Monday, December 16, 2013

Friday the 13th - A good day for a tat.

Great friends are one of life's hidden gems. They encourage you, they share your special moments and they laugh their asses off when you scream "Holy &*%$#@" because the tattoo you thought was a good idea right on your rib, ends up feeling like you are being pecked to death by a mechanical woodpecker. On Redbull.

Is that an F bomb straining to escape my lips?
I have thought about getting one for a few months. Since my 40th birthday to be exact and I added a tattoo to my bucket list. So when my friend Roxy said she wanted another one, we decided to make a night of it. My other friend came along for support and wanted to get one too. But she shall remain nameless.

But what R did not know is that I got cold feet and was not planning on getting one. That's a sucky thing for a friend to do, right? But being a good friend, she talked me into it and even bought my tattoo as a gift for me. I had no idea what I wanted anymore in terms of a design. But I knew if I got anything, it would incorporate my kids.

Since my other friend was starting to get cold feet, I told her I would go first. Well, we ended up getting ours at the same time anyway. There was a lot of moaning and wincing going on and we were in near tears. If only I had a piece of leather to bite down on.

I am happy that I got it. It was so much fun hanging with my friends and now we have bonded over tats. I am sure years down the road we will call each other up and ask how the tats are doing.

And if you are wondering, it hurts like a $%&%^&(^&(*())*(()*(_)&^%$%#$@#@#%!!!!!!!!!!

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Donation and Adoption

The transfer is tomorrow.
When I reread that, I get a flutter in my stomach.
And a tightening in my throat.
Then I feel the urge to cry.

If all goes as planned, my last five embryos will have been thawed and the select few will be transferred to a new family.  I pray that it is a successful transfer. No matter if they were my embryos or another donor couple's, I pray this couple gets to experience what they have been wishing, hoping and praying for the last 8 years.

When I tell people about what we decided to do, I get responses that range from awe to curiosity. But in every instance, I am told that we have given this couple a wonderful gift from this selfless act.
But what I don't tell people is that it was not all selfless.

I did this for me. I wanted the peace of mind that those embryos would help another couple. I hated the fact that I could not keep them and might possibly expand out family. I no longer have the worry of what would become of them.

I did this for my kids. I have always wanted more kids but it was not in the cards for us. If any children result from our embryos, if they ever choose to seek us out, they are welcome to do so. I would love for Sam and Dean to get a chance to know their biological siblings.

If anyone you know might be interested in learning about embryo donation and adoption, feel free to message me. Here are a couple articles about it.

The Beginning of Embryo Donation and Adoption

Long-frozen embryo brings joy to adoptive parents

Another Family Created and Donated the Embryos to your family, But this is Your Child!

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Sometimes, you have to send your cape out for alterations

I'm No Superman by Lazlo Bane

I'm certainly no Superman. Sometimes I think I'm Wonder Woman but really wish I could be Zatanna, Raven and Black Canary all rolled into one. With a sprinkling of Black Widow for good measure.

The last few weeks have been stressful.
The kids were sick. Not at the same time mind you. There were 4 days where I had one or the other at my work place. The first day would be fine but the second day, the little buggers would not sit still or use their inside voice. Then I got sick.

Sinus infection, coughing, headaches. Last week was unbearable. Last Thursday (Halloween), I started my downward spiral. I was like Lindsay Lohan, popping pills for the sinus pressure and pain and the migraines. I had to take the last migraine pill in my possession that day. This was the last pill that I had nursed and coveted since September. I said to myself that if my migraine does not go away, I am screwed. Friday, I was screwed.

I made my way to the Urgent Care Clinic. They took my blood pressure and it was a whopping 170/110.
Wait. What???!
They asked if I was on BP medication.
Did I normally have bp issues?
No. I am in a lot of pain so that might be the cause.
Possibly. But that is still really high. Make an appointment with your doctor.
(or you're gonna die. dun, dun, DUN!)

Well, that's what I was thinking.

I got a shot at urgent care for my migraine and nausea. I got a refill for my migraine meds. I made an appointment with my doc. Even though I went through the weekend still in a drug induced haze and feeling slightly better, I continued to feel like I would drop dead any minute. What if I had a hard attack or a stroke while I was driving the kids? What if I was home with them and all of a sudden I was gone? Just those thoughts alone, I am sure elevated my blood pressure even more.

I tried the whole weekend to remain calm, to mellow out and be one with nature.
I saw the GP last Monday and my BP was 178/118.  Seriously?
I might as well have tried to make the Statue of Liberty disappear. Trying not to be stressed is the impossible magic trick for me. I ask the doc what I can do to help with my BP besides the meds. Stay calm. Again, cutting a women in half would be 100 times easier.

I am now taking blood pressure medicine. I'm 40 years old and my age is catching up to my 20 year old spirit. Last Tuesday was my lowest point. Not only was my migraine back but it was worse than ever. I was nauseated, I could barely walk, talk or open my eyes. My chest was so tight, I felt like 50 sumo wrestlers were sitting on me. And not in a good way. I felt I was knocking on death's door and wished he would open it just to put me out of my misery.

I rarely ask for help and I never let on that I am NOT superhuman but I felt I needed to be lifted up. Facebook is good for rallying friends. So I broke down and asked for prayers. When I woke from my coma, I was greeted with so much caring and concern. It could have been the second pill I popped but I like to think it was all the prayers and positive vibes sent my way that alleviated my pain.

There have been lots of crying and reevaluating. Even a fight with the hubs thrown in to really test my strength. In the greater scheme of illnesses, this is so minor. Many people would love to have this as their health problem as opposed to more serious conditions or terminal illness. Even though it reads like one, this is not my pity party. But I'll still cry if I want to.

It's ok NOT to do everything.
It's ok NOT to be everything.
It's ok NOT to be ok all the time.
It's ok, to put yourself before others, even your kids.
It's ok to ask for help.
And it's certainly ok to send out your superhero cape to be altered every once in a while.
You are still enough.

Monday, November 4, 2013

What kind of Asian are you?

The kind that will karate chop yo ass into next Tet, haiku you to death and ask if you want quick set gel as part of your manicure.

If only they asked me to do this video. She's an Asian after my own heart.


Actors read real comments from What Kind of Asian Are You?

If you are offended, "What the Pho?!!"

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Snakes on a Thao!

Hey, I just met you
And I'm so crazy
Asking if I could
Hold your snake, maybe?

I participated in This Is Kingwood Vendor event with my Thirty-One gifts business and Gator Rescue was two booths down from me.  Wearing a reptile was never on my bucket list but it is now and NAILED IT!

Friday, September 6, 2013

Butt-zitskies be gone!

6 Reasons why butt pimples are more than just a pain in the a**

1. You don't find out about them until you scrape the pimple with your finger in the shower or wipe it with a scratchy wad of un-quilted toilet paper. Then when you scream, you are in a compromising position when someone runs to check on you.

2. You can't look at it without contorting your body in other compromising positions with the use of a large mirror. Then you may get the idea to use a smart phone or other recording device so you can take a picture and show your significant other because you don't want him/her actually LOOKING at your butt boil.

3. There is absolutely NO way for you to pop that whitehead pustule or squeeze the offending blackhead without engaging in yet another compromising position. However, you will need a partner in crime to help you because you simply do not have enough hands or dexterity to hold your position and try to pop it.

4. No matter how much your partner in crime loves and adores you, he/she really doesn't want to look at your crater and he/she most certainly does not want to touch, squeeze, poke or extract anything from that abscess. And goodness knows, never bring a needle within 4 inches of a bare bum please.

5. You will never find the situation as funny as they will nor prevent them from 'cracking' jokes.

6. Then when the procedure is through, you have this humongous red sore in your crack. No one wants to kiss the boo-boo and that band-aid with Angry birds on it just looks ridiculous.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

The Day I Gave Them Away

August 6, 2013

That is the date on the contract. Notarized and official. It is so strange to talk about embryos as property but that is how it is approached.

W & A have now adopted our 5 embryos and their transfer date is scheduled for Sept 22.  The door has closed on us ever getting them back. Not a day goes by that I don't pray for the entire process to be a success. From the thawing to the implantation, hoping it goes without a hitch.

Once the process starts, we are supposed to get status updates about the embryos, how many thawed, if the transfer was successful and then periodic stats on the pregnancy, if any resulted from our embryos. The specifics are outlined in the contract.

Six embryos is the ideal number to have for thawing since about 30-35% do not thaw successfully.
Because of this, our embryos may be mixed with another donor's embryos.

Whatever the outcome, I hope this works out for W & A.
And I hope that we can become more than just recipient and donor.

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Forty, shorty and bingoing

I always thought that the mid life crisis was a myth. An excuse for middle aged men to buy a fancy sports car, have some sort of hair replacement procedure and find arm candy younger than their own kids. A time for middle aged women to start on their plastic surgery wish list, wear bright pink and purple hats with boas and walk around in high heals with a cocktail. Of course these are things I thought were true when I was much, much, much younger.  Like "Macaulay Culkin" young in Home Alone before he got all Emo and became a pothead.

My roaring twenties was really more of a hushed rush to finish school and start a career.

My thirties were an odd mixture of flirty and thriving. Finding a new relationship, battling infertility and finally becoming a mom at a later age than I would have wished for.

Now that I have hit the big 40, I think about where I was, how far I have come and where I'm headed. I am more comfortable in my own skin, even if parts are stretched out and flabbier than a 90 year old's triceps. I'm still learning new things, meeting new people and staying active. And by active, I do not mean running marathons or even running errands. I generally just don't do any kind of running. I do less less sitting on the couch and watching TV. It's the iPad now, get with the digital age.

But it does mean more family activities and adventures outside the house, trying for date night more than once a month, getting more involved with a new mom's group, adding to my bucket list and finding activities that allow me to get away for a bit and just be me. That might mean hanging out with my girlfriends at a wine bar drinking the best peach tea learning about wine, going glow-bowling and dancing like a bunch of 80's music lovin' freaks, or a "quiet" night of bingo, blobbing away at random numbers, laughing at "O69" and getting grossed out by pannus pictures while stuffing popcorn in our faces.

I am finding that going over that hill and getting on in years isn't so bad. I am finally figuring out that I cannot continue to work hard without playing hard every once in a while. I may not be as thin or as tall as I used to be, or even have the same energy level, but this momma still has some spunk and life in her.

Monday, August 5, 2013


Some will read this post and wonder why I would even bother with something like this.
This is not to create an opportunity for debate. It serves two purposes.
I want to remember the day that I ever gave something to someone on the street corner for the very first time. Most importantly, I want to remember that I gave because I was moved to do so and without judgement.

On my way back to work from dropping items at the post office, I stopped by Burger King. I would normally get a chicken sandwich or a Whopper Jr. I was not even that hungry but decided to get the  Whopper. (In hindsight, I wish I had gotten the meal.)  At the corner of Silber and I-10, I was stopped at the light. I saw a man standing there, ragged and looking beat down. He was truly dirty. Not the pseudo dirty that I see on "fake homeless" people. You know the ones. They have a backpack that doesn't even look like it held their life's possessions. They have clean hair, nice shoes and clothes with no holes.  Whenever I see these people on the corner, I judge and I judge hard. I have never given these panhandlers anything.

Not Joe. Joe was covered head to toe in filth. His eyes appeared almost closed, like he was sleep standing. His face was so brown and leathery, I was not sure if it was dirt or that his skin had baked. I don't write this about him because I judged him. I write this to show that I saw every bit of down and out in this man. In the brief 20 seconds that I observed him and read his sign, I wanted to help him. His sign asked for food. I rolled down my window and called to Joe. He walked over and I handed him my Burger King bag. He was worried he was taking my lunch. I told him he needed it more. I smiled said "God bless you" and he gave me a toothless smile and thanked me. As I drove off, I looked over and saw that he had a dog and a shopping cart so full I had no idea how he could see past it when he pushed it. I am positive those were his life's possessions.

Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Festive the bathroom

3 Reasons why I find this product disturbing

1. Snowflakes and bow on the packaging - How long has this been in the restroom? If it is a limited edition scent from 2012, then people are definitely not using enough of this. Which means that every time I go into a smelly restroom after someone dropped poopy napalm and someone comes in after me, they think I did it. Not cool.

2. Vanilla Sugar Cookies - Why would a bathroom product have a scent that reminds you of food?
I don't want vanilla sugar cookies associated with what goes on in the restroom. It would be like Pavlov's dog. Every time I would eat a sugar cookie, would I feel the urge to thing one or thing two?

3. Festive Moments - Unless I get a call or better yet, a visit while on the porcelain throne from Publisher's Clearing House to tell me I just won a gajillion dollars, there are no festive moments happening in the restroom. Ever.
But if they happened to make that pit stop, there better be confetti, balloons and even sugar cookies.

Thursday, July 18, 2013

Turning the Page

Much has changed for me in the last 24 hours. In actuality I go through changes daily. But moodiness aside, I recently finished a chapter.

It took me a long time to find me. You hear about people searching for something to make their life meaningful, to find their purpose, to find themselves. I admit to having been on these "mission trips" a few times in my life. But in recent years, I haven't bothered searching my soul for any purpose. What happened you might ask? My children happened. My boys are my purpose. They have been the catalyst for so many good things in my life. Of course my hubs played a huge role bringing my children to life. He would be the activator or accelerator in this equation but it is Sam and Dean who pushed me in the direction I needed to go.

I heard two heartbeats.
I joined a moms of multiples group.
I met many amazing moms of multiples.
I have made lasting friendships.
I served on the board for a couple of years.
I helped with countless fundraisers.
I planned events and socials.
I helped KAPOM reach top 10 in March of Dimes family teams for 2 years.
I got board member of the year.
I got member of the year.

I have given a lot and I have gotten so much from being part of this club. I hope that I have left a lasting impression on the people I have met because they have in turn touched me.

As much as I hate leaving this "family," there are times when you have to know when to close that chapter and move on to the next one.

Mal (Firefly): You can't open the book of my life and jump in the middle. Like woman, I am a mystery.

My Member of the Year bracelet.

Friday, July 12, 2013

Watching Parenthood

I am a TV watcher. It isn't really that I sit and get so engrossed in the show or a movie. It is something to have in the background while I do five other things. Watching TV in 2013 is a gazillion times different than when I was 10 years old with only 3 stations to turn the knob to watch. With hundreds of cable channels and infinite more options on Netflix and DVDs, I am falling way behind on my TV watching.

There are a lot of shows out there. Some good and a lot more bad.
Then there are some shows I wonder why I continue to watch.
Take Parenthood. I started watching this when it first aired in 2010.  I remember liking it but after the first season I stopped. I thought I could get parenting tips from the show but surprisingly, there really were not many learning opportunities. I started back up watching it and the dialogue in some episodes, made me want to tear my eardrums out. When the parents and kids were talking over each other and screaming, I could not stand it. I literally wanted to scream at my 2 inch iPhone screen. I kept thinking to myself, this is the last episode for me. Part of it was I got flashbacks from my childhood. Part of it was my insane fear that when my kids are older, that will be us. I don't want my kids to not listen to me. I don't want my kids to be afraid to talk to me. I don't want my kids to grow up like a rotten drug addict or end up in jail.

I want my kids to listen to positive advice, to make good, sound judgements, to be independent. I want them to be loving, caring and compassionate and to just be good people.

But I know we don't always get what we want.

So I am watching season 2 and thinking I cannot watch anymore. These kids on the show are giving me undue stress. But when I get to episode 22, Hard Times Come Again, I realize I am going to watch this to the end. Because this is good parenting advice.

Sarah Braverman (Lauren Graham)
"No, you don't give them space. Just when they tell you they don't need you anymore is exactly when they need you the most. You have to fight it. You have to show up. It's when they're pushing you away, it's when they're telling you they know better, that's when you have to show up."

Yep, that's good stuff.