Leap Year

Please pause other music and click "play" here to create the proper ambiance for this post.

So, this is leap year. A very, very special year. This year has one more day than the old "common year". I felt it would be very important for me to write something to commemorate this special day. Regrettably I can think of nothing important. I keep pressuring myself, "Come on, mush brain, think of something. This day won't come around for another FOUR more years. THINK OF SOMETHING!" Nada. I even tried to start to read an article describing the complex process in which a leap year is calculated using the Gregorian, Julian, Chinese, Hebrew, Hindu, and Iranian calendars. BOOORING. So, forget it. All I can think about are two of my favorite photos.

The first is in honor of one of my jib lurkers. Kelly, if you read this, you better leave a comment. Kelly and I have been friends for approximately 28 years. We don't smoke and never have. We don't fight, but sometimes did. These photos were taken, along with some others that could easily be used as blackmail about 13 years ago with our friend, Anthony. They were taken at the Haunted Mansion on 25th Street where two of my brothers forced their wives to live and where one nearly lost his life when a ghost did some painting in the house which caused an allergic reaction in his brain resulting in headaches and a CRAZY note he left for his wife when we took him to the ER. (Megan, don't bother telling me to take a look at those orbs in the photo. Yeah, I noticed. But its called the reflection of the flash in the window.) And also, speaking of the haunted paint incident, just ask Meg about paint allergies in our family. Oh, I feel SO sad for you. You can't be around certain wet paint smells. That is just awful. What a terrible allergy to have. I'M ALLERGIC TO MY HAIR.

The second photo was taken at a birthday party in Meg's backyard about 5 years ago. She got out the slip and slide. My nephew, Carson, loved it. He is just about as relaxed on the slip and slide as he is playing basketball. And if you are wondering, neither of these photos was taken on leap year.

Oh man. I'm cracking myself up with all of my wise cracks. Good night and happy leap year.

Security Blankets

Last night I had a really rough night. I kept waking up and feeling around...not finding what I was looking for...and then trying to fall back asleep, but feeling quite uneasy. You see I'd made the terrible mistake of forgetting to get my security blanket into the dryer before bed. Yes, I have a security blanket. It was made by my grandfather's sister or his aunt. My Great Aunt or Great Great Aunt? I'm not sure. It is solid red cotton on one side and the other side is a thick black polyester with kind of psychedelic yellow and orange squares. The perfect cuddly blanket for a toddler girl to fall in love with! I know you want to see a picture of it. But those two or three of you that read my jib have probably already seen it many times.

I don't remember when he gave it to me. I was probably three or so. I remember his initials, MTA, were embroidered on a corner. I promptly chewed them out because the thread was scrumptuous. I proceeded to sleep with that blanket for nearly every night for the following 30 years.

Chancho was intimidated by it at the first of our marriage. If it accidentally got left on his side of the bed he would defensively ask, "What is this gross thing doing on my side? Are you trying to replace me?" But he's gotten used to it, even though he still refers to it as the "OBM" (Orange and Black Monstrosity). I don't know how he came up with that name. First of all, its not orange. Well...maybe it kind of was. The cotton batting was exposed on all sides and much of the "red" cotton was worn to practically nothing.

I am not the type of person to quit on a perfectly good security blanket just because its seen a little wear. Luckily my mother is not either. She shopped around and found some red cotton that was (probably?) a lot like the original fabric. She recovered that side and folded over and sewed the black side to make an edging. What an angel of a mom I have. I didn't even ask her to do it. She just saw its condition and offered it for me.

I don't know why I love this blanket so. Last night with out it I tossed and turned all night. What is it in a piece of cloth that can physically make my anxieties subside? I don't know. But it definitely has a powerful and real effect on me. One time during some very difficult times of depression and anxiety I was calmed by taking some homeopathic drops infused with some flowers and some of my own tears. I don't know how that worked either but it did. Maybe the tears are the trick. My blanket has certainly been soaked in tears on many occasions!

I've passed this love or this need on to my children. Maybe it is genetic (wait..all my kids don't have my DNA). String Cheese definitely chose her blanket as an infant and calls it "Billy". Billy was once white but is now quite gray. Deedle also decided on her blanket, or "Bee Bee". It was given to me by some Mexican friends when SC was born and is very heavy. But Deedle crawled upon it one day and has never let go. It got a large hole in it from a stroller accident. I tried to replace it but now Deedle just has TWO very heavy BeeBees. Loumy has adopted "socca blanket". I checked in on them just now to see if they indeed were sleeping with their security blankets. Sure enough. (see pics)

So, why did I spend this much time on a post about security blankets? Well, they are an important part of our life around this house and for some reason most of us can't even sleep with out them. I thought anything that important must be recorded for my posterity. And my apologies for those of you (all two or three of you) who took the time to read this. I hope you are not cursing at me for causing you to abide such a boring post.

Nappy Roots

Click Play to create the proper ambiance for this post.

A few days ago Chancho and I got new cell phones. Then today he bought me a tiny little memory card for the phone and showed me how I can just hook my phone right to my computer and quickly download photos.

Tonight during family night, Loumy sat on my lap as we all played "Feed the Kitty". I started messing with his hair that I've been braiding and twisting for the last couple of months. I wondered if it would be possible to undo twists I had made. To my surprise, I could! Having lost my own hair over two years ago, I enjoy messing with my children's as much as they will allow me. So, I started unbraiding and untwisting Loumy's hair until he could tolerate no more. His nappy head totally inspired me to try out the new camera phone (photos aren't great but aren't terrible and definitely a quick way to snap photos on the go). These photos of Loumy also reminded me about the song that should be playing while you read this post.

Jason introduced me to a cool group quite some time ago by the name of Nappy Roots. In fact, I think we listened to this song "Po' Folks" a lot while dating. Little did I know that some day I would have my own little son with his own nappy roots! In case you aren't sure what I mean by nappy, please see the photos below:

A Great Day

Today I was able to go to the temple to see a boy sealed to his family. I don't think he remembers me or knows who I am. But I feel strongly that I knew him before this life. To see him sealed to his family felt like a huge weight was lifted from me that I didn't even know I was carrying. What a happy, happy day.
It has been years, maybe decades, since I wrote any poetry, but this came to me tonight.

I saw your picture, I heard the stories, I knew what I had to do.
I got an a plane as quick as I could and flew to Texas for you.

You called me Mommy for a week, I hoped that you were mine.
I held you and rocked you while you slept, my love for you was blind.

For that short time I loved and prayed as much as any mother can,
But through my tears God told me that He had another plan.

Through the Lord’s tender guidance and with all the faith we had,
The path was shown, the door was opened, we found your Mom and Dad.

You were born in dire circumstance, struggled in a foreign land,
But all that time God watched over you and held you in his hand.

I shudder to think of all the pain that your sweet soul’s been through.
But with the love of your healing Savior, your heart will be made new.

In five short years you’ve lived and seen more than any child should see.
Now through His grace and guidance, you are where you’re supposed to be.

Your parents struggled, they fasted and prayed to help it all come true.
Today, after much faith and patience, God has finally sealed them to you.

So breathe easy now, my little one, you’ll be thrust to a new home never,
At last my heart can rest in peace—you’re a Russell now and forever.

New Dinner Rules

I was in the kitchen finishing up dinner when this conversation took place.
String Cheese: What are you making?
Me: Turkey and mashed potatoes.
Deedle and SC: Ew! Gross! Yuck!
Me: What are you talking about?
Deedle: (in a very accusatory tone) You NEVER make Ramen Noodles any more!!!

I had ambivalent feelings towards this comment. I have set a goal to make a sit-down family dinner more often (rather than scrambling through out the day, then when the kids are exhausted, quickly making them some Ramen noodles and having Jason fend for himself while I eat a Balance Bar). So, no recent Ramen memories meant that I had been doing well with my goal! Yet, the disrespect was not something to be happy about. So, we sat down to eat and after the prayer I began a discussion about mealtime etiquette.
1. You may NOT say that anything I make is yucky or gross. That hurts my feelings and is also disrespectful.
2. AFTER a food has been tasted, if you don't like it you may say, "This is not my favorite thing. Is it okay if I don't eat all of it?"

We continued with the discussion, with some good input from the girls and only one comment from Loumy, "I always like it, Mom." Which I am so grateful for, because he does. He was starved for the first 9 months of his life and he continues to make up for lost time. I also pointed out that my rules are good ones because the smoothie I made (my wonderful discovery of how to get my kids to eat fruit and veggies at dinner) was actually very delicious to Deedle, even though she was sure it was going to be disgusting because it had Orange Juice in it. (what???)

As the conversation began to die down, Loumy, who had mostly just been shoveling turkey into his face as quickly as he could, says, "I hab a woowoh."
Me: What did you say?
Loumy: I hab a woowoh.
String Cheese interprets: He says he has a rule.
Chancho: Okay, let's hear your rule.
Loumy (completely serious): No wooking at peopo's bums.

So, it is settled. No complaining about Mom's cooking, try everything, and no looking at people's bums. Pretty good meal etiquette and successful family dinner, if you ask me.

Ten Reasons I Love Chancho

1. He buys String Cheese (new code name for daughter #1) books that he liked as a kid and reads her each night.
2. He treats me no differently whether I'm gargantuan pregnant, whether I'm bald or have long hair, whether I'm active and happy or in a deep depression. He loves me the same.
3. He wears a t-shirt that has "geek" printed across the front.
4. He can do anything tricky on a computer. He even made it so that you can't see that my music is playing you can only hear it. Amazing.
5. He never, ever flirts with other women.
6. He makes dinner a lot.
7. When he gets interested in something, he totally dives in completely and learns every little thing about it.
8. He makes me laugh all the time.
9. I never get tired of him or wish that I could be away from him for a little while.
10. He likes my brothers and sisters.
11. He hasn't complained about my new implementation of "Saturday morning chores".
12. He never tells me what to do with our money, just lets me take care of it and trusts me completely.
13. He never swears. He has a much cleaner mouth than mine and I'm really not foul.
14. Every time our kids get a new toy he is always the one to undo the billion little twisty-ties and put anything that needs constructing together.
15. He is very handsome.
16. He is very sensitive to knowing when I'm upset and doesn't just brush it off but helps to make me feel better.
17. He is very much my partner in family matters--never makes me feel like he's above me nor that I'm the one in charge. Any big decision is about "us" not him or me.
18. When I want to do something that he thinks is crazy he doesn't tell me I'm crazy but will listen and actually pray about it.
19. He is SO so so smart.
20. He is very humble and always does what is right even when it sometimes seems those things have gone unrewarded.
21. Every once in awhile he will surprise me by just bringing me home a treat that I might like from a bakery or a book that he thought I might like.
22. He has a naturally good smell.
23. In Haiti last summer everybody was going completely crazy due to chaos but he just took charge and remained completely calm.
24. He came up with the idea for Haitian Roots and put the entire thing together--business plan, IRS application, website, etc. etc.
25. He takes our kids trick-or-treating and lets me just sit there and hand out candy.
26. He is never mean and teaches our kids to never be unkind to anybody.
27. If I have ever been away for even a couple of hours, or especially overnight, he tells me all the funny things that the kids say which reminds me how much he adores them.
28. He decided that his codename on here will be Chancho.
29. Yesterday (2/27) he brought me home a dozen colored roses for no reason except, "I felt like it."
30. When I ask him how to do something, he quickly shows me and then asks, "Any more Brain Busters?"

more to come as I think of them...

Loumy Loumy Lou

My son is so cool. He was just born that way. All I do is love him and feed him and he keeps getting more and more awesome. Here is one of the things he likes to do--play his $10 WalMart guitar he got for Christmas.

Deedle Dances

This is such a happy moment for me because I figured out how to add some music to play for you all when you come to my blog. It is the introduction to Flight of the Conchords and fits my personality quite well. Maybe I will change it later, but for now I am just pleased as punch and keep dancing around in my chair when it comes on.
This made me think of my little Deedle. Oh, that girl loves to dance. From practically the moment she emerged from my womb, she was a little dancer. I hope some of these photos and the short video clip will give you a quick glimpse into the delight that is Adelaide. She has gone from nothing but the sweetest angel of light and happiness to an angry little spitfire most of the time. But I am so enamored with her.

FLOC

My sister, Megan, introduced me to the HBO comedy series. It has brought me much joy and happiness so I thought I better blog about it for a minute. It chronicles the struggles of a two man band from New Zealand. Bret and Jemaine have moved to New York City in hopes of making it big. Oh, I do love Bret and Jemaine. I just listen to the opening credits and I almost start to pee my pants. I have to cover my mouth if other people are around because it is embarrassing that I laugh so loudly, especially since the show is just weird enough that I am often the only one laughing. Because I don't have HBO, I was very excited for the first season to come out on DVD. I would suggest checking out this song from my very favorite episode:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FArZxLj6DLk

This next song was written by Jemaine for me. He always tells me I'm the most beautiful girl in the room:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lmDTSQtK20c

Proper Perspective

I have dealt with a condition called Alopecia Areata for almost 20 years now. Quick definition: Alopecia is a genetic auto-immune disease which causes hair loss. I found my first bald patch when I was 14. For the last 19 years I have experienced every stage of loss. I have had many years of patches coming and going, I lost all of the hair on my scalp 10 years ago, then it regrew 18 months later. I had some patches after the births of my two daughters. Then it grew back. Then I had a crazy case of Hep A which I contracted at the time I brought my little Haitian son home. I was sick for many months and I again lost all of my hair. It has now been over 2 years and no signs of regrowth. I have also lost my eyebrows, lower eyelashes, nose hairs, cilia in my ears and lungs, and patches over the rest of my body.

For a woman living in a society where looks are so important and seem to equate our worth, it has been a struggle. But I've grown a lot, I hope. I still fight the fight. I hope and pray it grows back. But I've been able to get to a place where I feel okay to look at myself in the mirror. It is my goal to be able to look at my reflection at any time and say, "That's me and I'm okay however I look." And that is my challenge to each of you who happens upon my post. Our weight may go up and down. Our skin may look beautiful or really blotchy. We may have beautiful hair or we may not. But that reflection in the mirror is not who you truly are. If you don't believe me, dig a little deeper.

Today at dinner Grace touched her bruised cheek then looked at Jason and said, "Oh, dad...I think this is going to hurt until my resurrection." I had to quickly cover my mouth with a napkin and fake a cough so she wouldn't hear me laugh. But it also touched me to know that somewhere inside her is the understanding that the things of this life are temporary.


This photo is a picture of me with my Dad. He also has Alopecia Areata and I inherited it from him. Sometimes he feels guilty about this but if I have inherited anything else of his intellect or compassion then the Alopecia is certainly worth it. I like to see the love he has for me on his face and to think about how much more my other Father (in Heaven) loves me. When I remember these things, I know how badly they want me to be happy for this short time I have on this Earth. I can look at this photo and I am not disgusted any longer by what I see. It helps me have more of a proper perspective.

I Need an Icepack

My family didn't believe in ice growing up. I remember friends asking for ice water a couple of times. No, we do not have ice, was all I could say. I never knew what an icepack was nor its purpose until I hurt my ankle playing high school basketball. My coach suggested that I stick my foot in an entire bucket of ice water. I don't really like being cold so I opted out. It seemed utterly ridiculous to suffer through all kinds of coldness just to avoid some swelling.

Some months ago, my 6-year-old daughter, Grace, was complaining about a headache. I tried everything to stop her whining and then finally offered her a ziploc full of ice. It worked. Since then, the kids are constantly asking for them. I try to explain that an icepack will not do anything for a tummy ache, a hurty finger, nor a stuffy nose. But they continue to ask. It should have come as no surprise, then, when I stepped on a big pile of ice chunks on the kitchen rug. If I am not going to get an icepack for them, they'll get one themselves. I came downstairs to find Grace cuddled up on the couch with an icepack pressed gingerly against the bruise on her cheek that she received yesterday while wrestling with Andre. I just shook my head and sighed. What kind of craziness was this? Then I took a photo.

I was asked to substitute for two different indoor soccer teams tonight. They were both co-ed, which I usually avoid, but since I ate 19 sugar cookies yesterday I thought I could afford to burn a few calories. Regrettably during my first game, about 10 minutes in I was matched up against a guy who thought he was Ronaldo. In about two seconds I managed to get up against the wall and while kicking the ball, receive a swift knee to my ankle. I fell down briefly and then tried to stand but was unable to do so. As I hopped over to the sideline, I had only one thought going through my head..."I think I need and icepack."

A parlor

A few friends and sisters have inspired me to start my very own blog. If nobody ever reads it, at least I will get some journaling done.

This is not a beauty parlor or a tattoo parlor. It is Perla's parlor. Why a parlor? I have always wanted to have a parlor. Webster's says a parlor is, "a room set aside for entertaining, a small semi-private sitting room. I heard that the word "parlor" comes from the French word, "parler" or "to speak". One website said that, "The parlor was always the best room." I don't really know what that means specifically but if it was written it must be true. So, this will be my best room for chatting or reading and entertaining guests. In the evenings, after the kids are down I can finally do as so many of my most beloved fictional (and non-) characters have done in the past...I shall retire to the parlor. And you can trust that unlike most parlors that are still in existence today, this parlor is not haunted.