The Way He Loves Me...

The month of April tends to make me nostalgic because Classic Old Spice and I went on our first date on April 4, 2002 and became engaged on April 16, 2004. Without ever realizing the connection in the past, I tend to really relish in my luck at what a catch I have caught in the spring as the flowers start to bud and the air lightens a bit. So I begin this latest entry with a bit of a disclaimer - it is going to be a mushy, heartfelt ode to the most amazing man I have ever met. If this tends to nauseate you, well, I have given you fair warning. I will write more tomorrow so be sure to check-in.
I met my darling dear about one year after the most emotional year of my life - I had just finalized the proceedings of a yearlong divorce that rocked my world, my father passed away very unexpectedly, and I had an emotional roller-coaster ride with a lot of debt my ex left with me on top of a guy I was dating who was not the most emotionally stable of the bunch (not that I was at this time either but still...) The first evening we spoke on the phone we talked for three hours - how do you talk to anyone you have never met for three whole hours!? He envisioned me as a brunette with dark eyes and my scratchy voice led him to believe I was a bit of a smoker (not so). We had a great time chatting and of course were eager to meet one another so we went out the next night to a charming Italian restaurant in an old Victorian house in the neighborhood we would eventually inhabit two years later. To say he charmed me would be putting it mildly - in fact, I was not sure he was really for real. For starters, the man is drop-dead gorgeous and melted me with his dark brown peepers and that dimple that is so notorious that I have written about it in the past. This will continue at least for one more generation because Bubba Boo is the spitting image of his daddy with both the eyes and dimple to prove it...When the time comes for Bubba Boo to knock an unsuspecting young lady on her feet, I will know EXACTLY how she feels and can simply bond with her over this heart-in-your-throat-but-still-must-remain-cool feeling. Unfortunately, he was also in the midst of a divorce which led me to believe that he might need some more time in the emotional recovery oven before we could actually have a healthy relationship. It did take some time and some bumps along the way but we made it through and were married in July 2004. Now, after six years and 2.5 children later, I find it difficult to put into words the realization one acquires when you suddenly learn that there is a human on this earth that actually knows you better than you know yourself. It is incredibly frightening as this person of course holds a lot of emotional power over you but alas, I thank God I took the risk because who else would pass over, without a word, the curled tortilla chips that I love so much out of the basket at El Rodeo? Who else simply chuckles when he looks for something under the couch and comes up with three, half-filled water bottles or finds one in the shower, or lodged in a toy bin in the play room (yes, I know this is not an ecologically-sound practice but I lose my water bottles throughout my days and let's just say I am working on it)? It is these human foibles and idosyncracies that make us who we are and make us real. Most of them are not revealed until you have lived with someone for a while as they are an essence of your character and while we can hide them while dating, it is a whole new ballgame when you live under the same roof. I will never reveal my husband's own quirky quirks in a forum such as this but let's just say he has his fair share as well. Though sometimes irritating, the man possesses an uncanny ability to know what is going through my mind before even I do and can anticipate my every move. While this might sound somewhat dull to live this way, I find it incredibly safe and comforting as I know he loves me for who I am right now - not yesterday or in the future, but who stands before him right now. He encourages me to grow and stretch beyond myself more than any other person I have ever encountered and has even sat next to me in a therapy session with tear-filled eyes as I have dished some painful episodes of a life well-lived but with plenty of ups and downs. He is the man I want my children to revere, he is the one I want beside me for the rest of time, and luckily, he is the man that still makes my heart skip a beat when he comes home at the end of the day. The fact that he has one of the best buttocks I have ever seen makes me feel even more blessed...
Now before you feel you are about to get sick, let me put out there that there are certainly days that I would like to scratch his eyes out and most definitely, he would like to do the same to me. We are intensely passionate people and can have a doozy of an argument that would scare even Donald Trump. I say this because in no way do we have a perfect marriage - no one does. But I am in it for the long-haul no matter what and, hoping that I am correct in saying this, I think he is right there with me. Happy Spring, Classic Old Spice. I love you more than I could ever let you know or write with words. You are my rock, my home, my true north.

Too late to go back...

Have you ever opened a can of worms and wished you had not but it was simply just too late to go back to where you were before? This past weekend, Missy Moo, who has been potty-training for the past month and is doing a great job but of course, she is going to do things at her own pace and will do so as long as she is in control...(When I complain of this, my husband's response is always, "Hello, Pot...Meet Kettle"...) had a small mental breakdown over the fact that she is now wearing underpants and mommy will not allow her to put on a pull-up unless she is sleeping. Here's how it all shook down: Missy Moo and I are using the potty in our very small half-bathroom on the lower level of our home. If you have read earlier postings, you know that anytime anyone goes to the bathroom at our house, it is cause for all living beings under the roof to join him or her (this is especially enticing if it is mommy in the bathroom) for I guess maybe positive encouragement or to keep him or her company. God forbid we have privacy while using the restroom! However, if there ever was a cause for company in the restroom, it is during those early days of potty training because, like tying your shoe or riding a bike, there are steps involved that are just too difficult to verbally explain. Let me preface this by adding that I did not get home until 12:30 a.m. the previous evening due to an out of town dinner with Classic Old Spice with dental cronies and since he was attending a convention, he was gone until 5 p.m. on Saturday. If you are reading between the lines, this equates to a tired, six months pregnant mommy who is caring for a potty-training three year old and a pre-walker who cannot be left alone for even one second. When Missy Moo uses the potty, I quietly try to escort her to the bathroom so Bubba Boo does not catch-on and follow us in and as horrible as it may sound to hide from your one year old son in your own home, I know he is safe. Our house is completely baby-proofed (and will be for years) and I know we have a little bit of time before said son realizes we are no where within his visual range. This gives us enough time to jump-start the actually potty-process which could then prohibit him from attempting to play in the toilet or the small potty-chair (my skin curled each time I caught him doing this) or, as was the case last week, falling on the edge of the toilet thus resulting in his first black eye. In this small room are we with Ellie the WonderDog attempting to gain entry as well when Missy Moo throws out the "I want to put on a pull-up." I calmly answer back that pull-ups are only for when we go to sleep but she simply repeated her request again. I then said that if she chose to put on a pull-up, she would have to go take her nap (this is at noon - way too early for nap) and of course, this was also not what she had in mind. When it sunk in that she was not going to be successful with this endeavor, she began to wail. I don't mean a sad little cry but a full-on, shrieking fit with continuous screams that made me worry she was going to suffer from brain damage due to lack of oxygen for such a long time. When we get to this point, the options in our house are to stop throwing the fit or continue the fit but in the privacy of one's own bedroom. Since she chose not to stop, I took Missy Moo up to her room to recover where she proceeded to have one of the biggest meltdowns she has ever had for about 20 minutes. Meanwhile, Bubba Boo was beginning to grumble because, after all, it was about 12:15 p.m. at this point and gosh darn, where was his lunch? God forbid that he go without food for more than two hours, so I kicked into my lunch mode of dicing and chopping for a young eater while Missy Moo continued to melt. Once Bubba found his happy place, I went upstairs to check on the eldest only to find one of the most pitiful sights I have seen in a long time. There in the middle of the room with her head resting on her bunny, Floppy, wearing nothing but her new butterfly shirt and her bare-bottom naked as a jaybird, was Missy Moo making those heartbreaking whimpering sounds that come after major fits and for all mommy's I know, make us feel worse than Joan Crawford in "Mommy Dearest" no matter how "right" you knew you were. Her face was stained with tears and when she saw me she simply said, "I am not ready, Mommy." Of course, at this point, my heart had melted and I immediately identified with the feeling of not realizing that you had crossed a major milestone in your life that once crossed, was too late to ever go back. Things that came to my mind were starting your period, your first job, your first sexual encounter, paying your bills for the first time and I am sure a myriad of other "majors" that I can't think of right now but are monumental enough to chop your life into "before" and "after". Anna Quindlen, a writer that I think walks on water and expresses thoughts and emotions with amazing clarity, describes this "before and after" thing in her book "A Short Guide to a Happy Life" with her mother's death. She realized that there would always be a life she led"before" her mother passed away and then there was the "after" from that point on. Her life was divided in two and while I might be over-dramatizing Missy Moo's potty-training experience by comparing it to such a serious event such as this, in her young life, this is huge. She does not yet know the utter heartbreak of losing someone you love whether through divorce, break-ups, or death. She does not know that bad things often do happen to very good people. She does not realize that sometimes lessons do have to be learned the hard way. Truthfully, I am all for her keeping this sweet innocence for as long as possible as I know it will be robbed from her sooner than I will ever be ready. However, because of this sweet innocence, things I think are "no big deal" and she should just get over are actually monumental events in her own little life as well because this is all she knows. She can't go back to diapers and she can't wear pull-ups when she is awake - isn't this one of the first major milestones our children reach as they begin the process of sprouting their own wings? I can also identify with the feeling of being so excited for my newly-found independence and then being taken aback when I discovered that the grass was not always greener on the other side. Missy Moo has begun her life journey and while this should have been obvious to me three years ago when she was born, it is the actual heartbreak of life that molds us into who we are. The disappointments are the hands that shape our clay soul into who we eventually become and I can't help but think these hands begin as early as the potty-training years. Keep molding your soul, dear one. Don't ever stop because while your journey has just begun, if you are lucky, you will always be molding who you are.

Disclaimer...

Some of you friends have inquired as to why I don't write daily, or even weekly for that matter, so I thought I might explain...I have no freakin' energy! My only time to write is when children are napping during the day or in bed for the night. Since I must nap these days while they are doing the same (it is not pretty if I don't and I think for the sake of all of my family members we might want to prioritize this) and my brain is often tired and fried by the time I put them to bed, I must strike when the energy level is hot. This being about two to three times a month, for now, is how often I will post BUT I have good goals and intentions to do more. So what I am saying is that I hear ya pals and I will be giving it the good college try to be a little more prolific...:)

Nicole and I are Friends...

So Nicole Kidman is pregnant and due the same time I am - at some point in July...Yes, I realize this is her first pregnancy and yes, I know she is eight feet tall, but if I have to look at anymore photos of her in the media, I just might hurl...If you compared me to her you would absolutely think I was either a) carrying multiples - as in more than two multiples, b) my due date had been grossly miscalculated or c) I must have gestational diabetes. Of course I know that I am five foot three and carrying my third child in four years but still...I find it horribly unfair that her breasts are not hanging down to her ankles or that her cleavage does not begin right under her neck making it close to darn-near impossible to find shirts that don't flash the general public the million times one must bend down and pick up one's soon to be walking one year old. I am also certain that she does not have the lovely "white lightning" as I like to refer to my new friends, otherwise known as the stretch marks that are extending on the top back of my hips...Oh yes, I know - I am being vain and of course I realize it is a small price to pay for the joys of my three children; however, I would love for one second to not feel like I should actually be in a primitive tribe in Africa living a bucolic life while serving as a wet nurse to all of the village babies and sporting my beaded lip disk. I recently spoke to someone who had had a breast "lift" of which I have no qualms about considering once junior arrives this summer but I must admit that the girls did flinch a bit when she described the procedure...She used the phrase "cookie-cut your nipples then re-attach" that made me think that maybe it would not be worth it - for about two seconds. Then I decided that this was a small price to pay for actually being able to wear clothes that look good instead of tents that Mama Cass from the Mama's and Pappa's used to sport back in the day (God rest her soul with all due respect). When you have a rather large bosom (doesn't that word remind you of something a home economics teacher would use?) and you choose to wear a looser-fitting shirt, you might as well select to wear a muu-muu or a caftan as this is precisely what becomes of the garment once it is slid over your head. I often decide to simply wear a sports bra which does indeed make them look smaller but is not always the most comfortable option, comfort of course having a lot of pull (no pun intended) these days. I have considered going to get fitted for a new bra just to hold me over until July but the thought of this makes me down-right giggle - I can imagine the poor sales associate instructing me to hold them up so she can measure them around the nipple as she is supposed to do and can also see tape measures and chalk getting stuck in crevices and cleavages that could be somewhat traumatic so I have decided that I will wing it and wait until baby has arrived and I have gotten to pre-baby weight for this fun experience. To add insult to injury, while I was complaining to a friend of mine today about the absolute lack of maternity bathing suits that contain underwire tops for support - I mean if ever there was a time to break out the extra stainless steel armor it would be to corral these girls during pregnancy - she informed me that it is now not recommended for pregnant and breast-feeding mothers to wear underwire tops because it could prohibit milk-ducts from forming and could lead to infection...Dear God, I say, give us the option to at least take the chance for in less than a month I will be going to Disney with the family and will have to sport a suit with a flimsy padded shelf bra that will be exhausted after being worn just one day. Regardless, I still say that Nicole probably does not care much about the fact that she will not have underwire in her maternity suit this summer - in fact, she probably won't even wear a maternity suit this summer or any maternity clothes for that matter...Lucky, genetically-blessed girl I say...