texas

This morning as I woke up I heard the sound of rain on the roof. It's an unusual sound here in Colorado, where we have more sunny days than Hawaii. I laid in my cozy bed for as long as I could until two of my sons joined me for a morning snuggle. Finally, out of guilt, I left my warm nest to make my husband's lunch and the boys' breakfast. I remember thinking it seemed like a Texas kind of rain. Long and drenching. Unlike the usual afternoon thunderstorms that tear through here and are gone within hours.

Later on in the day, at the end of April, mind you, the rain turn to snow and so far we've had over 9". Of snow. In April. It was a very bad day. Thank goodness I'd not yet passed on our winter clothes to the friends we send our hand-me-downs to. It was an icky, slushy, gray day. In April. And we could not go out to play.

Then this evening after watching American Idol, I tuned into what I thought was "The Ace of Cakes" on the Food network. Instead, there was Rachael Ray (annoying) doing a show about Austin. She managed to show all the places I'd been or ever hoped to have been...Shady Grove, the Salt Lick, Taco Cabana...and before I knew it, I was in tears. Although I saw how she was sweating as she sat there in "Shady Grove", I actually missed the sweat. The humidity. The heat.

And I've never actually lived in Austin. I've lived all around it and spent lots of time in it, but all of a sudden I felt like that was my home. That was what I had been missing. Forget the Rocky Mountains. Forget the pine trees and good hair days. I am a Texan.

Texas is where my people are. We used to live within an hour of my parents and siblings and my husband's parents and siblings. We still didn't see everyone as much as we'd hoped, but at least there was the option. So far my boys have only two cousins but by the end of the year there will be two more. All in Austin. Is it a sign?

The thought of moving back made my heart leap. To be close to family and friends again. Old friends that really know me. Don't get me wrong, I've met so many wonderful people here and am grateful for them, but we have no history. At least not yet.

I feel like a tree that has just started to put down roots in new soil, but not enough so that re-transplanting it would cause any damage.

telephone tirade

I have a secret. A deep, dark secret that I've decided to reveal today. It may change things forever but here goes:


I hate talking on the phone.


This is something I've been ashamed of but after recently discovering that my sister has the same feelings, I've decided to come out and admit it to the world. I'm sure it has something to do with our common background. While growing up, if the phone rang at our house my parents would groan and reluctantly answer it, only to get sucked into a two hour conversation because they were too nice to cut people off.

But back then there were no caller ID or answering machines. We have things a lot better now. And because of all the new technology, including email, I find the telephone to be antiquated and frustrating. How often are two people available and in the mood to chit-chat at the very same time? Ever? That's why I love email. You can write a message when it's convenient, and the receiving party can reply when they feel like it. And since you're writing, you can take your time to think things out and edit it to prevent any misunderstandings. It's the perfect mode of communication.

On the rare occasion that I do want to talk on the phone, I like to give my full attention to the person I'm talking to. And since I have three small children who demand most of my time and attention, I have to plan time to visit on the phone or else I'll end up hiding in the pantry, gripping the phone while holding the door closed as the house burns down. If I ever spontaneously pick up the phone to visit with someone, it matters not that my kids were just playing happily, engrossed in a drawing or game. They see I'm distracted and immediately make the most of it. I find myself giving them ice cream, candy, matches...anything to keep them quiet. And then the fights break out and somebody gets hurt.

I also have other pet peeves about the phone. I think call waiting is just plain rude except in the case of an emergency. Otherwise it's as if the person is saying, "Can you wait? There's someone else I like better on the other line." I also hate it when I call someone in the middle of the afternoon and they answer the phone sounding like I just woke them up. I'll say, "I'm sorry, were you sleeping?" And they'll say, "Yeah, but I guess it's okay." I want to say, "Then why did you answer your phone?!" It is possible to turn the ringer off. Or even just ignore it. Don't be annoyed with me for not being psychic!

These days it seems like people are so unable to stand peace and quiet or their own thoughts that they have to be on the phone everywhere at all times. In cars, the grocery store, at school. It's like people are so socially retarded they can't talk to anyone new. They stay in their comfort zone of friends in their own little phone bubble as they blab away. They seem to think they are more loved or important if their phones are ringing constantly. What I see is pure insecurity and loneliness.

It feels good to get this all out so I'll keep going. In the past, I have unintentionally offended some people because I rarely answer the phone and I'm terrible about returning calls. Some people have thought I was mad at them or didn't like them because of it. For that I am sorry. I guess I'm just different. Don't take it personally. But if you do, email me to tell me about it. Thanks.

would you risk your life for a cool piece of furniture off of craigslist, cuz i would

A few days ago I found the cutest little "shabby chic" dresser on craigslist. I sent the guy ("George") an email and waited but he didn't respond. So I called the number he had in his ad (I hate calling these people- they are usually nuts) and he answered. He was obviously intoxicated and said he was unable to help me with it right then because he was in Vegas next to a swimming pool. Another lady had called about it, too, but he would sell it to me because I "sounded cuter." Okay, I'll take that- the dresser and the compliment from a drunk man in Vegas.

So I joked to my husband about our exchange and told him I would be picking it up the next day. I could see his red alert radar go off but he remained cool. So then the guy called to comfirm the pick-up time and my gallant husband rushed to grab the phone. "Hello? Yes, would you like to take to my WIFE, Nicole?" And he handed it to me. The guy was still drunk and calling from a different place on his way back from Vegas. To me, he sounded like a fifty-something Italian man who liked to talk a lot. We bantered about the weirdos one may come across when dealing with craigslist (the irony of which was lost on George) and finalized the plans.

After I hung up, my breathless husband explained that I should not be going by myself to pick up a dresser from some guy I don't know. I said I was a good judge of character and this guy was harmless. He insisted I take a weapon and be prepared to use it. He said that if the guy tried anything he would "make him wish he had died in a fire as a child." I agreed but he was annoyed with the smirk on my face. I enjoyed seeing him in "protective mode" and couldn't help it.

Plans changed and my husband ended up going with me get the dresser. I was glad he did because it was in a seedy little house and George was a little shifty. But overall, he was a nice guy and he didn't even slit my throat when I backed out of the deal. It just didn't look like it had in the picture.

It's good to know that whenever I need a little extra attention and lovin' from my hubby, all I have to do is strike a deal on a crappy piece of furniture and mention breezily that I'll be going downtown to get it...

no regrets

Over the years there have been a handful of phone calls that changed everything. Calls that made the whole world look different, almost sideways.

"It's malignant but they think they got it all. You should come now."

"Your father has had a heart attack. We'll know more in the morning."

"I've been in an accident and the ambulance is on the way."

"Your mother had a wreck and is at the hospital. But she'll be okay."

And just Friday, another call. This time not as scary. After all, it's his third heart attack now. He's apparently one tough s.o.b. (figure of speech, of course). We've been through this so many times now it seems almost "normal." The terms we learned the first time around that seemed so foreign: cath lab, stints, nitro, are second nature now.

But yet, once again, it brings home the same feelings. Fear, anger and worry.

How could this happen less than two years after a quadruple bypass? He should have at least ten good years to look forward to.

I'm not ready to lose him. I want him to see my boys grow up and graduate. I want him to be a great-grandfather. He, more than anyone I know, appreciates each day. He spends his time giving to others, traveling around the country and to hospitals to honor and support fellow veterans from long ago and just last week. He's sentimental and soft under his tough exterior. He dotes over his grandsons. "They are just delightful," he says, even after spending an entire day listening to all the noise little boys make.

I try to imagine how it would be to be him, at this point in his life. How would it be to feel like tomorrow is not guaranteed. That you could be leaving your loved ones at any time. I imagine it could really test a person's faith. The questions of, 'What if we're wrong? What if this is all there is?'

But I know my Dad and I doubt his faith ever wavers. He probably knows better than anyone that this isn't all there is. There's just too much evidence to the contrary. And whatever comes next will make this earthly existance seem like a mere moment in the grand scheme of eternity.

And the truth is, tomorrow is guaranteed for no one. Not for the sixty-seven year-old heart patient and not for the two year-old toddler.

Last week my six year-old thought it would be funny to stand in the street and try to get run over because he said he, "Wanted to see heaven." After forcibly removing him I explained that we all want to see heaven but it's not up to us when we will. There's a reason we're here and we need to try to figure out what it is. And as "fun" as it will be to move on to the next world, we can't rush things. And we can't slow things down, either.

We can try to see each day as a gift and love each other so we have no regrets.

the ants go marching

Once I became a mom, I found myself saying things I never dreamed I'd say. Things I couldn't have imagined even necessary to be said. Things like:

"Would you please stop licking your pee off the patio and come inside?"

or,

"Please try not to stomp on your brother's neck."

Or even,

"Take the underwear off your head and hand me the knife. Now."

And then there are things I never want to hear from my children. Things like,

"Mom, where are my ants?"

But that's the question my six year-old asked last night right before bedtime after examining his ant farm. Usually, upon closer inspection, I locate the ants huddled together in some obscure tunnel but this time they were nowhere to be found. And then I noticed that the lid was slightly ajar. Just loose enough for tiny ants to slip away, unseen.

So now I have a colony of ants parading around my house looking for a new place to burrow and things to eat. And to make things worse I don't even know what kind of ants they are because we found them at the park after the mail order batch mostly died in transit from the extremely cold weather.



Wish me well.

on to something

As I read another headline about the fifteen captives held by Iran and the predicament we're in (we, being the civilized world), it dawned on me: We need a panel of moms to advise the government on how to handle these situations because dealing with terrorists is a lot like dealing with two-year-olds.

Here is my logic on toddlers and terrorists (T/T's):

1. You can't reason with them. There's no point. It makes you look foolish and gives them power they shouldn't have. You just have to tell them like it is. Any of these "lawmakers" I hear spouting rhetoric about how we should sit down at the table to "talk" to Iran and North Korea has never had a child (or if they did, it was raised by a nanny). Because of their lack of experience with toddlers, they live in a theorhetical la-la land where all people are reasonable and just.

2. If you do foolishly cave to the demands of T/T's, you'll end up paying more in the end. Give and inch and they'll demand a mile.

3. When you don't give T/T's what they want, they will make lots of noise: screaming, jumping up and down, destroying things. For this there is no solution. But giving in after they throw a fit will just make them feel powerful and guarantee more tantrums.

4. T/T's don't understand logic but they do understand a firm tone and consequences for their actions. And they can sense weakness a mile away.


Of course it goes without saying that there are many differences between toddlers and terrorists, as well. But basically, toddlers will someday grow into reasonable, compassionate human beings while terrorists will continue to be a thorn in the side of humanity. Too bad we can't just put them in a big time-out at the bottom of the ocean (just the terrorists, of course!).