn has caused the awfully runny nose and the wet cough and fever. Our house is SO MUCH FUN right now, what with all the coughing and medicine and tissues and my OBSESSIVE shushing once we finally get Reed to sleep.

I'm hoping the next few weeks will be a little easier. We're photographing a wedding next weekend, and two weeks after that we're headed to New Orleans where I'll hang out with two of our best friends and drink beer and Jason will take pictures at Voodoo Fest JASON IF YOU SEE ZACK DE LA ROCHA YOU BEST PUT HIM IN YOUR POCKET AND BRING HIM HOME.

Plus, one of my best friends got fired this week, which I have chosen to see as a GOOD thing, because that means maybe she'll have to move in with us and then I'll have an automatic drinking/dancing/listening to Hall and Oats partner like, ALL THE TIME.

I have to say that I fear that Jude's teacher this year is unnecessarily hardassed.

Jude is in RLC this year, a gifted class that pulls him out of his regular class one day a week. In a meeting at the beginning of the year, the RLC teacher assured us that the kids would never have to make up work from their regular classes that they missed while in RLC. And still Jude has been bringing home worksheets every week that he says are make-up work from his class. Plus, he says that the class acts up while the RLC kids are gone, and then the whole class- including the RLC group- have to have "silent lunches", no snack, and no recess for several days in a row. Also, regardless of any make-up work, Jude will be doing homework until eight p.m. some nights.

Now I know that teachers have a hard job, and that kids are tough and wild and will act up and take advantage and manipulate and all that. However, I think expecting an eight-year-old to do homework for four hours straight or sit through an entire lunch without talking is severe. I also think that those eight-year-olds who miss an entire evening of fun activities like riding bikes or jumping on the trampoline or playing video games because they've had to do all that homework are going to get a little wound up when they're then told not to talk at the lunch table, and then told that they can't have recess, and then told that they can't have snack. Seems a bit much, don't you think? I'm not a teacher, but there must be some way to isolate and punish the kids who are actually causing the problems (they send home marks every night, so I would know by now if Jude was one of the troublemakers), at least enough that all three of those punishments wouldn't be necessary for every single kid in the class.

Anyway, I just wanted to comment on how teachers can take things overboard sometimes, and to their own detriment I think. I mean, once she's made all these young kids endure all that punishment, who has to deal with them? She does. And I just think punishment that extensive doesn't inspire fear in the kids, it inspires deviousness and skepticism. Before she knows it those kids are going to be clawing at the walls to try and get out of there.

Rootin' tootin'.

Reed and I have been suffering from a mild stomach virus this week, mild because there hasn't been any vomiting, but stomach virus because there has been much loose stool and tooting and cramping and moaning and nausea. For Reed, not for me. Okay, for me too. I TOOT. I am human, after all.

I went out on Monday night, leaving Jason home to contend with Reed, and he said that he was up and crying most of the time until about 1:00 a.m. when, writhing around in our bed with Jason, Reed let out a very long, very painful sounding, VERY STINKY toot, after which he whispered the word "better" and promptly fell asleep.

I felt sentimental upod hearing a toot story. Being a parent is touching in the most bizarre ways.

Peeps got to watch out for one another.

On the job front: No one's calling. It's very reassuring, especially with those $15,000 worth of student loans that I have yet to pay back. But, really, I guess I shouldn't expect that much. That girl from Jersey Girl, Raquel Castro, I saw her on a fucking Pillsbury Cinnabun commercial the other day.

Evidently it's tough out there for everybody.

For the love of Pete, Kevin Smith, TAKE CARE OF YOUR PEOPLE.