TomKat Who? Also, This Probably Should Be More Than One Post Because They Don't Shoot Rotisserie Chickens Do They?

In the interest of keeping current, Hugh and I will now be known exclusively as "Hughstin".

Please make a note.

I look forward to the day when the children have dilemma and approach us with: Hughstin, we have a problem.

The "Hugh" half of us is pretty damn hot... also, he asked me if I wanted to check myself into a hotel (I know, I know, I was expecting him to say nuthouse too) for the weekend... catch up on sleep, order room service, have some spa treatments. Hmmm... we love him.



Moving On

Please look at these chickens -








Notice how they placed on the rotisserie? LENGTHWISE.


Now, please look at these chickens -







Ummmm... yuck. These chickens are skewered across... held up by their little chicken armpits.

I serve my family a rotisserie chicken at least once a week add some baby carrots, ranch dressing and a little melon and you have yourself a damn fine kid friendly dinner and I have never EVER had an armpit rotisserie chicken... until this week.

There I am, happily serving up a drumstick when what do I see? A fucking WOUND that looks a lot like this.

It went through the entire chicken. Leg to Leg.

And I FREAKED. OMG, omg, omg, this is a bullet hole! This chicken has been shot! Those fuckers at Wild Oats are shooting their rotisserie chickens! The shooting of chickens is not right and it is really, really, gross! Oh, do not let the children see the fucking bullet hole! What to do-what to d0-what to do with the damn gunshot chicken!

The entire chicken is dumped into the trash and the children have Cheerios for dinner.

*** much later ***

Oh, probably not a bullet hole. Probably the skewer.

Hugh cannot stop asking if "gunshot chicken" is on the menu...

Long and Probably Dull

When I started this blog my intention was to use it as a vehicle to keep family and friends updated as to the happenings in our household. I thought I would post lots of photos of the kids with captions such as, "Jake got an 'A' on his pueblo model" and "Eva sure is growing quickly"... a blog that read more like an ongoing Christmas letter... annoying to everyone except my own mother.

However, I instead found that I liked the writing end of blogging (despite my atrocious punctuation) and I enjoyed sharing my life with other people... people that I now consider friends and at one time I may just have looked at you sideways if you suggested that I would befriend people inside the computer box... I am thrilled when I get a comment on something I have posted... I love when new people come and then return and I admit to looking for my regular readers (my mom, my brother and my very nice sister in law... thanks guys!).

I enjoy the hell out of reading other blogs and am amazed at the amount of sheer talent floating around on the web... for every Dooce or Amalah (btw: I read them both, daily), I can name you 5 or more equally thoughtful, funny and sympathetic writers... I read blogs over my morning coffee and I check the same ones daily... hoping for a new post.

This post was born by an anonymous email that I received today that just said: "I love your blog. I think you are a really funny writer." It couldn't have come at a better time.

I have to backtrack and just tell you that I am not having a good afternoon. My morning was adorable what with Eva's first dance class (Hi! Family newsletter!) and lunch with my girlfriend Nicki and her daughter, Audrey. However, the past 2 hours have been basically a big fat fight with my husband and I am tired and I have a headache and I feel utterly defeated.

As a mother I admit to ALWAYS putting myself last. Unfortunately, this becomes a pattern the rest of the family can also fall into... and I find, lately, that I am just not really heard. I have a nanny, but that nanny time is so that I can do things with and for the boys... or, so the house can be clean and I can do things with and for Eva... it is so easy to really lose sight of yourself and begin to not see yourself as anything more than the means to the ends for the people in your family. I spend my days thinking about everyone else... I buy the cereal one child wants, the fruit another likes, the salad dressing my husband prefers and the food for the dogs.

I coordinate doctor appointments and playdates and sports. I work to keep a balance between fun and schoolwork and I monitor the homework, quiz people on spelling words and sing baby songs in Chinese and Spanish. I run the retreat program at my sons' school because they love having me on campus and I know they won't feel that way forever. I sit on the board of our Parent Guild and I chair a committee every year for the annual fundraiser.

My whole life is about meeting the needs of others. Mostly to my enjoyment and my fulfillment, but sometimes, because that is what I feel I am supposed to do as a stay at home wife and mother... and sometimes, I can martyr myself and end up feeling a little lost... Lordy, how whiny do I sound? I love my family and I love the choices I have made, but you know what, I am having a bad day... me and Kellie Pickler.

And so that email, and every comment I receive, and every hit on my site counter means something to me... because it means someone is listening and I am not having to yell.

***

Tomorrow, I will be back to my usual self and will share the story of the "Gunshot Chicken".

Tell Me Why... I Don't Like Mondays...

Today was an odd day in that the my freak-o-vibe was off and running... be it the overtanned (seriously, what is wrong with natural colored skin?) and lover of collagen gal at the nail salon who initiated a conversation with "Your toes are so pretty!" She also liked my hair color... and my shoes... and my skirt... "you're so cute!" Within five minutes (in between compliments) she shared all the details about her recent trip to the River (Laughlin) and how, although they always stay in top drawer hotels, they had to stay in a dump because they brought their dogs and also today was her uncle's funeral and her cousins have always hated her because she was his favorite and in case I didn't believe her a psychic in Bullhead City told her so but she wasn't counting on anything because her step father was a billionaire and he left her nothing.

Ok, my head is a little twirly after all that info so good luck and bye-bye.

Then it was off to Home Depot to buy the new washer and dryer (Maytag Neptune - cleaning is fun!) and wouldn't you know that the salesman (Hi, Terry!) had a lisp. Now, I don't have any issues with speech impediments of any kind, but, lordy, the lisp and the words. Words like, "spin cycle" and "washer" and "special settings" and, my personal favorite, "super size". I didn't laugh. Not even a giggle (I did however cough and have to get myself an Altoid because it is not only curiously strong but it can prevent a girl from being a rude cow). Also, I had coffee breath.

After successfully checking out with only a modicum of aid at the "do-it-yourself" line, I tucked my Maytag receipt into my excellent new purse and picked up the plastic bag containing the gorgeous new shower head for the children's bathroom and headed out the door. And I was followed. Followed by the helpful bag boy who wanted to know if he could "help" me. As I had only one little bag the answer was, "Nope, thanks." However, he was determined to be of service and he tagged behind me through the parking lot, repeatedly asking to assist. I finally whirled around with a big, "NO! THANKS!" only to then fall off my cute Paul-Frank-for-Dr.- Scholl sandals and thereby drop the excellent new purse and the plastic bag containing the gorgeous new shower head... and Mr. Helpful? HELP! Where are you? Help me gather my stuff, dude! Oh, there you are... skibbling away! AWAY!

Pretty much time for another cup of coffee. Starbucks, my love, my Valentine, there you are... time for a grande vanilla non-fat latte... peace is coming and all is right with the world.

Then. This.

I can remember this with an anger of it having happened yesterday. Being at toddler gymnastics (Teddy Bear Tumblers) with my boys who were then maybe 1 & 2 and a fellow mother snatching a ball out of Jack's hand with such hostility that he fell over. Did you catch that? He. Fell. Over. She grabbed the damn ball and he toppled over like a little weeble doll... only a weeble who falls. And proceeded to hand the ball to her kid and ignore mine whom in case you missed it, she had just basically knocked over. When I approached her with a, "Um, what just happened here?" She stabbed her fat sausage fingers in my face and informed me that if I had been watching my child more closely instead of sitting on the stairs with my latte then I would have prevented him from picking up the ball which her child so clearly wanted and then she would not have had to take the ball in a firm manner in order to teach him (Jack) that although he (again, Jack) was obviously used to getting everything he wanted, well. Not. This. Time. She would see to it that my child would receive some much needed serious limits.

So, I responded with something along the lines of, "Listen you stupid bitch, you ever touch my kid again, not only will I have you arrested for assault, but the cops will have to scrape your face off the hood of my car." At least that is what they tell me I said because I was, for the first time in my life, in the grips of a white hot fury. Then I walked outside and burst into tears.

And here she is... in the middle of the Laguna Hills Starbucks. Many scenarios floated through my mind... none of which are legal.

As I stood there contemplating stabbing her with a spork, she picked up her macchiato with extra whip and headed out the door. We made eye contact and in that brief moment I could see realization dawn in her beady piggy eyes and she raised her eyebrows at me and wow, here was my moment, I stuck my tongue out at her.

Hey, it was all I could come up with!

Ok, I just shared this particular story with Hugh and all I got out of him was a, "really?" and a slight chuckle. The man has been married to me for so long that hearing about my sticking my tongue out at a woman who was a bitch 7 years ago doesn't even registar as unusal...

Maybe I need to accept that the freaks find me because really, we are kindred spirits.

Can I Get An Amen?

Work on the house has started!!!

Do You Know The Way...

To Santa Fe?

Hugh and I are going to Santa Fe, NM next month and we would LOVE and APPRECIATE and all suggestions on:

what to do?

where to go?

where to EAT?

Thanks!!!!

Caution - Dirty Old Lady Ahead

I took my kids to see She's the Man this afternoon... this loose adaptation of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night stars Amanda Bynes and Channing Tatum.

Ok. Channing Tatum? Lamest name ever.

Channing Tatum? Super. Boy. Hunk.

I like like him. I want to make out with him. I want him to take me to the prom and I am going to practice writing: Kristin Tatum tonight with my puffy pink pen.

How fucking wrong is it to sit in a movie with your children and giggle like a schoolgirl every time a 26 year old takes off his shirt?

I feel the shame.

Please tell me I am not the only one who is starting to oogle the young boys... I mean, I have been DEVOTED to Colin Firth and Hugh Grant (despite Divine Brown) and omg, yummy, yummy, Jeremey Northam for ages... what has happened to turn make this twenty something pretty boy turn my head?

Am I morphing into a Real Housewife of Orange County?

Tagging - It's a Team Sport...

Lord, more information about me! Me, me, me... glorious me! Please. This time, instead of boring you to tears with random information, here are, thanks to Stephanie & Stephanie, six weird things you didn't want or need to know...

1. I have horrendous sleeping habits. I tend to wake around 4 am and I putter around the house or read until about 6... then I go back to sleep for an hour.

2. I used to have a list of unsuitable men to date (my boss, my teacher, etc...)with the idea that I should, at some point, date each type.

3. I hate to leave the house. If I had my way, none of my family would... I take on a myriad of responsibility to be certain that I am forced to get out and interact with real people on a daily basis.

4. I have had open heart surgery. In 2003 I had my aortic valve replaced (I now tick like a Swatch-watch) and an aneurysm removed.

5. Last summer I taught my 9 year old to make a perfect Cuba Libre... also, a vodka tonic.

6. In college I worked as a Life Studies Model. Hey! It paid $50 for 45 minutes of work and I was aware that really, at 20, your body is about as good as it is going to be so why not stand around naked while people draw you?

* Bonus Info: I have a tattoo and here is the recipe for Balboa Jack's chicken salad:

boneless skinless chicken breasts (free range is yummiest)
cajun seasoning (I use Paul Prudhomme)
black pepper
celery (chopped)
scallions (chopped)
golden raisins (handfulls)
mayo

using a heavy hand coat the chicken with the cajun seasoning and black pepper
bake
when cool, chop up and add other ingredients
add more cajun spice
don't skimp on the mayo
let sit overnight
pig out

So, there you have it... and now, you must take your turn...and don't be all, "Oh, I'm not doing this because no one cares about a MEME" because you are totally interesting and I WANT TO KNOW more about you.

Margaret of Peanut Pants
Kim of Ruby is Coming
Jenn of Crouching Mother Hidden Diva
Jodie Ho Ho of San Diego Siegels
Tori of Queen Victoria
Holly of Journey to Sarah Grace
Lisa of Niihaus

If you have already been tagged, I forgive you.

** Jen of Stay at Home Motherdom... my oven? The frillion dollar Viking? She is busted. Flat broke. Worthless piece of shit. However, I stand by my promise, and withing the next 3 to 5 weeks (the time I have been quoted to have the parts in to fix my damn oven) you will receive a Tupperware full of the damn chicken salad. Now, it's personal.

Another Open Letter to Clear the Air...

Dear World,

I am an adoptive parent. My daughter was born in China and she is Chinese by nationality. This is obvious if you look at her. She is a beautiful Chinese girl and she is my daughter and I love her as much as I love my biological children.

I know we "got" a pretty one, but I don't think we need to talk about that anymore. This is partly our fault as Hugh and I are so in love with Eva and her beauty takes our breath away and we talk about how gorgeous she is with abandon because we have nothing to do with her genetics and therefore we haven't felt like we were bragging. I know for a fact that each family we traveled with feels as though they were blessed with the most lovely and perfect child in all of China and we all know how incredibly fortunate we are to have these children in our lives.

We didn't save anybody. We grew our family through adoption. We are doing the best we can. Also, shut up about her loss of culture. If you honestly believe that she would have been better off growing up in an orphanage you are off your fucking rocker. The people of China love and adore their children and to let westerners come in and adopt and take these children out of this proud and strong culture shows a tremendous amount of faith in us and our commitment to raise these children to be proud of not only where they came from and the country of their birth, but also to be proud of where they are going.

We support domestic adoption and we support children staying with their birth parents, but, we don't live in a perfect world and sometimes, just sometimes, life isn't the Utopia we feel is should be and we therefore must solve problems as they arise. A child cannot languish in an orphanage, no matter how well staffed or how lovely, while the world figures out the population crisis.

Every adoptive parent I know has anguished over the loss her child's birth family has suffered and there is a sadness at knowing they will never experience the joy that is your daughter. We don't believe that Moon Cakes and dance class make up for not growing up in China, but we do think that they are a start.

Also, our daughter does not look just like any other Asian child you know. This is because Chinese children do not all look alike.

I would also appreciate if Eva were not referred to as "Chinese" with every introduction. Pointing out that she is the "Chinese grandchild", "Chinese daughter", "from China" is annoying and also kind of obvious. If you persist I shall begin to introduce you as, "Old Bat/Dumb Bunny/Ignoramus/Village Idiot".

In closing I would strongly like to suggest that, when discussing any adopted child, you strike the word, "own" as in "your own" or "their own" from your vocabulary. People will start to compare you Jessica Simpson and that is never a good thing.

Thank you for listening, world, it was time for me to say something.

Your Friend,

Kristin

***

P.S., if you are reading this and thinking, "Oh, she is talking about me", you can put your hair shirt away because I am not. This is a very general letter about things that have been brewing in my head since we came home with Eva.

***

After reading Jen, and being referred over to Pomegranate, I do feel the need (and I can't believe I forgot) to mention that we didn't adopt because we wanted a girl. I find that statement insulting to my sons as it implies that, if I had given birth to a girl we wouldn't have had to adopt... simply not true. If you adopted a girl because you really wanted one, good for you... I am all for following your dreams, I am just telling you how it is in our family.

Awwww... what cute Easter Bunnies... but aren't we one bunny short?

Looks like some-bunny isn't too hoppy about her new ears!

Easter wishes from 2 game bunnies and the one who-wouldn't-wear-the-damn-ears!

Information

As I glance through my blog I realize that I have actually shared very little about myself. You all know I have kids and dogs and am doing some work on the house, but personality wise, all you've got is a girl who brings the oddballs (Hello! Gay comedian from the Koffee Klatch! Yes, your heterosexual/body cavity search jokes were super! It was unnecessary to tell us you were a professional joke teller because really, sooo funny. And, Hi, owner of the sandwich place. Listen, when I said, "that is over" I meant my cooking and not my marriage so while I am flattered that your mail order bride thinks I should meet your friend Don/Bob/Beau, I am still married, just not cooking.) loses random articles of clothing and drinks a lot... really, not all that much information. So here I am, ready to bare my soul... well, at least tell you ten things.

1. If I say, "sounds great!" I am probably lying and I will spend a lot of time trying to think of a way to get out of whatever it is I have just agreed to.

2. I believe everything people tell me and it never occurs to me that someone could be lying.

3. Yet, I am a good liar.

4. I would kill anyone who hurt my children. Happily. I would sing in jail and take the time to learn how to knit.

5. I want to learn how to surf.

6. I have been known to have good or bad days based on what the scale read...

7. I make the best chicken salad sandwiches... ever... don't try to compete. Nicki will vouch.

8. I am liberal to the point of being a communist.

9. I wanted to grow up to be Nancy Drew.

10. I love Tab cola. It's a beautiful drink.

Tick Tock

My mother in law is moving back to California and all my sister in law and I know is that she is moving in with one of us.


***

As of yet, still no news... will update as info is received...

Clever Child, Or, How To Know When Your Anti-Cigarette Campaign, Directed At The 8 & 9 Year Old, Has Been Overheard

eva - cough cough cough

self - baby, are you ok?

eva - me ok momma.

self - but you're coughing...

eva - no cough. bobby (barbie) cough.

eva - cough cough cough

self - cookie, you're coughing. let's have some cough syrup.

eva - no cough mama. bobby cough.

self - evajun, why would barbie cough?

eva - bobby smoking.

Hearts, Boats, and Birthdays

Internet, it's Jack's 8th birthday on Sunday... did you know Jack had open heart surgery when he was only 2 months old?

It's another story for another time... I have lots of hidden drama to eventually share with all of you inside the box, but, I am not ready to delve. Also, I am lazy and the story would require a lot of typing.

Please leave him a Birthday greeting... because, you know, not only is he cute with pretty jewelry sense, but also, he is, The Boy Who Lived (cue Harry Potter theme).

Jack is having a fishing party and it is BOYS ONLY and thank God for that because I get seasick and moany out on the boat (see above photo) and it is not a fun time for anyone if it is spent listening to the birthday boy's mother puke up her Chai Tea Latte from the starboard bow.

Tissue, anyone?

I cannot tell you just how special this afternoon was... Jack was so, so proud... to have your son be excited because he was able to do something for you... because he loves you... well, my grinchy heart grew three sizes today.




















Jack chose the bracelet. It was not in the "Special Mother's Jewelry" section but in the "Hi! We're Totally Over Priced Jewelry But You Can Earn Miles On Your VISA Card" section. The boy has good taste.

















Happy! Momma-love!

Ho-Hum

Hey, Hi! Remember me? I know! 3 posts last week and then, the silence. What went wrong you might ask? Does she no longer love us? Is she out busy buying replacement underwear? I tell you Internet, my life has been nothing but normal for upwards of 5 days and I say that with all apologies to the folks who Google "swingers/panties/prank calls" and then end up at this blog.

The children? Cute, good, blah blah blah. This afternoon is the "Momma gets Jewelry" ceremony and I am sure there will be much love and probably the tears. Eva is not invited as she tends to steal the attention (quite rightly) anywhere we go and today needs to be all about Jack. Jake however is welcome because he, in Jack's words, "can take the pictures." Heh.

The husband? Older for starters! The lovely Hugh turned 37 last week and we had a very nice little party for him where everyone behaved themselves and I almost forgot about the cupcakes thanks Chad for reminding me and the children (all 15 of them) swam and got along. Also, thanks to everyone for the whole, "Let's encourage alcoholism" gift thing... 5 bottles of rum? Including that giant Costco sized number? Please come to our house for drinks. Rum drinks. We can watch HBO over Cuba Libres.

Hugh actually may have turned 300. I am therefore 299. When we got so old I don't know, but I do know that on Saturday night we were angered by the cursing and loud noises coming from in front of our house and that we went outside to see what the devil was happening and my goodness if we didn't whisper to each other that maybe we should call the police and all this riff-raff (Yes. Riff-Raff!!) was the result of that damn Mozambique and we are totally going to have to attend the next City Council meeting when they (Mozambique) ask for more parking and my LORD, these kids!

It was 9:30.

The house? See here for the kickass master bath tile (I know! We're surprised too! There was never any intention to re-tile the master bath... our buzzword is "jewelbox".) Floors? All going. People (and you know who you are. Yes! You!) keep whining at us to keep the living room floor but you know what? It's a floor. And not a floor to which we have a sentimental attachment. No one we know personally cut down some tree and slaved over it's honing and staining. If you want to buy it (Brazilian cherrywood), call me. Also, it's a floor. The new floor is stained a hue called, "Tobacco", and it makes us feel rakish and edgy.

Me? I am low profile. It rains about ever five minutes these days and all I want to do is curl up on my really uncomfortable couch and watch one of my 36 Hercule Poirot episodes on DVD.

Eva? Still afraid of feathers.

We're cute! We're normal!




Keeping a close eye out for those dirty birds and their scary feathers...

***


Thanks for all the song suggestions... I now have an excellent, dare I say motivating file of music to help me burn a calorie or two!