My thoughts are with you.

Dear Passengers sitting in seats 26B and 25B on flight CO191,

You have purchased your plane tickets to fly on Thanksgiving Day. You realize that flying on a holiday is going to be a bit stressful for you but you know you'll get through it just fine. What you have no clue about, as you sit in your quiet house tonight, is that my husband decided to go the cheap route (not listening to his lovely wife) and did not purchase tickets for our lovely 17 month old twins. Instead, they will be lap children, wiggling and thrashing in our laps for the whole 2 hours and 48 minutes that you will be trapped in a metal tube with us.

Continental does not allow for two children under the age of two to sit in the same row on their flights, so you will get your fussing and tantrums in stereo as my family sits one row apart from each other.

Let me take this opportunity to apologize in advance to you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that my kids are going to be hitting and kicking your leg. I'm sorry that you are going to get goldfish and graham cracker crumbs in your lap. I'm really sorry to 25B because you will be sitting next to me and my daughter. She will not like you. She will cry the minute she sees you and probably won't stop until we de-board the plane.

You are the unlucky ones. Everyone will witness our twins running about the terminal as we try to tire them out as best as we can. Everyone will look down at their ticket and pray that they are not sitting next to or around us. Everyone will luck out, except you. We will board first and I will count the number of times you will check and double check your ticket as the full horror of what you're about to endure comes to realization.

So, let me close this letter by reiterating. I'm so so sorry. It will be over soon and we'll do our best to not make it your 'worst flight ever'.

Love

Mom of twins

P.S. I hope everyone has a wonderful Thanksgiving and I'll be back Dec. 4th

Up it goes.

Today was a day I have been dreading. But it came. The day I caught my daughter with her finger up her nose. I have known for about a week that it had been coming because she has been rubbing her face a lot and on more than one occasion I saw it accidently slip up there and a look of "hmmmm" came across her little face.

I've always been pretty prepared for baby-hood things. Before the babies were born I had read multiple sleep technique books and settled upon a plan of action for the twins. My assignments arrived and I executed the techniques to the best of my ability.

When solids came into the picture I meticulously introduced foods on a regular basis and took note of quantities and caloric intake. When the switch from formula to whole milk came about I transitioned them and watched for any adverse reactions.

Naps were dropped according to suggested timelines and with the exception of a couple of rough days went like clockwork.

Then, since they've turned a year old, all the hard stuff has started coming at me. Stuff that I don't know how to handle really. I can read a few guidelines but most of the time I'm shooting from the hip and hoping that I'm doing it right.

What do I do when my son throws a ball and hits his siste?He wasn't aiming at her but he needs to know that's not acceptable. Can he comprehend this cause and effect at such an early age? How do I handle whining when it's probably appropriate? I've been on the computer or in the kitchen for too long and they're dying for attention, do I "give in" to their whining, teaching them that it is an effective technique, or do I ignore them some more making my guilt worse?

My fear is that I may end up completely out of control. I see mom's in the store with 3 & 4 year olds who are terrible beast children. They scream, fight, hit, throw, and stomp. Meanwhile, mom looks like she's having a melt down and I can't help but see the look in her eye of "it's not my fault! Please don't judge me!" But everyone knows it's her fault. What did she do or not do? I don't want to end up there.

So as my daughter ran up to me with her finger as far up her nose as you can picture, I gently took it out and pretended like it didn't bother me. Then she did it again, and again, and again. I just slipped her hand away from her and tried to distract her with other things. At dinner tonight, she put it up there again, but this time she pulled something out. The look on her face was like she had just won the lottery. I spent most of the night looking over her shoulder and nonchalantly removing her finger.

I don't know if this is the right way to do it but I'm afraid if I make a big deal of it, she'll do it more often and with more enthusiasm. The same way she sticks her finger in the AC unit outside. She does it everyday. She waits until I'm looking, walks over, sticks her finger inside one of the slats, turns/smiles at me and waits for me to come over and put her in time out. Every. single. day.

I realize that a finger up the nose is not the end of the world, I'm not that dramatic, but it's the end to me. The end of her being my baby and entering the world of my child. God help me when my son starts sticking his hands down his pants in public. These are the things you don't think about when those catchy Johnson and Johnson commercials come on and convince you to procreate.

Cinderella came and went

We went to a ball. My husband and I were invited, on behalf of the ginormous oil company that he works for, to the Vizcayan Ball. This is an annual event held in Miami and when I mentioned it to people, it was always met with wide eyes and "WOW". So I expected a lot, and it delivered. HOWEVER. The night took a turn for the worse and I found my own mouth agape a few hours in.

First, I had heard that this was a charity event and the price per couple was $10,000 minimum. There was also a silent auction where they auctioned off ridiculous stuff that only ridiculous people like (Cartier watches, furs etc.). The cheapest item finally went for $500 (a Maserati power wheels) and I saw that a trip to Egypt was going for $18,000 with hours left to go.

The people at the party were the elite of Miami society. Wealthy beyond my comprehension. They pulled up in cars I could only dream of touching. Their dresses were couture and the diamonds flowed all over their bodies. We were greeted with a red carpet, champagne and photo ops then escorted to the veranda where staff passed around hors d'oeuvres and your glass was never empty.

I was directed to an ice bar where my plate was prepared with lobster tails, shrimp, stone crab claws and the most delicious sauces I'd ever had. Me, being stupid, assumed it was a seafood themed dinner party or something so I went back many times to fill up the plate and ate more lobster and shrimp than you could imagine. Whoops, those were just appetizers.

A man dressed in white announced that the dining area was now open and we were escorted around the corner to the water front where large tables covered with towering centerpieces awaited us. Our menu instructed us that this was going to be a 4 course dinner. I was already full from my seafood bounty, but I ate anyway. I was on my third course (after the risotto) when the music stopped, they started giving speeches and what not. This is where my perfect evening came crashing down around me.

They started honoring a woman named Cindy Carr. This lady had been on "the board" for 30 years and blah blah she's great, blah blah we love her...lets give her a round of applause and a token of our appreciation. They walk up the stairs to a spotlit woman who has had more plastic surgery done than I have ever seen. Her tokens? A trophy looking thing, flowers, and a framed 11x17 photograph of ...herself. Herself?

Check her out here, 3rd row far right and last row middle

Anyway....the speaker then goes on to mention how thankful they are for the donors, for the contributors, for the silent auction winners blah blah...because ALL this wealth of money goes to The Vizcayans. Huh? I almost spit my drink out. I looked at my husband and said, probably too loudly, you mean to tell me this fundraiser is for themselves????!!!!???

Vizcaya (where this party was at) is an old mansion that is gorgeous but needs constant upkeep. So in order to pay for the grounds crew and electrical bill, they have to raise money.

I watched in horror as my third course was taken from me and scraped into the garbage pile along with all the other food that the women refused to eat out of vanity. 10oz filet mignons, SLAM, into the trash can. Just down the street, not more than 300 yards, there are homeless cuban and haitian men/women/children starving.

I was ashamed to be at this event. These people were giving money to support extravagance. They gave cash so they could make sure to keep up a location to have their galas and private party events. They sat smugly in their seats, patting themselves on the back and I wanted to punch them all in the face. Then the fireworks started...not metaphorical fireworks...real freaking fireworks. They paid money to blow stuff up for their own amusement.

After the forth and final course came and went, I told my husband I wanted to leave, and we did. I was so naive I suppose. I truly thought that the charitable event meant that the money was going to CHARITY, maybe to the parks department to build new parks for children, or to support the homeless downtown. Not to keep their own elite playground up and running. We walked through the garden room, picked up our swag, out the front door, back down the red carpet and waited for one of the 30 valets to grab our car.

As we drove home, I just stared out the window. I can pull off the high society role but if our future involves enduring this type of crap, I don't know if I can hang. My husband may have to go to make an appearance but I think I'll stay home out of principle.

Bifidus Regularis

I was at the grocery store a week ago and noticed that the large containers of Activia yogurt were on sale. Trying to stay frugal as Christmas approaches I grabbed it instead of my regular Yoplait. I've always had issues with lactose intolerance but yogurt suits me fine. So instead of milk with my morning cereal, I spoon on a heap of yogurt and pretend I'm at Starbucks.

I've seen those commercials with Jamie Lee Curtis advising me I need to take the "Activia Challenge". This challenge tells you to eat their yogurt for 2 weeks and like magic your digestive track will be perfect and wonderful. My digestive track didn't really need any help but to save a $1.50, I'd take your challenge.

I am here to inform you...DON'T. It started a few days ago when my stomach started talking to me. I have seen episodes of "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" on TLC (I thought it wuz the chili...) so I got a little freaked out when I'd place my hands on my lower abdomen and it felt like there was a baby in there. Rest assured...it was not a baby. It was my insides screaming to get out. I've spent the last few days suffering from the Activia Challenge. In all three forms of matter, solid/liquid/gas.

I've thrown the rest of the container in the trash and recommend all of you out there do the same. It has rotted me from the inside out and I feel so sorry that this is what my husband has come home to. Thanks a lot Jamie...really...thanks.

Nada.

I'm making a post about posting nothing. My husband finally comes back in town tomorrow and I'm super behind on laundry et. al. Have an excellent Thursday, y'all.

The Hurtados.

Tonight someone was banging on my door. I had just finished putting the kid in their chairs for dinner when I heard a loud knocking at my front door. Seeing that I am here alone, I was a little frightened. I was even more frightened when I looked out my front window and there was a large bald man standing there muscles all over the place.

He saw me and said, are you Victoria Hurdato?!? I said, no. He went on to explain that he had summons for them to appear in court. This is not the first time I've heard this. The people who rented this house before we moved in appeared to be bad people. When I first met them the husband was overly nice and made sure to brag about how wealthy he was and pointed out all the nice things they had. The wife was gorgeous and well taken care of. He explained that he worked for the Trump Corporation and was going back to his home country of Columbia to continue business. He seemed like a nice guy but very fishy.

When we first moved in the cable, phone, utility people all said the guy that lived here before us changed all the accounts to my husband's name. My husband instead had opened new accounts so it was a little strange when we received two bills for each balance. The red flag was that my husbands name was misspelled on the bills that the guy changed. He hadn't paid his bills in months and owed a ton of money to the companies. We got it taken care of and luckily we didn't have to pay them.

Then their bills started coming in the mail. I took a peak at a few of them (b/c if you hold them up to the light you can see) and they owed a bunch. The Neiman Marcus bill was for about $4,500. The Saks Fifth Avenue bill was for about $2000. The Victoria's Secret Bill was for $3000. I didn't even know you could get lines of credit that big at retail stores.

Along with the paper bills came the collection agents calling. They called at all hours of the day and some into the night. It wasn't just one collection agency either, there were probably about 10 separate ones that would keep calling. None of them believed me on the phone when I tried to explain that they no longer lived here. We should have changed the number.

Now, big scary men are coming by the house to look for these people. In talking with a few people from here, they explain this is a common practice. People will come here from Columbia, Brazil or Venezuela, open up a bunch of accounts and then charge like mad. They will gather up all their loot, never pay a dime and then flee back to their home country. I'm guessing that's what these people did.

I don't know enough about how it works but I'm curious who ends up paying for all their things. Is it the credit card companies or is it essentially us in some way. No idea. I feel bad for their two kids, cutest little 1 and 2 year old. If mom and dad have those type of ethics, here's hoping for them.

Extreme Empathy

I am an overly empathetic person by nature. It can be a good thing, like for friendships, or it can be a bad thing, like for bugs. More on the bugs later.

I remember my first overly empathetic moment. I was sitting on top of monkey bars. You know back in the days when you could sit on top of metal objects and not get in trouble? Anyway. A flock of birds flew by and they were in their typical V formation. But, the V was not even. The right side was slightly longer than the left. I took this to mean that one of the birds in the V family had died. I started getting very upset and began to cry because I could imagine how the other birds looked at that empty spot and would remember their friend. I started feeling so bad for them that I got down from the bars and wept to my teacher who probably thought I was crazy.

Lets get to the bugs. When I see a bug I have to kill it within the first 2 seconds I see it. If I don't, I start to feel for the bug. I think about the bugs family, I think about how all the little bugs children are waiting for them to come home. It's hard times everywhere and the little bug is just out trying to make a living.

Think about the shit job that an ant has. It just has to waddle around, following the chemical scent of the ant in front of it so it can find a tiny morsel of food. When it finds the food, it doesn't even get to eat it. He has to carry it, on his back, all the way back to the nest where some fatass queen gobbles it down. He's sent back out to repeat the process over and over. The little ant's wife and kids are probably sitting back at home in their house-pocket, scraping by on what he can salvage from a hard days work. If I kill him, mom gets the stigma of an ant-widow and the kids will grow up to be little piss-ants and snort dirt.

Today, I was in my shower and noticed a spider on the wall. It was starting to get wet from the shower spray. I watched it try to climb the wall to escape the impeding doom. I realized it wasn't going to make it before a huge water droplet had formed on its body and it would drown. Drowning is a painful and terrible way to die. So I dried my hand off and carried it over to the top ledge of the shower door where it would be safe and dry. I doubt he's grateful for my kindness but at least I know my shower didn't disrupt his life.

Also today, I was transferring clothes from my washer to my dryer. I was about to close the lid when this little tiny fruit fly flew in to the washer bin. My first thought was to shut the door and forget about it. Then, I remembered I wasn't going to do another load until Wednesday. The fly would be trapped inside for 2 days. It would have no food or water and would be stuck in the dark. That is a terrible way to die. Maybe it had a wife, who was waiting at their little fly home. He was supposed to just run out and grab some dinner. She had had a hard day and was pregnant with 500 kids. She was having a craving for decayed apple. Her husband was trying to be a good man and go get it for her. But instead, he got lost and thought the inside of the washer smelled like fruit. Poor little guy. I put down my laundry basket and whisked the fly out of the washer and then shut the door.

Maybe my kindness will be repaid later so when I get reincarnated I won't end up a slug or a dung beetle.

PS. There are two exceptions to my bug rule. One is roaches and the other is mosquitos. Those little jerks die instantly. If I could kill them slow and painfully, I think I'd probably do so.

Letting them Fall

Oh toddlers...oh toddler boys. It's so difficult to watch them hurt themselves. But I try my best to not intervene in their playful ways. Today was a rough one on my son.

First he climbed to the top of his slide outside. He has this slight obsession for the past few days about walking down the slide. It's all he wants to do. I keep cringing watching him get a step or two down and then falling on his butt, sliding the rest of the way. I've been waiting for him to hurry up and either get it right or hurt himself so he stops. This afternoon his legs went out from under him too fast and he slammed his back right on the edge of the slide and then fell off hitting his head on the ground. He cried and cried. Then did it again. and again.

Then both he and his sister have discovered how much fun spinning around can be. So both of them will spin in a tight circle over and over and over and then try to run. Of course they fall down. Two bloody lips for my daughter and three for my son plus a bitten tongue. But yet, they still keep spinning and running.

Another fun game they like to play is stand on the edge of the couch and try your best not to fall forward and jump off at the last minute. This is always a fun one to watch because you can count to 10 until you hear the AAAAAHHHHHH because someone didn't jump in time and has now face planted onto the carpet. Yet it is done everyday.

I think my favorite is the "close the door by holding the edge of the door and slamming fingers in the door" trick. That's another daily trick that they just can't seem to learn the consequence of.

This entry probably makes me sound like an absent mother but I'm more of a watchful,-you-better-be-careful-oops-there-ya-go type of mother. It's also probably why my kids are such monkeys. When we go to the playground my kids are running all over the place up and down the equipment while other kids their age are being walked around the equipment on their mom's hip. Or being told NO STOP at every turn. Oh well. They're probably going to save a lot more than me on ER bills.

What's your plan?

You know you have one. We all do. What would you do if someone broke into your house in the middle of the night and you were all alone?

I've had several plans over the years, most of them involve hiding spots or sneaking out windows. I never had to put any of them into practice and the one time someone was trying to get in my window I was drunk out of my mind and simply yelled at him.

I went out to a bar that night with some friends that were in town shortly after I had moved to Houston. I hadn't really drank a lot for a long time so my tolerance was non-existent (I hate to think what it is now). A friend dropped me back at my place which was this tiny space located in the museum district in Houston. I some how got in my door and collapsed on my bed, clothes and all. I woke up to the sound of my window being rattled. I looked over and saw a homeless guy trying to shimmy it open. I stood up in the dark and just started screaming at him to get the hell away with lots of obscenities. He was probably drunk too and ran off scared out of his mind.

Then for some reason I wanted to open the window to continue yelling. I couldn't get it open because the latch was stuck. When I am drunk, I fight. I might as well be Scottish. I've got many embarrassing stories about that. I thought that a hammer was an excellent tool to pry it open. This resulted in the window breaking and glass falling outside. I didn't want to pay to have the window fixed because I was broke so I did the only thing I could think of, I called 911 and told them a homeless guy broke my window trying to get in. The 911 lady said they would send an officer and I told her that wasn't necessary. In my mind I just wanted it to be on record I called so when my landlord tried to charge me I could protest that it wasn't my fault.

I passed out again. I woke up to loud banging on my door. I groggily got up and remember the whole cops issue. All I could think of was that they were going to arrest me for being drunk. I tried to sober up by jumping up and down a few times but that just made me woozy. I answered the door and they walked in asking if I was ok. I told them the story in my most "I'm drunk off my ass but trying to play cool so I'll annunciate each syllable as perfectly as possible" voice. Then they asked to see the window. Um, ok sure. I took over and showed them. Then the tall officer asked me, why is the broken glass on the outside of the window?

Dammit. This copper is a smart cookie. I looked him in the eye and said, I told you someone tried to break in my window. He said, yes but if someone tried to break in from the outside, the glass would be on the inside of my room. I toughened up and said, um, no it would be on the outside. This debate went back and forth and I lied once more. First you guys have to understand I don't lie. I'm horrible at it and the actual event will make me throw up. Not being able to lie has gotten me in more trouble than if I would just get a better poker face. So for me to pull this off was a miracle.

I told him I was a genetics major and was attending graduate school at the moment. I made up all sorts of bullshit about how a window without plastic support is actually a liquid and since these windows are so old the glass would be thicker at the bottom than the top thus forcing the glass to flip towards the force once the proper amount of pressure was applied.

The officers looked at each other and started to act interested in my explanation. Once I finished they shook their heads like "ooooh" and had me sign some statement as to what happened. I was still waiting for them to take me to jail so when they smiled and left my home I was in shock. I washed my face/took a shower/brushed my teeth and collapsed once more on my bed. The next morning when I woke up I really thought it had all been a dream until I saw the broken window.

So now that I'm in my Miami home all alone, I've had to generate new plans. A robber would not be scared of my screaming here and also wouldn't understand a damn word I say. Plus I have the kids to deal with, what do I do with them? My plan has a major flaw though. That flaw is that in my heart, I don't believe a robber would hurt a child sleeping in a crib. So, my plan is to either crawl into this tiny space in my closet, or hide under this little table in my daughters room. I leave a lamp on in the living room at night so that the robber can easily see his way around and be in and out quickly. That light would also illuminate my kids rooms and he would see the cribs right off the bat and know not to go in there. Of course he would come in my room but by the time he made it back there (b/c remember the alarm is going off), I would already be hiding in my secret spot. He'd want to get out quickly so he'll take what he needs and flee.

Now a daytime robber is different. That is when my acting skills would come into play. Let's say I was out for a walk and I came home to a man standing in my house. If I was close enough to the door I would run like mad with kids in tow. But if I was in the house and it was too late, I would put a huge smile on my face and exclaim, "There you are!!! Thank you for coming!! The computer is right over here!" I'd point to the computer and then say, "Thanks again for taking it off my hands. Just let me know when you have finished fixing it! You still have my number right?!? Oh and here's 20 dollars for the trouble" Hell, I'd even help him unplug it if he wants. There are various versions of this story in my head. Maybe I'll use a mobile jewelry cleaning service if he's in my bedroom. Whatever it may be this plan is also flawed because it is contingent upon the robber speaking english. Which unfortunately probably wouldn't be the case in this town. Not even my mail carrier speaks english. So I need to learn my lines en espanol.

So, do you have a better plan?

Bailey.

I remember the day I got my cat Bailey. Life was crazy and my bunny had just died. I was about to head off graduate school and was moving to Houston where I knew no one. My husband (boyfriend/ex-boyfriend at the time) were going through a terrible rough patch. I needed a companion to help me make it through this transition.

I went to the Brazos Valley Animal Shelter and perused through the kitten aisles. I looked down the way and saw this little fuzz ball with her paws clamped onto the wire cage door, screaming her head off. I went to her and opened the cage. She instantly snuggled up to my neck and started purring. Her original name was "Patches" and she had a brother and a sister in the cage with her.

I had a friend lie about being my landlord on the phone so that I could take her home. I moved to Houston the very next day after she was fixed and took her staples out myself. She was the sweetest cat I had ever met in my life. All she wanted to do is snuggle and couldn't wait for me to get home each night from Urban Outfitters, where I worked for rent money before grad school started.

She's always been there for me. When we were trying to have a baby, I would hold her at night and she would snuggle up beside me letting me know it would be ok. When I was pregnant she would sit on top of my growing belly and jerk unexpectedly when one of them would kick.

Once the babies were born she kind of got put on the back burner. Even though all of our focus was on our two new cute kittens she still tried her best to be with us as much as possible. Both kids are pretty rough on her, pulling her tail, yanking at her hair and whatnot but she has never lost her temper, only looked at me with a "help me!" face.

So tonight, during dinner I noticed she wasn't sitting on the couch in her normal spot. In fact, she was no where in the living room. I went through the house and couldn't find her anywhere. I searched and searched when it hit me. The sliding door to the backyard had been open most of the day. Bailey has never tried to escape so I've never worried about it. But, today was different.

I'm trying so hard to find a house and take care of moving things while taking care of two toddlers with a husband out of town. The weather has been beautiful so I let the kids go from the living room to the backyard while I sit here at the computer and search. It's nice because I can check on them but also get stuff done. Anyway, it didn't occur to me that Bailey might escape. She's pretty lazy but I'm sure the all day open door was more than inviting.

Then it hit me. Bailey had come up to me at the computer to rub against my leg. I ran my hand down her back and kept pouring through house picture after picture, then she walked off.

I had the flash memory of my daughter running up to me moments later saying "AHPPUL AHPPUL!!" which is her name for cats. At the time I thought she was just trying to tell me that there was a cat outside. There is always a cat outside. I smiled at her and said, yes baby, a kitty and returned back to these damn houses.

Then my daughter ran off, looking at me very strangely before she headed back out the door. Thinking back, my stomach dropped. My baby girl was trying to tell me that Bailey, her Apple, was walking out the back door, and I wasn't listening.

Nowhere to be found. I started getting more and more frantic. It was now dark outside so I grabbed a flashlight. I saw eyes shining back at me in the bushes. But, there were 4 eyes. I walked over and it was two of my neighbors street cats. They ran away and that's when I lost it. Bailey's a wimp. She has no front claws. She's defenseless and would lose severely against the roaming gang of cats next door. I came back inside and cried. And cried.

I gave the kids baths, put them to bed with tears in my eyes the whole time. I was shocked that they didn't even notice that mom was upset. But, I was completely numb. The thought ran through my head as why mom's take xanex and whatnot. It was so much easier to put the kids to bed tonight feeling numb. Their behavior didn't even affect me and bedtime was a breeze.

Anyway. All I could think was: My baby is gone. My heart hurts and I kept thinking about how I'm going to find her. Mauled by a dog. Limping and bleeding but I can't get to a vet because I'm all by myself and don't even know where a 24 hr cat hospital is in this damn town. Would I just have to throw the kids in the car half asleep to get her help? Is she scared. Is she lonely. If she doesn't die is she going to catch Feline Leukemia or FIV from one of those nasty stupid cats out there. I can't breathe.

For the past hour I have been scrambling around outside with a flashlight digging through brush and even saw a snake. I didn't even think about snakes. She could be bitten and laying somewhere twitching.

I came inside and went into my bedroom, still red faced and crying. I put on my sweatpants and threw my jeans on the bed. My jeans moved and from beneath came a uumhhh sound. I ripped off the covers and there was a little flattened kitty, sleepy eyed and confused. She had been asleep under my covers the whole time. Earlier, I had checked the bed but saw no lumps. We have a pillow top mattress and I guess she's so fat she sunk down into the pillow top thus eliminating the lump. My heart exploded in joy and I was so happy to see her.

For a few hours tonight I started coming to grips with the death of my cat. I felt like throwing up and the idea was killing me from the inside. I felt so much pain over a cat. How does any parent ever deal with the loss of a child?!?

Worst Mistake

Thinking about mistakes. What's the worst parenting mistake I think I've made. Hmm...there's plenty, but I think there is one that makes me cringe each time I think about it.

I'm an advocate of crying it out (CIO). I don't believe in it before 4 months but after that, I'm all for it. For those not savvy into parenting 101, crying it out is when your child is tired, you know they're tired, they know they're tired, but they are putting up a fight to go to sleep. This happens when they realize that hanging out with mom is more fun than their crib, when they start to learn something new (like how to stand up in their crib) or a variety of other reasons.

I was fortunate because my kids were pretty good. I never had to do cry it out on my son until he was 7 months old and decided that flipping over during the night was a great opportunity to scream for mom to flip him back (he would only sleep on his stomach). My daughter, I had to do it around 10 months when she would spit her pacifier out at night and decide she wanted ME to put it back in for her. Both CIO sessions only lasted 3 days and the problems were remedied. Then at almost 1 year old, my daughter started acting very strange. She was refusing to go down for naps and would cry and cry when we would put her to bed at night.

Trying to take a loving approach we would go in there when the crying would get too intense after bedtime and gently rub her back or something else to get her to go to sleep. This went on for 4 days. I had had enough but my husband is a softy for his little girl and can't handle her cries.

Then, he went out of town. This was my opportunity to nip her anti-bedtime habit in the bud (or is it butt, I never know). I put her to bed and as expected she started crying. I said, sorry child, but you're going to have to figure it out. The crying just went on and on and on and on.

At 1 hour and 20 minutes, I couldn't take it any longer. I had never heard her cry that long in my life. But I figured her will was as strong as mine. I went into her room and her face was soaking wet from tears, I felt around in the dark and her sleep sack was even wet. She was a mess. I turned on her little light so I could fix up her crib (it was stuffed animal carnage).

When I flipped on her light, her face had blood smeared all over it. There was also blood on her hands and her sleep sack. I looked at her crib rail and there were gnaw marks that stretched from one end down to the other.

I figured out where the blood had come from, her upper gums. All four of her top teeth were breaking through the surface at one time and she was in terrible pain. She also was trying to cut them through herself on her crib rail. I cried the instant I saw what had happened. She wasn't trying to manipulate me. She didn't want stall her bedtime, she was just trying to tell someone, anyone, that her freakin' teeth hurt like hell.

I calmed her down (and myself), gave her Motrin, and a bottle with cold water in it to suck on. She finally fell asleep from exhaustion and I put her back in her crib. I was racked with guilt and swore from then on that if crying lasted more than 20 minutes, I would always go in and check.

There have only been a handful of times I've had to do CIO, but now that I would consider them "trained" I don't do it anymore. If a cry begins that is not a "I'm dreaming cry" and is intense, I always go to check on them. Almost every time, someone has a fever or has an arm/leg stuck in the crib slats...or like that one time, when my cat was sharing the bed and he didn't appreciate it much.

What's your biggest mistake?

Having a second child

I can see the appeal, I really can but we're done with the baby making business.

There is a reason that when you are pregnant, some women will ask you, "is this your first one?" I had always found that a very strange question, but I would answer yes and they would tilt their heads to the side and give me a little grin. It was because, they knew.

Your first child is terrifying. You don't have that been there done that attitude. Every whimper they make is strange and although you can fake it pretty well, you have no damn clue what you are doing. If you're like me, everything seems formulaic. If it worked today and baby's not dead yet, it should work tomorrow.

I also had a hard time with my first babies because I was scared to get too close. This is a problem I've had my whole life. Rarely do I get close to people. It's something I've been working on but my network of deeply close people in my life is very tiny. I tend to be on the defensive. If we're not that close then you can't hurt me.

My poor husband had to endure years of this when we were dating and even some when we first got married. There are times now when he accuses me of not letting him in my little world. Sometimes it's true.

So when the twins arrived I pushed away from them. Of course I loved them as my children but I didn't get too close. Even in old home movies you can see me feeding and holding them as if they are robots. My warmth towards them as a new mother is absent.

I remember peering into their cribs while they were sleeping. I would peek in and see such a small fragile bundle and I'd walk away because my eyes would start to whell up with tears. I loved them so much but I wouldn't let myself love them the way I should have. I saw their survival as a mission and didn't take as much time out to hold them close and just sit. I was so wrong and if I could do it over again with them...I would.

That is why, I think, some people want a second baby. You know they aren't going to die. You know that being a little late for a feeding or missing a nap are not the end of the world. You know that the colds will pass and they'll be ok. You know that you don't have to be perfect and they love you no matter what. I've heard some women say that you "have" your first baby but you enjoy your second.

I do feel bad that I won't get to experience what life is like as an experienced mother but I can only hope that my friends can learn from my mistakes and just not take it all so seriously.

Oh Mirtha

My neighbor that has the 12 cats is a cooky old lady.

She must be an incredible woman. Her son drown years ago in his 20s and when she has met my mom has remarked how lucky she is to have grandchildren, because she will never know the joy.

Her husband also is suffering from end stage Parkinson's and has a round the clock nurse that lives with them. I have only seen him a few times. He sits in a wheelchair, all covered up and just stares out into nowhere. She has also mentioned that she never pictured their life ending up like this when she was my age. She just assumed they'd grow old together and then die in a quick car accident. Instead, he's been home bound for the last 15 years.

She's still really mentally sharp but is just a little spicy. She'll greet you with the biggest wave, a huge smile and a hug, you'll ask how her day was, and she's say..."good good, except that bastard with the fuckin' big dog came by and let it shit in my yard...bastard."

I miss sleep.

It's called insomnia. I used to be a good sleeper. And then my babies were born. I hoped that my sleeping would return to normal once they started sleeping through the night. It has not. Instead my thyroid hates me. It starts the same each night. I quickly fall asleep and then something wakes me up. My cat jumping on me, my husband snoring, our air conditioner kicking off (its an old house with an old unit and it literally goes BANG!! when it shuts off), or a few of my neighbors cats decide to perform West Side Story in my backyard.

Nevertheless, I wake up, and never return to sleep. I may lay there, sometimes fall into a light sleep state, but I never go back to sleep until around 6am. My husbands alarm goes off at 6:30am, thus giving me about 2 hours total of sleep a night. It's a cause of a lot of my issues.

This is why my face is broken out like a teenager. This is why I'm irritable. This is why I'm losing weight. My doctors solutions are all medicinal but I don't do well with drugs. The one time I took an ambien I was caught in this half awake half asleep state that lasted all night and nearly drove me crazy. Anything from the "nighttime formula" family just sends my heart into palpitations.

So, instead. I just lay there, sometimes I get up and do laundry, tonight I'm typing to you people. It's 4:14am. I've been awake since 11:45 when my cat decided to jump up on the bed straight onto my chest. I cry about this sometimes because all I want to do is sleep. But instead I lay there in a perpetual state of hot flashes that run over and over my body. It's my body trying to warm itself to fall back to sleep but somethings blocking the pathway.

I wish I had something write about

I do. I really do. But in case you haven't heard, we're moving to Dallas and in a very short period of time. I'm so stressed out that I've been crying at the drop of a hat. There is so much to do. Getting out of the house here, selling our house in Houston (we have tenants living in there now with a lease that's not up until July!), finding/inspecting/closing on a house in Dallas, moving/packing, transportation (quite difficult with 2 little ones!) etc. etc.

And on top of all that my husband thinks we may not be able to get it all done before he has to start his job so I may be facing a month on my own here with the kids while he's working in Dallas and living out of a hotel. My face just broke out some more.

It'll be different now!

At each stage in my life I have always looked forward to the next step. So much so that rarely do I enjoy the moment that I'm in. I also think things are going to be SO much different in the next stage.

In high school, I couldn't wait to go to college. I mean, in college I wouldn't have to deal with all the bullshit drama. People would be mature and responsible. Nope. College was much worse than highschool. Hormones were rampant and people still divided up into more cliques. Emotions were even worse and with so much drinking and sex being involved every body's emotions were getting toyed with here and there.

UGH, I can't wait to get out of college and go to grad school where I don't have to put up with he said she said crap. The professors will be upstanding intellectuals and I will learn so much. Nope. The professors were worse than the high schoolers. He said she said, stab in back, don't talk to them, sit here not there.

Thank God for the working world. Young professionals and a great working team will finally be a place for me to be a real grown up. Nope. He said she said coffee break room gossip. Coworkers getting away with murder and the ever present annoying unhappy coworkers.

At least in motherhood I'll be able to find a group of people who are now raising children, so they are bound to be more mature right? Nope. So far, the group of moms that I have met all secretly talk trash behind each others back and swear that the other mother is killing their children because they let their 2 year old have a bite of chocolate.

So...tomorrow is my birthday and I'm turning 30. I have decided to have no prospectus of what 30+ is going to look like. I'm going to assume that my new group of 30-something people are going to be just as immature as they were in their 20s but will be making larger mistakes with larger consequences. This way I will not be disappointed and hope to actually be impressed a few times.

On a side note. I scheduled myself a spa day for my birthday. Mom's running away.

...and I have 3hrs and 27 mins until my 20s are gone. This is hard man.

What. the. hell. is. happening.

Mother and baby sitter plotted and locked her in a shoebox under her bed for 12 hours with no food in the dark.

10 year old boy gets mad at his dad and shoots him in the back of the head, killing him in front of his baby sister.

15 year old girl was taken behind her school during a homecoming dance. Then was raped, sodimized with foreign objects and beaten for 2.5 hours. As many as 20 people stood around and watched the event, some taking pictures and video on their cell phones. Students at the school described her as a "geek".

14 year old boy sodomizes a 4 year old. When the 4 year old says he's going to tell, he fills the bathtub with water and holds him under, then stuffs his body into a clothes dryer.

Mom cuts the throat of her 2 year old and 7 year old son. 7 year old manages to hide and live. She claims she didn't want her sons to grow up crazy like her.

Someone killed a nun at her convent for her car.

This guy raped and strangled 10 women then buried them in his backyard.

Solider shoots a bunch of servicemen. He used to be a psychiatrist.

Boys get mad at another boy who was a snitch, douse him gasoline, set him on fire, he runs to a pool to save his life. He's in very bad shape. Kids at the apartment complex react by....burning dolls and throwing them in the pool thinking it's funny.

ORLANDO, FLORIDA

Fetus found floating at a waste water plant

15 year old kills 9 year old by stabbing her because she thought killing was a fun "hobby" and didn't like Elizabeth.

Social Networking

I saw an interesting article today. It was talking about how social network sites are obviously all the rage but essentially are not good for our mental health.

The brain has an amazing capacity to forget, and that is actually a good thing. It is it's way of eliminating things that are not important and focusing on those things that are important. Imagine if you remember every single thing from your day, your brain would be on constant overload and would be in dire need of defraging (down at fraggle rock chh-chh).

The same goes with forgetting people an events. You need to forget some of them. Instead I have lots of "friends" on Facebook and get bombarded with status updates all day long. Skip a few days and I have accidently forgotten someone's birthday that I went to high school with and haven't seen since. Will they be upset? Should I send them a note? A few years ago that person would not have even existed in my mind and would be a faded memory. In fact, I may have never even thought of that person again for the rest of my life.

Ex-boyfriends should be a long distant thing of the past. But social networking allows you to see them, see what they look like now, see what their new girlfriend looks like, check out their receding hairline. Or even more awkward is if you and your ex's are not friends. You still have mutual friends, you know that each other exist but you will be damned if you are going to ask them to be friends (but I wonder why they haven't asked me? are they still not over me?) The answer should be who cares.

Sometimes worse than people are events. People throwing pictures up of drunken nights, weird outfits, or a picture that shows you with your finger up your nose. These snapshots of time are better left to the past. Yet, there they are in your face if you get "tagged".

I often make myself the police of Facebook for my younger relatives. I see things I don't like and send them a message. Pictures of them bonging a beer or pushing your cleavage together (which I have a few of myself, but in a shoe box) are not great to have as your profile picture. Digital files are forever and 3-4 years down the road, that picture may blow your chances of getting that internship.

It's healthy to move on and erase people/events from your memory banks. I currently have a weird social situation where this guy I met ONCE over 7 years ago signed up to be my friend. I said ok because I don't want to be rude. Now he sends me these invitations over and over to become a fan of his new business he's starting up. He's making t-shirts and ugly ones at that. He sent me a note and asked why I wouldn't join his fan club. I told him that I honestly didn't like his shirts and I didn't want to lie that I was a fan.

He wrote back and told me that he is creating them and selling them because his daughter has cancer and the shirts are to help support her therapy bills. Now, look, I'm the asshole. If Facebook wasn't even around I would have never seen or heard from this person ever again, but instead I'm guilted into liking his ugly shirts for his dying daughter.

These are the unhealthy mental games that this article was talking about. Your brain was designed to forget and move on, but unfortunately, most of us have become addicted to overcrowding it with people we normally wouldn't think of. Thus, causing me to lose my keys and spend less time with my kids than I should.

Control Freak

Everyone has their vices. Mine is control. From the moment I was born I have had my precious label. In kindergarden, I walked in, announced to the teacher that I had arrived and she may now start class. My mother slapped her forehead and I see this in my near future with my daughter.

I've always had the need to have the upperhand and I hate surprises. The one time my husband tried to throw me a surprise party I found out and got so angry I didn't talk to him for three days. In college, I found out he was going to spring a surprise proposal on me, I called everything off and we broke up for 9 months. It's a bit of a problem.

This is a huge reason why I have found motherhood so difficult. You are not in control. You can guide and push, but ultimately, your little bundle(s) are steering the boat.

I go through these phases where I have obsessive needs to organize. As in, I stay up all night and work all day on my current project. Right now, it is getting all of our home movies in a published DVD format. Last week, it cleaning out closets and trashing or shipping away things I don't need/want. The week before that it was redoing the toy room. Whatever "it" is, I can't rest until it's done.

I thought these qualities just made me an organized person. But after some reflection, I found out why I organize. When one part of my life is out of my control, I have to attack something else to regain my feeling of power.

Take for example my time in a research lab. When my experiments were failing all over the place, my lab bench was so neat and clean you could eat off of it (which I frequently did). When my thesis committee was up in the air about whether I was going to be able to defend or not, all of my research was neatly compiled into binders and my computer work was put into stackable folders, to which a monkey could find any experiment ever performed.

As a mom, when I've been the most organized, it's when my kids have been completely out of control. Fussy, not napping, resistant, sick or currently "with attitude". My daughter is so much like me it's painful. She will strike her brother on the head with a toy, then walk over to time out, sit down, yell MAMA and point to "Mr. Timer." After she has instructed me to turn him on, so she can serve her sentence, she will sit there with her arms folded. After Mr. Timer beeps, she will get up, give me a hug and go try to kiss her brother (to which he flails his arms to ward her off). My daughter is so much like me, she doesn't even let me control her own discipline. Don't worry mom, I've got it.

But hey, my quirk could be worse. I could turn to drinking or other more inviting vices. So I guess for now, until my kids get off their crazy wagon, I'll just stick to relabeling and organizing my videos by chronological date and theme.

My Ghost Story

Most of you have heard this story because when it happened I couldn't keep my mouth shut about it. I've always been one of those people. The people who feel that they have a close connection to the metaphysical world. I remember as a child seeing things that others couldn't. I remember a woman being in a room with me at my grandmothers house. She would often follow me around. But she didn't like me going in the downstairs bedroom. Whenever I would go in there I would feel anger and was scared out of my mind. Years later when I recounted the story and my feelings, turned out the bottom bedroom was where my great grandmother was bedridden the last few months of her life and where she died. Her mind was still sharp but she was a prisoner of osteoporosis. My guess is my great grandmother was my guide around the house and since she hated that prison cell of a room, she didn't want me in there either.

The night my grandfather died he came and sat on my bed with me. I knew it was him but as a 10 year old I was too scared to open my eyes, so I just remember smelling his cologne. When I was 14 I awoke during a thunderstorm and was paralyzed in my body but my mind was alert. That was the night God talked to me. I have no idea what he said but I was 100% aware that he was having a conversation with me and I couldn't move. I remember being terrified but calm all at the same time.

When I was in college I was driving down a highway between Austin and College Station. It was around 2am and was foggy. So foggy I was having a hard time driving. I was the only person on the road and I could hear my parents voices screaming in my head, "What the hell are you doing driving at this time of night!" All I wanted to do was get back home. I was rounding a curve when my headlights beamed straight onto a person who was standing in the middle of the road in a white t-shirt. It was a man around 25 years old and he had blood stains all over the t-shirt. I screamed in my car as I drove straight past him and he whizzed by my drivers side door. I picked up my cell phone and called 911 and told them what I had seen. I was afraid someone had been in a car accident in the fog and was hurt. The police called me the next day to tell me that they went out and looked and nothing was found. It took weeks to get the goosebumps off my neck.

So, moving into a house that was built in the 1930s was a bit scary for me. After we had moved all our stuff in here I walked around the house. I instantly knew I was in for some trouble. As I walked down the hall towards my son's bedroom a familiar feeling came over me. I knew that his bedroom belonged to someone else. Standing in the room, I felt like I was being watched.

A month after we had moved in things started happening. Toys that were on shelves were in the middle of the room in the morning. Pacifiers that were firmly planted in his mouth (before he could pull up) were balancing on the crib rail after naps. Each night as I held him, watching him drift off to sleep, it felt like there were 3 people in there. My cat refused to go in the room. If you tried to take her in there she would claw her way out. Then my son started waking up screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night. It was at such a high pitch and volume that it would jolt both of us out of bed. I'd go to get him and he would be covered in sweat and would quickly fall back to sleep in my arms. The height of my fear came at around 2am one night when I heard his scream again. I went in his room and gently patted his butt and back trying to get him to calm down and go back to sleep. As I draped myself over his crib rail I could feel someone behind me. First it was just a feeling, then I felt a tug on my shirt and a brush up against my side. I got my son back to sleep and quickly returned to my bedroom terrified out of my mind. Often I would go get my son from a nap and he would be balled up against the crib bumper and behind him would be an outline with his toys pushed up against the other side. It almost looked as if someone was laying in the crib with him.

Then one night it happened. I heard a cry and got up to go to him. As I got to my bedroom door and looked down the hall I saw her. She was a little girl and she ran into his bedroom. Now I was faced with a dilemma. Do I go into my crying son's room or run back under the covers and let him figure it out. Maternal instincts won and I forced my body to go into his room. I shoved a pacifier in his mouth, threw on a blanket and was thrilled that did the trick. I got back to my bed and cried. Was I going crazy? What am I supposed to do?

I contacted a friend of a friend who told me that this was a friendly ghost. But I couldn't just hope that Casper would go away I had to act. She told me to put salt on the window sills and around the door and ask her politely to please leave. I did just that. I felt like an idiot and I was waiting for my thesis committee to come in my front door and take away my PhD. I spoke very kindly to her and said that it was nice to meet her but it was time she moved on and to please leave our house. The next day, his room was brighter, it was warmer, he didn't wake up the following night, everything had changed. Now of course, if you ask my husband about any of this he will roll his eyes and draw a circle around his temple a few times, but I know what I saw and I know myself.

Myself is someone who just knows things. I connect in deep ways with people and have not ever been able to explain it. My husband said I can look at him in a way that sees straight through him and goes so deep he wants to hide. I had an ex-boyfriend said that from the moment he met me he felt like I was a person he couldn't hide from. I'm not sure if I can scare the living hell out of my friends too or not but I do hope my friendship is one of depth.

Now I realize almost all of this can be explained in other ways. An active childhood imagination, deep memory recollection, sensory overload, sleep paralysis and an over exhausted mother of twins, but I just know what I know.

After seeing the movie Paranormal Activity Sunday night, I didn't sleep a wink last night. I know nothing evil has ever come after me and in my own warped mind I think that is what God did to me that night long ago. Some of us are "sensitives" and probably need protection. Whether he gave it to me or not, I will blindly pretend I have his coat of armor on my soul.

I stare at hair

I've always hated my hair. I love it after a stylist finishes blowdrying it straight and adding lots of volume but then I get home and reality sets in. I have white-trash hair. It's straight in the front and wavy in the back. Not a nice soft wave but one that starts about mid-head and then kind of goes all kinky like. It's frizzy if left to dry on it's own and blows out super big if not kept under control.

I think that is why my hair has been in a pony tail for about 10 years. I don't know how to wear it any other way. It takes almost an hours worth of effort to make it presentable to show in public if I wear it down. Who has that kind of time anymore. Wash, condition, blow dry, flat iron, curl...too much.

I've always been jealous of other people's hair. My friends Paige and Kate have the cutest short hair. They can pull it off because of their amazing cheek bones. My sister-in-law has the most gorgeous curly hair that after a flat iron is super shiny and soft, she can easily wear it either way. I dream of having hair like that.

Tonight we went to go see a movie. After the movie was over there was a girl leaning up against the wall waiting for her boyfriend or friends, or maybe she was looking to score drugs, I have no idea. But she had the most beautiful hair I have ever seen. It was so shiny that it was almost blinding. Smooth with a slight curl at the end and volume on top. Based on her clothes she didn't have to put much effort into either. Unless she spent two hours on her hair and then forgot to get dressed up.

As my husband paid for our parking, I couldn't help but just stare at her. I realized I had been staring to long when she looked my way and squinted her eyes and raised her hands to about breast bone height, mouthing "what!" I looked away and should have learned my lesson but I stared at her again after about 10 seconds. She looked back my way and turned a shoulder. Then we started walking towards our car, I turned around and stared at her again, she looked back over her shoulder and after seeing me bare my eyes into her soul, she just walked off.

What can I say, I appreciate beauty. But at least I gave her a story to tell her friend or drug dealer whenever she sees them. This weird girl with no makeup and frizzy hair kept staring at me....GAAA!