My Husband’s Secret Language

My dear husband can talk to anyone about anything. Granted, he’s not one of those guys who knows a little bit about everything, but he can, in fact, have a conversation with anyone about anything that they choose to talk about. A few years ago, after I called bull#@!t when I noticed he was conversing about something he had absolutly no knowledge or understanding of, he let me in on his secret. Since then I’ve noticed him doing it ALL…THE…TIME. It’s a brilliant conversational tactic that seems to work pretty much every time he uses it. But, as it’s his secret tool, I don’t think he’d appreciate me sharing it. (And, FYI, not everyone can practice this technique. I, for example, can not do it as I don’t have the appropriate personality quality required for this…er…talent.)

There are, however, two things that he CAN talk about for hours, days, and, as is the case with a few of his buddies, even exclusively for the duration of a friendship. These two things are movie quotes and Family Guy. Seriously.

Nearly all guys seem to be able to speak, at least for a basic conversation in the language of movie-quote-ese. This may be equivalent to, say, a basic Spanish 101 convo:

“Hola, como estas?”

“Estoy bien, gracias. Y tu?”

“Muy bien, gracias.”

“Es muy fria hoy.”

“Claro que si. Es un dia muy bonito.”

“Donde esta el bano?”

“No se. Donde esta el restaurante?”

“En la calle. Me gustaria comer tacos hoy.”

“Yo me gustaria comer pizza.”

“Ok, mucho gusto.”

“El gusto es mio.”

“Adios!”

“Hasta pronto!”

Some women can speak the language, but these are rare, maybe as rare and elusive as, say, Bigfoot, and they seldom speak fluently. Even then, their level of conversation would be akin to what is above, only they may also be able to throw in an occasional vocabulary word or phrase to pretend to understand and speak the arcane language. The men generally pick up on this quickly, give a small courtesy laugh, and shrug the woman off in order to continue their conversation privately, albeit loudly.

Two women who share common interests may get together and bring their husbands along for double dates. At any given time these two women talk about their kids, the new parks they’ve visited, yoga, a recent movie they’ve seen, shopping, celebrity gossip, the latest tech gadgets, blogging, the housing crisis, politics, the healthcare initiave (which I still don’t understand), or, heck, maybe even existentialism and religious beliefs. Whatever. It could be the world’s most interesting conversation, but the guys’ eyes will, 9 times out of 10, gloss over, and they’ll find themselves swigging their beers wondering how to get out of this miserable double date.

Then, one of them will say, “Hey, did you see such-and-such movie?” Then the other guy will chuckle and reply, “(insert one of a gazillion different movie quotes here).” Then the first guy will laugh and follow up with another movie quote. The conversation usually continues from there, quotes jumping from movie to movie, until Ronny brings in a Family Guy quote. Or, if the guy happens to be Ronny’s perfect match, he’ll do the honors of reciting the first FG bit, which will make my hubby’s little puppy tail wag. In my experience observing Ronny’s “manly” conversational habits, I have observed another pattern. I’d say about 95% of the time the other guy will laugh, nod knowingly, and follow up with another Family Guy quote or situation.

Those who have studied Family Guy and have developed a good grasp of the language can speak for a good while, rehashing and laughing over situations and quoting, word for word, said situations. Then there are those who are completely fluent in the language of Family Guy. Ronny is one of these weirdo freaks who I just can’t relate to interesting and talented people. When you get two or more of them together, it’s like watching a remote African tribe through hidden cameras on the Discovery Channel. They have the uncanny ability to continue this conversation for . . . literally . . . hours, in their own little world, as if no one is watching or listening.  Trust me. I have witnessed this happen, usually to my absolute ennui to the point of my falling asleep and waking up in a puddle of drool, many, many times.

Ronny even has one particular friend with whom he speaks of nothing else. Seriously. I asked him yesterday if they talk about anything else and he said, “we’re just not that kind of friends.” If they text each other, it’s in the FG code. They may text a situation or quote which can be translated to, “Hey, I’m in a golf tournament next week. Want to join me?” This quote would be replied to with another quote which could be loosely translated to: “I’d love to, but my girlfriend planned this stupid daytrip with her friend and her husband. Unfortunately, I have to tag along and play nice. It’s gonna suck. Hopefully the other guy will be able to speak our secret bro-language.”

I’m not joking.

Here’s another example. We had a poker game the other night at our house. It was Ronny, me, and three other guys, one of which was the said FG/MQ-only speaking friend. They sat across from one another, and while we all had normal poker game conversations, these two talked Family Guy and movie quotes to one another exclusively. Seriously, I don’t think a snippet of English passed between the two of them. But they made each other laugh all night long. I’m pretty much inured to it so I tune it out and just note that it’s nice to see Ronny laugh out loud so much. The other guys seem pretty used to it, too, as the game and normal conversation went on for hours.

Occasionally, and I mean very rarely, we’ll come across a guy who, in response to Ronny’s Family Guy or movie quote, will respond with a blank, confused stare and a subtle shaking of the head. Ronny knows immediately that the two of them have absolutely no hope for any sort of conversation or friendship. It’s his way of sniffing the other dog’s butt. If there’s no mutual interest, he’ll walk away without a second thought. That’s just how it is. And at that very moment, no matter how good of a time I may be having, and no matter how excited I am to be out with another couple, I know in my heart that we will never have another double date with this couple again. It’s a sad, sad realization.

This post took an entirely different turn than I had planned. That said, my next post will hopefully go more in line with my original intent.

That’s one of the cool things about writing. You may or may not know what you want to write about, but then what actually comes out can surprise you completely.

Until next time…

Beautiful Nails

I went to get a much needed mani/pedi yesterday. The little place that I go is right down at the end of my street. It’s really basic and there just two ladies work there, both always speaking Vietnamese, I think. One thing that really trips me out is that the one who does the manicures always has a little bluetooth on her ear. It’s on throughout the entire manicure, and because it was on during my entire previous manicure, I can only assume that this is a regular habit of hers. It does not sound like she’s on a phone call. In fact, she very rarely even says anything. Just an occasional chuckle or small comment. She speaks so seldom that I assumed the thing on her ear wasn’t even turned on. I assumed she just talked to herself. But then when she does say something, she says it really quiet and under her breath. Half Vietnamese, half English. It’ll be quiet, quiet, quiet, then she’ll say, “Oh, you know, he do nothing wrong. (Insert strand of Vietnamese syllables here.) He just die.” Quiet, quiet, quiet. Then I’ll hear some sort of banging or something coming from her ear piece and she’ll titter quietly. “You want me clean eyebrows up?” she says without looking up, and I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or the phone. Then she does look up and points to my face and says, “You need cleanup.” Weird.

So I asked her what the heck was going on. Apparently this gal leaves all of her kids at home. I didn’t ask how many, but for some reason I assume she has six. She just leaves them at home with the speaker phone on in the kitchen and she listens to them all…day…long while she does nails and waxing. They do their homework, they watch TV, they talk to each other, and occasionally they make her laugh or ask her a question.

I assume she has unlimited minutes.

The other thing I don’t get is this. What’s the point of the hand models and the posters in the little nail salons? I assume that they’re there so you can see just how beautiful your hands could be with a little manicurely love. But look at this. Seriously, what gives?

Are they trying to say that they can put colorful claws on corpses? Because a few of those hands look like they’ve come from chilly cadavers that have been hit by cars. And what’s with the hook nails? I don’t understand this phenomena, but what I do know is that nearly every salon I ever go to has the same ridiculous display. And yes, I do in fact only go to the cheap little Asian “salons”. I can’t bear the thought of paying $40 for a manicure. Plus, as you can see in the photo above, this place also sells Cheetos and Doritos.

But here’s what really made me laugh. They always have these cheesy, soft-focus posters with “beautiful” long fingernails on 80s-esque hand models. It’s usually hands gently holding a long-stemmed rose as red as the shellac on the inch-long fingernails, or sometimes it’s long “beautiful” hands lying across a piano. This one that I saw yesterday, though, REALLY took the cake. I mean, fo’ rizzle?

First of all, I would say that these hands look pretty rubbery and non-functional, but say you’re in a situation where you actually need to use your machine gun. Do you think that you’d really have the time to get that gat situated in your beautiful hands? How would you get those talons into the little hole to pull the trigger? And what happens if you run out of bullets and need to re-load? I assume the nails are strong enough that they won’t break, but they just seem so inconvenient. And if you’re going to be shooting a gun like that, wouldn’t you at least want a camouflage pattern on the nails? I’d be willing to bet that’s a possibility.

I’m sorry, NaBloPoMo

I’m sorry, dear NaBloPoMo. It looks like I missed a day yesterday. I think I’m gonna have to quit you this month. It’s just not right for me to post just for the sake of posting when I don’t have the energy to put any thought at all whatsoever into what I’m saying. I’m too tired to stay up late blogging and I’ve been too busy during the day. I’ll post as often as I can this month but I just can’t guarantee a daily commitment.
My apologies.

I Wuv You, Too, More!

I often think about what a former co-worker said to me once when I was pregnant. He said that being a parent is amazing, and that you’re constantly surprised by your own capacity to love. He explained that after having the first baby you’d think it’s impossible to find enough love in yourself to have enough left for a second baby. And then the second one comes and somehow you have double the love.

Every day I look at Maysen and I fall more deeply into love with her. She’s amazing. She melts my heart. And I seriously can’t imagine that I could ever have enough love for another child. How could I ever love anyone as much as I love her? It doesn’t even seem possible.

Before May I was always, in my opinion, a little incapable of really loving someone. Of course I love my husband, of course I love my parents and my brother, but it’s different. It’s not a heartwrenching love that leaves me feeling helpless like it is with her.

Just in the last few days she has learned something really sweet. Here’s our newest dialogue:

Me: “You know what?”

May: “I wuv you!”

Me: “I love you, too!”

May: “I wuv you, too, more!”

Sigh.

Nana taught her the “more” part. Does she really know what she’s saying, or does she just know that she’ll just get a big warm hug and kiss from me when she says it?

My beautiful girl. Such an angel...when she feels like it.

 

Nothing to say today

Today was a great day, but I’m too exhausted to write anything. That’s the problem with NaBloPoMo. You make this commitment to write daily, but then when you have a lot going on and you put off blogging until bedtime, you end up feeling obligated to post just anything. I know it totally defeats the purpose of the while exercise. Maybe I picked the wrong month to blog daily. Or maybe it’s just tough to find the time when you spend the day with your whole family. We did celebrate Christmas today after all. Hopefully tomorrow will be a better blogging day for me, but considering we’ll be driving home and hanging out with Ronny’s mom for one day while she is in town tomorrow, you probably won’t get much of a post from me. Sorry!

On our way home now

Just a tiny post tonight. We hung out in San Francisco today and really enjoyed ourselves. Barely took any pics but here are a few.

You’re Getting Beat by a One-Year-Old

Yep, Ronny just called it when he said, “you’re getting beat by a one-year-old.” Granted, she’s almost exactly a month away from being two, but she is still one after all. I’ve given up on trying to get her to go to bed tonight. I think she’s just so excited and wound up from the trip, but I’m sure the apple juice Ronny gave her right before bed isn’t helping.

Usually bedtime consists of a few stories followed by my glorious singing which leads to one very sleepy kid who sweetly rests her head on my shoulder and occasionally tells me when she’s ready to go to sleep.

I only brought four books on this trip: Olivia, Pat the Bunny, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, and Hug. We’ve read Hug over and over and over and over and we’ve read Olivia nearly as much. Pat the Bunny has only been cracked once, and I almost forgot that we brought The VHC. Tonight, we started Hug, but the stinker wouldn’t sit still. Instead, she insisted on ripping down the dishtowel I have duct taped over the window curtains, which made me mad because I’m neurotic about having people being able to see in my windows at night. She thought it was hilarious but I was pissed. Then she just wanted to jump on the bed and play “tap” on my stomach. Ever been to Gymboree? If you have, you’ll know the tapping game. But it’s not a good game to play on a bloated pregnant belly. Then, even though I explained to her that Daddy wasn’t in the RV, that he was in the hot tub (yes, we’re staying at an “RV Resort” tonight), she insisted on ripping open the curtains and searching for him, knocking who-knows-what over as she ran through the 18 (or so) square feet in which we’ve been living for the last week or so. I pick her up and explain that it’s time for bed, and she screams, “Otay fiiiine!” which, as I’ve explained before, means “no!” So I turn off the light and try to sing her favorite songs and she screams and kicks and squirms. The battle continued for probably about 45 minutes before I finally just let her turn on the damned iPad.

This child is a technology addict and I have no idea what to do about it. When Ronny came back I told him that was it, I give up. That’s when he said it. “You’re getting beat by a one-year-old.”

“At least I’m trying,” I said.

“Well, I almost had her to sleep earlier.”

“Well, la-dee-friggin’-da. Now she’s up and I’m over it.”

So I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and let the wild child loose. Now, after I’ve gone way past caring about getting her to bed at a reasonable hour, she’s up front lying on the couch with Daddy, watching a Baby Einstein DVD. Occasionally I hear a tiny yawn or a small tidbit of conversation between the two of them. It’s nice to hear, and I finally get a moment of silence.

 

Brrr. It’s cold.

We are in Half Moon Bay, in the camper and it’s 41 degrees outside. I’m under like 6 blankets and wearing two pairs of socks and a sweater, and we even have a little tiny space heater but I’m still frigging freezing. We grilled up ribeyes, cooked potatoes in the fire and tossed a salad with local organic garlic vinaigrette dressing. The only thing that could have made it any better is a glass of red. But some Snickers ice cream by the camp fire made up for that.
We spent a good part of the day at the park Ronny napped in the camper while I chased May from swing to slide to tunnel to duck pond, trying to keep her from teasing the ducks then shoving the handful of bread crumbs into her own mouth while aggressive seagulls threatened to peck out her eyeballs if she didn’t share. Then May and I went shopping around downtown Santa Cruz while Ronny putzed around with the RV. The drive up the coast to Half Moon Bay was again breathtaking, especially for the hour I spent in a lawn chair on the cliff reading a book while the other two napped (Yes, my husband does in fact take as many naps as my child.)
Anyways, here are a few pics.

Until tomorrow…

Holy Crap I Found a Signal!

A weak signal, but it’s the first time I’ve been able to connect to the Internet. Hallelujah! I’m just going to paste what I’ve written the last few days. I know NaBloPoMo is supposed to be posting every day, but I’m going to allow myself this exception. I’ve written a post every day but not had the tools to get them posted. So here they are in all their glory. I’ll try to post pictures from our trip soon.

1/6/12

Wouldn’t you know it? It’s day 6 of NaBloPoMo and I’m already unable to make a blog post. I realize that it’s already going to be pretty challenging to post every day while I’m on the road. I can post from my handy dandy iPhone, as long as I have 3G, but our first campsite, Leo Carrillo State Park, has no phone or internet, not even 3G. Normally it would be my own laziness to prevent me from posting, but alas, today the forces are against me.

I’ll post this, though, the first chance I have access to wi-fi. Or, today I took a few pics to share, so I’ll at least get those up.

Anyways, so we’re on the road again. Last time it was a 3 month journey full of lots and lots of camper problems. It’s bound to happen, I suppose, when your RV is 25 years old. Yes, it’s a 1985 Coachmen. Since the trip our Coachie has been fixed up a little. And when I say a little, I really mean a LOT. She’s had an entire facelift. And engine lift. She’s had more money put into her than she’s worth.

The last time we were on a trip in this baby we had a full-grown Lab with us. A dog really brings a whole sense of joy to a road trip. He spent the majority of the time stretched across my lap, slobbering on my legs, and keeping me warm…even across Texas where the temperature actually topped 115.

This time we have a whole new source of joy. Kodi died a year and a half ago, but this time we have Maysen with us. I can’t say she loves the ride as much as Kodi did, but it’s great to look back at her strapped into the captain’s chair, requesting her favorite “la-la”, and asking the ocean where it is. There are so many sources of joy to be tapped into on a road trip. Perhaps I’ll go into it a little more tomorrow, but for now, I need to cozy under my covers. It’s friggin’ cold here tonight.

 

1/7/12

I’m sitting in a Wal-Mart parking lot with a dead battery. Maysen is strapped into her car seat using the last drop of my battery to watch home movies on the iPhone. She’s actually watching “cookie time” over and over again because it seems to be her favorite. We’re in Arroyo Grande, it’s dark, and we’re yet to get to our camp site. The problem with doing a trip like this in January, besides the fact that it gets very, very chilly at night, is that the day ends right around 5:30pm, well before we’re settled in camp and ready for the sun to go down. Last night was so cold, and I was up all night. Miraculously, May slept the whole night through. (I gotta get me some of those fleece jammies with the feet in them!) All we’ve really done is hung out today. Nothing spectacular. We were going to check out the tidepools at Leo Carrillo, but Ronny didn’t see how to maneuver the camper…

 

1/8/12

…It’s several hours later. I think I wrote that around 7pm and it’s now 12:28 am.

What a friggin’ hassle! So, remember I said that I was sitting there with a dead battery? Well, after our battery charger thing wouldn’t work we flagged down a guy in a pickup for a jump. No dice. I called AAA. They said they’d have a guy to me within 45 minutes. Then Ronny actually went in to Wal-Mart and bought a brand new battery. Still no dice, so we figured it must not be the battery. Ronny’s thinking it’s the starter so he’s under the camper banging on stuff, getting all greasy and sweaty, and asking me to turn the key every now and then. He started to get so frustrated, and suddenly memories of our last RV trip came back to me. Oh, crappy crap. Here we go again with Mr. Grumpy McGrumperton.

After an hour and 15 minutes, I called AAA back to ask what the heck was going on. Apparently the guy who was supposed to come help us got off of work and forgot to tell the other guy, so the other guy just got the call. We had planned to take a cab to the Hampton Inn and have my parents come and pick us up tomorrow, and we were about to just leave the camper there for good.

But suddenly, just as the AAA guy FINALLY showed up, TWO HOURS into this whole ordeal, it dawned on Ronny that I might not have put the camper in Park correctly. Bingo. He pulled it into gear then back into park and the beast lit up like a charm. What a sense of relief, of course, but also so frustrating to think it was something so simple.

Apparently, because this RV was born in 1985, it’s got loose gears. So you can’t simply put it in Park like you would with any other automatic transmission. Evidently you have to actually jam it into park. Nobody ever told me this and there’s no sign indicating anything about this little idiosyncrasy. Luckily the batteries on the iPad lasted through the whole ordeal and kept Maysie busy busy busy for the entire two hours.

We finally pulled into the Oceano Campgrounds in Pismo Beach around 10:00pm. Maysie and I built a fort, read the Hug book that she’s obsessed with right now, and played blocks until I rocked her and sang her “la-la” before she finally went down about 11:00. So now, an hour and a half later, after having sat by the fire with hubby, finally relaxing, it’s time for Mommy to go to bed. Still no internet, so still no posts, but at least I’m here, right?

 

1/8/12

Wow. What a great day it was today. After last night’s near debacle today came with a renewed sense of hope and excitement for the day. We had a nice cuddly morning with Maysie, then we got up, had a light breakfast, fed the most enormous geese I’ve ever seen (I was actually a little afraid of them!) and then we got on our way. I had 3G for a while at the campsite so I was able to find a good spot in Big Sur to head toward. Only about 130 miles north, it seemed like a great destination. I said all I care about is that we get to our destination no later than 4pm. It sucks getting there after dark. The drive up the coast is spectacular, though terribly windy and narrow in spots for the RV. Gorgeous nonetheless. We stopped in Cambria for an awesome seaside picnic. Maysie was thrilled to feed the seagulls the crusts from my sandwich. She kept chasing the birds saying “Hey! Boodie, hey!” and then she’d look at me as it flew away from her, as if she flat out didn’t understand why these birds wouldn’t let her touch them. We hopped back on the road for another hour or two and finally arrived at the Big Sur Campground and Cabins. So much better than we expected. Most of the campsites that allow RV’s are really shitty. More like a parking lot than a campground. This one, however, is perfect. We’re surrounded by trees on a small cliff overlooking a slow and gentle river. The best part? There’s a playground 20 feet from the camper! Maysie’s thrilled with that, Ronny’s thrilled with the nature of it all, and I’m thrilled to have so many happy campers. Ronny grilled up turkey burgers and sausages and boiled a pot of potatoes while I made a beautiful salad with all of the organic veggies we bought at the farmers market in Santa Barbara yesterday.  Maysie had mac-n-cheese, but nibbled quite a few of the potatoes as well. We sat around the fire, alternately listening to music and the gurgling river, and when it came time, I read Maysie her bedtime stories and sang her bedtime song. The best part? As I lay her down in her bed, I kissed her and told her I love her like I do every single night. She looked at me and said, “I wuv you.” Melty, melty heart full of love and joy.

 

1/9/12

Another amazing day. I was so worried that traveling with Maysen would be really tough. I thought she’d whine and cry about being in her car seat for so long, and I thought she’d be a nightmare in the camper and at the campground. It turns out that she’s the best little camping partner ever. The first thing she said to me this morning from her pack-n-play was “Mommy, cuddle.” How can you beat that? She crawled under the covers with me and we…played with the iPad and watched DVDs. Whatevs. She took her first bath in the camper’s tub; Ronny heated up a big pot of water on the stove and we dumped into the tub. She played with her toys and bubbles and filled the camper with smiles and splashes. All I wanted to do today was go somewhere that we could go for a little hike, so after hitting the playground for a while wed ended up at Andrew Morena State Park where we took a little hiking trail to a picnic area. We all had a good time, but Maysie was almost overwhelmed with fun. The “you can’t catch me” game got her giggling like crazy until, like 12 times, she tripped over a stone and fell. Of course, after skidding on her tummy and filling her hands with dirt and gravel she cried, but she kept saying, “I sawhee” as if she had done something wrong. On the picnic grounds a huge Maple (?) tree had dumped its enormous leaves, and May got to have her first experience hearing the crunching of the leaves. She loved picking up handfuls and letting the breeze take the leaves away. Back at camp, while May slept in her car seat, Ronny chopped a bunch of wood that he had hunted down on the side of the road while I read a few chapters in my book. We built a nice fire, made a nice dinner, and now we’re ready to sit around the campfire for a while. This is one of the best trips we’ve taken, and Maysen fills even the most mundane moments with joy and excitement. You should have seen the way she was fascinated with the grass, the gravel, and the discovery of a ladybug. You should have seen the way she was fascinated with the way Daddy chopped wood and built a fire. You should have seen the way Mommy made a fantastic dinner and all she would eat was peanuts.

 

1/10/12

It wasn’t easy at all finding a place to stay tonight. Santa Cruz is, from what I know of it, a really cool little city. But it sucks for RV-ers. It took us a couple of hours, but we finally tracked down an RV park where no one answered the phone or the knock on the door. So now we’ve backed in, illegally-ish, to a spot with hookups where it seems that all of the neighbors are semi-permanent residents. Maysie was a gem again today. I think that she really likes to be on the road. She even behaved herself when we went out to eat at a restaurant in Monterey. She even sat in the stroller while I pushed her through a few shops. This trip is really a special time for our little family.  Right now, there’s no internet, and no fire, and dinner’s done. Maysie and Ronny are in the back of the camper watching Toy Story on the DVD player and I’m sitting up front reading a book (and writing this, of course). It’s so hard to explain how fun it is to have Maysen on this trip with us. We did the same trek, pretty much, two years ago when we toured the entire country, but then it was just Ronny and I. It’s an entirely different experience. When it was just the two of us we spent much more time in restaurants and bars. This time we’ve been having picnics and hanging out in the campsite and on playgrounds and little hiking trails. This time we really do stop to smell the flowers…and examine the rocks and kick the leaves and rub our hands in the dirt and marvel at how tall the trees are and let the ladybugs walk down our fingers. This time we point out the things we see around us and talk about what color they are. This time we sing a lot more songs. And Ronny has been in really good spirits this time. I really thought it was going to be an excruciating challenge filled with a lot of tantrums but boy was I wrong. This has been an amazing few days and I’m so glad we did it. I can almost justify paying out the ass for the hundreds of gallons of gas we’re blowing through.

Photo Update

A Weenie of a Post

This is going to be a weenie of a post tonight. We decided at the last minute to take a trip in the RV so for the next week or so my posts will either be coming from my phone or will happen sporadically when I have a few minutes. Don’t be expecting anything amazing from me for a few days. Hopefully we will have some pretty cool adventures on our way up the Pacific coast. Keep your fingers crossed that little May behaves herself and that hubbs and I get along. We made it three months in the camper so this should be a breeze!

Until tomorrow, make sure to catch up on our previous adventures here.

Wordless Wednesday at the San Diego Zoo

Trying to feed the tigers yogurt-covered raisins.

A family portrait.

“The Look” a.k.a. “What May does to get anything she wants from Daddy”

A joyride

A Growing Vocabulary

Every day I’m completely amazed by the things that come out of May’s mouth. Watching her and listening to her and conversing with her as she learns to speak is by far one of the most amazing motherhood experiences there is. I’ve mentioned a few of the things that she says along the way, but I was thinking last night (while I couldn’t sleep, of course) that I could probably create a dictionary of all of the things she says. She and I can be having a complete conversation, entirely understanding one another, and her daddy will look at us confused, with his head cocked like a labrador hearing a new sound.

Here are a few of the things she has said recently and their respective definitions.

“Cheekie daddy boo-boo eye bau sad” = “I’m feeling sad because Daddy hit my Chicka puppet with his golf club and the eyeball broke off, leaving my dear puppet completely debilitated.”

“Mommy am-mow poopoopeepee” = “Mommy took me to the Humane Society today to look at the animals. Poo-poo, pee-pee.”

“Chockie Baack” = “Mommy, may I have some chocolate milk, please?”

“Otay Fiiiine” = “No, I adamantly refuse to do what you’re asking.”

“La la un mone time baa baa black seep la la bitty bitty toe baa baa la la nite now” = “Let’s listen to a song one more time right now. I’d like to hear Baa Baa Black Sheep again, even though you’ve already sung it 27 times and then Itsy Bitsy Spider, the version where you use my toes instead of your fingers to do the actions. I like that one. Oh, and by the way, I know you’re making up the words to Baa Baa Black Sheep. Why don’t you just go the extra mile and look up some nursery rhymes online?”

“Au beauer” = “All better”

“Meenie poopoopeepee nite now” = “Mom, it’s diaper duty time again.”

“Poofa toowee nite now” = “Please put on Yo Gabba Gabba now.”

“Sow ohwa new one coming” = “My show is over. Put in a new DVD right now, or I’ll put in the Wiggles or Elmo’s Potty Time myself. You really don’t want that to happen now, do you?”

“Puppy boo-boo eye bau weeawy sad coco boo-boo eye bau puppy mommy fiss nite now.” = “Mommy, do you remember like two months ago when Uncle JT’s dog chewed off my favorite stuffed animal’s eyeball leaving a soggy ripped-open face with its stuffing coming out? Well, I know you tried to fix it, and I thank you for your efforts, but, really, this is not a job well done and I am really, really sad and traumatized because of the entire situation. You really need to learn the fine art of stuffed animal repair right now.”

“Pah-tohn lellow nummy Meenie I doing!” = “Wow! This yellow buttery flavored stuff you put on my popcorn is delicious! Thank you so much! I hope you don’t mind if I dump the popcorn out all over the house now. You can just keep picking it up and putting it in the bowl for me to do again, then finally give up and swear to sweep it up later, right?”

“Mommy cuh-wo pih-wo blankie” = “Mommy, let’s cuddle! I’ll get the pillow and blanket. Then, you can lie down on the kitchen floor, using a yoga block for a pillow. I’ll lay a dirty dish towel over your hips and pat you on the shoulder then walk away so I can color on my table (not my coloring book. That’s ridiculous.) Don’t even think about getting up, because I’ll lose my shit and we’ll have to start over. Get it? Got it. Good.”

I could go on and on…maybe even to a hundred to create a new meme. But that’s it for now. Gotta go sweep up little popcorn piles.

100th Post!

Wow. I can’t believe that today’s my 100th post on this here bloggy. It seems like a lot of posts, but really, I started this thing over two years ago, so if I were a “successful” blogger, I would have upwards of 700 posts. But I don’t. I feel like since it’s the 100th post I should do something 100-oriented. Like a meme. But I already did the “100 things about me” meme, and I’m pretty sure the items on that list are all still true. There’s a “100 things I like” meme, but I don’t really know if I could come up with a hundred things, unless, of course, I listed all of the Taco Bell menu items. “100 things I’ve done?” Hmm…Would anyone really care? “100 words that Maysen knows?” I could do that, but… How about I ask my dear loyal readers to list “100 things that you think are totally awesome about me that really make me a shining star that you love to be around”? I’m pretty sure I’d hear crickets.

I think I’ll skip the meme all together and just tell you what’s on my mind.

Last night I was able to catch up on some of the other blogs I read. While it’s a super-satisfying way to spend my time and it totally indulges my voyeuristic side in a way that facebook never could, it’s also yet another way for me to walk away from something feeling completely boring, inept, unaccomplished, and worst of all, lonely.

Here’s the deal. First of all, there’s a whole blogging world out there. When I say “world” I mean a social network where people who have never met feel like they’ve known each other for years, a place where people share their most intimate thoughts and ideas (and secrets) with the rest of the “blogosphere” (a word I really don’t love), a place where you can read anything about anything at any given time, a place where anyone can be a writer read: a published author, a place where someone whose dream is to write can be achieved even if they’re a sucky writer with nothing important to say and no one to read it anyways…

Oh, wait, that last one is about me. Obvy. Yeah, this is where I indulge in a little self-deprecation. One gal I met at BlogHer11, MommyShorts, has been blogging less time than me (at least that I know of) yet she has a beautiful, amazing, wildly successful blog that I absolutely adore. She’s got thousands of readers who constantly comment and engage in conversation with her. Her daughter is adorable and hilarious, and the way she (MommyShorts, not her baby) writes is so funny and witty and clever. I don’t know if she has a “real” job or not, but if so, it’s got to be in the writing field. She HAS to get paid (more than a blogger normally would) for her talent. There are several other blogs that I read, but hers is the one I find most inspiring and in line with mine as far as what the blog is actually about.

Why can’t my blog be a little more successful, like hers?

Here are a few reasons why:

1. I don’t really have all that much to say that anyone would find interesting.

2. Only a small handful of people read my blog. And I don’t know that I really want anyone I know to read this. I want hundreds of complete strangers to read it so I can be more honest. But it’s too late for that.

3. I don’t have the time to spend writing motivation and time-management skills  that she does.

4. I’m pretty lazy and I watch too much TV at night when I could be writing. But I’m so tiiiiiiirrrreeddd.

5. Although I think of all kinds of funny or interested things to write about in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep, I hardly think about blogging, let alone remember my ideas, during my waking hours. Yes, I know I could keep a little notebook next to bed, but I’m even too lazy to do that.

6. During the day when I actually have energy, May won’t let me use the computer. Except when she’s napping and I usually putz around the house doing half-assed chores and otherwise distracting myself with anything that doesn’t require motivation. Like right now…oh, wait! I’m blogging now!

7.  I don’t know an easy way to put videos and pictures on my blog without getting all tangled up in wires. Ok, honestly, it’s just because I take WAY too many photos to dig through. (I did figure out how to upload my videos to YouTube, though, so at least that’s a little improvement. Plus, I can’t get any good pictures because a.) I don’t really know how to use my camera very well and b.) Maysen is constantly walking away from me, refusing to look at the camera.

8. I do everything fairly half-assed. I kindof doubt that MommyShorts clicks ‘publish’ immediately after typing out a first draft of a blog post. She probably takes the time to go through and craft her writing, come up with witty little phrases, and find a way to wrap up her posts concisely and “trim the fat” so that she makes her point quickly rather than blabbing on and on (like I do). If she does just post after her first draft, I just have to call her a genius and move on with my life, feeling even more depressed about my writing. I, on the other hand, spit out my stream of consciousness as it comes to me, go back briefly to make sure I don’t have any (glaringly obvious) grammatical or spelling mistakes, and hit ‘publish’ without even thinking about it. This is also how I got through college. Without really thinking. But I digress.

9. And the biggest reason I’m not a successful blogger is this: Although anyone who is trying to make me feel better would totally disagree with me and contradict me to the point that I feel really embarrassed, I’m really not a very good writer. It’s funny; people tell me I’m a good writer all the time, but I don’t think they’ve ever actually read my writing. I think they just know that that’s what I wish I could be, so they try to make me feel good about myself (most likely because they can’t think of anything else I’m good at). Hubby tells the world what a wildly awesome writer I am (in front of me, no less, which is SO humiliating, especially when they ask what I’ve written), but just ask him if he’s ever read even one thing that I’ve written. Seriously.

So that’s it. Those are my excuses. You could use those same excuses to explain why I’ve never quite gotten around to writing that book that I’ve been planning on writing. Oh, and they could probably even explain why I’ve never quite found a career. Oh, wow! I just realized that I AM good at something…making excuses!

But, on the other hand, I think this blog is at least somewhat successful, depending on how you define success. I enjoy writing it. I get to share a lot of my thoughts (although not as many as I would if I knew that ONLY complete strangers read it). I get to share pictures of my darling baby girl. And I have an ongoing chronicle of the amazing experience of motherhood. (Let’s hope this here internet doesn’t crash. Oh WordPress, oh Internet, pleeeease don’t crash on me some day.) And best of all, this blog is something that I really, really enjoy. It’s my thing. It’s what I do for fun. Something that only I can do for myself, something that I can call my own, something that gives me something to make me feel like I have a purpose (besides my family, of course). It’s a way for me to get all of the thoughts out of my head so I don’t go completely batshit, for lack of a better word.

So, if there’s anyone out there, thanks for reading my (interesting or not) blathering.

Here’s to the next 100 posts!

A New Year

My oh my. So today’s the first day of the new year. It’s pretty much required to write about goals and resolutions, right? I didn’t do a 2011 recap yesterday simply because I was in a crummy mood and I didn’t want it to be a bummer bitchfest. Spending New Year’s Eve alone on the couch while DH works (in a bar, so it’s pretty much like he’s out on the town) and not even able to have a champagne toast kindof sucked. But I did get to spend the evening with my favorite little gal, so that made it all — even watching Ryan Seacrest host Dick Clark’s New Year’s Eve show — totally worth it.

I won’t bother with any resolutions. I don’t think I’ve ever remembered what my resolutions were after January 15th, let alone actually kept any, in my entire life. But I will be thinking about some goals. Or, since I’m not really all that goal-oriented, just some ideas for improvement. There are things I’d really like to better in my life if I could only motivate myself to do so.

Maybe I’ll put a little thought into it and write about that tomorrow.

Until then…

Great news!

12/8/11

I’m just committing to a quick draft right now. This post isn’t something that can be viewed until after Christmas.

I’m pregnant! Well, at least I took a positive pee test. We have an appointment in the morning to check everything out. The truth is that I’m actually a little concerned. I’ve been cramping and having headaches for the last week straight. I just want to go in and make sure everything’s all right.

We’re planning on telling the family on Christmas Eve, when everyone’s together. So, until then, this will have to be a draft.

12/30/11

Update: Where do I start? Well, obviously I should mention that yes, I am in fact pregnant. A little over 9 weeks at this point, believe it or not. And yes, I know we’re not in the clear yet, but I’m still pretty excited. I think the grandparents are the most excited of all. You should have seen their faces when we told them the news!

But this baby is really taking it out of me. I don’t remember ever being this chronically exhausted with May’s pregnancy. I’m sleeping 9 or 10 hours per night and I still have to fight to get out of bed in the morning after listening to “Mommy….mommy…maaaaaaammmeeeeeeeeeeee….” for a half hour. And I still have to fight to keep my eyes open past 10:30pm. And I still have to fight to not take a nap when May does. I just look at the clutter around my house and hope that it will clean itself up. I look at the stove and hope that it will spontaneously whip up a healthy and delicious dinner for us to enjoy and then clean up the kitchen when we’re through eating.

But, of course, none of that happens. And May still needs a TON of attention. She’s absolutely wild nowadays, never content to just sit down and play quietly, unless she’s in front of Yo Gabba Gabba.

I’m a little upset with myself for being too tired to write lately because I feel like I might forget the gazillions of adorable things that she says as she’s learning to talk. She has already stopped calling me “Honey”. She has already stopped calling Daddy “Gaggy”. She has already stopped calling SpongeBob “Puncha Bop” but instead now calls him “Tah-bub” (I don’t understand that one). Just today she started saying, “ok, fine!” as she fought off the hairbrush. I think she meant something along the lines of, “get that thing away from me, Mom, you’re driving me nuts and no one needs to see my hair perfect anyways!” It’s funny to hear what she picks up from me. I never realized just how often I give in to something and say, exasperated, “ok, fine!”

Every day I think about how I really just need to sit down for ten minutes and capture the little tidbits of the everyday wonders and frustrations that my little one brings to me. But I can’t motivate myself. Part of it is that any time I sit down to the computer/laptop/ipad/iphone mommy’s little monster insists on watching YouTube (thanks, Daddy). She throws a mean fit when I don’t let her so I end up walking away without getting anything accomplished. Then I’m too tired after she goes to bed to do anything except watch TMZ or some other crappy, mindless shit on TV. This fatigue has also brought with it a low-grade depression similar to that which I’ve always felt in my non-medicated days. Ugh. That’s even more exhausting.

Gripe, gripe. Last night I watched the movie Motherhood with Uma Thurman and Minnie Driver. I had never heard of it but I’ve been trying to stock my DVR with movies from Showtime. A pretty lousy movie, I admit, but I couldn’t help but relate to it. It’s all about a mama who’s losing it, “it” being her patience, her sanity, her patience, her breath, her time, her ability to sit down and write on her blog, her … self in the chaos of everyday motherhood. I wouldn’t recommend it if you’re looking for a good movie, but I’d recommend it if you’re feeling in the same boat and could use a little commiseration.

So, anyways, tomorrow’s New Year’s Eve. I suspect I’ll be celebrating alone, on the couch, in front of the TV, with a bottle of sparkly…club soda, while May sleeps and DH works. It’s really an exciting life I’m living nowadays.

But here’s what I wonder: Could I carve out a little time for myself every day? Even just 10 minutes? Maybe I should give NaBloPoMo a shot one more time. I have a lot to catch up on. A lot of pictures that I’d love to share. And there’s really not much on TV nowadays anyway (when will my shows be back?!?).

Wordless Wednesday… Why I need a bigger kitchen.

When we moved from our 1895 square-foot house to our 1000 square-foot apartment I lost a lot of kitchen space. To manage it I put a bunch of my kitchen things that weren’t exactly necessities into storage. Among my juicer and roasting pan are my muffin pans. This goes to show that they’re either a necessary commodity or I need a bigger kitchen.

They may not look gorgeous, but these pumpkin puzzle pieces (read : muffins) sure taste amazing. Just ask May.

Wordless Wednesday — At the zoo

“California Condors?! WTH? I said I want to see the monkeys. This map must be wrong.”

Tew-toows! (turtles)

“Whaaaat? Mommy got a new phone? “Eeeeh-heee! (Gimme gimme!)”

25 Things You Don’t Know About Me – A Delayed Blog Hop Entry

I actually wrote this a few (maybe 6?) weeks ago when I stumbled upon a blog hop while I was procrastinating trolling the internet. I figured I’d post it as soon as I figured out what the heck a blog hop is and how it works, but somehow I still haven’t figured it out, so now I’m just going to post it because I hate to throw things away (see #4).

So, here are 25 things you (probably) don’t know about me.

I already have a 100 random tidbits about me page, but I created that a while back and haven’t read it lately. So here’s a new list of 25.

1. My hangnails are out of control. They hurt. If I get the time to sit down for five minutes and read, I chew the shit out of my nails. This happened within the last couple of days.

2. I’m addicted to Chap-Stick. At BlogHer’11 I actually asked the Chap-Stick people if they had any advice for how to wean myself of the stuff. They handed me five new sticks. Great. (I hated the green apple flavor…what were they thinking?)

3. Ever since I was forced to push before I felt the urge, I have peed my pants when I laugh/sneeze/jog/do anything vigorous. I’m “pissed” at that nurse for making me push before I was ready. But I probably would have started to pee my pants anyways after pushing a baby through my lady bits.

4. I’m overwhelmed by clutter, but I can’t seem to throw stuff away. I’m one of those sentimental people who saves every photo and also says of junk, “well, I might use it some day.”

5. I spend a lot of time at home b/c Hubbs works late nights. I drink a lot of wine in front of the computer (and TV). (Isn’t that normal for a blogger?)

6. I have never had a good haircut…well, maybe once, but that was in the early ’90s.

7. I hate going shopping.

8. I hate dressing up.

9. I hate wearing heels (even though they look GREAT on me).

10. Ever since blue eye shadow went out of style around 6th grade, I’ve never learned how to apply eye makeup in a flattering way. Somebody please teach me how to get those dark, smoky eyes!

11. I try to think of interesting things to say about myself when I list 25 things you don’t know about me, but they all seem really boring. I think I am really boring. Sigh.

12. I prefer to drive a stick over an automatic, even though I think my left knee’s cartilage has worn away after years of sitting in traffic.

13. I’m never satisfied. With anything. Ever.

14. I’m a pessimist, to say the least, but I try to be a positive person…or at least pretend to be.

15. I’m an athiest. So what.

16. I fear the day I have to discuss spirituality with my daughter, especially because I’m married to a Catholic, and we have diametrically opposed beliefs. This is gonna suck.

17. I wish I could change the world. Really? I think I said that one because everything else seems so negative. But it would be nice to be able to do it.

18. I have never felt more at peace, more alive, or more afraid than while surfing. Well, I was pretty afraid and alive during childbirth. Not to mention fucking powerful.

19. I love throwing pottery. On a wheel. I love the squishy, wet, meditative feeling. Although I’ve always wanted to throw pottery to hear it shatter.

20. My life doesn’t feel complete without having a cat. I’m bitter about that.

21. I have always wanted to be a writer, an artist and an actor. I am not really any of these, but I pretend to be on my blog.

22. I love playing golf…but I suck at putting. Oh, and I pee my pants on my drives if I have too many beers.

23. I am madly, madly, madly in love with my daughter.

24. I’ve never had any really good ideas.

25. I’m pretty insecure, in case you hadn’t noticed from the first 24 things you didn’t know about me.

So that’s that. It’s no longer part of the blog hop, but it’s here anyways. Now, if somebody could just explain to me how the whole blog hopping phenomenon works, I’d be quite happy.

F#@K SpongeBob and His Stupid Square Pants!

I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but I am genuinely pissed off at a cartoon character right now. Even worse, I’m considering writing a letter to his boss.

Listen, SpongeBob Squarepants got a bad rap recently when a study indicated that the frenetic cartoon may cause learning and concentration difficulties in children under the age of 4. Here’s a great article to read. While I did decide to drastically reduce May’s intake of the terribly annoying, though sometimes entertaining show, there’s nothing I can do to squash her passion for the toon. Every day, at least 17 times, she requests “Buncha Bop”, formerly known as “Bicka Bop” by yelling his name and pointing at the TV or some other arbitrary place in the air. It’s always with her beautiful, pleading blue eyes that she gets me to relent and turn on the show against my better judgment. What a sucker I am.

So, when I learned that it was Nickelodeon Day at the Padres game today, I was excited, gleefully imagining the look upon May’s face as she ran into the arms of her hero and expressed her undying passion at being his #1 fan. I had to use my secret source, but I got May and I into the stadium for free (thank goodness!).

I expected to see all kinds of fun Dora and SpongeBob stuff — characters, sing-alongs, games, whatever. Considering that there were thousands of children and their respective parents going to this game simply to see their favorite characters (I mean, who actually goes to a baseball game to watch baseball? Bo. Ring.), one would expect to see more than one teenager dressed up as a ginormous yellow sponge being paid minimum wage to commingle sweat with the previous wearer of said costume.

But one would be wrong to expect so much from such proliferate and profitable corporations as friggin’ Nickelodeon and the San Diego Padres! I had told May that we were going to see SpongeBob, so all afternoon she said “Buncha Bop! Buncha Bop! Buncha Baaaaaaaawwwp!” over and over and over again, more and more passionately each time. But when we got there, 30 minutes after the gates were open (and 1 1/2 hours before the game started), SpongeBob and Dora were nowhere to be found. Not even a trace of them lingered. I asked around and was told that they were taking a break. Whaaaaat?!?! What kind of cartoon character takes a break after only 30 minutes? It’s not like they have to wait for a commercial break! That’s B to the S if you ask me.

So we walked around, May on my shoulders, calling out for her absorbent and yellow and porous friend. Suddenly, I spotted him. Flanked by two escorts in green t-shirts, SB stepped off of an elevator and slowly walked across the plaza to the place where, to my surprise and dismay, he was NOT going to shake hands and take pictures with the throngs of children screaming his name. Seriously, the kids came flocking and squealing and heavily breathing, “SpongeBob! SpongeBob!” as parents chased after them with looks of panic and concern on their faces, probably (like me) remembering their own hysteria at the New Kids on the Block concert back in 7th grade (um, whaaat? I never loved NKOTB). (Side note: I didn’t notice anyone even paying attention to poor little Dora.) Equally panicked were SB’s escorts, who loudly proclaimed that everyone needed to back away and let SpongeBob through, that he would be over by the stage for photos and whatnot in just a minute. Here’s where I call them B…F…L’s…. Big Fat Liars.

So we followed the head of the crowd. Just think, we were right there when SB got off the elevator so we were nearly first in line, but I practically had to dropkick 2-, 3- & 4-year-olds out of the way to catch a glimpse of the stupid sponge for my baby May. (Note: this totally takes me back to Easter when Uncle Jueeh-tah had to pick May up and sprint to the head of the crowd of hundreds of Easter egg hunters.)

But I figured, heck, he’s here all day, so what’s the rush? (Right? … Wrong!) I saw that parents were calmly and maturely setting a good example by starting to form a line to get their picture taken, kindof like Santa at the mall. I jumped in line, about 20 kids (plus their parents) back, and was totally ready to wait our turn, but May was on my shoulders shrieking SB’s name and squirming to get down to run to him. I realized we weren’t going to be able to wait long enough to make this happen in a civilized manner, so I said “F this!”, and then did the unthinkable, totally cutting to the front of line. I pulled one of those classic “I’m-pretending-that-I-don’t-see-this-line-or-all-of-your-P.O.’d-faces-because-I-have-the-most-excited-and-freaked-out-screaming-child-in-this-whole-friggin’-stadium” gigs. I was so stoked to suddenly be “next in line” when the goons in green had the nerve and audacity to say aloofly that SpongeBob had to do some stupid shit called “Friar Fit” or something like that so NO… MORE… PICTURES. I was like, WHAAAT, M.F.’ER? Just one more photo, puh-leeeeze! For the sake of both my and my daughter’s sanity! They said no, so, against my better judgment, I just let go of May’s hand.

She ran straight to the brilliantly gleaming sponge in the middle of the crowd’s newly formed and spacious circle, and then stopped in her tracks, suddenly distracted by the huge Friar dancing on stage, attempting to lead SpongeBob, Dora la Exploradora and hundreds of children in a stupid run of calisthenics. I quickly took this shot, but I had to pull her away.

You can't see any more of the Friar than his bloated foam ankle, but he freaked May out enough that she got distracted from running to her idol.

 

"Having to watch SpongeBob exercise sucks. I just want a hug." (Note: check out Dora's FUPA in the background...ha ha.)

 

The kids were jumping out of their skin trying to get to SpongeBob, but the damned toons wanted to do a ridiculous routine. Fine, of course. I get it, and I wholly support the idea of getting kids off of their fat rumps. But after the dance, they whisked SB away immediately, promising that he’d be back right at the start of the game…in like 45 minutes.The kids were pissed. Maysen pretty much screamed her little heart out, pleading for BickaBop to come back, and, trusting the goon that said that he’d return promptly at the start of the game, I promised my little baby that she’d be able to see him again, right after we played on the playground. That bitch made a liar out of me.

Utterly dismayed as SpongeBob walked away.

SpongeBob in the throngs of fans

We played on the playground, with the other 23,000 kids that were doing the exact same thing, and I bought as much time as I could. I talked to the time share guy, I got May a Padres helmet, I made myself dizzy spinning her around, I held her for the National Anthem and the ceremonial first pitch.

And I pretty much came to the end of my rope when that underwater bottomfeeder S.O.B. SpongeBob SuckPants never came back. I asked four different employees where I could find SpongeBob as May’s tears rolled off of her cheeks and dripped onto my own. But there’s only so long you can contain a toddler in a crowd of rabid SpongeBob fans and their parents, so I decided to leave, get May some dinner and come back.

We returned at the top of the 5th inning, this time with Daddy, who was determined to help me find SpongeBob. He has his own passion for the guy, after all, which he brilliantly disguises by saying that May wants to watch “Icka Bah” (the first pronunciation that May gave SpongeBob).

All in all, we're still happy!

So, the three of us walk in to Padres stadium — Ronny, super chill and casual because he has no idea about the extent of chaos happening in my head; Me, utterly spent and frantic inside, searching the crowd for an oversized yellow sponge, juggling May in my arms and over my shoulders, and stressed to bejeezus after having tried to control her at the restaurant for some dinner; and May, gnawing on a chicken wing and still, after all this time, saying “Buncha Bop”, because she (I assume) remembered me promising that she’d get to see her idol.

Suddenly, clear across the plaza, on the other side of the stadium, I spotted the damned sponge. “There he is!” I shrieked, excited and frenzied, “We’ve gotta catch that freakin’ sponge!!” and before Ronny could even figure out what was going on, I was practically in a sprint (a wild ride for May, which, coincidentally, made her laugh and grin and squeal with excitement); I was a linebacker pushing through the crowd. I think Ronny caught my hysteria, as he helped me push through the throngs of people to chase SpongeBob. I’m still not sure whether the effort was for May to see the SB, or for Ronny to see him. Either way, I appreciated the effort.

But then he disappeared for a moment. Then we saw him mounting the stairs, still flanked by the two green goons, so we chased him. Before we could make it to the top of the stairs, he was around the corner, and then, he was gone. We searched everywhere. Past the hot dog stand. Out into the grandstands — Oh, hey! There’s a baseball game going on here! — and the whole time I was convinced that SpongeBob would be right there, ready to give May a big hug. I had started to breathe heavily, and my eyes became jittery with looking from place to place trying to “Where’s Waldo” a ridiculously bright and huge yellow character. I started to feel like Nick & Nora after Where’s Fluffy, constantly searching for an evasive entity that suddenly you’re not even sure that it exists. Then, after we got a guy to call on his headpiece to track down SB – he said he heard he was over near first base – we headed over that way. I saw Ronny on his cell phone, and for a second I actually thought he might have been on with the head of Padres security. Then it dawned on me that I might be exhibiting ridiculous behavior of the sort that might get me admitted. I was being hysterical. I suddenly started seeing flecks of yellow everywhere and thinking it was SpongeBob. Someone in a yellow t-shirt. Yellow shoes. A yellow hat. But it was when I saw the concessions vendor, who happened to be selling his wares out of a spongy yellow cooler, and I nearly tackled him, that I realized I might have a problem. Reluctantly, I let Ronny lead me out of the stadium.

I don’t know who was sadder, me or May. All I wanted was a picture of May with SpongeBob. She was upset, no doubt, but obviously she’d forget about it all within about 5 minutes. Even Ronny was upset, for May’s and my sake, exclaiming passionately (sarcastically?) “That’s IT!!!…F#@K SpongeBob!”

We had been a family on a mission. At first I felt that our mission had failed, that this was all a big waste of time and effort. That I had let my baby girl down. That SpongeBob had let my little girl down. But then I realized that I was focusing on the wrong things. Who cares about a stupid teenager sweating in a huge styrofoam SpongeBob costume? We got to have some great family time together. May got to run and play and scream. Ronny backed me up in a ridiculous quest to find a fictional character. We got to have fun.

Mission Accomplished.

Who needs SpongeBob when you've got a family like this?

P.S. The lady who offered to take our family portrait was wasted.