Like any little kid, when I woke up from a nightmare I would instantly go to my parents room looking for comfort. Naturally my mom would wake up and ask me what was wrong. I’d explain to her about my nightmare while she’d hold me and tell me everything was alright. After she had calmed me down a bit I’d ask if I could stay in their bed for the rest of the night.

Never in the history of my little life was I allowed to get sleep in my parents bed with them. If I was lucky my mom would make a little bed out of blankets next to their bed, but never in their bed.

If I woke up in the middle of the night and realized I was sick, my mom would make herself a little bed next to my bed and sleep next to me there. But never ever were any of us allowed to sleep in their bed.

It was just a rule they had. And dude, they stuck to it. In all my years I never recall a time when I slept with my parents in their bed at night. Nor do I recall any of my siblings being allowed to sleep in their bed either.

When I was pregnant with Babboo I read all the books that said how unsafe co-sleeping was. I read about suffocation and other scary things. The King and I didn’t come up with any specific plans about whether or not we’d co-sleep once the kid was born. I don’t even think we discussed it. But in my mind, I didn’t think we’d do it.

And then Babboo was born. And I learned that getting up in the middle of the night to breastfeed your kid is hard. And waking up at the crack of dawn is even harder. I found that I could breastfeed him while cozied up in bed. I also learned that if Babboo woke up too early in the morning that he’d go back to sleep if I just brought him into the bed with us.

We also learned that we love Babboo to pieces and we love to snuggle him and be close to him at all times of the day and the night.

Which means we liked having him in our bed. It made life easier.

Or rather, it made life easier for a bit. While he didn’t sleep with us every night, eventually Babboo got a little bigger and started to kick more and so he stopped sleeping with us at all.

It seems that the only time Babboo sleeps in our bed is on the weekends. It’s our little way to trick him into sleeping just a little bit longer so that mommy and daddy don’t want to jump off the balcony due to lack of sleep.

The last few weekends Babboo has been sleeping later and later. He even stayed in bed longer then the both of us this last Saturday. And even when he does wake up, he wants to stay in the bed and just hang out by himself.

Knowing how much we like to snuggle Babboo makes me wonder why I was never allowed in my parents bed. Maybe they’re just old skool and people didn’t do that back then. Maybe it’s not as much fun as your kids get older.

So tell me, were you allowed to sleep with your parents when you were a kid? And if so, did you like it? As a kid I always imagined I would have liked it.

I always sit in the back of the class during Sunday school. Even though The King is the teacher, I suck and usually sit back there so I can catch up on the week’s happenings with my friends.

I assure you that I’m amazing and can listen completely to what The King happens to be teaching, and also hear about who’s pregnant, who’s recently engaged, and who’s moving. You know, the things that Jesus would want me to learn in Sunday school.

Yesterday started out no different from any other Sunday. That is until they sent around a sign-up sheet for the upcoming potluck Thanksgiving dinner at our church. (I signed up to bring a dessert, thanks for asking. I figure I can just buy something from the store on our way to the church. I don’t have time to bake anything.) Anyway, at this time I happened to look down at the pink pen that was attached to the sign-up sheet and noticed it was a advertisement pen, which is fine, except that is was advertising something that maybe isn’t the most church approved.

Oh yes, it’s the Hanky Panky Band from Seatac, Washington.

(I quick google search for this particular band proves that their advertisements didn’t help much.)

Poor, poor Hanky Panky Band. Maybe you should have advertised at places other then churches. I’m just saying.
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Remember how I mentioned something about exciting news pertaining to SeattleMomBlogs and me last week? Well, as off today, I officially write my own column over there!! So come on over and learn a little more about what it’s like to be a mom and a woman working nine to five.

(I actually work seven to three. Can I still sing the song about working nine to five, or is that misleading? And seriously, does anyone get to start work at nine? Dude, that’s late.)

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And you know you want to read about my latest New Thing. It involved pretty shoes and good bargains.

My dad’s mom died the year before I was born. I saw my first picture of her when I was twelve. She was wearing a white dress and standing in her garden. Looking at her picture was like looking at a picture of my dad. They had so many of the same features. She had gray hair like my dad. She had the same frame as my dad. She had the same mouth as my dad.

Since my dad had a rough upbringing, he rarely spoke of his life before he and my mom were married. It was rare that he would speak about his mom, but when he did he spoke only good things. He would talk about how, when life wasn’t going so well, she was strong enough to pack up her kids and look for a better life for them. I think I remember him telling me that she had beautiful handwriting and that people would hire her to address envelopes.

I really don’t know anything about this woman, who I tend to forget, is also my grandma. I know so little that once when my folks were out here in Washington visiting, my dad told me that my grandma had lived here when she died. I couldn’t believe that I didn’t know that she had lived in the same state that I now lived.

A few months after Babboo was born I received an e-mail from my dad. It isn’t unusual for me to get e-mails from him. He sends me cute little notes all the time. (In fact, just this morning I was met with this picture in my inbox.) So while it isn’t unusual for me to get e-mail from him, this particular one was a little unusual. There were two attachments, one named “Delcy’s song 1″ and the other “Delcy’s song 2″. My heart started to race.

Delcy is my grandma’s name.

I opened one of the attachments and found that it was a scanned, handwritten note from my grandma Delcy to my dad.

I had never seen anything so personal that belonged to my grandma. Not only was I seeing something that she had touched, this was a song that she had written herself. A song that she sang to my dad when he was a baby.

My dad, who doesn’t type very fast, typed out a long note explaining a little about the attachments.

Isabel,

Here are some songs my mom sang to me. She sent the handwritten pages to me on August 23, 1972 so I could sing them to my children. Some of them were written in green ink and are very hard to copy.

Your mom was pregnant with Biff when Delcy sent this letter and she was dying of cancer. She didn’t know it yet. She died on February 4th, 1974 at the age of 53. The doctor didn’t realize she had cancer until it was too late. We went to see her at Thanksgiving time right after Biff was born. The next Thanksgiving she was in the hospital and she wasted away very quickly. Life is fragile and short.

When your Mom and I got married my mom was thrilled. She loved your Mom because she was good and sweet and because she loved me. My mom and your mom are very similar. My mom was smart and talented and I loved her so much. I was mad at God for taking her and it was a major trial in my life. I think I was mad because I depended on her for strength and direction. Now I use your mom.

When we come up to visit I will teach these songs to you so you can sing them to your children.

Love, Dad

When my dad met Babboo for the first time he held him on his lap while my mom and I hugged. I looked over at my dad, holding his first grandson, and heard him whispering the words to one of the songs my grandma had written for him over fifty years ago.

It was one of the most personal moments I’ve ever witnessed and I admit I felt a little out of place. That moment wasn’t for me.

It was for my dad, my son and my grandma Delcy.

Ever since my friend May showed us all how to make iron-ons, I’ve been going a little crazy with them. And by crazy, I mean by this time next year everyone from the internet will be sporting some sort of Isabel original (stolen image) iron-on.

I’ve got a new nephew expected in the next month. So far I’ve made the kid so many iron-ons that The King had called for a Stop Work on any future onesie making. (I mailed my mom the extra ones I hadn’t ironed on yet, in hopes that she had some onesies she could iron them onto.) I mean really, my brother’s baby needs a Grand Theft Auto onesie.

In the iron-on making frenzy I have successfully graced every oneise Babboo has ever owned with some sort of kitschy designed iron-on. He goes to school every morning with a newly decorated shirt. It’s too bad since I’m sure his teachers don’t fully appreciate his Guns N’ Roses shirt of his This American Life one either.

I bought some new blank t-shirts the other day to start on Babboo’s Halloween costume. (Don’t ask. Just wait. You’re gonna love it.) I had some extra ones so The King suggested I make an iron-on of Babboo’s favorite show in the entire world; Jack’s Big Music Show. In am attempt to not sound like a huge dork and over-talk some kids program I won’t go on and on about it*. But if you haven’t ever seen Jack’s, I suggest you do.

I printed the Jack’s iron-on a few days ago, and since then Babboo has been carrying it around with him. I was getting nervous that he would ruin the iron-on, so last night I got out the iron and ironed it onto his new shirt. I showed it to him and he immediately smiled and said “Jack”. (Or rather “Gak”, but I knew what he meant.)

He fell asleep last night snuggled up to the shirt.

When he woke up this morning the first word out of his mouth was “Gak”. I quickly dressed him in his new shirt and he did a little dance. All the while pointing to his chest and saying “Gak, Gak” over and over again.

I’m thinking his new shirt is a hit.

And much more appreciated then his Rhett Miller one I made him last week.

*Laurie Berkner is on almost every episode, as well as Lisa Loeb, Dan Zanes, Steve Burns (formerly of Blue’s Clues), and The Dirty Sock Funtime Band (who has a member that looks a lot like RudeCactus). Jon Stewart (yes, THE Jon Stewart) has made an appearance, and so has the lovely Cheryl Hines. Plus, there are lots and lots of squirrels.

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An interview with little old me is being featured today over at SeattleMomBlogs. Go and check it out, you know, if you want. (You also might want to save the link, since there will be more exciting news happening at SeattleMomBlogs next week!)

The first day of sixth grade Spanish class started with each member of the class choosing a “Spanish name” that they would go by for the rest of their Spanish class career. A list of authentic names was passed around for us to choose from. By the time it got to me there weren’t many options left.

I chose “Beatrice”.

I knew it didn’t sound like a very authentic Spanish name, and some of the other students reminded me of that fact. My mom had just finished nursing school, where she had met a fellow nursing student who was from Mexico. And was named Beatrice. So I knew it was authentic. And that’s all the mattered to me.

Even though I was happy being refereed to as Beatrice in Spanish class, it wasn’t my first pick of names. My first pick was Isabel, but that named was snatched up before I got to it. Of course it was, it’s a good name.

Isabel was the name my mother had when she took Spanish a million years before I did. She often said the only Spanish she ever learned was the phrase she heard the most in class, “Hola, Isabel”. Whenever my mom needed to use Spanish, she would say, “Hola, Isabel”.

It became sort of an inside joke in our family and we’d laugh anytime someone said it.

When the urge to start my own blog could no longer be suppressed, I logged into blogger and went through the steps to set up my very own blog. Right from the start I knew what I wanted to call it. That part was easy.

It would be Hola, Isabel and it would be great. Or at least I’d want it to be great.

And that, my friends, is how I came up with the name for this blog.

I often wonder how other bloggers came up with the names for their blogs. Of course, there are quite a few bloggers where I know how they came up with their names. And still there are others where it is quite obvious. And even more where I have no idea how they came up with their name.

So tell me, how did you come up with the name for your blog?! And, now that you’ve been blogging for a while, are you happy with the name?

It’s been over two years for me, and I’m still happy with mine.

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Don’t forget to check out my other blog all about TV! Come to find out about the latest shows and stay to chat. The more the merrier.

Friday night I went with my friend (in real life) Jihan to the SeattleMomBlogs meet up. It was hosted by Method and it was awesome. Even though we were more then an hour late, it wasn’t our own fault. I swear.

Mapquest, you are dead to me.

The night was yummy. The bloggers was silly. But I was dorky, as usual. (It might have been the virgin drink that I sipped, only to discover it wasn’t virgin after all. Oopsie.)

There are a few things that guarantee for a good evening out, and this party had all of them. What makes a good evening out? Let me show you.

Robots!

(I can’t stop taking picture of robots for Angela.)

Cool ladies!

And mini cupcakes!

The SeattleMomBlogs party was a hit and rumor has it, another Seattle blogger round up is in the works.

Only two days after the party and I was able to get some use out of the free shirt the Method ladies gave us. I decided to wear it to yesterday’s doctor’s appointment. May I present you with my Before Shot, taken minutes before I headed out the door.

And this is my After Shot, taken…well, I don’t have any idea when this was taken. I have no memory of taking this picture. All I know is The King came home from work last night and asked my why the camera was sitting out on the chair. I was all “I don’t know. I was sleeping this off, not taking pictures.”

Oh yes, this is what I look like after the removal of four more polyps.*

*To everyone who’s keeping score, that brings the total number of polyps removed from my body to fifteen.