Aug 152009

amma fighter

This is Amanda- our youngest.

When Amma was born, she flew through the birth canal at such breakneck speed that she was a little…rough upon arrival. Actually, she was dark purple and quite swollen from head to toe. All the nurses looked down at her and cooed and pretended to notice that she looked like me, or Craig…but it was painfully obvious that the only human she came close to resembling yet was Rocky Balboa.

Besides the little appearance glitch, I assumed that all was well until Amma returned from her first bath with a sign on her bassinet that said, in huge block letters:


When I asked the nurse why mine was the only baby with her shortcomings advertised, she told me that since Amma was so purple, they were afraid that a nurse might panic and start to perform CPR on her. I was distraught. Every time I looked at that sign I felt like Amma was being forced to wear a baby dunce cap. I imagined all the other babies pointing at her and giggling in the nursery, scootching their bassinets away from hers so as not to be associated with the “bruised-face chick.” Stupid Snotty Jerk Babies. When the nurse suggested that I might be over-reacting, I asked her why Amma would be crying so much if not for the fact that she was terribly embarrassed.

Clearly, the Percocet hadn’t kicked in yet.

But Craig was smart enough not to suggest more drugs when I talked to him about it. He had a more creative approach to the problem. The next morning when I woke up, I noticed that another sign had been added to Amma’s bassinet. Now above her teeny purple face it said:



And since Amma was named after the most relentless and graceful fighter we’ve ever known- this was a fitting start to her little life. More on her namesake later..when I can find the words.

Aug 212009

I took the kids to Taco Bell for dinner last night. At a special all-organic one near my house.


We pulled up to the drive -thru and just as I rolled down the window to order, Tish screamed “I WANTED CHICK-FIL-A!” and burst into tears. Then Amanda started her ear-shattering hyena shrieks, you know, because Tish was crying, so why not? I looked at Chase, the last Melton standing, and he gave me his signature stoic expression – the one that means he’s mentally counting the years till he leaves for college. It had been a long day.

I screamed our order above the minivan mayhem. After we paid, the tired man behind the window handed me our…food, for lack of a better word. I looked inside and saw that our order –much like the day – was all wrong. And then my kids watched me throw the bag on the passenger seat, sigh loudly, roll my eyes, and drive off without saying thank you or goodbye to the tired taco man.

I am finding it hard to think enlightened thoughts about myself this morning. Because I have this nagging suspicion that maybe the Taco Bell man’s right to respect, patience and decency should have trumped my imaginary right to a perfectly assembled fast food meal in two minutes or less.

Perhaps I need to stopchanneling my daily frustrations into utter disgust at people like poor taco man for unforgivable transgressions such as providing me mild instead of medium hot sauce. I have decided: that is not sweet. In fact, it’s actually pretty mean – even meaner than giving me the wrong sauce.

I would like to be someone who is not mean, so this weekend I am going to practice. Only, of course, on people who don’t deserve mean, like Mr. Bell.

As for the Melton Girls, so help you God, I will turn this car around.

Aug 232009

The other night when Craig got home from work, I went to the bookstore to blow off some steam. Not a bar called The Bookstore…the actual book store. Borders. I know, somebody stop me.

Anyway…I’m sitting in the café with my latte and a pile of classic novels that I plan to start reading just as soon as I get caught up on the Gosselins…when I notice this guy across the cafe staring at me.

Here was my first thought:

OH MY GOSH maybe he recognizes me from the blog!!! Maybe I am ACTUALLY FAMOUS but I am just so humble and grounded that I don’t evenknow it. But then I remembered that the only two men who read my blog are my dad and my neighbor Pablo, and this guy didn’t look like either of them.

So my next thought was this:


And then, while I was mentally rehearsing how to relay this story to Craig, thus proving my desirability beyond a shadow of a doubt, the guy stood up and started walking toward me.

Oh, no. Oooooooh noooooooo. I am secretly terrified of boys.

“Excuse me ma’am? Ma’am? I’m sorry to interrupt you.”

“Umm…that’s okay.”

“I just thought you might want to know. When you went to get your drink I couldn’t help but notice that you have stickers all over your back. There’s like twenty of them back there.”

Thank you, Tish. Thank you very much.

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