Brothers can be useful sometimes

I guess they're right, brothers, although slow and dangerous behind the wheel, can still serve a purpose in society.

Sorry other brothers, but I have to now award Josh the award of Favorite Brother. Reason for winning the award: letting me borrow his laptop overnight so I could do all my homework for my stupid computer class that I needed Microsoft Office 2007 for, which I don't have and didn't want to buy.

I attempted to get a free trial of Office 2010, but I bought my computer in 2006, which in computer years translates to it being 1,000. In order to get Office 2010 I would need a more recent version of Windows. I have XP. I would need 2007 or Vista. Not gonna happen. And because of their greediness and refusal to accept that some people might want older software, Microsoft will not give you a free trial of 2007. Why would you want 2007 when you can have bigger badder more streamlined 2010?

You can buy Office 2007, but even though its not the newest version of Office it still costs $150. Another option would be for me to drive 40 miles to use the computers at the college campus, but then I'd need a babysitter and gas money. And I'd rather just do it at my own house, on my own time.

In my desperate attempt to find a way around buying Office, I called my brother and asked him if our parents computer had Office. I could've called them, but they wouldn't know. He said he didn't know, but his computer had Office. I then asked him in my nicest big sister voice if I could use his computer. He agreed. Who can tell their older sister no?

So thanks to Josh and his laptop I have now finished my computer class. I'm done. Complete. No work left to do. It was only a one-credit five week class so it shouldn't of been causing so much stress.

The work turned out to be simple stuff I already knew how to do anyway, the only thing standing in my way was lack of Office. Five weeks of "work" done in one evening. Now I feel accomplished.

Stepping It Up

Since I'm currently The Girl Buried Under Her Psych Homework David has decided to take on more of the household chores. I didn't ask him to do this, it was his idea. My head's still spinning at the thought of him learning where we keep the broom.

I tried to get him to babysit my blog for me a little bit, so its not so neglected. But he claims my followers don't want to read ten posts about the Cowboys. I say let them decide for themselves.

He has pledged to help out more around the house to possibly lessen the load of work that I have to do. Housework is not something I really spend that much time on, because my house stays pretty clean with minimal effort. As long as everyone who's old enough to know how picks up after themself we manage to keep everything pretty orderly.

Laundry on the other hand, is the mountain I don't want to even attempt to climb. I hate folding laundry. It is my nemesis. No matter how small the amount or how cute the clothes it contains, I loathe it.

The following information is 100% true. Names have not been changed to protect anyone's identity.

David did a load of laundry. It happened. He did it all by himself and even put the clothes in the dryer. But he didn't check the pockets, so I ended up fishing his wallet out mid-cycle. That's not what's important here. He did laundry. He acknowledged that clothes do not magically appear in the closet/dresser clean and folded. He even folded them and put them away.

His game is officially stepped up. He is washing dishes and changing ladies into pajamas left and right. And I do appreciate it. Just not the way he constantly brags about it. Look at that. Steppin' it up. Another instance of steppin' it up. There's Dave again, steppin' it up.

I get it. You did some housework. Go pat yourself on the back somewhere else.

Snowed In

Hello blog world, remember me? That girl who used to frequent Blogger so very very much, but now decided she has better things to do.

I still love you blog world, but I think we should see other people. Not forever, just till Christmas. Then we can have a holiday reunion, catch up, maybe I'll send you a Christmas card. I promise to visit you when I finish my one million word psych assignment. Anybody want to write a 600 word response to 10 questions about objective observation and subjective interpretation? No? No takers? Well I just thought I'd give it a try.

When I'm writing on my blog which I like words flow fairly freely from my fingertips. I have no shortage of things to say. But when I'm writing about subjective interpretation which I couldn't care less about the process is a little more painstaking. Words stumble awkwardly from my fingers, only to be deleted seconds later. I need to find my groove. Groove, are you out there? Anybody seen my writing groove? If you see it, tell it to get over to my psych assignment pronto.

Since the semester started two days ago I feel a little bit like the mountain of psych and biology homework I have is slightly taller than my 5'7" self. Like there's been an avalanche of online coursework and biology experiments and I'm trapped somewhere at the bottom, with only one hand sticking out. Someone wanna grab it and pull me out? Or get me some food somehow? I don't have time to eat.

So if anyone's looking for me I'll be trapped somewhere under a massive pile of homework. Hopefully I'll make my way out sometime before Christmas.

***Post edit: I'm not abandoning my blog! I will still post regularly. I still have to document my life and my ladies' lives. I'm just not gonna be on here everyday like I was this summer. But I'll be back.

I'll need to see some ID please

Sometimes Alana has her own intrepretation of names. I guess she just says them how them sound to her, and according to three year old logic they make perfect sense. And don't try to correct her, because she lives by an I'm always right and everyone else is always wrong kind of philosophy. She will not believe you, so don't waste your energy.

The other day she brought a stuffed animal into the kitchen and proudly proclaimed it to be her pet tiger Roger. I proclaimed how awesome that was while silently wondering to myself Where the heck did she hear the name Roger? I know no one named Roger. And why is Roger a tiger? This one will go into the Unsolved Mysteries file.

Mystery solved five minutes later. She was watching Aladdin. Princess Jasmine was having a conversation with her pet tiger Rajah. Alana must've thought to herself Roger is a great name for a tiger!

I think I prefer Roger over Rajah. In case you haven't seen Aladdin (what planet are you from?), the tiger's name is pronounced Raw-Jaw.

Yesterday David bought himself a video game that he previously owned a couple of times before. That's a whole other long story of selling then re-buying the exact same game. Its a zombie game. David and Alana share a love of all things zombie that I can't even try to understand, and I don't really want to.

Alana was holding and admiring the game case in the backseat on the way home when she pointed out a female zombie and declared her to be named Donna. First name Donna. Last name The Dead. Donna The Dead.

In the mind of Alana all female zombies are named Donna. Donna The Dead. And if you don't get that joke you should stop reading my blog right now cause you just don't get me.

I'll have a large glass of Hater-ade

There are some aspects of my personality that steer me towards negativity. I try to corral them as best as I can. I don't want to listen to other people whine and complain about stuff so naturally I assume no one wants to listen to me whine and complain about stuff. Except in extreme cases, someone has to talk about how annoying Dora is.

My best efforts aside, sometimes I find myself complaining about stuff. Or saying I hate stuff. Most of the time when this occurs its in reference to a restaurant that David is suggesting to eat. He only ever picks places that I don't really care for. I swear. So my natural response is to veto it by saying I hate it. I hate Arby's. I hate Eegee's. I really hate Burger King. I hate those places. Yuck. I usually still end up eating there anyway

Even though I didn't mean for it to some of my hating has trickled down to Alana. I don't hate her, but she hates everything she can think of.

It started with her saying it one time, but that was the worst time, cause it was directed at me. She got in trouble and I wasn't even the one who punished her. All I tried to do was wash her hands afterwards. Then she said one of the top five things no parent wants to hear (up there somewhere with I'm pregnant). I hate you. Something inside of me possibly died right then. I couldn't even think of a response. Me, the witty one with a comeback for everything, can't say anything when my child says I hate you.  

She has since revoked her hatred of me, but everything else has been the subject of it at some point. I hate this show. I don't want to go to Tucson, I hate it. I hate pajamas. I hate having my hair brushed. I hate the new clothes you bought me. I hate puppies. Gasp! That last one caught me more off guard than when she said she hated me.

If she doesn't want to go somewhere or do something, she hates it. When she eventually changes her mind she tries to take it back. No Mommy, I don't hate you no more. Well Alana, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but once you say it, you can't take it back. Its out there, and your pajamas (or your mommy) aren't going to forget that easily. I don't think puppies will ever fully recover either. They are scarred for life.

Cool Cool Cool Tricks

Please excuse the title of this post. I've been watching too much Yo Gabba Gabba.

Ava is going to be on the baby version of America's Got Talent. Her skill: Fake sneezing and/or coughing.

Yesterday she sneezed twice. The cutest, tiniest little baby sneeze. Being the model of proper manners that I am, I said Bless You!

Her response: Additional fake coughing to ellicit another Bless You! from her mommy.

Now all it takes from me is a Bless You! and she responds with her little fake cough. Ahem. Ahem. Cough. Fake sneeze. Smile.

I may be biased but its quite possibly the cutest thing that any baby in the history of the world has ever done since the beginning of time. Strike that. My bias has nothing to do with it. It is the single cutest act ever performed by a one year old in the history of the universe.

Also in the repertoire: Disposing of things. My ears are on high alert for that familiar swish-clunk sound that is something being thrown in the trash.

Can't find your keys? Ava probably threw them away. She makes several treks a day to the garbage can carrying things she feels like she no longer needs. Weebles, books, sippy cups emptied of liquid, my keys, a shoe. Whatever's lying around. I've dug through the garbage quite a few times already to get stuff back out.

The fridge phonics letters don't yet know that will probably be their fate. When the number of alphabetized magnets on our fridge slowly starts to dwindle it will be Ava who caused their untimely demise. Sorry alphabet, but I kind of get tired of picking you up off the floor 100 times a day, so if you end up sleeping with the fishes, I'm not blowing the whistle.


***Post edit!!!

My bad. I've forgotten Ava's other new trick. I'm only mentioning it now because she is in the nude, wiggling her butt around and reminding me.

Her favorite new trick is diaper removal. If she is unclothed her diaper will be coming off, its not a question of if more of a question of when. I can hear that velcro tab from across the house and I just know nudity will follow. Then she walks around all proud and naked, her chubby butt jiggling with each step.

If only everyone were this confident naked. Its probably better than everyone isn't, cause I don't want to see that.

Nickname of the Month Club

I rarely call my children by their actual names. Its usually some random word or name I've picked up out of nowhere. No real meaning or symbolism to it, just something that I heard somewhere that just kind of stuck.

But I like a little variety in my life. No use having every second of everyday being the same. So every once in a while I like to change it up. Make the switch from Paco to something a little more.....now.

My current favorite just happens to be Ham-bone. Don't ask me where I got it from cause I couldn't tell you if I tried. Something about Ham-bone just resonates with me. I like it. Maybe I'll even change my own name to it. Who knows?

What does Ham-bone mean you ask? To me it means this: Little cute lady who I love very much and want to give too many kisses to and snuggle with.

It is an all purpose nickname. Interchangeable between both Alana and Ava, but probably Ava more often than not. Ava needs picked up? Come here Ham-bone. Alana wants an Otter Pop? Hold on just a minute Hambone. What color do you want Ham-bone? Somebody wants to watch cartoons? Dora or Spongebob my Ham-bone?

Ham-bones are priceless perfect ladies. Don't you wish you had a couple of Ham-bones at your house?

Ava's First Birthday Extravaganza

She was a little apprehensive about the whole Sitting in a corner with 20 people watching her eat cake thing. She ended up hugging her cupcake to her chest, glancing suspiciously around at everyone like they were all going to try to take it from her. I'm not sure that any of it even made it into her mouth.

 

A quick family pic after everyone left. Alana was here against her will so Ava was concerned. My forehead is all shiny and David is mad that he had to stop eating his cupcake to take a picture. Probably should've taken the pic at the beginning of the party.

The day of Ava's party was long and hectic and busy OH MY! We had a giant Costco cake and giant cupcakes, tons of ice cream and cookies, bbq beef and coleslaw and beans, and 3 coolers full of soda, capri sun and water. Our tiny house was packed to the brim with family and friends (Thanks everyone for coming!!) and Ava got lots and lots of presents. Lots and lots. Mostly clothes with a sprinkling of toys.

She was mostly interested in walking around and showing off her walking skills. Cake wasn't that compelling to her and neither were the presents. At one point I was left opening her presents by myself after she walked over to sit with David. Boxes upon boxes of clothes aren't that interesting to babies. She had funner things to do.

The day flew by and I was so busy I didn't get nearly as many pictures as I would've liked. Ava looks all grouchy in most of them so I'm thinking a possible reshoot is in order. If I'm feeling ambitious I'll put her back in her dress and snap a few pics. Hopefully I'll catch a smile or two.

I still can't believe she's one. She is walking around everywhere and most recently mastered the mid-floor stand-up. She feeds herself and is an expert sippy cup drinker. She loves to play with any and all toys that make noise and dance along with the music. She gives kisses, or leans in to receive them when you offer her one. She has long beautiful eyelashes and soft dark hair, which is growing fast. She is the proud owner of six teeth, which she loves to brush. She is a rebel against hairbows and headbands, and pulls them off at every opportunity. Her opinion on shoes hasn't changed much either. They are the enemy. She is perfect and precious and I love her!

I learned a few valuable lessons:

There is a thing as too much food for a birthday party. But David still doesn't agree.

August is hot.

Raid Flying Insect Spray works pretty good. It killed off the 1,000 flies that invaded our back room.

Babies turn one the day after you bring them home from the hospital. So don't blink or you'll miss it.

Don't plan on folding laundry on the day of a party. You won't have time.

Also don't wait to shower and do your hair till one hour prior to party time. It'll be a close call.

Costco cake is delicious. Serve it instead of the 1,000 cupcakes your husband insists on buying.

Toys for one year olds are also appealing to three year olds.

Leaving party decorations up for an undetermined amount of time will not slow time. But I'm still not taking them down yet. And I'm the girl who takes down the Christmas tree the day after Christmas.

Apparently I Was Too Lazy to Title This Post

Party one of 2 parties in 2 days for 2 babies went well.

Check that one off my to-do list. Sixty taquitos was a very generous estimate and now I'm left with a bag full in my fridge. Its always better to have too much of something than not enough though.

Now today is Ava's birthday. There's no time right now for my sappy I can't believe she's already one! post. That one will have to be postponed till tomorrow. Today everything in my house is calling my name and beckoning for my attention. My to-do list is still a mile long. I'm hearing voices calling me.

The laundry: Fold us already! The bathroom rug is in here and it needs to go back into the bathroom after The Great Mouthwash Spill of 2010. You're gonna need all these dishrags and towels. You'll be sorry if you ignore us cause later you'll be digging through a laundry basket looking for a towel!

The cabbage in the fridge: I'm not gonna make myself into coleslaw lady! Don't forget the celery seed, its your secret ingredient.

My left hand: You really need to be more careful. Its not like you've never used a grill before and yet there you were last night burning me because you weren't paying close enough attention. I'm still pretty sore so you'd better make your husband sweep and mop. Just make sure to tell him where you keep the broom, I don't think he knows.

The kitchen floor: You can't ignore me forever. I know you've relaxed your attitude towards me since Ava learned to walk and her knees aren't dirty cause of me, but come on already! Those little black bugs that have invaded Benson are all over the place, not to mention the cupcake crumbs, yet still you just sit there, typing on the computer. If I had legs I'd be outta here!

The 10 lbs of roast in the crockpot: Aren't you sick of smelling beef yet? Its getting pretty old around here after the roast you cooked yesterday. You better hurry up and shred me and get me seasoned and slathered in bbq sauce. You act like I'm not a priority. Like you have better things to do or something. Its just plain insulting.

I'd better go issue a gag order before the living room floor gets in on the action, whining about needing vacuumed.

Happy Birthday to my Ava!

Birthday Nesting

Nesting is a completely rational instinct. Right? Newborn babies definitely notice and/or care if your baseboards are clean when you bring them home from the hospital. They will undoubtedly judge you if all closets are not organized. They care about chair legs being cleaned and sanitized. Right? (I dare you to disagree with me).

I had some pretty crazy nesting instincts when I was pregnant with Alana. I spent the first week of my maternity leave cleaning 8 hours a day. I scrubbed the baseboards, vacuumed every corner of my house and cleaned out closets.

With Ava it wasn't as severe. It was August after all. I was home all the time so my house was pretty clean anyway. I already vacuum and mop everyday so there weren't a whole lot of things to scrub down.

This weird urge I'm getting to clean now is different though. Its not really about bringing a new baby into a clean home. Its about not letting 40 people into my home for a first birthday party if the stovetop isn't spotless. There is less than a week till Ava's birthday and I have the urge to make sure my house is clean, top to bottom. And I need to do it now.

The day before Ava's party is my sister's baby shower. I have to go to Tucson that day to pick up a Costco cake that David insisted on getting for Ava's party and 1,000ish buns for bbq sandwiches. Its gonna be a hectic day and as soon as we get back I have to finish up the food for the baby shower. I'm like a caterer for the weekend. Two events in two days.

Amidst party planning galore I feel the need to clean my house. I know it will just get dirty when we have people parading through it for Ava's party, but it needs to at least be clean when they get here. Seriously. I can't have people in my kitchen if the stovetop is even a little bit grimy. It must be scrubbed! The bathroom must be spotless, the garbage can needs cleaned, all laundry MUST be folded and put away, floors swept, mopped and vacuumed, beds made, etc, etc.

Its a sickness people. Really. I can't stop myself. My baby won't have a dirty birthday party. Except for the part where she eats cake and makes a giant mess of herself. That part can be dirty.

I'm Not Ready for Some Football

Pre-season football has officially started.

As I type the Cowboys are playing the Bengals and David is on the couch, yelling at the TV and wearing a 10 year old Emmitt Smith jersey. He is hyped. He's been waiting all day for Sunday night. He seriously just yelled Yay for football!

Football isn't something that's taken lightly around our house. David is not a fair weather fan. Not even a little. He never misses a game. He is beyond dedicated. The only room in our house without some type of Cowboys paraphernalia is the bathroom. Stupid compromise. Making me have Cowboys salt & pepper shakers.

When the game comes on you can bet he will be watching and wearing something blue in support of the love of his life, the Dallas Cowboys. Even last night, when Emmitt Smith was inducted into the football hall of fame, he tuned in wearing his jersey that he has owned for longer than he has known me. He might've even cried. But you didn't hear that from me.

David immerses himself during football games. He yells at the TV incessantly. How bout them Cowboys? Son of a b*tch Kitna! We got it back! Pick! Jesus Kitna. Roy Williams sucks! Way to go Jason Garrett, call another draw. Come on Columbo!  Boom! TC baby, TC. Nice! He used to lose his voice after every game, but he has learned to yell a little better the past few years. I'm curious to know what his blood pressure is when the game is close. He is literally on the edge of his seat.

He makes deals with the devil just for that victory. And if God forbid they lose, he is depressed the next 24 hours. His loyalty to the Cowboys is so well known at his work that his co-workers and customers all give him crap about last nights loss. His phone will have 20 unread text messages just from people he knows talking crap about football, win or lose.

Thanksgiving is dedicated to football because the Cowboys play every year. Every year for nine years I've been a football widow during that 3 1/2 hours that he spends in the living room at my dad's house yelling at the TV. If we eat dinner during the game he doesn't get his plate until a commercial. We once jokingly told him that he couldn't eat in the living room and he was going to go back to the TV empty handed. He picks football over food.

Then there's the "we". He considers himself an honorary part of the team. He is included in any statement regarding the Cowboys. We just signed Dez Bryant. We are playing the Saints on Thanksgiving. We need to get a first down right here. We need to cut that guy.

My kids are little fans. From birth they have been dressed in fan apparel. They will like the Cowboys whether they want to or not. Alana repeats everything David yells at the TV. Because of this his language has been significantly cleaned up. Ava just claps along.

Even I'm not immune to the festivities. Through spousal peer pressure I usually end up wearing some type of Cowboys shirt. I'm not happy about it, but I do it. I've attended no less than five professional football games, two of them in Dallas. I can't say they weren't fun or that I didn't want the Cowboys to win. If they lose I have to drive home with a depressed husband and get heckled by fans of the opposing team. Then we hear that Had a bad day song and he gets even more depressed.

Win or lose, you can bet David will always be a Cowboy fan. And the rest of us are just along for the ride.

Texas Stadium - 2005

The obligatory stadium tour. How could he pass up an opportunity to go on the field?

Alana was a Cowboy fan before she even left the hospital.

Alana was less than a week old when she watched her first football game.

Sometimes I'm forced to watch football in public while David yells at the TV.

Alana was ready to cheer on the Cowboys. She looks excited right?

Ava is ready to watch her first football game with us. You can watch football crossed eyed right?

Sometimes I even attend football games with my superfan husband. Just cause its his birthday.

Baby Fever

Yesterday I met this lovely lady. She is to be called Brinley. David says he likes B-Rock better. To each his own. She is so sweet and tiny. I love when their little butt fits perfectly into your hand. Newborns are my favorite kind of baby. They don't pull anyone's hair or get mad when you change the TV from Dora. I'm just saying. (I'd make the pic bigger but its from my phone so its blurry).

51 weeks ago today I had myself one of these.

Ava was exactly the same size as B-Rock when she was born, not even one year ago. Yet the thought of her being that small is mind blowing. It really feels like I just brought her home from the hospital. I was definitely ready to have another baby.

He caught me mid-thumbs up. I'm hyped to hold another little lady. Its so exciting waiting to meet your little one. Then I met her.

She was teeny tiny. I wanted to eat her up. I would've, but they brought me a turkey sandwich instead. It was the most delicious soggy turkey sandwich I've ever eaten after being forced to starve myself for 18 hours.

Can I rewind to holding my little paco that day? She didn't squirm to get down or bite Alana's foot. She had a tiny little head (thank goodness), covered in fuzzy black hair.

She slept through everything. That's one of my favorite things about newborns. They sleep through anything.

Then she met her Daddy.

She met her big sister. (I did not put those dorky looking socks on Alana!)

Then we brought her home. She spent some quality time with her sister.

She spent more time with her sister. I couldn't believe how giant Alana looked next to 7 lb Ava.

She was one week old before I knew it. And it was the start of football so her daddy got to pick out her outfit.

She grew overnight. Now she's in her highchair next to me feeding herself Trix and drinking out of a sippy cup. When I let her down she will walk away to go watch cartoons with Alana.

In honor of Ava's first birthday I will probably do a few posts this week to show how much she's grown up this year and how depressed I am about it. Now if you'll excuse I'm going to go cry in my room.

Thanks for making a liar out of me lady

Stupid lady who was gonna buy my carseat decided at the last minute she doesn't want it. If she didn't want it she shouldn't of set up a meeting time with me tomorrow, then waited for me to call her to say she changed her mind.

Stupid Craigslist. Stupid lady. Stupid me for buying stuff I didn't need with the money I did have because I thought I'd be $90 richer tomorrow.

Now I have $12 to my name. And 10 diapers. Lucky for me Target's diapers are livable and only cost $6.

If I have any luck at all then someone will call me in the morning wanting to buy it when I'm in Tucson tomorrow to visit my (drumroll please) .........................................NIECE!

I was pretty skeptical about my sister's chances for having a girl after she already had three boys. But anything is possible right? Now my ladies finally have a girl cousin, I have a niece to buy some pink stuff for and David owes Alana $5 (they bet on the gender of the baby, Alana totally won).

Sold! To the highest bidder

No I'm not selling Ava. I finally sold Ava's travel system on Craigslist. That lady better be grateful for the killer deal she got. Like really grateful.

I must now get over my unnatural sentimental attachment to it and deliver it to someone else who will put their brand new teeny tiny baby in it and form their own memories.

Last year at this time I brought home my teeny tiny 7 lb baby in it.

She was so little and skinny and hairy. Now she is a chubs deluxe. Look at the difference in her thunder thighs! And somehow that one year made her look less Mexican. She needs to get some sun. She's looking kinda pale. Her all over monkey body hair fell out and a bunch more hair grew on the top of her head. She now has almost six teeth. She can walk. She got earrings so now she's officially a woman.

That (almost) one year made a world of difference.

Now I'm off to plan Ava's first year birthday extravaganza. And probably celebrate mine and David's 4 year anniversary.

Maybe make some of the one million dozen taquitos for my sister's baby shower. I'm getting a new niece or nephew tomorrow. I'm secretly hoping for a niece!

James Cameron isn't as original as he thinks

If you're one of the two people on earth who hasn't seen Avatar yet let me sum it up for you: Big mean bad humans want to rape and ravage some plants on another planet because they want $$$$. Trees feel pain. You can connect with the planet and be at one with it. There is a giant tree to which all other trees and life connect.

There is a big horrible polluting machine that can possibly be used to harvest the $$$$ making stuff from the planet. Humans are mostly villains. They do not consider the consequences of what they're doing. There is a culture of people who live in the area that humans want to destroy. Humans do not care. Etc etc.

I didn't watch most of this movie because A: I was bored. And B: It looks fake to me.

But I saw enough. Enough to know it was totally ripped off from another underrated classic movie. Yes. I'm talking about Ferngully, The Last Rainforest.

Ferngully is about evil humans who want to chop down the "last" rainforest to make some $$$$. They use a big evil machine to cut down the trees. This rainforest in inhabited by tiny little fairies, who fly around talking about how trees feel pain and such. Then a human accidentally gets turned into fairy size and makes a love connection with a hot fairy. Sound familiar? (Just substitute hot fairy for hot blue Na'vi Zoe Saldana).

Eventually the human sees the error of his ways and helps the fairies battle the evil giant machine to save their mother tree.

There are to many parallel story lines for me to even remember. Evil greedy humans. Check. Interspecies love connection. Check. Trees that feel pain. Check. Liberal agenda. Check. Happily ever after(ish). Check.

It took James Cameron years to finally complete Avatar. I think he was probably just waiting for everyone to forget about Ferngully.

If you ask me, Avatar could've used a little more singing and dancing. And maybe a bat voiced by Robin Williams.

When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong

Wednesday afternoon. Approx 12:54 pm. I go to the grocery store. Accompanying me to said grocery store are my two children, Alana and Ava. We are tired. As a result of exhaustion, everyone looks a little fuzzy headed. Hair is uncombed. Pajamas are being worn in public. Its not a pretty sight.

Rewind to Tuesday night, approx 3:30 am. Alana wakes up entire household with her extremely loud vomiting. Vomit on the bed. Vomit on spare sheets. Vomit on princess pillow. 5:30 am: Everyone finally gets back to sleep after cleaning up lots of puke and doing two loads of laundry at an un-godly hour.

Back to Wednesday: My children are groucho-deluxes. Ava is whiny. Alana doesn't want to be at the store anymore. To buy some affection from their cutenesses', I purchase a bag of puffy Cheetos at the register on the way out of the store.

Next stop: Drive-up ATM. The beauty of the drive-up ATM is this: No one sees you. If you look like crap and your kids are covered in Cheetos it doesn't matter. Who is the drive-up ATM to judge you? Its not looking so fresh right now either, with its touch screen all covered in dirty fingerprints and such.

Problem with Bank of America's new state-of-the-art touch screen scan your check and take your cash with no envelope ATMs: They are tempermental. If your cash is wrinkled it rejects it. It will accept $40 out of your $50 deposit. Then it will spit $10 back at you because it deems itself a high roller ATM with no time or patience for measly $10 bills.

Wednesday afternoon approx 1:30 pm. My kids are half-asleep. Covered in Cheetos. My hair is ugly. I'm wearing an old Race for the Cure shirt. Its hot. My groceries are in the trunk slowly reaching room temperature. The picky stuck-up good-for-nothing drive-up ATM refuses to take my $10 bill.

I could just blow it off and keep the $10, but I need it to be in the bank for all my bills to clear. The difference it makes in my puny little bank account is big, so it must be deposited.

Wednesday afternoon approx 1:37 pm. I take my dirty tired kids into the bank. Covered in Cheetos. With half-eaten Cheetos still in their dirty little hands. And I wait in line. To deposit $10. And I look like major white trash. Depositing $10. With Cheeto covered kids.

Good thing the tellers weren't too judgemental. To my face at least. When I left they were probably like Whoa, that lady never bathes her kids. Or combs her hair. And that old t-shirt? So 2008. Literally.