A Few Good Things

 Today, I have no purpose in writing this entry. This is indicative that things are going well. Nothing to complain about, nothing super exciting. It's fine.

I've been listening to some great music lately! Her name is Bebel Gilberto. You can find it on Spotify. She. Is. Amazing. It's the best music to work to- very inspiring.

By the way, I'm going to be featured as an invitation/wedding designer on www.brightsideprints.com soon! This is going to be my profile pic:

I'm really excited! Working through Elance has given me so many great opportunities to work with such a variety of people all over the world. I never thought I'd design a play poster for an Australian company, or a startup vintage clothing store in New Jersey.

I'm making small contributions to the world...like little deposits of pretty. It's nice.

Mrs. Memaw

 While I'm working, I always keep iChat open, so I can sneak little messages to the hubby while he's away at work. Today, I happened to glance at my friend's list, and saw, "CCRSBP" as a currently offline friend.

My heart sunk a little. This "friend" wasn't really just a friend at all. This was my late grandmother's account name. Before she died three years ago this month, we'd email and iChat pretty frequently. She wasn't your old-fashioned-kind-of-grandma who knitted and played croquet all day. No siree, not my "Memaw." She was technologically advanced for a woman of her age. I remember getting weekly emails reminding me to "Watch Survivor on Thursday" or "Go Spurs, Go!" She was a Texan, after all.

So, I clicked on her iChat name, and wrote a message. I don't know why. I guess I wish she'd answer. I wish we could go back to the way it was. Because, the way it was, was pretty freaking awesome. She had a small house in the woods, surrounded by trails she had personally cleared for the kids to play in. She even named and labeled each trail after all her grandkids. Mine was "Janine Junction." Some others were "Amber Avenue" and "Lauren Lane." I think those are right, anyway. She was such a clever and thoughtful lady.

I have so, so many wonderful memories of her. What a loving, and sweet little grandma she was. Emphasis on the "little!" When I hugged her I always thought I might break her, so I was really careful. She couldn't have been taller than 5'4", probably smaller. I always used to exclaim upon seeing her, "Hey! Your feet are so tiny, Memaw! Why didn't I inherit your feet?" Nope. Instead, I inherited my grandpa's feet: Size 10. Abnormally long toes. Too skinny for most shoes.

My grandma had roughly 50 grandchildren, and, from what I observed, never missed a kid's birthday. She had a calendar, with all our birthdays penciled in, and she stuck to it religiously. The only time she missed my birthday, was the year she was diagnosed with cancer, and had to get surgery. Even then, she was apologetic.

"Grandma, it's ok. I think I'll let it slide one time."

Honestly, I can't think of one thing that bugged me about Memaw- except for the fact that she smoked really heavily. That's what would ultimately bite her in the ass later. She got cancer, it spread, and well, the rest is history.

I got the honor of being with her the night she died. I don't know, is "honor" too strong a word? Is that weird?

It's weird.

The whole thing was weird, really. Like an out of body experience, or a scene from a movie. My poor mom was beside herself with worry. She'd been taking care of Memaw for a few weeks. And in those few, short weeks, Memaw went from, being able to walk, talk and smoke, to being comatose and unresponsive. A few days before she passed away, she had lost the ability to speak, or move. The cancer had spread to her brain. The only thing she had left was a gentle squeeze from her right hand. We used this as a way to communicate with her. One squeeze meant "Yes." No squeeze, meant "No." My mom and I took turns asking her if she loved us.

"Mama?" my mom would ask, "Do you love me?"

Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze!

It made us happy. I think it made Memaw happy too.

I remember thinking, how scary it must be, to lose all ability, but still be conscious. So, I would go into her bedroom, where she was set up by Hospice, and talk to her often. I tried to remain upbeat. I told her not to be scared, and that everything would be okay, because, where she was going, was so much better than where we were. I brushed her hair. I told her stories. After a while, I'd get tired of hearing myself talk, and leave for a little.

The night Memaw died, my mom had refused to leave her alone in her room. And I couldn't leave my mom in there alone, so I went too. I think it was midnight, when we started noticing her go downhill. I was really, really nervous, but, I couldn't show my mom that. Mom tried to stay busy, putting extra socks on her, and trying to keep her comfortable. She just couldn't stop fussing over her.

The last hour Memaw was alive, Mom noticed she was having trouble breathing. So, like a good caretaker, she put the oxygen mask on her and sat down next to the bed.

"Mom, I don't think that's a good idea" I told her. "We have to help her cross over. She'll just suffer more if we don't."

"Well, what am I supposed to do?!" Mom blurted out nervously.

I think we sort of fought over who was going to do it. Mom refused. I don't blame her. What an awful job to be faced with. That just left me. I walked over like a soldier, turned off the breathing machine, slipped the mask off her face, and whispered in her ear, "Grandma, it's time to go."

Oh my God, did this really just happen?

I am not, in any way, trying to romanticize this, or be some sort of hero. It is what it is. Anyone in my place would have done the same. I hope.

Soon after the oxygen was disconnected, she passed away. Mom and I (probably from reading one too many spiritual books) looked up to the ceiling, and waved goodbye, because, we're taught that Heaven is up there, right?

I don't have any grandparents left now. If you're reading this, and you still have yours, please pay attention to them. Kiss them, call them, hug them. Whatever you can do. Let them know you care about them.

When I started to write this journal entry today, it wasn't going to be about this topic at all. But, maybe Memaw wanted her story heard, and wanted to spread "Grandparent Awareness."

Oh yeah, Grandma's name, CCRSBP, stood for "Country Corner Resale Shoppe." The "BP" was her initials. Grandma and her sister had owned a little resale shoppe in the small town they lived in. She loved, loved, loved garage sales, and reselling all the cool stuff she found.

Things That Used to Bother Me (But Don't Anymore)

People Flipping Me Off in Traffic. 
I just smile and wave back as if to say, "Hi! I haven't seen you in so long!" It really pisses them off. It's cute.

Telemarketers.
I just hang up on them. Though one time this backfired, and the man got so mad, that he called me over and over again. We played this cat and mouse game for an hour until I remembered I could block numbers on my cell.

Sales People in Kiosks at the Mall.
These people are crazy. They'll tell you anything to get your attention like, "Hey are you famous? Hey your skin looks dry! Hey do you like cartwheels?!" while waving little popsicle sticks of gooey lotion at me.

Whatever.

I don't want your gooey lotion. I just want to get frozen yogurt. I don't get sucked into their rat hole anymore. Now, I just walk by and completely ignore them, which sends them into a crazed frenzy.  "HEY! HEY! HEY YOUUUU!!!" Eh...red velvet yogurt is more important.

Disgustingly Dirty Restrooms at Barnes & Noble and Target
Is it just me, or are these bathrooms the most repulsive places on Earth? Seriously, every single one I've ever been in smells like turds built an apartment complex up in there. I just hold my breath and try to get it over with as quickly as possible. But, it's not just the smell, it's the fact that every stall has a turd the size of the Eiffel Tower clogging up the toilet. Who is pooping like this? It can't be healthy. People need to consider eating more vegetables and less cheeseburgers.

But it's OK. I've just learned to have zero expectations upon entering these restrooms. I've seen it all.

Lousy Clients
Fuck 'em.

People Who Like to Hear Themselves Talk
These are the best kinds of conversations. This used to bug me, until I came to the conclusion that I could just nod and zone out. Easy!

Confused Old People
Oh man, these were the worst! The slowness, the confusion, and the constant questioning!

"Are you sure this is the right price? I could've sworn it said fifty cents!" protested the little old lady holding a bag of shrimp at check out. Meanwhile the line behind her is so long that it has doubled over onto itself.

The only reason this ever bothered me was because I was young and in a hurry, and they were holding me up somehow at the store checkout or in traffic. "I need to get home to see Top Model! Don't these people understand that!?"

And then my heart softened when I saw my grandparents get really, really old. My mom's dad got Alzheimer's and was beyond confused. He was in a different world completely. Particularly the world that existed before 1980. He was convinced he needed to "go to work" every evening at sun down. He used to work on the railroad, and was obsessed with trains. Heck, he still had his old railroad windbreaker, and could be heard in the wee hours of the night "swishing" and "swooshing" to get ready for work.

So, now when I see confused old people, I just think it must be a natural progression of life, right? I mean, one day that could be me. Except, I think when I'm old, I'm going to pretend to have Alzheimer's just to mess with arrogant, young people. I'll plant myself in the middle of a grocery aisle and yell, "Who am I?! Where am I?! I need a chips!" I think that would be fun.

Unless it happens for real.

In conclusion, I've either become nicer or more of a bitch.












 

Home

 Hey All,

Hope you are having a wonderful week! Today is my Amelie's 6th birthday! So, it's a pretty momentous occasion. I dreamt of having a little girl for as long as I could remember, and I finally got her six years ago. Happy Birthday, little sweetheart.

In other news, lately, I've had this strong desire to move home. I'm from Texas originally, and I feel it's really time to go back for good. Los Angeles has so many opportunities, and a lot of other beautiful things to offer, but what it will never have is my parents, Tom's parents and all the other family members we love so much.

Screw that it's known for being Republican. I can deal with it. Besides, Austin is very liberal, and if I can surround myself with like-minded people, I'm okay with that. And, really, the more democrats that move there, the better the odds are that it will become more liberal, or at the very least, a swing state.

I miss my peeps. I miss my parents. I know they are adults, but I have this nurturing feeling that tells me, "Hey, it's time to go home, and take care of your parents. They need you."

And so, by Christmas time of this year, we will be making arrangements to go home.

An Evening in Paris

 I'm constantly looking for new pictures to put on my computer's background. Having a new photo, can completely change my mood. Luckily, I just got a Shutterstock account, and have been having the time of my life downloading new images. I get just as excited shopping for photos, as a Beverly Hills housewife shopping for Prada. I hate Prada. Not really, I just think it's insane to pay over $50 for a handbag.

The one I currently have my desktop set to is Paris- the Eiffel Tower- right at sundown. Oh gawd! It is pure eye candy when I open my laptop. I sometimes just sit and stare at it, and suddenly, I'm right there. How magnificent! No, I have never been. Actually, I've never left the country. Not even to Mexico. Getting kidnapped or beheaded is just too much adventure for me.

When I was fourteen, I loved to sit outside and watch the stars at night. And I can vividly remember, one night, while watching the stars, seeing a plane far off in the distance. Planes, always made my heart soar with happiness. The thought of getting on one, and flying somewhere mysterious (not Mexico) was so exciting. I would imagine where that plane was going. I had never been on a plane, so I didn't know how tedious the whole process really was- luggage, tickets, being squished between two weirdos you don't know who keep farting etc. All I knew was, that plane was going somewhere, and it must be fantastic.

Problem is, after you have kids, and you're trying to save for retirement, and pay off student loans, you don't have the time or money to travel around the world. Really, I should've done all this traveling in my early 20's. But, now as my 32nd birthday is quickly approaching, I'm beginning to realize, Paris and I probably won't meet until I am in my late 40's or 50's.

Until then, at least I have beautiful photos.

Target Time Zone

Everybody experiences it, but most don't even realize it's happening. It's that weird window of time, when you enter Target, to pick up a couple of items, and BAM! You get sucked into Target Time Zone.

Time doesn't stop while you're in there. It's more like time just doesn't matter to your brain anymore. You become lost in TTZ. But it's not scary at all. There are plenty of cozy, fall sweaters to keep you calm. And there's even a Starbucks with sweet, creamy drinks. And all the stuffed animals are waving from aisle 9. Yeah I think I'll stay in here a while.

Two hours later and I'm mad at myself for staying in there so long! Well, the pharmacy was partly to blame. They kept getting my medicine wrong. When they finally did get it right, it ended up costing a small fortune. We have a 3k deductible, so insurance barely pays anything for prescriptions! It's unbelievable! Amelie's QVAR inhaler was $115. And they wanted $250 for her nebulizer liquids. Oh yeah, and the generic Singulair was like $142. There goes Christmas.

Anyway, before the trip to Target Time Zone, I cleaned the school classroom with some other moms. While I was cleaning, we discussed having a Halloween party! I got excited and offered to set up a cupcake area where the kids can decorate cuppy-cakes.

At first the moms wanted the kids to decorate bagels. What? Who decorates bagels? And how?

"Here kids, here's a raisin and some glue."

No, no, no, ladies. We are not decorating bagels. But they had a counter offer:

"Well, how about the kids choose to decorate either a bagel or a cupcake?"

Sure, we could do that. We could also play a drinking game with gasoline, but let's not. What kid is going to choose a bagel over a cupcake? And that's like, the saddest day ever for the bagel. The bagel is probably thinking, "This wasn't a fair fight, anyways! Shoulda put me against a biscuit!"

Brutal.

Ripped & High

 The weather is cooling down! I can't believe it. We really had the longest summer this year in California. I live in the valley, so it stays much warmer over in these parts than say, the beach. So, thank goodness it's finally in the low 70's. I'm very appreciative.

It was picture day at Amelie's school today. I'm not sure how it turned out (we don't get the pictures until a few weeks from now, I think.) But, it also happened to be a Wednesday that I volunteer in class after lunch. I was pretty excited to see all the little trouble makers wearing their best clothes. The little boys, who are usually pretty gross (sorry, but it's true) had on button down dress shirts and their hair combed. And some of the girls had dresses. They all looked so adorable!

However, I was pretty shocked when, at one point, a little boy ripped off his nice shirt to reveal *dun dun dun!* a wife beater tank and some freaking huge-ass muscles! Seriously, this kid was ripped. His muscles were bigger than mine. I actually think my jaw dropped.

Me, "Uh, dude, where's your shirt?" and him, "I got too hot!" What are they feeding this kid?!

STOP STARING, NINA! It's weird!

I really like going to see the kids cause they never fail to crack me up at least once before I leave. And today they were in rare form, let me tell you. We got into a classroom discussion about the cartoon "Monster High." All the kids know this show, and a lot of the girls are dressing up as one of the characters for Halloween (Amelie included.) This show has become some sort of kid sensation! I love it! Well, anyway, while we were talking about it, a little boy goes, "Oh I can tell you what Monster High is about! It's about monsters who are high!"

HOLY SH*T!

I can't pay for this kind of comedy, man. Thanks, kids.