Inner J. Lo

Tonight was taco night, I went all out girlfriends. I chopped fresh avocado, put all of the various fixins in tiny, cute bowls. We even got to eat at the same time, all 4 of us. Michael came home just as I was serving, in my cute apron and neatly pinned up hair, yea right. I was in a t-shirt that says "Sho good eatin" on the front, and on the back, "Cain't be beatin". I'm so not making that up! Its a tshirt from the Ol South Pancake House on University in Fort Worth, a long time fav that Dad took us girls to a LOT. We won't even discuss my hair, it was out of my face, period. So let me just fast forward, Ashlee Morgan is stinky, fine, I'm accustomed to daily disgust, but that is not just it, as I picked her up, out of high chair, crap was falling out of her diaper! I mean literally, hunks of crap falling out, on to the chair, my middle finger, my tshirt and arm. I held her up and away from my body and screeched. Michael and Brookelyn just laughed. No one helped poor, pitiful me. So, I race towards my bathroom and beg Brookelyn to open the bedroom door for me....heres how it went down... "Brookie! Open the door! open the door! hurry hurry, open the door for mommy" She runs all the way to me, passes me, and proceeds to OPEN THE FRONT DOOR. Yes, the front door to the house. What on earth? What in the world? "No no brookelyn, not that door, the bedroom door silly!!". At this point she is just frustrated with me, for not specifying which door I meant in the first place, as if I was considering all along taking her out front, in the dark and washing her in a bucket at my neighbors drive up in their escalade. "Hi, don't mind me, I'm just white trash and this is what we do when our kids crap on us at dinner. I was born in a barn and raised in a trailer park, don't let my husband's business attire fool you, we're rednecks"
I managed to get Brookelyn to open the correct door and Michael to bring me a sack as I washed human waste down the garden tub that I often light candles in and listen to Enya (also not making that up, I so do this when people stop talking to me long enough).
It was great, I changed my clothing, bathed them both, tucked them in, sang them songs from a book that is proving to be more difficult than I thought. Its silly songs that you sing to familiar songs like "three blind mice". Its not as easy as it sounds, so I think I lose my audience. I sort of just make up some tunes and say "can we just do prayers and poem now?" Miss B in her perfection, agrees, like as if to say, "yes, get the heck out of my room so I can listen to my Raffi cd in peace, you big, dorky clown"

The reason I write about baby waste is b/c I want it to be clear when the day comes when I have earned some bling, that it was truly a labor of love, a true earning. There is an inner J. Lo inside, even though I will tell you I don't like jewelry that much and prefer a letter from Michael. Well, the truth is, when I'm not envisioning my dream kitchen with the best of the best appliances, I'm daydreaming about bling. I've designed my next set. Michael thinks I'm joking. I'm not.