Then Again, He Lives in France

David Sedaris once said that he volunteers with elderly citizens because he wants to see their homes. He turns them into characters, exploiting them much like I do with my ESL students.
Pause to marvel at our shameless "research."
This afternoon I walked into two senior houses that should be quarantined, boarded up, nailed shut, stomped on and away from.
One man had signs around his lawn, porch, and doors that read "Beware of Dog." He has no dog, yet his house smells as if he were harboring one or more, perhaps deceased. Odors that burn the cilia from nostrils.
Another woman invited us in to see pictures of her 58 foster children. We had to eat lunch outside because her home stank so strongly of old carpeting that the group gagged while she spoke.
We worked outdoors at both places.
But this David Sedaris lives in Paris. Do old people stink in Paris? Do they invite you in for food you could not possibly consume lest it get caught in your windpipe causing you to spend longer in the home of vile stench? Do they have dogs? How about dead dogs beneath floorboards? Eh? Eh?

Neigh

I had to admit to a very understanding stylist yesterday that I hadn't had my hair cut since February. And that I dye it at home. And that last week, I didn't wash it for 5 straight days. And that it took five days of conditioner to release the snarling mess of mortar-encrusted-100-degree-dust-baked-cucaraccha-nest I created. She looked sympathetic.
Still, I cannot help but think I am being punished for Acts Against Hair.
If what existed before was a trial bang, she assigned me a full-fledged, eye-level bang.
I perpetually tilt my head because now this bang is all up in my grill (try'na get me to a ho-tel).
I feel like a shetland pony.

Dinner Giggles or, How I Spit Milk All Over Creation

Oh, Crap.
She's at it again.
Whenever we get around each other at mealtime, Carly makes me laugh so hard that I spit out any liquid I'm holding. She waits until I've got the glass to my mouth and then says something like this:

Carly: Did you just say boughten?

Dad: No. I said, bought in.

(huge pause)

Carly: I never know whether it’s bought or boughten, so I just say 'purchased.'

Bob Sponge and his friend Diego

Bob Sponge and his friend Diego
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

I am back.
24 hours, one bus, 41 youth. No word yet on whether we left anyone at our pee/meal stops. We sometimes counted and occasionally approximated.
Mostly we just wanted to get home.
Under the burning sun of the arrid desert, we made cement FROM SCRATCH and reenacted stories from the Old Testament in Spanish--equally difficult. All because we love God. What a taskmaster, that guy.
This week I suffered my first ankle injury. I'm not even sure how. Also, I won't tell you that my ankles are fat anyway so that I have to make a distinction betweeen a fatty fat and a regular fat ankle, but I will tell you that there were rocks everywhere, including the soccer field (which is less a field and more a flat place with many rocks and much dust). Do not be alarmed, I did not partake. Soccer involves too much running and, in Juarez, too many bloody noses.
I did, however,
1. Avoid sunburn. This is getting to be my specialty. And it's good, because I would have had the farmer-ist tan in the history of the world.
2. Learn how to say cement like people from Tennessee: "sea-meant." Call me and I'll say it for you.
3. Meet Bob Sponge, SpongeBob's Mexican twin, thanks to Diego (the cutest bowl haircut you have ever witnessed. See above).
4. Grow some dreadlocks, which I had to wash because of the bug population. Apparently, you have to declare them in customs if you're bringing back animalia.

Peter, Paul, and Me

I just ate the equivalent of an alka seltzer pill sans water.
I am a woman who follows directions. I am a woman who READS directions.
Tonight, when Carly handed me an "Airborne" tablet. I looked at it, thinking only, "I must consume this with speed. It has 17 herbs and nutrients. It will keep me from getting infected by the germs in confined spaces."
And then I chased it with water.
And then I burped.
My head is spinning a little.
But to my point:

I'm leaving on jet plane (coach bus),
Don't know when I'll be back again (a week from Saturday),
Oh, babe, I hate to go (Actually, I'm pretty excited)

So kiss me and smile for me (Or just leave a comment)
Tell me that you'll wait for me (You can wait that long)
Hold me like you'll never let me go (Hold me in your Favorites and check again in a week).

Me and the Bean

Me and the Bean
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

This is Tommy.
Tommy, say hello to the people.
Tommy cries a lot and it makes his little chin tremble.
I think he cries because he hasn't figured out the boob yet. He'll get it.
I went to the hospital last night and made many inappropriate jokes about breast-feeding and the gelatinous matters of birth.
Having never given it, I know that God will smite me when it is my turn.

Best parent moment:
Tommy has an eye-goo problem, which John points out to Anne who then becomes delirious with worry when the nurse tells her it's 'common': "They expect me to trust her? They have no doctors ON CALL? I trust the one with the MD."
"With all due respect for your position and what you've just been through...Anne, she has had more experience with this than you."
"But he could be going blind, John."
"Well then, we'll sue."

Baby Update and a Comparison

Tomato Face
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

As of last night, the new baby count became two.
(Congratulations to the happy new parents. May your sleep be long and your patience longer.)
I will have pictures as soon as the parents leave their children alone long enough for me to photograph and not ask permission.
Until then, marvel at the likeness between me and a tomato after running around Lake Harriet.

Donald loves the rocks and he rolls my blues away...bop shoo bop

Matt,
Don't be jealous. I met someone.
His name is Donald and he's in the rock club.
With his parents.
He studies geological formations and then puts them on his wall: "I probably have about 15!" He's also in the chess club and he does community service by choice. Today he squealed with delight about a McDonald's sundae (who wouldn't?) and in the same breath remarked on the beautiful and simultaneously destructive nature of climbing ivy.
His voice barely cracks when he laughs.
My heart, she explodes.
AGAIN.
He is freckled and strawberry-blond chubby-short. I cannot withhold my own toothy grin when his smile shows colorful orthodontia. Oh, if only I too were 12 years old!

Gasp!

Gasp!
Originally uploaded by Sriracha.

To introduce Acer, I have taken a few photos and a chance on flickr, which is mightily user-friendly.
This photo shows my delight when I first opened my little 'puter to reveal the beautiful screen I'm staring at RIGHT NOW.

Robert Skoro and the Contractions

On any given Friday night, I can stay awake until 10:30, no problem. Then comes a rapid descent into the pit of exhaustion and I reclaim my "fun hater" title.
You should have seen me last night.
I was a champ.
We grooved to the fine music of Cataract Camp, Travis Morisson and the Hellfighters, and the wonderful Robert Skoro. Be still my 8th grade heart.*
But even more impressive is that Anne was able to match my enthusiasm for the performance--while contracting.
Because she's due IN 11 DAYS.
To have a BABY.
(And so help her GOD if that child does not remove itself from her womb before then. She is not responsible for the pain she might inflict on an innocent, unpregnant bystander.)

*When I was in 8th grade, I bought a demo tape of a local high school musician whose four track masterwork, "stories of my alien abduction," is on my desk right now. Unrelatedly, (or so I thought) I bopped along to a song on the Current the other day..."And that was '2318' by local artist Robert Skoro." My jaw dropped. I called Anne.