Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Salsarita's part 3

Yes, I said part three.

My mom is in town. She arrived on Wednesday. Jeff started his vacation on Thursday. I am a stay at home mom and therefore am always on vacation. HA! Just making sure that you are paying attention. I am a stay at home mom and therefore never get a vacation, except during those glorious times when I get an hour to myself to either shower without my son in the room, or when I get to take a bath in complete silence. Ahhh.

Anyways. Saturday I was having a hankering for some tacos. I convinced mom and Jeff to go to Salsarita's with me.

Now, let's take a minute to talk about the last incident. It occurred over 2 weeks ago. Let's let it go, shall we?

Yeah not going to happen. Because apparently I am the laughing stock of the East Side Salsarita's.

We walked in and one employee (I prefer to call him Dumpy- because he is short, chubby and, well, if you make fun of me you get a mean nickname, okay?) started making gestures with his hands of a tray hitting him in the face.

Dude, keep it up and I will make it a reality. Don't test me, I got very little sleep last night and I am hungry.

While Dumpy was mocking me, the rest of the employees were trying not to laugh. Let's get one thing straight. If you are going to attempt not to laugh, try harder. Because snickering behind your spatula is not cutting it. And I am pretty sure that having it that close to your face is some kind of health violation.

After I got my tray of food and my glorious Diet Coke, I sat down to eat. This is where the mocking would end.

Boy was I wrong.

Dumpy came over to our table. He used the clever ruse that he needed to clean off the tables, but not once did I see him wipe one off. He came over and asked me how everything was tasting and then smiled that evil, I am imagining you with salsa all over your hair, smile. He asked if I managed to keep it all on the tray this time.


Dumpy, you are not funny. You are not clever. You are annoying. Stop trying to make jokes and flirt with me (I totally looked good and Jeff was not at the table at the time). Leave me alone.

By the way, someone should inform you that you shouldn't outwardly mock someone right in front of their mother.

It's poor form.

He finally left the table and from where I was sitting I could see all the employees glancing in my direction. 

Yes, I am the one who catapulted a tray of tacos and chips into my face. I am the one who had to get salsa out of my hair for 45 minutes and the one whose hair smelled like salsa for a week afterward.

Look all you want. But I guarantee that even with salsa, chips and cheese in my bra, I am way cuter than you. I also have a lot more guts that you. I showed up at the scene of the crime and looked the criminal (the salsa) right in the face and, without incident, drippage, or stain, managed to show said criminal who was boss.

And Dumpy, if you ever want to get a girl, my advice is this:

#1) Get her some napkins when she throws 6 pounds of salsa in her hair,  don't stand and laugh at her from behind the counter.

#2) Don't mock a girl in front of her mother. Because even if you win over the girl, to the mom, you will always be the guy who mocked her daughter. Besides, wouldn't it just be easier to chase her around the playground and pull her pigtails?

#3) Don't hit on a girl with a ring on her finger (a huge ring I might add- what? he doesn't know that it is fake because my fingers are fat from being pregnant for 2 years), who is with her 3 month old son and her mom. Pick one that is at least not married. And who doesn't have stretch marks for days.....nay....years.

#4) And lastly, comb your hair. Seriously. A little comb goes a long way. A very long way. And not combing your hair makes you look like a bum. And makes people give you nick Dumpy.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Everything I need to know, I learned from my mom

In honor of my mom's birthday (which was yesterday) here is a list of the things she has taught me:

1. It's okay to eat ice cream for dinner. Just don't eat an entire bag of cookies as well.

2. Thanksgiving Dinner doesn't have to be fancy. Sometimes Del Taco and a trip to Disneyland will suffice.

3. Don't lock your daughter's wedding dress in your car the morning of her wedding. But if you do, make sure the AAA guy knows the situation and gets there in 10 minutes flat.

4. It is not possible for an entire loaf of bread to fall between the little crack between the stove and the counter. But, if you make that mistake, it will make for a good story and your kids will laugh at you for years to come.

5. Being a stay at home mom can be fun. Especially if you can watch re runs of Charlie's Angels while you fold laundry with your daughter.

6. Just because you were born to a couple from Whittier, CA with no royalty in their blood, doesn't mean you aren't a princess. All you need is a tiara and a wand.

7. Determination is everything. If you put your mind to it, you can do anything. Including getting your doctorate in Psychology after 20 years. 

8. Earplugs are important. Especially when your mother is writing her dissertation in the middle of the night and her acrylic nails are clicking incessantly on the key board.

9. No matter what is going on in your life, Thursday nights at 10 o'clock is ER time.

10. There is nothing wrong with doing a Del run at 2 am. As long as there is someone to go with you.

11. If your mom doesn't like your boyfriend, there's a reason. Hold out for someone she approves of. You will thank her later.

12. And finally, no matter what happens in life, no matter how crappy and hard it is, mom will always be there. 

Thanks for everything that you taught me mommy! I love you! Happy Birthday!

Monday, December 13, 2010

The joys of motherhood

1. Getting thrown up on. Even though you know it is breast milk, your breast milk, it still isn't fun. And it doesn't smell that great coming back up.

2. Not showering until noon. Most days I don't leave the house until 1. It's not because I am sleeping in, or being lazy. It is because whenever I have a moment to myself, this little micro chip in Dylan's brain alerts him and makes him cry, poop, or scream. Seriously. I am a woman (in case you weren't aware) and have long thick hair. I live in Tennessee where currently the weather is 20 degrees. I enjoy a long, hot (I turn the water to scalding, and then complain to Jeff that it is too cold) relaxing shower. It used to take me about 15 minutes in the shower, sometimes longer. Now, I am in and out in less than 5. Why? Because even when Dills (his nickname, trying it out, what do you think?) is in his bouncer 4 feet from me while I am in the shower, he senses that I am enjoying myself, and therefore must get my attention.

3. Not sleeping...ever. I know that some of you think that new moms get sleep. It's a lie. We close our eyes, and attempt to sleep, but we end up thinking about what needs to be done around the house, what we forgot to do that our husband asked us to do 4 weeks ago, how we are going to get it done without him realizing that we are 4 weeks late, what our child is doing in the other room while he is supposed to be sleeping. Then there is the dreaded "If I go to bed now, I will get 2 hours of sleep before Dills wakes up." "If I go to bed right now, I will get 45 minutes of sleep before Dills wakes up." It is an endless, sleepless cycle. In addition to knowing when I need to shower (perhaps it's not a micro chip at all but just an incredible sense of smell) Dills also knows when I need to sleep. And he will fart, fuss, cry, talk, scream, pretty much do anything but let me sleep. The best part? He sleeps while we are out running errands. Oh how I wish I could fall asleep on the bench outside Target. They would probably think that I was a hobo, and arrest me. If only they knew that I am single handedly responsible for the new pool that the manager had put in last summer, they would change their tune. Seriously? What was I talking about? Oh, sleep. We don't sleep. The end.

4. Breast feeding... in public. Seriously people. I have on a hooter hider. I am discreet. My boobs are not showing, I am not trying to make a spectacle of myself. I am feeding my son. GET OVER IT! If one more gross old man tries to get a peek (let's segue for a minute and discuss postpartum breasts...not cute. Not perky. More than likely victim to the pregnancy stretch marks. So why are you trying to peek...oh and one more thing. There's nothing to see, my son's head is blocking it. If you want to see the cutest little boy in the world, then go ahead and take a peek, but otherwise, leave me alone.) I am going to punch him. Which would be a feat on my part because I am holding a child in one hand, and with the other hand punching you in the face, all while never missing a beat. Never underestimate the power of a hormonal, sleep deprived mom.

5. The endless advice. If one more person tells me that their child ate solid foods at 3 months, I am going to scream. I don't care what your child accomplished and at what age. You are old. Your child is old. Are you naive enough to believe that medicine, and child rearing hasn't made any advancements over the past 60 years? It has. Believe it or not, there is a person in my life that has studied, and knows modern medicine, and understands what is best for me and my child. He is called a doctor. He actually has a medical degree. You? You just have an annoying streak that makes me want to scream.... LOUD. So please, no advice. I know what is best for my child. And right now what is best for my child is for me to lie and say that I have somewhere to be. Anywhere that is far from you and your advice. Because you know what? You bug.

6. The laundry. Moms all around the world know what I am talking about. How can one little 10 pound person produce SO MUCH LAUNDRY? I used to do 3 loads a week before Dills came around. Darks, lights, towels and sheets. 3 loads. That's it. Now I have about 47 loads. Lights, darks, towels, sheets, burp cloths, blankets.... the list goes on. And no matter how hard I try to keep up with it. It grows on a hourly basis. The best part? We are going to order cloth diapers next week. You know, the kind you wash, at home. So then we will have lights, darks, towels, sheets, burp cloths, blankets, diapers..... I hate laundry. Laundry hates me. The only thing I hate more than laundry is the fact that everything associated with a child is expensive. See the next point....

7. Everything associated with a child is expensive. I am cheap. Jeff is cheap. It is a marriage made in heaven. Dills is expensive. We love him dearly. But he is expensive. Did you know that it gets cold in Tennessee? You see, I forgot that. So all the clothes that we have for Dills are short pants, and short sleeved shirts. Even though we had our boys almost exactly one year apart, all the clothes that we have are Southern California appropriate, where currently it is 80 degrees. Seriously. 80 degrees in December. So if I were in California right now, my son would be dressed perfectly. But I am not in 80 degree weather. I am in 20 degree weather. It is currently snowing. The schools are closed and most of my friends didn't have to go to work today because if it snows even a little bit, the city freaks out. But hey, no one complains because a snow day is a snow day. So I have to buy clothes for little man. Warm clothes. Apparently because there is twice as much fabric as the summer clothes, it means that they are 4 times as expensive. Go figure. So instead of buying a ton of clothes, I do a ton of laundry. Because little man has about 5 warm outfits. Did I mention that I hate laundry? If you forgot, see number 6 above.

8. The endless advice #2. Don't judge me when I tell you that my child doesn't sleep through the night. You asked me. You obviously wanted to know the answer. The answer is that sometimes he sleeps well, and sometimes he wakes up every 2 hours. This doesn't make me a bad mother. I am not comfortable letting a 2 month old scream his head off. If he cries, I hold him, feed him and do anything I can to make him stop crying. My child is happy. He knows that when he cries because he is hungry, wet, cold, hot, cranky, gassy, fussy, or just plain lonely, Mom will be there. He is secure. I know that moms that let their child cry it out are not bad mothers. Just like moms that pick up their child when they cry are not bad. Don't judge me. There are a million ways to raise a child. And the best way to raise a child is without your advice. The best way to raise a child is with mother's intuition. And you know what my intuition is telling me? That your advice is lame. Go away.

9. Oh how cute, a baby! Yep, a baby. You know, because we never see any of those around. Please don't touch my child. I don't know you. For all I know, you could have scratched your butt, and then touched my child's hands. I don't want to be rude, but when you look like you haven't showered in 3 months and then reach those nasty hands, with those dirty fingernails that a) haven't been cleaned in a year and b) haven't been cut in a year, you leave me no choice. I am going to be rude. I may even smack your hand away. Please know that I will smack hard. And then I will use my industrial strength hand sanitizer to clean my hands from your butt scratching germs. Don't touch my child. Feel free to tell me how cute he is (because, duh, he totally is) but please do this within a safe distance. Then go home and clean your fingernails. The end.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Facing the fear

I did it.

I faced my fear.

It was scary, I am not going to lie to you.

People were starring at me.

People laughed under their breaths.

My palms were sweaty (which was a problem because I was carrying little man in his car seat).

My stomach was growling (which I think everyone in a 10 mile radius heard). 

Did I mention that it was 3:30 and I still hadn't had lunch?


I showed my face at Salsarita's. This is the first time since the catapulting salsa incident.

I ordered the same thing a always do, two tacos and chips and salsa. There were 2 employees that recognized me. I smiled and told them that I decided to show my face again. The tacos were calling my name.


The salsa was calling my name, too. But it was in more of a taunting manner. Hahaha CARRIE!!!

One of the guys took the tray for me to my table. He said that he didn't want me to spill it again. Hahaha dude, you are so funny.

And for the record, I didn't drop it, I catapulted it into my face. So having you carry it to the table isn't really helping things. If you really want to help, get me a bib.

I put too much ice in my diet coke and finished it too quickly, but I was afraid to go get more, because this is how the last tray ended up in my bra, upon my return to the table.

I waited a few minutes, gathered up the nerve, and went to get more Diet Coke. I then came back to the table and pushed the tray as far away from the edge as possible. Then I sat down like a ballerina. I tried hard to look graceful (not that I was successful, but at least I made an effort).

As I sat down, the booth made a squeaky fart like noise and the table next to me glanced in my direction. I gave them a look that said "Mexican food. It'll get you every time." They didn't seem amused.

As I sat there eating my tacos without incident, there was one thing that kept plaguing me: The salsa.

I have never eaten chips and salsa so slowly. I was determined not to get a drop on me. I am pretty sure that the smell is still lingering from last week.

I finished the chips and salsa. They were delicious. Hahaha, who's laughing now salsa?

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Grace, poise, elegance

Three words that have never been used to describe me.

On my wedding day I wore tennis shoes. I told everyone that it was because I am tall and I didn't want to be as tall as my soon to be husband while wearing heels. The truth? I was afraid of falling on my butt in front of 150 of my closest friends and family.

Remember in the late nineties when those hideous platform flip flops were popular? Yeah, I had a pair. I almost broke my ankle while walking up the stairs. I sprained it and had to wear flats for 2 weeks. I told people that the platforms just didn't match any of my outfits. Yeah, I lied.

I also dislocated my shoulder while running across the street. Alone. Seriously. The closest person to me was my then boyfriend, and he was at least 30 feet away. This is how talented I am. Who else can boast the ability to completely dislocate limbs all by them self? That would be me.

I am not, nor have I even been called graceful, full of poise, or elegant.

That's why this story will not come as a huge surprise to those of you that know me.

Jeff had a business dinner last night. So I was on my own for dinner.

Dylan and I went to his 2 month appointment during the day. He's totally healthy by the way, but that's another blog.

The appointment went long, which I was not expecting, and I didn't have lunch. So when I was sitting in the office for two hours and counting, I was getting a little delirious.

I decided to go to Salsarita's for dinner. (for those of you that don't know what this is, it is like my favorite place to eat. It is a Mexican restaurant where you design your own burrito or tacos- sort of like Subway- but way better).  I had a book. Dylan was fed. I was starving. What more could a girl want?

I ordered the tacos and chips and salsa and of course a diet coke. Because I got about 2 hours of sleep the night before. But that's another blog...

Anyways, I ordered my food, sat down at a table, and then little man started to get fussy. I thought that he might be hungry, so I moved to a booth near the wall where I could have some privacy. In the process of moving to the booth, I almost knocked over the entire table with Dylan's car seat.

A nice man tried to help me, but I of course told him I was okay. I tried to regain my composure. I managed to get Dylan to the booth without dropping him.

The best part is that by the time I got situated, Dylan was no longer hungry. *Sigh* Well at least I got time to read my book and enjoy my awesome tacos.

So, after a few pages, my diet coke was empty, which is unacceptable. I went to go get a refill.

Then I sat back down. Or at least I tried to.

This is what I think happened, because I am pretty sure that it happened in slow motion. But of course I cannot be sure, as I was utterly too terrified to remember anything.

I attempted to sit down, but the tray with my half eaten tacos and chips and salsa was hanging over the edge of the table. I was exhausted, so I sat down with a little too much umph, and catapulted the tray directly into my face. But that's not all. It also flung into my hair, into my bra, on my jeans, on my shoes, and on the wall behind me.

The man that tried to help me while I was knocking the table over earlier, just sat and looked at me. Gee, thanks for staring at me. Because, you know, staring at me is going to help me get the salsa off of my neck. God forbid you grab me some napkins. 

So, because no one would help me, I made the walk of shame - the messy, dripping walk of shame - to the other side of the restaurant with everyone's eyes on me to grab napkins.

I tried to wipe as much sour cream, cheese, salsa, lettuce and steak off of myself.  Thankfully, the man sitting in the table next to me helped me wipe it out of my hair (still with everyone watching me). 

He wiped it off my shirt (the back) and off my shoulders as well. Keep in mind that this is the only nice person in the entire place. Everyone else was staring. A little kid was even laughing at me. But, the nice man's wife, who I didn't notice at first, started giving me the evil eye, because her husband was wiping salsa outta my hair and I am pretty sure that we had a moment. Okay this is a lie. There is no reason why this woman should be mad at me. I didn't ask her husband to come over and wipe salsa out of my hair. The only moment we had was when I asked him if there was any salsa that I missed, to which he replied "Umm, yeah, on your, umm, shirt". What he meant to say was, "Dude, you totally have salsa on your boob, like a lot of salsa. You'd better wipe that off before you leave the restaurant."

So in the midst of getting help from the only nice person in the restaurant, and getting stared down by his wife (let's take a moment to dissect this shall we? What man is going to find an overweight, new mom covered in salsa attractive? I am pretty sure this woman had nothing to worry about) my stomach started to growl. Because, you know, half my dinner was on the floor.

I went to the counter and told one of the employees what happened and that I needed a broom to clean up the floor. He told me that he would clean it up for me. Thanks man, where were you with the napkins 10 minutes ago, huh?

Anyways, I sat down (very carefully, might I add) and read more of my book, and drank my diet coke. I wanted to avoid all eye contact until I was sure that every person that witnessed my lovely display was gone.

I then got up and ordered one more taco and more chips and salsa. The manager asked me if that was what spilled on the floor, and then told me that it was on the house. Thanks man, but where were you 20 minutes ago when I needed napkins, huh?

So I very carefully walked back to the table and ate my taco and chips. Thankfully with no more spillage.

That night when I got home, I took off each item of clothing carefully to avoid getting tomatoes and cilantro all over. I looked on the bathroom floor when I was done and saw an entire taco worth of cheese. This was all in my bra. Every bit. Because I shook out my shirt and pants. I remember getting everything off of the outside clothing items. The cheese must have been hiding out. In my bra.

I had to wash my hair, because the smell of salsa and the extreme crunchiness was overwhelming and I could no longer take it.

Had you been in the shower with me you would have laughed. I washed my hair, and I swear, the tomatoes and cilatro just kept falling out. Just when I thought I was done, more would fall onto the shower floor. It was laughable. Well unless you were me, because I was starting to run out of shampoo. And because the smell of salsa was still not gone.

I then got out of the shower and brushed my clean hair... and one more tomato fell out. It was like the salsa just had to have the last word. Stupid salsa.