31 May 2011

Lard Ass or Fat Liar

People tend to to tell me that I've lost weight.  I should be jumping for joy but no, I no longer fall for it.  This compliment can only mean two things - I was a total lard ass who mistakenly thought high wedge sandals would give me Giselle Bundchen legs or they are big fat liars that have nothing better to say so they distract me by throwing in a complement.  Seriously.  The thought that everyone's last memory of me is noticeably larger than the present is not exactly on the positive side of things.  Especially when I know that beneath my loose top is a substantial amount of flab hanging over my jeans.  Let's just be more specific here, are you trying to tell me that I used to be the size of Jabba The Hut?

And no, I am not being ungrateful.  You see I am a big person who doesn't fit in most Asian sized clothes unless they have an XL or bigger.  This is a good thing if you want to feel like you have porn star boobs and no top will do them justice.  My waistline is about as big as the standard teeny tiny Asian girl's chest.  Even in high school I was on the always on the size cusp of men's jeans at Levi's.  I probably weigh as much as my manorexic triathlete cousins.  Haven't weighed myself since I was pregnant and have no intention of getting back on a scale in this lifetime.  I usually eat more than Paco but slightly less than Gael does.  Nope, I was never the sort of date that only ordered salad.  What can I say, I'm just not cut out to be your typical Asian woman I guess.    

Again, not ungrateful.  Just keeping it real.

29 May 2011

A Wedding In The Family

Gael was the ring bearer.

 Aiden was the Bible Bearer from hell.

And I spent a good part of the mass adding wrinkles to my face.

Thanks to Ines and Tito Nap for the pictures.

12 May 2011


It's no secret, I am not exactly affectionate.  I'm more on the other end of the spectrum, you know the icy side.  Did I ever mention that my high school my friends called me Stone Cold Rone?  My poor husband I never call him sweetie, love, sweetheart, babe or whatever other sappy nicknames wives usually call their spouses.  I don't like people calling me other than my name, so I do the same to everyone.  Well, until the earthlings came along and I started using the sweetest terms of endearment with them.  All of the above and more, and I didn't even care if I was being cheesy.

Of the two, Aiden is the one that enjoys the sugary nicknames and even liked to be baby talked when littler.  He giggles when I call him my baby boo boo or sweetiepatootie.  Aiden also is the cariƱoso one who assaults me with hugs and kisses all day.  He has invented new kisses and hugs of his own like the gross tongue kiss (don't even ask), the fun volcano kiss and the genius flying hug while Skyping with daddy. 

This evening I called him sweetie at bedtime.

Aiden:  Mama, don't call me sweetie.

Me: You don't like it when I call you sweetie? I thought you liked it.

Aiden:  Just call me honey.

Mommy Talks on The Mommy Journey

Homeschooling mom Christine asks me a few questions about Mothering Earthlings for her blog The Mommy Journey.

11 May 2011

My Hope Chest

I confess that I have a little hope chest.  Its tiny, really.  I've gotten impatient and frustrated along the way at the flab, the belly, the cellulite and the lack of will and discipline I've had since the earthlings invaded my healthy world.  So I've gotten rid of the clothes that I know I literally have a fat chance of ever squeezing into in the near or distant future.  Don't throw me a pity party though, I love myself too much to hate my body.  I think I know how to style myself so people can't tell that my gut is the size of my 5-month pregnant belly or that my gut, along with other midsection areas, spills over or that my flat ass is actually a fat jiggly one.

There are a few things in that hope chest that really get to me.  Four things to be exact.  The string bikinis.  I look at those miniscule three triangles that in fact make up a bathing suit in shock.  The key here is that I only look at them, never try them on.  Then I glare at myself in the mirror and call myself out "You must have been fucking hot to have rocked these!"

That thought never fails makes me feel pretty damn good.  Even if I know I will never wear a string bikini ever again.

06 May 2011


I worked hard this week, in my hot attic in this scorching heat.  So indulge me and let me shamelessly plug what's new at the Mothering Earthlings Shop.

Funky Baby Bloomers from Next9
Statement Bibs from In The Crib

In The Crib + Analog Soul = Analog Baby

Handy Dandy Tie Chair from In The Crib

End of plug.  Thank you!

The Joy of Boys 4

They think I'm the hottest woman that ever walked the universe.  How can it get better than that? Or at least they make me feel that way, it doesn't really matter to me.  Boys off all ages SHOULD make women feel like a supermodel.  I know a lot of grown men that could use a tip or two from these little earthlings.  Come on, how hard is it to remember one measly rule?  Always complement a woman.  That's it.  Simply stay clear of the ass, flab, unflattering clothes and all hell will not break loose.

I work at home and the boys are so used to seeing me in tired old dresses and ratty shorts, when I slip on something decent to step out of the house they are all gasping as if I were Giselle Bundchen walking in the latest Milan fashion week.  Mama, what a pretty dress.  You look nice, Mama.  Nothing like an ego boost before leaving the house.  As I hurriedly slab on some concealer, eyeliner and lipstick/lipgloss in the car, they look at me in amazement.  They can never get over that I 'paint' my face.    It looks so nice.  You look beautiful, Mama.  They give me that I-feel-like-a-million-bucks ooomph to my strut.  Every so often they like peeking into my shoe closet and looking at the insane, vertigo inducing wedges and high heels I have.  They have contests to see who can last the longest in them or who can walk the farthest without toppling down.  Mama, you're sooo good at walking in your shoes.  Yeah baby, just call me Naomi.

Great job, little men.  Being a gentleman never goes out of style, even if it means false flattery and little or not so little white lies.

03 May 2011

Beach Boys

With a traveling Paco and the mumps we were late in kicking off the summer, but we finally made it to the beach.  When we finally got there, we couldn't get enough of it.  The sun in our eyes, the cool salt water on our skin, the hot breeze in our hair and the sand on our toes.  We built sand castles that dreams were made of, we had adventures on kayaks and we discovered the sea creatures we read about in books.  It couldn't have been better, we were the beach bums we've always wanted to be.