Once again, I have taken a long hiatus from blogging, which is mainly due to Spanish language school, which has shrunk my brain to a quivering mass, not unlike Husband's heart when he is in a-fib.
However, I did want to post the video and pics from our latest Christmas thrift contest. The theme this year? Ugly Formal Wear
Thanks to a church-wide garage sale benefiting Isaiah 55 Deaf Ministries, my husband was able to score a shocking fuschia satin and black velvet dress. You heard me right...a dress. He looked like a very scary drag queen (with his Hannah Montana wig) and I had to wash my eyeballs several times to recover.
Not to be outdone, I also had a lovely mint-green lace-covered satin number with an enviable amount of satin bows attached.
The women contestants
The male contingent
The hotel continues to wonder about this strange clan that descends every year between Christmas and New Year's. As evidenced by the photo above, apparently the mental illnesses suffered by me and my sisters can transfer to in-laws and all offspring. We will stay heavily medicated for your safety.
This past weekend, we traveled with staff and friends of Isaiah 55 Deaf Ministries into Mexico's beautiful interior. While Reynosa is hot and humid, smelling slightly of sewer, and a mix of concrete block homes and modern theaters and restaurants (doesn't really feel like Mexico when you can find Walmart and Applebees in the city!), Real de Catorce is a hidden gem high in the Catorce Mountains located in the Mexican state of San Luis Potosi. Located close to Matahuala, you veer of the main toll road and travel over old cobblestone roads, winding up the mountain (with no guardrail...whew) until you enter a 2,300 meter one way Ogarrio tunnel to wind up in the hilly, colonial city dating back to the 1700s.
Ogarrio Tunnel
I'll be honest. I was a tad nervous to be traveling in Mexico. I know the Word says a lot about not fearing but the papers say a lot about mass graves and checkpoint shootings. I nearly backed out several times, especially since Husband and Squirrels would be coming with, but in the end, my mantra was "God has not given you a spirit of fear but of a sound mind." (I'm claiming it...so don't dispute my sound mind, even if this blog gives you plenty of evidence to the contrary!).
We could not have had a more peaceful journey there. Two vans full of Americans - some Caucasian, one Asian, and two African Americans. Mexicans are not known for subtle staring. We had several that insisted on having their pictures taken with the Squirrels - which made Katybird and Eli feel like celebrities. Plus, some older Mexican women believe that if you stare at a child too long, you will give them the evil eye (some dark energy) unless you dispel the energy by touching the child, so Katybird and Eli were also subjected to many hands on their head and kisses on their forehead.
We stayed at Ruinas del Real hotel, locally known as the hotel where Julia Roberts landed while filming "The Mexican" with Brad Pitt. Her black camisole hangs in the lobby along with a candid shot of her. I have a feeling she accidentally left the article of clothing behind instead of intentionally bequeathing an undergarment but I may have overestimated her.
View of the main street when there are NO vendors there.
The silver mine ruins
NoNo, Husband, and NoNo's son Bibb atop the Catorce Mtns
We spent the next few days hiking nearly impossible inclines (all because NoNo's twenty-something son assured us it was "not bad"...yeah, just wait till he hits his mid-thirties. I will show him "not bad"!), browsing the bazaar (which should be more aptly named "bizarre"!), viewing the silver mine ruins (including the only-recently-covered-seemingly-bottomless-shaft), and getting my head around Spanish menu words (I am all about huevos con tocino y jugo de naranja now). What we hadn't planned on were three things:
1) The whole city was celebrating Saint Francis of Assisi or, as they call him, "Panchito". Which makes him sound like a Frito Lay snack item. Various claims were made the the spirit of Panchito still moves through the city and that he came here to claim the land. How we all love our legends, no matter how far-fetched. The celebration lasts for several weekends and includes cannon shots at odd hours (during the day and night, much to our dismay), marching bands, and booths upon booths of chotchke such as peyote pomade (the city is well known to peyote-imbibers), die-cast Virgin Marys, and various and sundry rosary beads. There were so many vendors with brightly colored, overstuffed tented booths, that it was hard to see the "Real" Real (pronounced Ree-el). Mental note to self: do not go in October again.
Chotchke Central!
2) While hiking back down the mountain side, sliding on loose rock and trying in vain to grab onto strongholds other than the prickly cactus, we came upon a very inebriated Mexican man, propped up in his foldable lawn chair. He told us "everyone was going to the right". Erin responded that we were heading to the beautiful old church at the bottom. He responded, "Follow the poop! Just follow the poop." We will assume he meant for us to follow any sort of trail made by the various donkeys and pack horses that traverse the mountains, i.e. if the horse/donkey can find the best path and mark it with "apples", that would be our best bet, but the phrase "follow the poop" became the running joke of the weekend. Because, really, it can apply to more than descaling a mountain. I'm pretty sure there is a lesson about government bureaucracy and corruption in Mexico with such a poetic turn of phrase. Mental note to self: if inebriated Mexican man can scale mountain, I have no excuses.
They call me the "Poopmaker"
3) We were told by the hotel that we would have to leave Real by 6 AM on Sunday morning or the tunnel would be closed to vehicles and only horse-drawn carts would be traversing back and forth, bringing in the 15,000 - 20,000 visitors that swell the town's under 1000 residents population on the last day of the festival. We arrived promptly at 5:45 AM only to be told that the tunnel had closed at 12 midnight and would not re-open until 8 PM. We were so tired, so ready to go, and so cold (Real is up at over 8,000 feet in elevation and not exactly the tropical paradise you think about when you hear the word "Mexico"). After four hours of negotiating with city officials, the owner of the horse cart operation, and the self-appointed tunnel officials, we FINALLY got clearance to go through.
Dodging horse drawn carts with only inches to spare, we made it through and finally returned to the U.S. of A. Mental note to self: Mexicans make up information. Often. And prefer to do so rather than to just say "I don't know". Some strange, face-saving cultural ideal that will take some bridging to understand and adapt to.
Some pix from our travels:
A view of Real from the top of the Catorce mountain range
Eli with Alyssa, a former summer staffer
Mariachi (see video at bottom) serenades @ lunch
Katybird with Baby Barrett, our youngest traveler
So proud of their peyote (or "magic cactus") that even the napkin holders pay homage! It's magic all right. Those who know say it will give you 18 hours of hallucinations.
We have been having quite a week with our oldest Squirrel. I think she may have been dropped on her head as a baby or maybe fed paint chips. I caught her in the pool with her Sunday shoes on (leather, mind you) and when I asked her what possessed her to swim in leather shoes, she told me, "Lots of people exercise in the pool with their shoes on." I informed her those were Aqua Socks and made especially for water...and that leather does not qualify (sigh).
Then I catch her with a giant pitcher of orange juice, a Mickey Mouse mug filled to the brim, leaning over on her hands and knees outside, lapping the juice like a dog.
BRAIN DAMAGED. I worry about this girl.
The crowning moment was when she threw a hissy fit after being told to make her bed on Saturday. Granted, she was running on a half night of sleep because I let her stay up late on Friday night, trying to finish her big library book so she could get 32 accelerated reading points for school (evidently, very important) and she was up very early in the morning. She went off into hysterics, stomped to her room, packed a suitcase with who knows what, stood in the doorway and shouted that she was running away.
This isn't the first time she has said such...and we usually nonchalantly tell her we sure are sorry to see her go but if she feels she must, she must. She took off down the street and went around the corner.
In typical fashion, she was back 10 minutes later cheerfully shouting out a greeting of "I'mmmmm bbbbaaack" (imagine this in sunshine, sing-songy tones).
15 minutes after that, the doorbell rang and we were greeted by...the McAllen Police Department...in their neon yellow polyester shirts. We were informed that a neighbor had called the police stating that someone in a red vehicle had tried to get Elisabeth to into his or her car. SAY WHAT?
We asked Elisabeth and she denied that anyone in any car said anything to her. She did finally remember that she saw a red convertible waiting to turn onto the highway from our subdivision but swears up and down that the driver did not say anything to her.
We were heavily scolded by the police who told us that our children cannot even bike in the neighborhood alone until they are 14 years of age. He asked us what we would have done if Elisabeth was kidnapped. At that point, she had ticked me off so much that I had to bite back a retort of "I would say that the kidnapper would be calling us to BEG that we take her back!". Instead, I sheepishly muttered that we were unaware that the laws were so restrictive on her being able to bike or walk around the block and it wouldn't happen again.
So we don't really know what happened. Our guess is that there was no attempted kidnapping but that the neighbor was concerned because Elisabeth was out by the highway with a suitcase. Whatever the case may be, I now will be doing a lot more biking with the kids until they are old enough to go by themselves. We are definitely not in Cougarville anymore!
No sooner had we settled in South Texas then it was time to leave for a week of family vacation with my awesome sisters and 20+ nieces and nephews. We go as a family every two years and so this vacation was planned two years in advance...and we just happened to pick the hottest week ever in Branson, MO.
I won't go much more into that week - suffice it to say that I had vacation brain the whole time - but it was the start of watching past seasons of the TV show "Alias", the far-fetched J.J. Abrams series involving a grad student working undercover as CIA Operative Sydney Bristow. Erin had long told me that the show was addicting - at least the first three seasons - and so she became my pusher and my other sisters willing accomplices to every episode.
From Branson, Husband, Squirrels and I headed out to Palmer Lake, CO for three weeks of missionary training at Mission Training International www.mti.org - a program called SPLICE as it covered Spiritual, Personal, Language, Interpersonal, Cultural, and Endurance/Enjoyment experiences we would anticipate on the field. The class had 44 adults and about 30 kids and we had the privilege of meeting extraordinary (and hilarious) people from all over the US that were going all over the world - to places that make drug-riddled Mexico look like Kindergarten. As I looked around the room, I thought to myself that this line up of characters would never be picked out of a lineup as looking like the typical flowered, flounced dress with lace collar Christian. And I loved them for it!
Halfway through the second week, as we were discussing who we are under conflict when we were led into a hostage simulation. We were told that rebel forces had forced a coup and we had to go into hiding until we could find a way out of the city. We split into two teams and crammed 22 people each into two small plywood shelters. That is a lot of oxygen depletion and sweating bodies in one small space. We had to keep quiet and try to figure out what to do as secret messages were smuggled back and forth between the groups.
This is when my Sydney Bristow-infused brain became dangerous. I began to imagine that I could karate kick the gun out of the rebel's hand, train it back on him, and allow my fellow hostages to escape out the door. In real life, this would have seriously backfired as my athletic prowess was missing in my DNA since birth but in my head, I was Xena Warrior Princess!
Thankfully, the simulation ended before my crazy thoughts turned into actions, and a week later, we were saying goodbye to dear friends who completely understand this leap of faith and all the emotions that surround it. We returned to South Texas where the only hairy part of my day is trying to dodge all the bridge vendors selling oversized die-cast Virgin Marys, large plastic cowboy boots, and window washing services. No rebel forces or plywood hostage shelters in sight .
My husband keeps reminding me that my last blog post was from early May. I tell him he is the one currently unemployed since turning in his resignation at Mama Yellow at the end of June but alas...I guess I better keep this thing updated if it is going to be on all my prayer cards and magnets!
Our little house in the big woods sold and closed on May 25th. That was a surreal day, signing away the papers on our "dream home" - the one I installed flooring in, painted, and shellacked on 42 gallons of varnish. The type of day where you give yourself 1) a sanity check (am I nuts?) and 2) a reaching out to go to reconfirm His calling (are you sure, Lord? I haven't miraculously learned Spanish overnight!). Our buyers graciously let us live in the house until after our sending agency retreat and Darren's brother's wedding was complete.
Then it was off to the races. I had been slowly packing about 5 boxes a day when the deadline came up behind me and bit down hard. People from church gathered boxes for us and our potluck group and family members put some serious sweat equity into helping us move (seriously...did we pick the hottest month on record or what?). Our friend Brad from church and my brother outlaw Shannon tag team drove a semi load of our earthly possessions to the border while my sister Susan and her daughter Hattie followed in their vehicle and Husband, two Squirrels, two stoned dogs (thanks to tranquilizers) and my nephew rode in our Big Blue Bus. Just south of Waco, and after coming through torrential downpour, I told Husband that the van seem to be wobbly. He said nothing for a while and then stated, "It's YOU! You are doing that with the steering wheel!". I assured him I was driving straight as an arrow but the van was pulling back and forth like I was on a ferry. He insisted it was me.
And not 10 minutes later, we hear a pop and the sound of metal grating. Yep, blew a tire. Big time. It was 11 PM and nothing was open. Shannon advised us to check for a 24 hour tire center. I called the first and was advised that they only handled 24 hour emergencies for semi trucks. I called the next one (sounded like I woke someone up) and asked if they did emergency service for minivans. He said yes, I confirmed the address, and then we drove via GPS directions into Austin.
Well, into a trailer park in Austin. Surely it was incorrect? I called the guy's number again and it went to voicemail. I had Husband call and sure enough, the sleepy voice answered. He asked where we were and we told him we were in a trailer park behind a trailer with a back porch light on. He told us he didn't work on minivans (say what?) and was probably completely creeped out by the fact that we were in his back yard (hey, his address was online!).
So on we rolled on the donut...now three hours behind schedule. We finally pulled into the Rio Grande Valley at 6:00 AM. Shannon and Brad had beat us and were waiting at a truck stop. We all looked homeless and smelled like feet. Erin had arranged for an Isaiah 55 work team to come help us unload and I can only imagine that we made a stellar first impression (I don't even remember if I brushed my teeth).
So pretty much National Lampoon's Moving Adventure completely with dogs that passed gas all the way down the TX. But we are here! And there are more adventures to share in upcoming episodes from my crazy Momzilla life...
It is no secret that I am a charter member of the Exercise Haters' Club and have made previous disastrous attempts at combating my non-existent metabolism.
For more evidence, I present: Exhibit A Exhibit B Exhibit C Exhibit D Exhibit E Exhibit F
But alas, early this year, I found myself contemplating yet another bulk order of Spanx (translation: super spandexy undergarments that condense your flab and internal organs into the limited space) from Zulilly when I decided it was time for something drastic. Oh yeah...I went on Amazon and bought a used copy of P90X.
It is everything I feared it would be. I have a love/hate relationship with annoying P90X mouthpiece Tony Horton right now and the first week I could not even lift my arms to shampoo my hair. By Wednesday, I feared that if I sat down on the couch, I might never be able to get up again.
I followed this program like a zealous groupie, even taking the "Before" pictures (and they are so frightening I didn't even let Husband see them!), taking all my measurements, and (cringingly) stepping on a scale only to find that I was at my heaviest weight ever.
30 days into the program, I could do more of the exercises and thought for sure, I would have made some progress. I had put in over 1000 minutes of exercise and even added extra runs each week since the Illinois Marathon weekend was looming (before you get too impressed, I was only signed up for the 5K). I gleefully redid my measurements and weighed myself.
3 lbs. lost. 1 inch off my hips. Everything else was the same. Luckily there was no bourbon on the house or I would have been tempted to drown my sorrows. Instead, I called my sister Susan and told her I had finally found the true cause of depression...exercising that much with NO RESULTS! She told me to get disciplined on the nutrition plan because I was now in my 30s and couldn't eat like I could in my 20s. (sniffle)
So alas, a quick trip to Walmart and I was loaded with Greek yogurt, granola, turkey jerky, spinach, string cheese, almonds, and whole wheat bread. Seriously, that is what the nutrition plan called for. Eating six times a day of some stuff that seems counter-intuitive (turkey jerky???).
Tomorrow is the 60 day milestone. I know I am 8 lbs. down and feeling a lot better. The real test will be my measurements. I'm still "looser in the cage" than I wanted to be BUT I finished my 5K two minutes faster than last year.
In other exercise news, Husband completed a half marathon last weekend and Eli and Katybird finished the youth run as well!
Darren bringing it home!
Eli came in 2nd in her age division...the kid she was next to was DETERMINED not to be beat by a girl. He crossed the finished line and collapsed, requiring medical attention.
She looks in pain here but she actually sauntered off at the finish line like she hadn't pushed that hard at all.
Katybird coming in for a landing. Pretty sure she was daydreaming on the route!
That's me in the Kermit the Frog green shirt beside my Rock Star SIL Dena (in the hot pink...head turned...making sure I am not laying dead on the astro turf).
For the past several mornings, we have had a pair of deranged robins trying to dive bomb our south-facing windows. Am not sure why they so desperately want to get into the house but in the midst of all their dive bombing, they are leaving mass quantities of bird do on our deck railing.
If I stand at the window, they turn their head sideways and blink incessantly at me...and stop their dive bombing. However, I cannot be at the window all day so I thought I came up with an ingenious solution.
John Wayne.
You see, John Wayne, or at least the life-sized cardboard cutout of him, was a "premarital acquisition" of Husband's. He also had Clint Eastwood but Dirty Harry has since been bequeathed to my sister's ranch where I am sure he was bestowed a place of honor. John Wayne, however, was too dear for my husband to part with so The Duke has made every single move with us.
At one point, I figured "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" and placed Clint and John in our Christmas photo.
But as of late, John Wayne was collecting dust behind our entertainment center in the exercise room. Until today...
I brought The Duke out of hiding, dusted him off, and set him up against the south-facing window. Problem solved!
But only temporarily. The crazed birds saw that The Duke didn't move and quickly caught on to my scheme.
Not to be outdone, Katybird came up with her own solution...using her stuffed "pony in a purse" along with deranged neighing sounds to scare off the birds.
Not sure who is crazier now...the birds or Katybird!
