Please vote for us as Mother-Daughter lookalikes!

One day, about 4 years ago, I was in a small shop on the completely opposite corner of town, and some random lady I'd never seen before stopped dead in her tracks, pointed at me, and said, "You're Hayley's mom!!"  Rather taken aback, I admitted that I was, in fact, Hayley's mom, and inquired as to who this lady was.  With a laugh, she said, "Oh, I work at her daycare. You just look so much like her, I figured you had to be her mom."

So, at the suggestion of one of Hayley's friends, we decided to enter the My 99.9 Radio Mother-Daughter Lookalike Contest. The prize package includes spa days at the Broadmoor, matching diamond necklaces, and so forth - and since people are always telling us we look so much alike, we're hoping to win.

Please, please, please take a minute or two, and go to our pic on the My 99.9 Radio webpage to cast your vote for us.  (You have to sign up to do so, and it's one vote per e-mail address, but you *don't* have to opt in to anything to vote.  I know it's a bit of a pain, but c'mon... Please??)

Go here to vote: http://tinyurl.com/ehlookalike

Thank you, so much - I guess the winners will be announced on May 6 - and 'till then we'll keep our fingers crossed.

Yes, I watched it.

The Royal Wedding.  Besides the fact that I have a googy feminine predilection for weddings, it seemed like one of those things that down the road I'll want to say I watched.  Plus, it's fascinating to me to watch the fusion of thousand-plus-year-old traditions with elements of any other modern wedding.  Fun to watch an "ordinary girl" become a princess... and endearing to watch the casual way she waves to the crowds, very un-regal and real and down to earth.

I certainly didn't watch it for the fashion - although some of the ridiculous hats were entertaining...

It was encouraging to see that one guest had the class to wear a normal hat.

Roundup of Ridiculous, v 16.2

The very word 'ridiculous' often makes me laugh. Here's why. When Hayley was, oh, a year and a half old, maybe two - just a tiny little thing - she was prone to occasional tantrums just like any toddler. Maybe because I'd fed her a steady diet of words since she was in utero, or maybe by serendipity, she was always a little more articulate than you'd expect. One such day, she was throwing a fit about something, and I commanded her in my most stern Mommy voice "You go to time out, right now!" while pointing to her 'time out' stool in the corner. She screamed back at me with balled-up fists, "No! That's ree-dickelous!"

Anyhow, it seems like nearly every day I see something I have to take a picture of, or something I have to cut and paste, or somewhere, some sign of idiocy. Vis, the following examples:

If you didn't commit such butchery of my language, perhaps I'd leave you a tip.  Happy you day too.

Go, Fighting Jesus! What kind of mascot is a Jesu??

Now I admit, you can't really see so clearly from this picture - but both the driver and his passenger are wearing oxygen, and there were smoke plumes curling upward from twin cigarettes in the ashtray.  

Job security, baby.

Whatever works, sir.

In fairness, I have to point the finger of ridiculous at myself too. 

I dunno, I think I was playing dressup with the kids.  Pretty, huh??

Luxury living, indeed.

This example, from home.  This is what the architects I call my family will do instead of just taking out the damn garbage.  Really, guys?

It just seemed funny to see so many jesus stickers on such a big penis-envy truck.

C'mon, people.  In Walgreens, for cryin' out loud??

Meanwhile, in the barrio, the Vialpando family proclaims its strength.  And class.

Is this what happens when a husband gets fed up with his wife's whining for a new car and a vanity plate?

I don't get it.

Apologies for the sideways pic - but what the hell is the world coming to when somebody's apartment burns down and the two things they save are a laptop and a playstation??  Good grief, Charlie Brown.

That's it for this installment...  More soon, I'm sure.

Happy Birthday, Baby Brother!

First, I thought he was cute. I was so excited when Mom came home from the hospital with him.

Then, I thought he was gross when he spit up on my eyelid. And a little bit funny when mom left him on the couch to go get a diaper, and he peed in a huge arc across the room.

And then, for a good stretch, I thought he was a pain in the ass, like all little brothers are supposed to be. There were times I thought he was just plain weird, and times I had to give a sisterly stern look.

And then all of a sudden, I thought he was cool. He's taught me lots of stuff, some worthwhile and some not. He's trained for a marathon with me, kept me running when I couldn't keep myself running ("Ski poles! Ski poles!") and even laughing ("No shoving!"), and crossed the finish line by my side even though he could have done it faster. And he's been there for me when I've needed him, lots of times.

He's become a successful advertising professional and somebody I truly admire and respect. And he's found a wonderful woman who is a perfect match (and good enough for my little brother, which is sayin' somethin'!).

Happy birthday, Bri. Love you.

Bad Boys Bad Boys...

Whatcha gonna do when Mom boils your ammo for dinner?


So the Easter bunny found our place, apparently - though the snow had melted off sufficiently that we couldn't see any tracks... And he brought the boys potato guns, among other instruments of shenanigan.

Silly goofballs, sometimes they take years off my life, but sometimes they keep me young too.

We're lucky to have all the kids this year for all of Easter, and I feel lucky to have such a wonderful family. Kids who are smart and healthy and well-mannered and loving, and a husband who's supportive and romantic and smart and funny, and who somehow loves me despite knowing me better than anybody ever has.

I love you guys so much. Happy Easter.

Buy me some peanuts and cracker jack...(and snowshoes to get back to the car)

This, the scene just a bit ago at the local Triple-A joint.
Nice, Ma Nature. Nice.

Progress and Positivity

Had these on my locker when I got to work last night, along with a note informing me I'd been nominated for a 'star associate' award. After a stretch of not feeling very appreciated by management at the other place, it's nice to feel like I get something right once in a great while... And it's also nice to hear from former colleagues that I'm missed and spoken well of. I miss lots of them too, and I hope there are still lifeboats left when Milton and his Harbinger of Divert are finished ramming into the iceberg.

Got my chest CT'd after work this morning - here's hoping the goober in my lung is lonely and no bigger than it was last year. Because it bites to get mail with a return address "_____ Cancer Center" and I'd just as soon not hear from them till follow-up time next spring.

And now, hard at work on my MacDougall kitchen cabinet, circa nineteen-twenty-something, that we practically stole for $125... Stripping at least 5 layers of latex paint off something that was once gorgeous - and hopefully will be again in time to go into the cabin at Sturgis.

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Look Ma, No Cavities!

Why I Hate People (Tax Day Edition)

As I stand here in line behind forty other people who, like I, wait until the last possible minute before forking over money we really could use to a federal government that will surely mismanage it worse than I ever could, I have a minute to vent.

Folks, a dear friend of ours was on his way home from work in the wee hours of Saturday morning. Home from a job where he'd just spent 12 hours helping people. He noticed a car stranded in the median with people trying to push it, and being the nice guy he is, he stopped to help. Positioning his modest car as to direct the headlights onto the stranded car, he got out (still dressed in his uniform that marks him as someone who helps people) and offered his assistance.

Another car pulled up, at which point a young man got out of that car, got into our friend's car, and started to drive off. Of course, as is human nature, our friend started to chase his own car on foot, until the little bastard driving it pulled a gun.

Now, our friend is absolutely no wimp. But he's also not dumb, and he has a family, so naturally he let the thug have the car.

Of course he's insured, so he'll be taken care of from a logistical standpoint once the hassle is done with. The police are investigating, and he's got a staunch network of friends keeping eyes peeled for the car, and as such, its worthless absconder. But what a friggin' kick in the teeth, to have just been trying to do a nice thing and have that happen.

It's interesting to me that this kindhearted man was informed, earlier in the week, that some co-workers found him intimidating, doubtless by virtue of his stature and tattoos - yet, dressed in his good guy uniform, apparently not so intimidating as to give a bottom-dwelling carjacker second thoughts. I'd hazard a guess that if he'd been wearing something else, anything at all besides a uniform, the whole thing would've gone differently.

The other thing that's irritating is the comments people are making online on the news stories about this. Some are trying to make it about race, given the ethnicity of the suspect described. Some are waxing macho: "I wouldn't have let him take *my* car, "I dare somebody to try that with me," etc. Are you f#+$ing kidding me?

So that's why I hate people at the moment. Reasons are like trains some days: wait an hour, there'll be another along directly. Feel free to pipe up if you agree, or if you disagree, or just if you wanna go off on your own tangent) (elbowing Don, lurking out there in the blogosphere; welcome and I'm glad you're enjoying!)

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Is Your Pitcher Half Empty, or...

...or all the way empty except for an eighth of an inch, like mine, thanks to the lazy shits I live with...


For the love of Pete, you guys! Really?

I'm constantly running across beverage containers in the fridge with a dribble left. Saltine and Graham cracker boxes in the pantry with no sleeves of crackers left in them. Cartons of ice cream in the freezer with a tablespoon of ice cream left. Is it that hard to throw away a damn box, or put a pitcher in the sink? Or is there so much shame involved in admitting you consumed the last of something? Either way, I don't get it.

And don't even get me started on the trails of chips and cereal that wind up near ripped open, not rolled up, raggedy-ass bags and boxes haphazardly balanced on shelves and in cupboards. That's a rant for a whole other day.

Do everybody's kids live like animals? Gar.

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The kid has a deadly serve...

...that she most certainly did *not* get from me.



Lots of fun to watch.

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Oh No You Dit-nt!

So we were sitting at Madaline's soccer game the other day, freezing our asses off (Ah, springtime in the Rockies!) and had another one of those "If that were my kid..." moments. The game was respectable, not overly aggressive but the girls were all playing a good game and the referee was, of course, doing his best to officiate. The blue team was winning by a goal or two, everybody seemed to be playing reasonably fairly (save for the usual sneaky elbows, trips, and "bitch!"es). Then out of nowhere, unhappy with a call, a beautiful petite little brunette from the blue team is standing about a foot from the ref, chest puffed out, bellowing at the top of her lungs and with a considerable degree of malice, "It's not their ball!"

Are you f$#*ing kidding me? Yelling at the referee?? Arguing with the referee, period?

We were stunned he didn't toss her ass out of the game (though he did turn around and threaten to remove one of the adult spectators who was grousing about something, less disrespectfully than the young lady had). We just sat there for a minute, not even knowing what to say. I'm sorry, I'm a bit old-fashioned, but what the hell happened to "respect your elders" and "respect the official" and all that other stuff you learn in kindergarten? Do we throw out the rules when it's gametime? Not in this house. You may think the referee is a dipshit, and in some cases you may well be right...but the referee is in charge. I had this talk with Maddie on the way home. There are guaranteed to be times in life when you wonder if the people who are in charge know what they're doing - but that doesn't change the fact that they're in charge. And, bottom line, you don't yell at adults when you're a kid! You just don't do it.

I don't know if that little girl's parents were there to witness their kid's egregious display of insolence - but if they did, I hope they handled the situation at home, at least. Nobody seemed too worried about letting her know she'd been so far out of line - her coach didn't pull her from the game - so there was quite possibly a lesson lost. As we told Maddie, if she ever were to pull shit like that?? Scott would step onto the field and pull her out of the game, by her ear, in front of the whole crowd, and that would be the end of that.

Where have all the parents gone??

In the age of Dr. Google and 'Physician, Cover Thy Ass'...

Brought to mind by an hour and a half of IdiotVision in the pulmonologist's waiting room... God bless America.

And Another Thing.

Here's the latest thing that's got my undies in a wad. On our way to some friends' yesterday, we stopped at a particular intersection where a uniformed city police officer was on hand to direct traffic. Malfunctioning stoplight, you ask? Nope. Wreck blocking lanes, or some such? Nope.

Church was over. Minivan after minivan of worshiping masses were leaving the parking lot of a large-ish church on a major thoroughfare; the cop wasn't there to ensure traffic flow for the rest of the world, because with the design of the intersection, well, traffic flows just fine either way. He was there to make sure people could get out of the church lot in expedient fashion.

So, just to make sure we're all on the same page here: My neighborhood is dark because the city's chosen to turn off streetlights to save money. The water bill is exorbitant, having risen dramatically in the last year. There's not enough money in the city coffers to keep public restrooms open in parks, maintain any kind of public transportation, or even keep enough police officers on duty half the time to ensure quick call response... But my tax dollars are helping make sure the fine people who go to this particular church aren't inconvenienced by a pesky 3-minute stoplight cycle when trying to make their way home after Sunday service??

You've gotta be kidding me.

I bitched about this a couple of years back, when my daughter's choir group was trying to locate a venue for their Christmas Madrigal Concert and had been told they weren't allowed to use the facility unless one of the choir members was also a member of their congregation, citing the need to keep church and state separate. This, the very same week they started using PD to control traffic before and after services on Sunday.

Really, people??

Really, Lady?? (reprise)

In Starbucks, a week or so ago, this doucherina conversing loudly by speakerphone.

Nobody wants, really, to hear even your half of a phone conversation. So what the sam hell makes you think we want to hear the whole goddamn thing???

Children, my favorite kind of fools

On this day eight years ago, I was exceptionally pregnant. Full-term, rotund, joints floppy, cervix half dilated, holy-crap-this-baby-is-gonna-fall-out-if-I-take-a-big-step pregnant and expecting to deliver, as scheduled, on 4/1.

Kyle James had other plans. He was nice and cozy, and in a rush to go nowhere, really. And so I spent my entire due date, on the L&D ward as part of my OB clinical...taking care of my friend who had also been due that day and had had her little boy via scheduled c-section early in the morning. All my patients that day, in various stages of pregnancy or labor themselves, said "ohhhh, you're so cute, when are you due?" It was hard to muster up any cheer to accompany my grumbly "Today."

Six days later, the stubborn little shit was still not particularly interested in joining the air-breathing world - so with help of a membrane-stripping and an ass-ton of pitocin (both equally unpleasant items) he was ushered in with a few mighty pushes (I had done my sit-ups throughout pregnancy, you see, having learned from the first go-round that all that birthing is hard work with wimpy abs). I remember the way I felt when I first saw him, dusky and limp and not so lively as they whisked him over to the warmer to try and make his little lungs work. And then I heard a cry, and then I cried myself...and then they let me hold my steamy little bundle of joy for a few seconds before scurrying off to the NICU with him.

Happily, he's a healthy kid - happily, all five of our kids are healthy, by and large. I thank my lucky stars for that every time I have to take care of a diabetic kid, or a growth-stunted kid, or a developmentally delayed kid, or a kid with a bad heart or bad guts or any number of things that can go wrong with young'uns. My heart goes out to all those parents of children who aren't so lucky.

Ours, of course, are good for entertainment purposes, whether we're shaking our heads at the silly things they say...enjoying seeing them express themselves by being goofy...

shaking our heads at the racy underwear they end up with as soon as they have money to buy their own...

pondering their fascination with large-scale transportation disasters...

their fixation with ways to justify their laziness...

their propensity to sleep anytime, anywhere...

and just generally being proud of them 'cause they're good kids. They all get good grades, they all (mostly) do what's expected of them, occasionally some of 'em even surprise me by doing something without being asked...and they're all very polite and well-mannered for the most part (so much so, that we've seen friends use 'em as a kind of parlor trick: "Hey, dude, check this out: 'Hey, kids!'" to trigger a five-way "Yes sir?" in unison... "No way, how do you get 'em to do that??" It's kinda funny, really.)

Anyhow, young'uns of mine, if you're reading... Know that I love you all and am insanely proud of you all, and couldn't feel like a luckier Mom. Thank you for everything you do to remind me what's important. And happy April Fools' day to all of you fools.