Waiting

Right now I am at The San Diego Children's Hospital waiting for Andrew to get out of surgery. He is getting an ear tumor removed. The medical name for the growth is long and contains a g or maybe a c and is hard to pronounce. However, the technical name sounds far less dismal than tumor.


It's benign and essentially no big deal other than the idea that it is getting in the way of his hearing. So here we are on a cloudy Monday afternoon waiting for the news that the little guy is okay.

In the waiting room, four seats down a man is holding a copy of the Reader story I wrote about TJ. IT makes me feel a little uncomfortable. I have never been in the presence of a stranger reading from a magazine with my face on it. My photo is plastered just underneath his left thumb. I can't help staring at him wondering what he thinks and if he is reading my article or the help wanted ads?

A couple of hours ago Andrew and I were in a small room, he was reading a thick novel I just bought him for Christmas and I was watching the Rachel Zoe project. The anesthesiologist came in to discuss the procedure with us. He had a mole on his left eyelid. It made him look gentle like a guy with make-up on or someone unashamed to wear a kilt. While he explained what would happen during the surgery I stared at his small round freckle.

Ten minutes later a nurse in zebra print clogs walked Andrew down a long hallway. Half of his back was exposed from the hospital pajamas he was wearing that featured sleeping tigers. Andrew looked back and waved quickly before disappearing down the corridor.

Now I wait, anxious to see him. No matter how routine the surgery is I am still worried and won’t feel comfortable until I see his face.

Family Photos

I am vehemently against studio portraits. I think they’re dripping with cheesiness. However, that very well maybe due to the fact that my parents had a framed photo of the three of us kids (Michelle, Roger, and I) hanging in their bedroom. At first glance it was adorable. My sister and I are both wearing puffy dresses and Roger was sporting a nice stripped polo. On further inspection you will notice that my hand is planted firmly inside my diaper. The photo was source of perpetual embarrassment. Oddly I never mentioned how offensive I found it until was in my late teens at which point my mom explained that I had a diaper rash or bladder infection or some similar aliment. “Every shot they took, your hand was inside your diaper. Other than the placement of your hand the photo was cute.” I would disagree with that statement.


This year instead of opting for a JcPenny Picture Studio photo with a blue or forest themed backdrop my friend Nicole and I took turns taking pictures of each other’s families. I am really happy with the results. 

Shoot em Up

When the boys were toddlers I had a strict anti-gun toy rule in my home. They were not allowed in my house ever! Aaron’s brothers have never believed in this rule and without fail always ended up buying them some wildly inappropriate plastic toy gun for birthdays or as Christmas gifts. I would always throw them away.


Andrew and Jacob used to chew their sandwiches into the shapes of guns and run around pretending to shoot each other. They would fashion just about anything into a gun. It appeared my ban on toy guns was futile.

When Andrew was 5 we moved to a new home. There were so many kids in our neighborhood that it was like a 24 hour amusement park. Many of the kids had toy guns. I eventually gave in about the guns. Now I don’t care so much, also they are old enough  that the allure of playing with such things is pretty much gone.

Last Sunday we had Conrad and Jesse over to celebrate Jake’s birthday. We ate cake, and sang Happy Birthday, and then Jake opened his gifts. Conrad bought him Call of Duty, a game in which you shoot people.  Jesse bought him a bb gun.

Can you believe that!?

Forget about my toy gun rule now my kid has a real one!

Aaron tried to pull the same stunt with Andrew on his tenth birthday. He called me from the store to alert me that he was purchasing our kid a bb gun. I told him that if he came home with such a thing he might as well get used to the idea of sleeping on the couch for the rest of his life. He didn’t buy it. However the following year he did. Andrew opened up his gift and looked at in with a mixture of fear and sheer panic.

“Bring it back,” He told Aaron “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

It was returned the following day. Aaron told me that I was a brainwasher. I’m okay with that.

Jake didn’t have the same reaction. He was so excited and an outing to shot bottles in the wilderness has already been scheduled. I told Jesse that when and if one of my children loses an eyeball from a bb I will kill him. He didn’t seem to care.

The Brauns are annoying.

It's not a Braun Thanksgiving Unless you Blow Something Up

We spent Thanksgiving in Mexico this year.

The highlight of the trip was the day after Thanksgiving. Aaron and his dad came up with the genius idea of blowing up the leftover turkey carcass with fireworks on the beach.

It’s never dull when you hang out with Brauns. Here are some photos:

Change is good

I am over my blonde hair.  I'm thinking of going brownish red or a strawberry color.  Here are few shades I'm thinking of.  Feel free to weigh in.

Bela the Great

It’s 5pm on a Tuesday evening and I am trapped in a 9ft by 10ft office lacking windows with my dog’s veterinarian. Amelia is balancing on my lap while holding a pink plush stuffed animal nearly half her size. Jake is sitting Indian style on the floor, our dog’s head resting in his lap. My dog smells funny. She is emulating a scent of wrank breath and farts. It’s not pleasant. Everything the vet says is in a whisper as if she thinks the volume of her voice will not reach my children’s ears, even though they are sitting just as close to her as I am.


She thinks my dog will die, I can tell. She doesn’t say it. I think mostly for the sake of the kids, but it is implied by her demeanor and the way she solemnly pats Bela on the head, and places a handwritten phone number to a 24 hour vet clinic in my hand saying, “Just in case” before ushering us out.

That night I cannot sleep. I go downstairs and cuddle up next to Bela who is more annoyed by my presence than anything else. She still isn’t eating.

In less than a week the two year anniversary of my dad’s death will be upon me. It seems too familiar—the shallowness of Bela’s breathing, the lack of eating, the knowing fear that I will wake up and she will be gone.

Over the phone earlier that day I told Aaron that I didn’t think there was an ounce of fairness in the idea I could lose my dog so close to the anniversary of my dad’s death. He doesn’t know what to say, he never does. He has work to do, he tells me, so he hangs up.

Aaron bought Bela for me the first Christmas we spent together. I was just nineteen at the time. I was pregnant with Andrew. Bela was our “pretend baby”. She has been the quiet and not so quiet, presence in our lives for all the big things—the births of our kids, the blossoming of mine and Aaron’s relationship, the fights, the tears, the moments of pure and utter happiness, our cross country move to San Diego.

After my dad died I felt like Aaron was too emotionally distant to be there for me. He tried in his own fumbling way but I resented him for his lack of sensitivity. In fact, I felt like there wasn’t a single person apart from my mom and my sister who understood how sad I was. Bela was the only one I cried in front of.  It was Bela who would quietly sit by me when I was at my saddest. It was almost as if she knew how heartbroken I was. She would make her way towards me and reast her head in my lap--the dog version of offering a tissue.  It’s odd to say but I felt more bonded to my dog then anyone else in those days.

Now Bela is sick and it breaks my heart.

This morning I made Aaron go down stairs before me to check on her, just in case. I didn’t want to be the one to find her. “She’s okay” he shouted up to me.

She was. Despite the very dismal report from our vet, today she appears to be doing much better. She was even drinking from her water bowl and polished off a little bit of her food. After dropping the kids off at school she barked letting me know it was time for her walk, something she hasn’t had the effort to do in three days. I’m thinking she might make a full recovery.

Right now I am thinking that I hate my vet for putting me through some serious emotional terrorism. More than anything I am just thankful that my dog is going ot be okay.

Our Mini Britney

The flu has wreaked havoc on our house this week. I was the first to come down with it. Mine set in on Saturday. It rained all day and the kids were cooped up inside half of the weekend. We promised them that we would go bowling as a family to make up for a craptastic weekend. Against my better judgment I joined them despite my 101 temperature. I am an easily agitated person. When I am sick my tendency towards rage is elevated to a degree that is frightening.

Since Aaron is a government employee we have the awesome perk of being able to go on the local military base. We can use their awesome bowling alley complete with a free arcade and free movie theatre.

Due to the rain every single military family in San Diego was at the bowling alley that day. After about a half an hour I wanted to roll up into a ball and hide underneath a table. Instead I found a cozy corner near the door away from the numerous sticky faced screaming children.

While my kids played video games with Aaron, I watched Coyote Ugly via closed captioning, since it was too loud in there to hear much of anything. At the table next to me was a thickly accented family that said things like ya’ll and dog-on. They appeared to be eating every single fried item on the bowling alley menu. I was already nauseous and feverish—they didn’t help matters. They all lacked basic table manners. It was kind of like watching a group of coyotes on the nature channel. I half expected to hear a narrator explain the events. I couldn’t help but stare at them with a mixture of disgust and wonder. Their toddler was sucking on the remnants of someone else’s chewed up Buffalo wings while slurping on a soda. It was appalling.

Normally I am a lovely person but when I am battling the flu and surrounded by people who are eating with their mouths opened I get highly disgruntled.

Finally after an hour and a half of waiting we finally secured a bowling lane. My boys either love or hate each other. With them there is rarely a middle ground. Bowling tends to bring out the worst in them. They are highly competitive and it kills them when the other is bowling better. I was certain they were on the brink of a fist fight. Luckily Amelia saved the day by distracting them.

Amelia has an affinity for really terrible pop music. The bowling alley was blasting it. At first Amelia was merely bobbing her head along to the music. When Katie Perry’s California girls Came on she started rolling around on the bowling alley floor. Her dance moves resembled a Madonna video from the 80’s.  One of the ones where she is rolling around with a microphone and pearls in a highly sensual yet creepy way.

Half way into the song Amelia really got into it and started throwing her hands up in the air along with the rolling.  The boys took one look at Amelia and died laughing. They couldn’t stop. Aaron looked on horrified. I wondered if the family of fried food enthusiasts was judging us for our mini Britney Spears kinda of like I judged their soda loving toddler.

“She is so going to be that girl at the party!” I told Aaron.   He was not amused. 

Lesson for the day:  Don't judge people for their nasty eating habits because they may judge you for allowing your daughter to act like a music video extra.