My Ink

When I was 19, my girlfriends and I made a trip to Memphis, and I spent three hours getting my first tattoo. Prior to getting ink'd, I'd been told I would be addicted after the first one.

As it happened, my body was allergic to red ink, and my first tattoo was a red hibiscus flower...Two words for you, my friends, anaphylactic shock. So, while my first tattoo caused me to break out in hives and pass out constantly, it did not cause me to want another one ever again. (Currently, it is twice its original size and run through with stretch marks...so, you don't get to see the actual tattoo, but it looked pretty much like the image below.)



Four years later, I decided to turn my life upside down, quit law school, move to California and abandon my best friends. My price for exit was apparently another tattoo. I had zero desire to get another one, fought it valiantly and finally relented out of guilt. So, I sat down, let someone stab me repeatedly with a needle and prayed I would not wind up in the hospital.

The tattoo was an anchor to "keep us grounded." It was small and all black, and I didn't break out in a single hive...and the addiction was born.

The next road on my tattoo journey came when Michael and I decided to get matching tattoos. It turned out to be his way of proposing...I have loved and hated this tattoo every day since I got it. It has often reminded me of my commitment to him when I'd rather have forgotten, and it has brought a smile to my face more than once.


Shortly after my arrival in Dallas, my cousin demanded that she be the next person with whom I got a matching tattoo. I was pregnant with my daughter when I got it, but I did not know it. My cousin later added two hummingbirds to represent Anabel and Kayde after their deaths.

The last tattoo I got means the most. It is a replica of the my daughter's footprint and her name. I was at a loss for how to hold onto her after her death. So, I made her a part of me. Michael did the same. The picture below is of his tattoo. I have the same one in the same spot.


Whatever your thoughts or opinions on tattoos, whatever your experience is with them, I find them fascinating, celebratory, healing, comforting, moving and a part of what makes me me.

I just thought I'd share my tattoo stories with you. Each time I look at them, I remember where I was in my life, and I almost always smile.

Mr. Silas will be represented somewhere soon.

Game Night

Game night was born the same night the photo above was taken. It was New Years Eve, my friends and I had been "celebrating" for quite some time, and we played Pictionary, guys against girls, for many, many hours. The girls won because we did not cheat, and cheaters never win. That night was the last night that game night did not end in a near brawl.

I'm not sure if your game nights always get ugly, but ours do. Last night was no exception. There are six of us, and no matter what game we play, how much we do or do not drink, what time it is, whose house we're at, or how set-in-stone we try to make the rules at the onset of the game, there is inevitably an accusation of cheating, which then begins the war. After the first accusation, there is one about every other turn of the game. Teeth are gritted, insults are hurled, voices are raised. It never matters what team wins because the other team swears they cheated, and we're all unable to hang out together for at least a month.

Unrelated side note: I can barely focus on writing this because all I can think about is the chicken biscuit I talked myself out of getting for breakfast. Is that the opposite of buyer's remorse? Didn't buyer's remorse or something?

Last night, my son was added to the mix of the drama of game night (all of our children were there, but mine was the one working my nerves). Of course, he was dumping cokes all over coffee tables and climbing and squirming and not wanting to be held or put down and basically just exhibiting generally obnoxious behavior. All at my expense and none at his father's, might I add. While all of this was going on, each team had somehow managed to garner one win. It had already been an ugly battle and the finger pointing had begun long before we made it to the tie-breaker round. I was tired and cranky and very much over game night.

The last straw for me was when all three of the still-awake children were sitting in the laps of the girls' team. We were playing Family Feud, (which requires writing....which is hard to do with children crawling all over you...which you'd think a member of the boys' team would have noticed...I digress) and even after we had gone over the same rule on at least six separate occasions, a member of the boys' team began the argument anew.

I'll not insult you by telling you that I'm not competitive and that I don't care about winning and that I'm super patient. That would all be lies, and we all know that. So, what did I do? I shut down game night. Michael and I had brought the game. So, I stood up, told Michael we were leaving, put my son in his car seat, packed up everything we had brought over and proclaimed, "I'll be in the car." Then stormed out amid everyone else, including poor Michael, trying to make brownie sundaes and avoid Michelle-zilla.

Looks like my games will be collecting dust for another year before we venture into this well-charted territory once again in hopes that we will one day have a game night without near bloodshed.

Skinny Bitches Persist

I'm not sure whether or not I've made it abundantly clear on this blog that I'm really, super lazy. However, I have certainly not made it abundantly clear to my closest friend in Dallas.

Last week, she begged me to join a gym with her. Now, I know I need to go to the gym, and I actually do enjoy working out once I get started, and she and I used to work out together. (I was once in very good shape and worked out daily. There are photos somewhere to prove it.) However, I'm in one of those, I'd-really-rather-just-be-fat-and-eat-junk-and-watch-tv-than-make-an-effort phases, and I have made her well aware of that fact. So, I politely declined. She begged some more, and I told her I'd think about it. Then, I promptly filed the request in the place in my brain normally reserved for repressed memories and got on with watching Hulu.

Today, she text me telling me how she'd blown her diet (she shouldn't be dieting). I was replying with something super-witty (of course) and was interrupted by her follow-up text. "Do you want to go jogging with me tonight?" My jaw dropped, my brow wrinkled, and I erased my witty reply. She may as well have asked, "Can I subject you to torturous 105 degree heat and humidity, sear your lungs, and cause you heart failure?" I didn't even make up an excuse. I just responded, "No. I don't jog. You knew the answer to that before you asked."

Now, none of this makes me look very good, but it made me realize that I had left something out of the Skinny Bitches post (this friend is a skinny bitch. I love her very much, but she is, and I've told her to her face, so I can tell you too.) That is: don't torture your friends by continuing to invite them to sweat and making them tell you "no" 411 times when you know they'd rather spend their evening curled up with a bag of chips and a good book even if you do have their best interest at heart. Just let them be lazy without having to acknowledge it.

Challange....

Two posts in one day? I know. I've had a 16 oz coffee and half a 16 oz red bull, and while it's making it impossible for me to focus and work, it's making me super motivated to blog. Fun.

Anyway, the reason for this post is that I think there is an element of my job that makes it more annoying than your job (unless you are a lawyer or paralegal, and then we're in the same boat, and you get a pass). Not only do I have to work, I have to account for every, single minute of my work day in six minute increments.

If I'm at work for 8 hours, I have to make a "list" of what I did every six minutes for those eight hours. I do that every day. If I don't, well, let's not even discuss those consequences.

Therefore, I challenge you to do that for one day. Then, hopefully, you will like your job a tiny bit better.

Wow, caffeine makes me a motivator. Godspeed.

Los links!

Since Bing came on the scene, it has been the default search engine when I open internet explorer at work. Because I have no idea how to change that, I use Firefox, which defaults to Google. Why? I hate Bing. Correction, hated Bing. Until this morning. Sure, I could rant and rave about everything Bing has ever done to irritate me, but they're officially off my sh** list, so I'll spare you.

Yes, people, there is apparently a way to make it off my list once you've made it on (this is new for me too!). Mostly, you have to help me do something to make my kid happy, which is what Bing has done.

Last night, Michael and I did a Google images search for cake ideas for Silas' first birthday party. We literally looked through 86 pages of images, and we ended our search with one cake that we kind of liked.

So, this morning, I decided to just see what Bing could do, and let me tell you, Bing delivered. Page 1 of the images search yielded me eleven ideas (and no, we aren't just going to replicate some other kid's cake. I'm just creatively challenged in the decorating department-that's on all fronts-and needed some ideas from people who are not).

So, thanks, Bing, and welcome to my good side. I'm sure you'll like it here.

Par-tay!

Can't talk long, but can I just say that planning Si's first birthday party is the most fun I've ever had planning a party?

Also, can I just say how much I love that Michael is not only involved with the planning, he's as excited as I am?

Sadly, Silas will not remember any of it. Lame. But you know I'm the kind of mom who takes thousands of pictures (see last post), so I'll be sure he sees the documented evidence of its awesomeness!

Ain't technology grand?

There are so many photographs of my son that make me smile and/or bring tears to my eyes. Last night, it occurred to me that there are literally 1000+ pictures of him (and countless videos) that I would not have if it weren't for the camera phone.

Since the camera phone has arrived on the scene, there is virtually no moment that we cannot document (which, I agree, is not always a good thing...I'm sorry if there are photos of you with sharpie all over you body and a bra on your head floating around the internet. I really am.) So many priceless photos of my son would not exist if my phone had not been two feet away on the coffee table, equipped with a camera.

So, I'd like to share my favorite pictures that I would absolutely not have without my phone.

Enjoy!

P.S. They are in random order because they are difficult to manipulate, and I am lazy.