CULTURED NATIVITY

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on February 05, 2009

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Mustache Pete

I'm aging. This is a derogatory statement. It never used to be. My life has plateaued, my boobs are now a wardrobe hazard and my face is unrecognizable to me. I'm aging. We went over to Paso Robles last weekend and stayed overnight at a little guest cottage in the vineyards. The temperatures plummeted and my family and I all remarked how ill prepared we were for the freezing temperatures, both physically and mentally. We like to get the biggest bang for our buck so we cram an insane amount of engagements into a very little period of time while we're in town. Then we race to the finish before we all collapse into a flaming pile of screaming crying temper tantrum babies. and as it turns out, we end up paying for our jam-packed weekend in the form of illness, whining and sleepless nights for exactly 5 days afterward. Do not try this at home. We are professionals. Did I mention I'm aging? It happened all of a sudden. The day I turned 30 I began categorizing this d...

Me, Myself, and My Cream

He was a drummer in my cousin's band. Sure, he was squat and hairy, but I'll never forget that moment he professed my future. I was an awkward 13 year old trying too hard. He said, "You're gonna be a real heart breaker someday, honey. " He took a drag from his cigarette and tightened his bolo tie. I walked on clouds of confidence for months, if not years, in hopes of some truth to that conversation. It wasn't until my twenties that I had enough dates to actually consider breaking hearts. And it wasn't until my twenties that I discovered things like fearlessness, unbridled passion, and sex appeal. I know what you're thinking and no, I never worked as a prostitute. I just metamorphosized into something other than Kafka's cockroach, and I enjoyed it. But you can never truly appreciate what you had until you're standing in the checkout aisle in yesterday's pajamas, infant on hip, obligatory bags below eyes and find yourself staring at the pe...

A Mommy's Birthday Letter

Dear Shelby, Today, we celebrated your fourth birthday. You awoke to a traditional birthday sign and streamers. You smiled and cuddled up in daddy's arms in your pajamas. You opened the gift we wrapped for you. A ruffled black and hot pink skirt with polka dot drawstrings-an item taken from the wardrobe of Madonna in her Can Can Dancing days. When asked if you wanted to try it on, you shook your head and replied, no thank you. Then you dove into the gift in search of something more interesting...only to come up with some purple tissue paper. You chose your own floral themed outfit for school (pink Hawaiian print skirt, orange floral top, red cowboy boots). When we walked through the preschool doors, three girls squealed your name and asked you to play with them. You cried when I said goodbye. I spent the day preparing for your birthday dinner and remembering the moment you entered this world and my life. For dinner, you requested hamburgers and sweet beans. You asked for a strawber...

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