Heaven is a place on earth with you.

Grilled Gourmet Taco With Chicken

There is a place located just on the outskirts of heaven.  The foothills, if you will.

In the words of Liz Lemon, “I want to go to there!”

The menu, being nothing short of divine, causes me to have adulterous thoughts.  Positively sinful, I tell you.  The Grilled Gourmet Taco with chicken owns my soul.  It wants me to marry it and have little taco babies.  Swaddled in corn tortillas.  I’m not really a taco person.  I’m a fajita fan.  And when it comes to tortillas, I choose flour.  Almost every time.  Because few can make a delicious corn tortilla to my liking.

Rubio’s takes the cake.  Rules the roost.  Is the cat’s pajamas.  The bee’s knees.  The bomb-digity-boomspice.  The shiz.

I feel like I’m leaning my shoulder on a roadside Mexico taco cart.

The blending of flavors is something to be yearned for.  To be sought after.  To long.  To leave ones spouse for and have an illicit affair with.  Ok, maybe I’m just hungry at this point, but I swear to you that every single time I order this delectable morsel, it’s better than the last time.  No lie.

The problem with an order of corn tortillas overflowing with marinated chicken, toasted cheese, lettuce, avocado, bacon, cilantro, onion, lime, and some magic sauce that is probably induplicable by civilians, is that once it’s over, all you can do is wait for the next mealtime.  And I say civilians, because the chefs are on a level beyond all of us common citizens.

It’s a good thing Rubio’s has no locations east of Denver.  I would be as big as a house and twice as broke.

Jim wants to open a branch.  I’m whole-heartedly behind this vision.

Card Carrying Member of Adulthood

I feel like I’ve legit got my parent card now.

I’ve taken a kid to the emergency room.

In the middle of nowhere.

On vacation.

It’s a hipster story too.  Ironic and whatnot.  And with mommy angst.

Ok, not.

But it is ironic because, well, I’m getting ahead of myself.  And really, the irony part is barely any of the story.

We’re on vacation in Southern California.  The present leg of the trip has taken us to Borrego Springs, desert middle of nowhere, San Diego County.  Jim’s dad rented a house for the week for us all to hang out in peace, relaxation, and lack of civilization.  It really is beautiful here.  The barren hills and desert vegetation are stunning against the clear blue sky.  The layout of the house is open and the amount of natural light is near-staggering.  Of course there’s a pool in the back yard.  Said back yard backs up to a golf course.  It’s quite perfect as quiet vacation spots go.  Except that the nearest Emergency Room is about 60 miles away.  Since those are apparently necessary to the raising of my offspring.

After spending a great deal of the day in the pool, we ate a delicious meal of spaghetti (if I do say so myself), and adjourned to the patio to enjoy the evening breeze.  Since the backyard consists mostly of patio and pool, my children require more than the usual amount of running space per child, and running laps around pools can easily result in a trip to the ER, I opened the gate between the small strip of yard and the gold course.  To prevent a trip to the ER.

It was an adorable few moments: 3 partially clad sun-kissed toddlers laughing and running together in an almost endless expanse of lawn.  Levi and Emberleigh raced each other.  From time to time, Levi would let his sister win.  I must be doing something right.  Chivalry is not completely deceased.  Molly meandered along behind.  The shape and size of her legs and belly prevent running per say.  Here’s where is gets tricky.  Levi grew bored with the race and began tossing his new Lightning McQueen into the grass and running to find it.  Miss Moo sauntered into the trajectory of the red Disney Pixar action figure.  It made contact with the lovely little forehead, which is evidently hard enough to remove a race car’s spoiler.

I saw the whole thing in slow motion.  It has been playing on a loop in my head ever since.

7:30pm:

• Boy throws car.
• Car hits sister.
• Sister ends up in emergency room.  Ok.  Too fast.  Rewind.
• Sister falls on her plump little behind, bleeding profusely from head wound.

Jim momentarily acquired super powers and within seconds was scooping her up and running to the house.  Wearing white shorts.  In what felt like an eternity but in reality was most likely minutes, pressure was applied to the (sniff) tiny noggin to staunch the flow of life.  A bit dramatic, I realize, but when you see blood dripping from the face of your real, live Fisher Price Little People child, moments before the mommy-adrenaline activates, a tiny part of you gets caught in your throat and you are unable to move for a fraction of a second.

Jim’s dad, also Jim Fitzgerald, or Old Man Jim, brought with him an extensive first aid kit, much better than the box of bandaids in my purse.  With towels, gauze, and pressure, we got the bleeding stopped.  Jim and his dad, who know the area, having spent a great deal of time on summer vacations in the region, Googled and phoned various nearby health care facilities, locating the nearest and most easily accessible.

It may have been the longest ride of my life.  Since the wound was to poor Moo’s head, I kept her awake the whole time, a feat not easily accomplished since her bedtime had long since passed and the movement of the truck nearly lulled her to sleep.  Thanks to a weak cell signal and the Netflix app on my smartphone, Yo Gabba Gabba entertained our little patient till we arrived at the hospital in Brawley.

As emergency room visits go, it was best case scenario.  The staff was pleasant and efficient.  Very few others were waiting to be treated.  Great amounts of paperwork graced not the agenda.  A male nurse strolling the halls handed out stickers and lollipops to the kids in various stages of emergency treatment giving my brilliant 2 year old something to count and explore while waiting to hear her name called.

I had to look away as the nurse cleaned the opening in my daughter’s face.  I still feel a shudder when my mind recalls the sight.  With all the blood, sweat, and dust cleared, it was deeper than I had realized beforehand.  I held her hand supportively as I faced the other way.  Which would have helped except that my darling husband Jim exclaimed, “O, Molly!  I can see your brain!”

I still have not cried.  All that emotion waits just below the surface and is hanging on until I am too tired to deal any longer.  I feel as if the adrenaline that coursed through my body lent me temporary super-abilities in the emotional and mental departments and has left me tired and emotionally resembling a dishrag.  I felt so incredibly capable at the time.  Now, it’s like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I’ve been watching Molly closely to be sure that in the rough and tumble play that inevitably occurs between my 3 healthy children, a blow to the head does not re-open the wound.  After gluing it shut, this was one of the few things the doctor instructed us to beware of.  And, no.  My baby did not need stitches.

Sigh.

So I have been on my toes.  Some of you have seen my children play.  Opening an existing wound is a distinct possibility.

I am also not to let her get the glue wet for the first 72 hours.  My filthy, playful child cannot be bathed in the traditional sense.  Sponge bathing my toddler is a bit like attempting to grease a live fish.  And she is a big fan of getting dirty.  I may not put sun screen or ointment on her face.  This poses a bit of a situation seeing that we are in the blazing desert and my child has rather severe eczema.  But I deal.  And I keep her inside, out of the sun.  Since she’s not supposed to sweat on it either.

It only took me 2 days to write this post.  What does that tell you?

So ‘thank you’ to Jim Fitz Sr.

To my husband.

To my little sister Kyleigh.

And the Pioneer Memorial Hospital in Brawley, CA.

To Jesus.

And to my bed.

It misses me.

I can hear it calling to me.

Along with the mindless novel on my Sony eReader.

Which I wish would kick the bucket so I can justify getting a Nook.

Amen.

Goodnight.

‘basket-case’

The phrase should denote organization and the ability to compartmentalize.

Not so.

Just a bundle of crazy.  With a myriad of loose ends.

In other news, I took my 3 kids to see Cars 2 in Temecula by myself on opening day.  Wha?!  After parking in the new parking garage (it was being built when I was here in September), I discovered that it was not the parking lot being built in September, but another altogether.  I was hence forced to push a stroller carrying literally almost 100 lbs, several blocks to the more-than-massive theater.  I was not aware that the Promenade at Temecula now resembles Victoria Gardens.

Well, it does.

Aside from my son defiling his shorts to avoid a potty break, and the subsequent TJ Maxx purchase, it went off with nary a hitch.  My children want to marry Disney/Pixar.

Darling Angels

I took this victory as encouragement.  A breakfast date with my kids at Mimi’s Cafe followed the next morning, during which time the small hellions made tremendous noise and had a delightful time devouring breakfast and several numerous sugar packets.  A dear diner informed me that I am doing a wonderful job as a mother.  How she gathered that, I will never know.  Maybe it was pity.  Maybe it was a prophecy of the future.

Despite the frazzlement, the weekend was a success.

Don’t ask me why.

I have mom hormones and they tell me odd things.

 

Hi, Chubbs!

friend

Jim and I are visiting the west coast.  Or the left coast.  Whichever you prefer.

Because North is always up on the map.

Which is good, because other than that, there is no way I’d know “which way’s up”.

The last foray into the Wild West occurred approximately 9 months ago around the 3rd anniversary of my first-born’s birth.  September has been sometime ago, and the previous sighting of the various family members and friends took place some 2 years prior upon our relocation to the right coast.  Ahem.

After spending a week in the OC, visiting the Pacific, Disneyland, and Fisherman’s (for the renowned red chowder), we made our way to Hemet/San Jacinto to spend time with the other half of the family.

Snatching a few hours for myself, I escaped the others with Emberleigh, and set out on an adventure (cue “Cat in the Hat” theme song).  First Target, since she loses a pair of earrings at some point on each venture west.  (why don’t I pack extras?!)  Then, from memory, I attempted to locate my friend’s house.  Without GPS assistance.  Really.  Am I stupid?  You should all know by now of my inability to navigate even the neatest of grids without clear directions.  If not, I should blog more.

Against all odds, all reason, and all logic, I found her house.  I felt my way there.  I remembered an intersection that reminded me of her.  Which was silly, since I’d also met her once at a park there.  She does not, I repeat, does not, live at the park.  From there, I sought out street names that sounded familiar, a dangerous employ, since my brain has the innate ability to make me believe I remember things that I have just now seen.  From one turn to the other, I attempted to talk my blood pressure into lowering.  At last, I glanced at a street sign bearing a name that indeed resonated as familiar.

Then, I proceeded to wrack my brain for the specific house number at which to locate her.  And to look for the funnest, most creative front yard on the street.  My poor, sad, dilapidated brain did not, for once, disappoint.  I was floored.  I’m convinced it’s the milled wheat.  It is the bread of life.  Not to be confused with the Bread of Life.

As I stood at her doorstep, ringing the doorbell, I received a Facebook message on my SmartPhone.  The missive informed me that she would be arriving in approximately 15 minutes.  And that the message had been sent about a 1/4 hour previous.  Also, that I had indeed guessed properly which house is her dwelling.

We picked up where we had left off so many months prior, and even more time before that.  Chatting about health, diet, kids, homeschool, life, love, marriage, and whatever else we’re both involved in.

“I thank my God in all my remembrance of you.”

She has never ceased to be an amazing friend.  No matter that we don’t often speak between visits.  I am always encouraged about life when I leave her presence.  When talking with her about the events that have passed since we last spoke, I hear myself saying things I wasn’t aware that I had learned.  I think the Lord uses our time together to remind me how much He’s changed me and helped me grow up.  I can see more clearly that He’s been walking with me the whole time despite how confused or muddled I’ve been.  It’s an almost effortless relationship in a time in my life where it seems everything else requires so much energy.  And I think of Anne of Green Gables.  You know, kindred spirits and all.

Besides, she has a cute house.  And she sews.  And decorates all cute and junk.

And I will miss her for another few months, give or take…

Thank you for being wonderful, friend.  You know who you are.  I love you.

SoCal ’11 Vacay

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vacation’s a beach.

Have you ever taken 3 wild monkeys to Disneyland?

Me neither.

Just 3 toddlers.

All my princesses in front of the Castle.

The misery-o-meter tilted towards “dangerous levels of toxin” at a few strategic points, but the kiddos remembered so much from last year’s vacation that the magic buried deep in the bowels of my soul could not resist.  Emberleigh’s face as she took in the Happiest Place on Earth reached into the future and mellowed any trace of frustration that would take place.  Molly sat agog at the varying levels of amazement that are “Small World”.  Levi’s sense of accomplishment at the defeat of Evil Emperor Zurg has repeatedly been relived in the 48 hours following.

Granted, Molly screamed bloody murder at the touch of Toy Story’s Jessie.  Levi hid his heart in the depths of Jim’s armpit.  On the other hand, Emberleigh’s embrace of the larger-than-life animated hero & heroine was sublime in it’s utter capacity of adorable.

Princess Spiderman & Friends

 

The beach also happened.  The day before Disneyland.  And since this is my blog chronology is not imperative.

the vacationing three

Jim & I got to go on a date.

To P.F. Chang’s.

Amen.

The food was delicious and I was (am) hott.