iLove

If you've been following this blog for awhile, you know that Chris and I have been belaboring the purchase of an iPhone for months.

Maybe I should qualify the word "belaboring". 

Me?  I'm a gadgety, trendy, gimmicky person, ready to get on board with the latest and greatest invention, without always rationally thinking it through (remember Sophie, ya'll?).  Soooo, of course, I have been begging for an iPhone.

And Chris - practical, pragmatic, sensible Chris - has been obdurately refusing to acquiesce on the subject, based on the assumption that the iPhone is my new Sophie, and citing a failure on my part to do my due diligence in the form of "research".  To wit, he wanted me to provide evidential proof of how the iPhone would improve our lives.  (I know, whatever, right?  Insert big eye roll here).  And to which my response has been that I have, all along, been conducting anectodotal research, which I'm hoping sounds very scientific-y to him, but in fact means that I have been polling people.  People who may or may not include:  friends, enemies, neighbors, strangers, Hanh, the girl who waxes my eyebrows, Jennifer, the checkout lady at Wal-Mart, or Ashish, the housekeeper at work.  Basically, anybody I see swiping their fingers across that cute little flat, shiny lozenge I like to romanticize as my prospective gateway to cyber-paradise.

Okay, it could be that I want the little runner girl icon on the screen of my running buddy's iPhone to congratulate ME on how far I've run while training for the race next month.  It might could be that I am exceedingly jealous of another friend's bar code scanner application that tells her where to find items in a store drastically discounted.  And I want to play Words with Friends, because, hello?  I kill at Scrabble.  We're talking, reigning Thomas Family Champ, so I know I could rock that game.  But overall, I think I might be most excited to have Dora the Explorer videos at my fingertips to distract the two beautiful little darlings who would rather be playing tag and who-can-scream-the-loudest with each other than sitting still at my side in any given scenario that requires quiet, well-behaved children. 

Whatever my motives were/are/might someday be, the point is, Chris said no.

He said no.

I begged and I pleaded.  I bargained and I bartered.  I might have even thrown in a tantrum or two for effect - of which, with my husband, FYI ya'll, my histrionics have none. Then one day, I picked a big ol' fight with him under the auspices of the dumb iPhone that ended with me very theatrically stomping my feet to the bedroom and slamming the door (Okay, really, I just gingerly closed the door because the girls were napping, and no fight or phone is worth waking sleeping babies, but that doesn't quite have the same dramatic effect). 

And that's when I realized, I was arguing with him, not over the stupid iPhone, but because I wanted to win.  I wanted my way.  I didn't want to be told no.  In essence, I was acting exactly like my three-year-old.

After simmering down, I skulked out of the bedroom and did again exactly what my three-year-old would do:  I ignored it and pretended it never happened.

Although I did resolve to stop pestering my husband about it and just let him make this phone decision in due time.

Which he did. 

And let me just say....

iWon.

No, kidding!  Only kidding!

But we did end up getting iPhones.  Probably because my Blackberry very conveniently committed suicide right there in the Verizon store, and was unable to be resuscitated despite aggressive lifesaving measures.  And (real reason) probably also because Dora videos are going to come in handy next week when Chris is flying solo with the girls to meet me at Disney.

Not to overstate my point, but have I mentioned iLove my new iPhone, Honey?


But iLove you more...  :)


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Welcome to Narnia

This is what Day 4 of being snowed in looks like:

And THIS is what "1/2 to 1 inch"  of snow looks like:

It's official.  Being trapped inside your house for days in can turn even the calmest, most sane person into a lunatic. 

In my case, it turned me from a former debutante into white trash.

The cabin fever finally got so bad, we took the girls to a restaurant for lunch.  In their pajamas.  Footy pajamas.  Christmas footy pajamas.  Next, we took them out to sled in the 13-degree weather.  Only problem was we don't have a sled since we live in, um, Dallas, Texas.  So we used a beer cooler.

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No Cowboy Hat

Wow.  I can't believe it's been two weeks since I posted on this blog.  Where have I been?  More aptly, where has the time gone?  Isn't it sad that I finally get the excuse of the icy weather to sit in my comfy chair and write? 

This frozen slush, or as the melodramatic media are calling it, the "icepocalypse", has apparently paralyzed our fair city during what was supposed to be what I like to refer to as, Justin-Timberlake-in-da-house-Week, oops, I mean The Jerry Jones Bowl Super Bowl.  And my bitterness may or may not be drastically enhanced by the fact that I may or may not have been invited to attend a super-swanky Super Bowl party as the guest of a close friend of  Mrs. George Strait, which I am now, to my great chagrin at having to disappoint Norma (take note of the first-name basis, ya'll), unable to attend. 

Whatevs.  I'm putting the skinny jeans back up on the shelf.

The past few weeks, my creative juices have been duly sapped by trying to wear a few too many hats, including but not limited to, being loving wife to Chris and "patient" mother to Two active little girls ages 3- and-3/4 (her words) and sixteen months.  The word "patient" has to go in quotes because it's not so much an adjective that describes me now, but more like an unattainable goal.  And then Chris goes and subtly hints that my blog posts were becoming macabre, so I've had to wait until I was in a cheery mood to write again.  And despite it being 16 degrees outside with a blanket of ice over the whole city, and school getting cancelled for the week, and three more days of snow in our forecast, and worst of all, not getting to astonish Norma Strait with my brilliant wit/personality and cute cowboy hat this weekend, I'm still actually feeling somewhat cheery.

Has it really been two weeks since I was last cheery?  Wow, that's a little sad.

Speaking of sad, I found out yesterday that my dear, sweet grandmother Sassy went to heaven on Monday night.  I'm not using "went to heaven" as a euphemism.  The woman literally went there.  She had the most resolute, stalwart faith in her Lord and Savior, and no one who knew my spectacular grandmother could have ever any doubt she would be dancing the hula through the gates of the Almighty the moment she sighed her last breath here on earth.  I don't blame God for wanting her back with Him.  She was so kind, so brave, so tenderhearted, and so limitlessly joyful, who wouldn't want this woman by their side?  So, despite any selfish grief over her departure from my own life, I am choosing to be thrilled that she is now celebrating with her King. 

And who can be sad about that, right?

Along with the wife and mother hats I mentioned above, there are a few others I've had to don here lately.  Here is a little sample:

ATHLETE.  My training for the half-marathon is in full swing, and my friend and running partner Geni actually scammed me into running a ten mile long run with her on Saturday.  In case you're wondering, ten miles is a long freaking way to run, ya'll.  That's all I'm gonna say.

ORACLE.  Coming up with answers to millions of questions like this on a daily basis:  Mommy, why does the sun come up in the day and the stars come out at night?  Mommy, why does my banana turn brown?  Mommy, why do you wear make-up?  What is heaven like?  Mommy, how do airplanes stay in the air?  Why did the soldiers kill Jesus?  Mommy, what is Sleeping Beauty's real name?

TRAVEL AGENT.  Due to a stroke of good fortune at work, I was chosen to attend an all-expenses-paid neonatology conference in February at... wait for it... Disney World.  So yes of course, I booked my husband and children on a flight down there to join me.  I kind of thought that was the extent of the required planning needed to take two children to Disney but apparently, I was oh-so-wrong.  According to my professional-Disney-goer friends who happen to be very serious about their craft, I absolutely have to:  reserve a stroller, get a meal plan (?), schedule a Princess make-over for Aria (??), and I simply must make reservations for breakfast, lunch or dinner with the Princesses because - who knew - these things apparently book up six months in advance and here it is only three weeks before our trip and I've done none of this.  Poor Disney planner that I am!

MAID.  I've had a lot of conversations with my child that begin like this:  Mommy, look!  The cat barfed all over the carpet.  Sorry, Mommy, I wet my bed.  Look, Mommy, I colored my shirt red!   My baby doll was hungry, so I made her some lunch.  Or my personal favorite, Mommy, look!  Caroline and I made you a picture!  (Lots of silent, internal weeping as I calculate the amount of time it will take to scrub the multicolored chalk pictures off my hardwood floors).

PATIENT.  The noun, not the adjective.  I finally got all the results back from the various kidney stone appointments, and I learned that I have 5-7 large stones that require lithotripsy as soon as possible because they are too big to pass.  She also threw some words at me like, "medullary sponge kidney disease" and "go see a nephrologist", but my brain is only processing one thing at a time, like the fact that my body is full of rocks that need to be blasted very soon by ultrasonic waves.  Ug.  Ick.  Ouch.  Bleh.

All these hats and not a cowboy hat in sight!  And poor Norma, not getting to hang with me.  Wonder how she is taking it?

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