Mommy, I’m ready to go to bed now.

“Finally,” I think, after an hour long, fierce battle of wills.  Just one more Caillou…I’m hungry….I want to cuddle…I’m not sleepy…

I grab frozen blood-worms and brine-shrimp from our freezer, a cup of soy milk, and Luca and I head upstairs to his room.

First, we feed his red fish, Red. Then, we move over to his other aquarium to feed his four African Dwarf Frogs: Luca Zapata’s Froggy 1, Luca Zapata’s Froggy II, Luca Zapata’s Froggy III, and Luca Zapata’s Froggy IV. Apparently, they are the George Foreman of frogs.

Luca rushes back to Red to click off the light and say night-night, then back to his frogs to tuck them in the same.

I turn the sound machine on, pull back the covers, and we both hop into bed.

Scratch my back, mommy.

*flips over*

Now, scratch my tummy.

Once the scratching has commenced, I search for the tag on his blankie, placing it gently between his thumb and index finger, so he can methodically rub it as he searches for sleep. It’s his thumb-suck.

I hand him his soy milk, and he says, “Don’t lay on my blankie, mommy.”

No, you don’t lay on my blankie, Luca.

He laughs loudly, like it isn’t the 100th time he’s heard this, “You don’t have a blankie, mommy.”

One big kiss, several squirms and grunts, then silence.

I lay next to him waiting, listening for his breath to fall into a rhythm that tells me it’s safe to sneak out of his room.

This is our ritual.

Every single night.

As I write these words, tears of pure joy run down my cheek, quickly followed by tears of sheer terror.

Terror of the unknown.

I was talking to my friend Jennifer the other day about the small, special rituals we share with our children.

I confessed to her the constant fear I carry around on my shoulders, that my kids could lose me way before I’ve carried them over into adulthood.

I’ve been scared of death from the moment I’ve found out what it meant. Not because I fear the unknown, but because I love living so much. And, now that I am a mother, because I love watching my kids live so much.

Sure, we’ve got all of our what-if papers in order. We did this right after the accident.

And I know, if something were to happen, that there plenty of people who will love them…as much as you can love someone whose not yours.

But, it’s those small, seemingly insignificant but-really-more-important-than-anything moments, that keep me awake at night.

Who would know to tell him, “No, you don’t lay on my blankie.”

Who would know that you have to pull the plug on the filter to let the frogs know it’s dinner-time, and then wait a couple of minutes until the food settles to turn it back on?

Sure, the frogs would get fed.

And, I know my kids would be loved.

But, none of it would be the way I do it…the only way my boys know it to be done.

The worst part of this worry-problem, is that there isn’t a solution for it.

That makes me panic….the desperation numbs me.

I shake my head back and forth, trying to knock these good for nothing thoughts out of my mind.

I tell myself that it can’t happen to me.

But, deep down I know the truth.

It can.

And, every single time, the realization shakes me to the core.

“It’s pointless to ban guns, people will still use them.”

“If you outlaw guns, only outlaws will have guns.”

If I had a penny for every time I’ve heard someone rattle off these catch phrases…

The irony is strong…and maddening.

Many of these are the same people who want the constitution amended to ban gay marriage. Or, the words of those so fervently opposed to legalized marijuana, or abortion.

So, I have something to say to you people.

Why ban pot or even hard drugs? Won’t people do them anyway? Why ban abortion? Won’t people find a way to have one anyway? Why ban gay marriage? People will still be gay (I promise). Why have a law against drunk-driving? People still drive drunk. I could go on, but I think you get the point.

You scream and shout about the words of our constitution, stomping around like an infant and yelling that they mustn’t be changed, because the founding fathers somehow knew what was best for all of us until the end of time….

Unless, of course, these changes represent your own beliefs.

Don’t sit there and bitch that people are trying to take away your right to own a piece of metal and shoot at shit, when all you have done the past decade is try to strip away the rights of others. It not only makes you a hypocrite, it also makes you a dick.

Most of you don’t even own these rapid-fire killing machines, and those that do have told me it’s your “hobby” to collect them. What are you? A fucking ten year old? Someone is taking away your hobby in the hopes it will help decrease the massacres of your fellow citizens and their tiny children, and you are angry?

How about you think outside of yourself, just this once?

Be thoughtful.

Have some compassion.

Say something like, “I’m skeptical that a gun-ban will change much, but I’m willing to try anything to see if it does.”

Because, I promise, you can find a new god damn hobby (I hear stamps and snow-globes are all the rage).

But, no one can find a new son, daughter, mother, father, or sibling.

It’s time to grow up.

Update: If I didn’t make myself clear, I am not behind a total gun ban, just assault-weapons, like the one used in all these massacres.

It’s crunch time.

The bags will be distributed this Friday!

I still have so much work to do: more sorting, more sealing, more stuffing.

Yesterday I spent the morning going through the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

It was….sticky.

After cleaning the bottles-with-the-strange-hair-on-them, I did a little redistributing, so each set would be like new.

Luckily, I had a helper.

After five minutes he declared, “This is hard work. mommy, I just need to relax.”

He gets small pieces of what we’re doing, but the number of people living without is hard enough for an adult to wrap their mind around, much less a four year old.

But, yesterday, on the way home from the zoo, we spotted a homeless man and Luca asked me if we could buy him a house.

I wish we had enough money to buy everyone a house, but we don’t, so we just have to do what we can, when we can, to help make their situation a little more bearable.

On Friday, I picked up fifty of these reusable water bottles from Dollar Tree, to add to the bags.

And then on Sunday….

I just need to zip up the bags so the little people in my house will stop nabbing the tasty treats. And, by little people, I mean me.

I still need to print out the We See You flyers, with our area’s homeless services printed on the back. So, if anyone knows of a good online template or print resource, let me know.

I’m also hoping to pick up a Metro Bus card to slip in the bags.

I’ll post pictures of all the items in each bag, once I’m done filling them.

You guys have been so amazing.

One of my best friends even bought new underwear to put in the bags!

And, another friend has started her own bags, which led her sister to start her own.

Uplifting to me, in so many ways, during such an awful time for our nation.

Thank you for being so damn good.

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster,’ I remember my mother’s words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.”

~Fred Rogers

If you’re wondering what this is all about…

Part 1.

Part 2.

Part 3.

Part 4.

Part 5.

Part 6.

In a Kim Jong world….

There will be no Christmas music shenanigans while decorating the Christmas tree…

In a Kim Jong World…

He will demand that you serve him watermelon….

“Without any seeds. Not red. And not black. And make sure it doesn’t drip on my shirt or my chin.”

In a Kim Jong World…

I don’t like to brag, but my kids are cute. 

Like, steal your heart out, melt your face off, make your uterus do a somersault, and get away with murder cute.

I mean, I know I’m their mother, but I think I would know somewhere, way deep down on my insides, if they were of the only cute to me variety.

You know, breathtaking.

But, it’s one thing to think your kids are catalog worthy, and an entirely other thing to actively try to put them in catalogs. Minus entering my first-born into a Gap Baby Contest and submitting my friends to my relentless begging for votes, the thought’s never crossed my mind. And, even then, it was my first born and I was a sucker, so that means I get a pass.

Enter baby boy number two.

Little Leo.

The most charming a person who still poops their pants can be, and effortlessly happy.

About a month ago, after many glasses of wine, a friend commented on a photo I’d posted of him on Facebook.

Get that kid an agent! He needs to be a model.

Her comment got me thinking, though likely not very well.

So, of course, I went the most reliable route and Googled “baby modeling” at one in the morning, because what could go wrong?

I came across a site that promised to make my baby a star. Which, I must say, totally turned me off initially. I don’t want my baby to be a star. Besides, he already is one to me. Both my boys are.

Then my eyes fell upon the second Mommies are Suckers pitch.

Pay your child’s tuition!

And, that’s when I bit. Hard. Nothing could shake me loose from that line.

After researching the company online a little bit more, I sent them the requested information: one photo, and a brief description of my mini-Zoolander. I then promptly deleted my stage-mom search history, slammed my laptop shut, and went to bed.

The next morning, I laughed a little and carried on with my day, tending to my two loser kids who aren’t famous, and who are apparently such slackers they can’t even get off their lazy diaper-covered butts to help pay for a proper upbringing. Get a job, baby!

A few days passed, and I’d all but forgotten about the wine-induced baby modeling incident. Until I received the, “Congratulations! Your baby is just not ugly enough to have made it to round two,” email.

Or, something like that.

I added more photos of Leo and the rest of us, answered a few more questions, and hit send.

A week passed when I received a second email informing me that my 16 month old was the cutest specimen ever to live on Planet Earth, and that they wanted to rep him.

And, just like that, my baby had an agent.

Their Hollywood guy called me and laid it on thick as molasses, telling me his was my new BFF and that we’d be joined at the hip for the next three years…after a nominal fee, of course. Apparently, he was more middle-man than agent, forwarding emails, and building my baby a website, so that talent agencies have a place to search for pre-approved wee-models.

I asked many, many questions.

Does this require travel? (Because, I won’t do anything that takes any time away from my oldest boy.)

What happens if Leo hates being a pretty boy? (Because, I’ll pull the plug the second he stops smiling. And, I’ll probably pull the plug, anyway, the moment he’s aware of what it all means.)

Baby middle-man explained to me that all auditions for kids this age are done primarily via the internet, right from home. He then laughed at three of my jokes in a row. And, before I knew it, I was sending money and signing contracts.

After my payment was complete, I received an email that set off mini-bells, that rang loudly in my head. It contained two of the most terrifying words in the English language.

“Got it, baby doll.”

The moment he called me baby doll, a feeling of regret slithered over me like a snake. Because, please, with the Hollywood cliche, and I’m certainly not anyone’s baby doll.

I haven’t heard a word from him since. So much for being joined at the hip, huh?

I did, however, just get a call from talent agent informing they’d like to work with Leo. I’ve filled out his resume, leaving the “talent” portion blank of course, because I’m pretty sure drooling and throwing food at the dogs doesn’t fall under that umbrella.

Have I been had? Or will little Leo get a gig, man up, and stop being a deadbeat baby?

Only time will tell.

But, as for now, there’s only one thing stressing me out about this entire situation.

My husband is still unaware that I paid someone actual money.

When he discovers this little tidbit, I fear I might just have to be someone’s baby doll after all, once my breathtaking children are asleep.

Photo Credit: Leslie Gaworecki of Goodlight Photography.

The toothpaste, toothbrushes, and deodorant arrived! Yay for clean teeth and armpits!

I ordered fifty winter hats and gloves yesterday, which should be here by week’s end.

It pretty much looks like Costco threw up all over my house…which, how great is that?

When I started this project, my only intention was to make my mark in a very small way. I never asked for any sort of help or donations, it never even occurred to me. The holidays are hard enough without someone else hitting you up for stuff.

But, giving is contagious I guess, and it only took one person pitching in for generosity to spread like wildfire.

My friend Jamie texted me the other day, asking if she could drop off a check, and come by to help bag-stuff. This is an amazing gesture on it’s own, but even more so considering what Jamie’s going through. This woman never ceases to amaze me. Thank you, Jamie. I love you!

Three other awesome friends also dropped by this morning, each contributing in their own way. Jennifer, Kelly, and Vanessa – thank you for being you and for being there for me.

I have a tendency to scheme up all sorts of grand ideas, but I usually freeze up when it comes to actually getting them done. Because, well, there are those with Type-A personalities, and then there is me, more of a Type Z.

Luckily, Jamie and Kelly are the most efficient people I’ve ever met, so they were able to get all the supplies organized in a manageable way. Jennifer brought huge boxes of wipies and baggies and was on her hands and knees sorting, bagging, and stuffing. Vanessa also threw her whole-self in, and helped pack all the supplies, including the fifty blankets she donated (her ponchos are still on the way!).

Now that things are in order, it’s easier to figure out what I’ve got and what I still need (hardly anything).

And, I still have shipments coming in from everywhere. A Twitter friend just sent Q-tips. Another friend, chapstick. And, still another, disposable razors.

So, as of right now, here is where we’re at…

Since the beginning, I’ve had so much support from a wonderful friend who lives in my computer. The other day, she had the brilliant idea to include notes of encouragement to slip in each of the bags.

I think mine will say something like this…

“I see you. I know you’re there, and that you need help. You will not be overlooked or ignored. And, I promise you that I’ll no longer avert my gaze to avoid making eye contact with you (TO MAKE MYSELF FEEL BETTER) when we cross paths…”

If anyone wants to shoot me a message, I’ll be more than happy to include it.

Also, my friend Lindsay, out in California, designed these for the bags…

….initially intended to be used as tags to tie on each one.

But, this morning, Kelly had a great idea to use them as cards, with information on Houston’s homeless services, resources, and locations printed right on the back. Love it.

I’m so thrilled to hear that many of you are starting similar projects in your area. Imagine all the people who will benefit?

I’ve had many people ask if they can still help. I think right now the best thing you can do is to help people in your community. But, I know what a time-suck life can be, so if it’s easier to pitch in for the Houston homeless, this is definitely not your last chance. I plan on making this a regular thing, because people are homeless year round.

Now, off to the Dollar Store for nail clippers!

xo

If you’re are wondering what this is all about…

Part 1.

Part 2.

Part 3.

Part 4.

Part 5.

It’s here.

The time of year my kids discover that their mommy is but a mere mortal.

We all know I’m not the craftiest of women.

 —–> Exhibit A <—–

But, that doesn’t stop me from trying.

So, the other day I picked up this gingerbread house kit from Trader Joe’s.

The first red flag that this wasn’t gonna end well was the fact that I was required to actually make the icing.

What kind of kit is that!?

But, I had the egg and vinegar it called for, so it seemed easy enough.

Unless you’re me.

Beat the egg white until it hardens.

I beat that shit for like ten minutes and still had no idea if it was hard enough (hehe).

I mixed the unable-to-get-it-up egg white into the sugar, but it still seemed too dry.

“I’ll add another egg white!”  she thought.

Spoiler: There’s a reason the recipe calls for only one egg.

My icing was way too runny, so I added approximately twenty drops too many of vinegar.

Because who doesn’t want a gingerbread house that smells like pickles?

“Fuck it,” I thought, “let’s build this bitch.”

Here’s some math for y’all.

Pickle-scented-runny-icing + attempting to construct a house made of stale cookies = FAIL.

I accidentally beheaded the daddy, so we laid him down to make snow-angels.

I promised Luca that we’d try again the next day so I bought another kit, only this time with pre-made icing.

It turned out much, much better.

But, man, the icicles pictured on the box are some BULLSHIT.

And, Luca put boobs on the window for some reason.

Men.

But, at least it didn’t taste like pickles.

Later that evening Luca told me, “Mommy, this house is so beautiful. But, the first house we made is disgusting.”

Ouch.

So, where were we?

Oh, yeah, right HERE!

When I began planning Project: We See You, I didn’t think far enough ahead in regards to how I would get these bags into the hands of those who need them most.

My usually always supportive husband was super excited about the idea of the bags, but much less excited at the thought of his wife aimlessly wandering around Houston, searching for people who needed them. And, while this is something I would do, I totally get his concern and where he’s coming from. I’ve got to do this the right way, and the safe way, for everyone involved.

I spent the weekend stepping over enormous bags of toiletries and toilet paper, searching for ideas as to how I was going to pull this off.

And, then, life threw me a bone.

Well, it was actually my friend Kelly who threw it.

She sent me a text early this morning, letting me know she’d just dropped off a newspaper article on my front porch.

I got home, turned on some Bubble Guppies for Leo, and sat down to read it.

And, I’m so glad I did.

The article shined a light on Houston’s very own, Marilyn Brown, President & CEO of Coalition for the Homeless of Houston, a wonderful organization dedicated to preventing and ending homelessness.

The tone of the article struck a cord with me, particularly this…

“So, who exactly are the homeless, you may still wonder? The answer is simple and sad: they are us.”

(You can read the full article HERE.)

So, I put on one more episode (okay, two more) of Bubble Guppies and sat down to write Marilyn an email, asking her what my next move should be.

An hour later I received an email back from the coalition’s Community Engagement Director, Gary Grier, who had the perfect solution to my dilemma.

“We have a wonderful suggestion.  On Friday, December 21, 2012, we are hosting the In Memoriam for the National Homeless Memorial at the Steps of City Hall, 900 Bagby Street, Houston, Texas 77002.  At the event, we are expecting up to 400 homeless persons to attend as a reading of the names and memorial service is conducted from 5:30 to 6:00pm.  Set up is starting as early as 3pm.   We will have tables and an area set up for donations at the event and you could give out the items that evening…”

BINGO.

And the spiral of awesomeness continues….

That means I have ten days to get everything in order for the event.

More great news: I just received the bags, so I can finally start loading them with essentials.

That’s not all.

(My UPS man is working his ass off this week.)

My sister-in-law’s shipment of fifty, brand new, long-sleeved Old Navy t-shirts arrived today, too!

Along with fifty new blankets from my awesome friend, Vanessa…

…who also sent fifty rain ponchos, which are en route to my house as I type this.

A few days ago, my cousin Celina dropped off these items…

THESE are the things I never even think about. But, homeless women get their period, too. Can you imagine not having the products to deal with your time of the month? I can’t.

And, because there are so many times I see a homeless person with a dog…we can’t forget food for their furry friends.

I ordered gloves and winter hats today, and I’m waiting for the dental hygiene kits to arrive.

So, we’re all caught up.

I’m relieved.

I’m excited.

And, most of all, I’m so inspired.

Have an awesome week, you guys!

xo

Yesterday, I was chasing a naked baby around the house, scolding a four year old boy who was being more naughty than nice, and on the phone with a tech who was trying to restore my wonky internet service (gasp! first world problems!).

So, of course, our wannabe-ferocious dogs began barking at someone on our porch. I toddler-stomped to the front door, myself prepared to bark at the Girl Scout or Jehovah’s Witness I expected to find on the other side of it. But, I was pleasantly surprised (and relieved I wouldn’t have to yell at a Girl Scout), because it wasn’t someone trying to sell me something, it was someone trying to give me something. My dear friend Shonali was dropping of supplies for We See You.

Shonali is an amazing woman. Every time I’m feeling down or overwhelmed, and I run into her, she has a gift for making me feel instantly at peace. She’s has a special spirit and a kind soul, and I’m so grateful to have her in my life.

(Oh, and I failed to mention that just the day before I received a paypal donation from my sweet friend, to go towards supplies. She’s known to many of you as the pee-your-pants-funny Lady of The House, but she’s known to me as a kind-heart and good friend. THANK YOU, lady.)

Anyway, Luca and I jumped in the car later that day and headed over to Hilton Houston to pick up their donations.

Of course, in Houston traffic, a short drive is as common as a snowstorm around here.

We sat stopped on the highway five minutes too long for a four year old, who quickly went into angry dragon mode.

Houston has a huge homeless population, especially downtown, so it was no surprise that we saw many people camped out in nooks under the woven highways.

Luca pointed out a man to me, huddled beneath an overpass, and I told him that is exactly why we were doing all of this. He then handed me his half-eaten bag of goldfish and said, “Mommy, I want to give the rest of these to someone who doesn’t have enough money to buy goldfish.”

Finally, I thought, it’s sinking in.

Then, this song began playing on the radio…

So fitting, because Tere and the rest of the Hilton gang have hearts of gold, and I’m so grateful for them.

We reached the Hilton, pulled up to the loading dock, and waited.

Tere met me outside and let us in to the area of the hotel where all the magic happens.

Luca was impressed.

(I was, too.)

She told me that someone from Housekeeping was on their way down with the donations.

I waited, expecting someone carrying a couple of bags to approach us.

Then, I saw this.

I wanted to cry, but instead I just kept saying thank you thank you thank you.

We went to my car and a nice, quiet-but-strong, man began loading it.

Bags of bar soap. Bags of shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and lotion. Bags of toilet paper.

I told them I was preparing 50 bags.

They gave me enough for at least 200.

I unloaded the bags and set them in our backyard. My husband then walked out to this…

Which would have been weird to some, but my husband has been married to me for too long and is seldom caught off guard.

And, then? It began to rain.

I ran inside screaming at him to help me carry the bags inside, hoping to avoid a bubble bath in our yard…and wet toilet paper.

We ran in and out, rescuing the bags as fast we could. We were drenched and exhausted (bar soap is the heaviest thing I’ve ever lifted), and we were laughing so hard our stomach’s hurt.

I hugged him and reminded him, as I often do, that he knew what he was getting into when he married me.

So, today, I sort.

This…

…placing aside all that will fit into the We See You bags, and donating the overflow directly to local shelters to be put to good use.

You know, I’ve talked so much talk for so many years, but I’ve never actually gotten off my lazy butt and done anything.

So, thank you all so much for inspiring me to walk the talk, and for reminding me that people are so, so good.

To be continued….

If you’re are wondering what this is all about…

Part 1.

Part 2.

Part 3.

When I was younger, in my high school and college days, there weren’t enough fingers on my hands to count all the bad habits I’d acquired in my angsty teenage years.

Chain smoking, binge drinking, and other unmentionables that could have gotten me arrested, were a common theme in my life back then. And by back then, I mean five years ago.

After getting married and growing up, somewhat, I replaced those habits with others…those considered acceptable when you’re someone’s mom.

The chain smoking was replaced by overeating. The binge drinking was replaced by drinking too much wine. You know, because wine is much more of a mom drink than red bull and vodka and cheap tequila shots.

Added to that list over the years?

I drink an insanely excessive amount of Diet Coke, never finishing one. My husband walks around the house throwing half-empty cans away. It’s so bad, I fear it may lead to irreconcilable differences one day.

I’ve also become a total night eater. A food vampire, if you will. Once the sun and the kids go down, it’s possible you’ll find me sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter eating peanut butter right out of the jar, and washing it down with a giant turkey sandwich.

Did I mention I also cuss to much, and sweat too little?

Misery loves company, so I looked to my peers to spill some of their own vices.

Daisy, Chicago: I let the hot water run in the shower for a very, very long time before I actually get in. (Up to 10 minutes).

Greis, Houston: Nail biting, totally guilty.

Tena, St. Louis: I bite the skin on the inside of my mouth, especially when I’m stressed or anxious.

Holly, Toledo: I drink coffee pretty much all day and never eat breakfast.

From blowing noses in the shower, cussing, skin picking, not sending thank you notes, to shooting up heroin (not really the heroin, but now the blowing our noses in the shower don’t seem so gross, does it?), our CGG staffers held nothing back.

And neither did you!

Amanda told us: I am horrible about doing my laundry. I will buy extra underwear, socks, whatever, so I can put it off another day. Then when I do wash it, it sits unfolded in the basket. I never put it all away. If it’s wrinkly? I just shove it in the dryer with a damp towel and hit start.

Stacey shared with us, too: I chew on my lower lip when I’m bored, frustrated, or concentrating very hard on something. Not attractive!

Bernice ruminates about: Ruminating over and over about things over which I have no control.

I came away feeling slightly better knowing I wasn’t alone in my wine drinking, Diet Coke guzzling, cussing, food vampire ways. There’s nothing quite like comparing yourself to others to make you feel more normal.

Now spill it. What is your worst habit?