Happy Valentine’s Day!

February 13, 2010 at 10:54 am | In KK | Leave a Comment

After mucho clamoring for more from our darling KK… you asked for it, you got it.

Below is a story about the whirlwind romance of KK and her terrific hubby, John. Houston’s legendary social scribe,CultureMap’s  Shelby Hodge, had to say about the dynamic duo.

A bombshell blonde with luscious lips and a voluptuous silhouette, Kristi Hoss wasn’t looking her best when she met oilman John Schiller. Their mutual friend Meredith Cullen had suggested that she, a native Houstonian transplanted temporarily to New Orleans, and he, the A&M grad, get together on his next business trip to the Big Easy. That was the summer of 2001.

Kristi was running two hours late for the rendezvous at one of zillionaire Jim Bob Moffet’s French Quarter townhomes, where John was overnighting. One of those typical New Orleans tropical downpours and less-than-perfect directions had our belle in a tizzy. “Frustrated, wet and nervous,” as Kristi recalls, she backed into a parked car and then walked several blocks in the rain. She was drenched.

When she finally met John, one of the first things he said was how cute she looked soaking wet. They both agree that sparks flew at that initial meeting. (Did we mention that he is tall, dark and handsome?) They began dating long-distance.

When terrorists struck the World Trade Center Towers on Sept. 11, Kristi packed her bags and moved back to Houston. That solidified the relationship. John’s teenage son and daughter, living with him, immediately took to the gregarious blonde, making a possible merger more appealing.

In the spring of 2002, John popped the question during a dinner with business associates at Shadowhawk Golf Club. Actually, he presented the ring, a serious sparkler, atop a chocolate cake that arrived as dessert. She said yes and they began planning their August wedding at the Bellagio in Las Vegas. Close to 250 friends attended their destination wedding.

Their daughter, Sinclair, turns 4 this summer, a month before their eighth wedding anniversary.

Today’s Lesson

February 13, 2010 at 9:37 am | In Ryland | 1 Comment

Remember in match class there was some sort of formula for probability… like if you had a pair of dice, each one with six sides, you would multiply a whole bunch of numbers to get the possible number of combinations of rolls? The number was HUGE. Well, I am trying to work out exactly how many possibilities for almost bad words JAMP can come up. Creative little booger has figured out that if he changes just one letter in a word, it’s no longer a bad word. For example… dammit. He’ll say “dannit” instead and then point out that it’s not a bad word. Or instead of stupid, he’ll say “lupid.” Again, not a bad word… Mommy can’t get mad. So, I figure with 26 letters in the alphabet and his cadre of about 5 words, how many possibilities are there for substitution? I’m no mathematician, but it seems like the possibilities are endless. Where is Mr. Eisenberg when I need him?

Next up we have science. I think this falls under physics, but I’m not sure (again, where the hell, or should I say, where the bell is Mr. Eisenberg??). Gravity. I barely clipped JAMP’s full glass of orange juice with my arm and down it went. Stupid gravity. Oops, I mean lupid gravity. And for the second part of our physics lesson… is there some kind of formula for splatter trajectory? Let’s just say orange juice + saltillo tile kitchen floor = big mess. Who knew orange juice could fly so far?

Keeping in mind I’d only been awake for 15 minutes at this point, while cleaning up my own mess for a change, I accidentally used the Clorox bathroom cleaner instead of the 409. So now my whole house is filled with that stinging smell of bleach. It reminds me of that one time I was in the holding tank. I’ll have to save that story for another day… I have to go try to keep my house from burning to the ground.

Happy Weekend, Y’all. xoxo Ry

Say Cheese!!

February 9, 2010 at 2:07 pm | In Ryland | Leave a Comment

Ok, so obviously it’s “post a pic of you and your kid day” for the non-Ermas. I love this photo. It’s my new favorite. I look so relaxed and happy. And look how JAMP has his hand on my face. Isn’t that sweet?!? Hey, wait a minute… what the hell happened to his top lip?

It’s no secret that I am a photo-crazed mother. I currently have 5,808 pics in iPhoto. And that doesn’t even include the ones I have deleted. For the first time in his life (although I’m sure not the last) my angel boy has become a thorn in his mommy’s side.

It seems that little boys, scratch that, BIG boys (sorry JAMP) don’t like to have their photos taken. And on the rare occasion they allow you to use the camera machine to snatch a tiny piece of their souls, they like to make funny faces. Not framable faces, not “I can send this to my grandparents” faces, rather anything they find entertaining. Here we have Exhibit A, your Honor.

As room mother for JAMP’s former class, I went to the school one morning with my camera and dutifully took photos of each child in the class. The girls would smile up at the camera all big-eyed and “look how pretty I am.” The boys, however, ran like I was passing out cooties by the truck load. The upside, I suppose, is that I don’t have a Marcus Shankenberg  on my hands. God knows there’s only room for one diva in our house. And Kipper has that position filled.

Once Upon a Time…

February 8, 2010 at 7:55 pm | In Sher | 7 Comments

In case I haven’t mentioned it, 2010 is the year that I will remember (when I am in the run down nursing home my children will no doubt commit me to) as the one I decided to stop talking about doing things and start doing things I am proud to talk about.

I am facing my fears, each and every little one of them, and I’m picking them off like my brothers used to pick off rats in the garbage dump with their shotguns. (Obsessive-compulsive disclaimer: they never did that, but it sounds so awesomely hillbilly to say they did.)

I was afraid to go skydiving, and yet I fell right out of a plane. On purpose.

I was afraid to stay in hotel rooms (because of the germs and sperms that I know live on the remote and the light switches), and yet I am routinely staying in one at least once or more a month. On purpose.

And today I am proud to say I checked another one off the list. I GOT A ROOT CANAL!!!!!! Yay!!! Not only did I get a root canal, I drove myself there and I didn’t even get any gas or dance with Prince Valium beforehand.

Here’s why this is HUGE for me. You see kids, I have a horrible fear of dentists. I know everyone says they hate the dentist, but you need to wrap your mind around what I mean.  It doesn’t matter that I am a grown woman who can legally drink and drive (but never at the same time), nor does it matter that I have given birth to two big-headed babies (my son’s head was like a beach ball).

When I walk in the front door of a dentist’s office, I respond the same way I did when I was a little girl and developed this fear – I immediately and spontaneously burst into tears (and not soft, pretty tears like a soap opera star).

I sob. I mean I SOB! Out loud. AND EVEN BETTER – I STUTTER. Horribly. I can’t get words to come out of my mouth. There I will sit  in my fake eyelashes (which because of the crying are only half glued on at this point), blowing snot bubbles and stuttering in a way that would make Forest Gump refuse to sit by me on the short bus.

But not today, babies. Not today! For today, the Sherinator kicked dental phobia’s behind up and down and all around Kansas City. I marched myself right in the front door, filled out my own paperwork and opened wide. I never even whimpered, or stuttered, or peed myself. (Until I gave them the $495 co-pay.)

As I was laying in that upside downey chair, listening to Hot Dentist Guy breathe and shove things up in my gum, something clicked in my brain in a BIG way. My first thought was, “Crap! He just nicked the part of my brain that knows how to make biscuits!” and then I realized I was just having an epiphany. (They sound very similar.)

If I have lived 45 years believing that dentists are evil creatures to be feared because they live only to cause pain and now I know THAT story is not true…

what other stories have I told myself that might not be true?

I think it’s time to find out. I want to find out. I have to find out.

I can only hope the one about the duck and the spatula who walk into a bar is true. That one is my favorite.

WHO DAT?!?

February 7, 2010 at 10:49 pm | In Three Funny Chicks | Leave a Comment

The non-Ermas love us some New Orleans Saints. For several reasons. First, we all love shiny stuff. Especially Sher. She’s getting a root canal tomorrow and will be adding some more gold to her grill. Second, we all wear black. A lot. Especially KK and Ry. Sher wears bright colors like purple and green, but throw in some gold and every day is Mardi Gras in her closet.. Third, on September 21, 1971 at 3:45am, a blonde baby girl  Saints fan came into the world (yes, Ry was BORN blonde). Lastly, KK spent several years lighting up the city of New Orleans with her baby blues. Congratulations to the Saints and the City of New Orleans.

Bless my coal mining heart.

February 3, 2010 at 5:08 pm | In Sher | 7 Comments

Loretta Sherri Lynn

I have a toothache. The first one I’ve had since I was about eight years old, I think. As a result, I had to go to see the devil dentist this morning.

I’m afraid of dentists. I know they say dentists are more afraid of me than I am of them, but that can’t be right. As far as I know, a dentist has never burst into tears just because he walked in my front door.

Husbands maybe. Dentists? Never.

Mr. Man nearly threw up blood when he found out I was in so much pain I was admitting I needed to go to the dentist. That’s because he has seen me in dental DEFCON 1 before. I absolutely freak the hell right on out.

“I am going to get up in the morning and actually go in to see the dentist, before you even get there” he said. “I’ll make sure all the paperwork is filled out and that they understand you are not to sit in the waiting room whatsoever.”

That’s what he did. And while he was doing that, I did what I often do when I’m very nervous. I painted my face with about 8 layers of Max Factor prime & spackle and I poofed my hair. The closer the appointment to go to the dentist got, the bigger my hair got. By the time I actually walked out of the house to get in the car, my hair was so giant and Loretta Lynnie I could have easily been Taylor Swift’s twin – if her twin was born forty years earlier than she was and looked absolutely nothing like her whatsoever.

The good news is I have what the devil dentist categorized as a “serious” infection that hurts all the way down into my chest. Woot! The better news is I have to have a root canal. Woot to the extreme!

Thankfully I was given a prescription for drugs that will help – so I’ll be in tippity top shape to go to Kitten’s this weekend and find out whether I’m going to be a Grandma or a Grandpa at the gender reveal party.  I am scared outta my ever lovin’ mind to have a root canal but honestly, it hurts so much this afternoon even WITH drugs that I might be perfectly willing to do the deal myself using a crochet hook and a potato.

Yes. A potato. I don’t even know what that means. Thank you, Darvocet.

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