A hubby quiz...

A Saturday is a good day to have a post where I don't have to think so I have decided to copy someone. Cheri had a cute hubby quiz and I have decided to take it.


I really wanted to know if I was right on these, so I am going to ask him the same questions. I'll put my answers in blue and his in red, if they were different. Hopefully we'll just see a lot of blue, which will mean he said the exact same thing. By the way, he's downstairs making the kids lunch and I'm up here cleaning the bathroom. (Seriously, that's what I'm "doing".) I just called him on his cell phone to get the answers. I'm sure he'll be really pleased. NOT. Oh, and that smell? Fish sticks. They are sure stinky when you don't know what they are! Anyway, on to the quiz.

1. Sitting in front of the TV, what's on the screen?
Fox News or ESPN.
Either sports or a documentary. Like the history or military channel or something like that.
Oh yeah, I forgot about those.

2. You're out to eat; what kind of dressing does he get on his salad?
Blue Cheese. And lots of it.

3. What's one food he doesn't like?
Tomatoes. And onions. He hates them both.
Sushi.
Me, too.

4. Where did he go to high school?
Machebuef High School

5. What size shoe does he wear?
11 1/2.
He said "Eleven point five."
Nerd alert.


6. If he was to collect anything, what would it be?
Hoodie sweatshirts from different colleges or aircraft carrier hats. He already has a bunch of both.
Either baseball gear or historical memorabilia.
When I read him my answer, he said mine was better.
DUH.


7. What is his favorite type of sandwich?
Pastrami. With LOTS of mustard and LOTS of cheese. (Well, technically I said, "What? No cheese?" after he said pastrami with mustard on sour dough. And he said "Of course. Lots." So, I'm right. Right?)


8. What would he eat everyday if he could?
Peanut butter. (And he totally does.)
My wife's lasagna and my mom's enchiladas.
Yeah, I'd eat those every day, too.


9. What is his favorite cereal?
Frosted Flakes.
Granola or Frosted Flakes.
(By the way, I don't think we've ever bought Frosted Flakes. Ever. That might be a fun Christmas gift.)

10. What would he never wear?
Any sort of NY Yankees gear.
Parachute pants.
And now you know why we laugh a lot.
He then said, "To be serious, anything with a Yankees or Lakers or Raiders logo. Or anything with Obama on it."
Just highlighting that my right answer is first. :-)


11. What is his favorite sports team?
The Boston Red Sox. Or will he say the Broncos? Or the Celtics? Hmmmm. Red Sox.
His answer started with "Ooooohhhhh, that's hard, man." Then he said "I don't have one. It's the Duke Blue Devils, Red Sox, Broncos, Celtics, Air Force Falcons. I can't pick one. If you have to pick one, Red Sox."
Yesssssssssssss, I'm right again. I wish I got paid for this!

12. Who is his best friend?
Me!!!!!
(Yay, he agrees.)

13. What is something you do that he wishes you wouldn't do?
Leave my shoes around the house.
He said "Where do I start?" He SAYS he was kidding.
Ha. Ha. Very funny.
His real answer is that I never finish the entire cup of whatever drink I'm drinking.
Well, yeah. That.

14. How many states has he lived in?
2.


15. What is his heritage?
I believe his ancestors are from Mexico. BUT - I bet he'll say American.
If I have to check a box, it's American. If I have to choose an ethnicity, it's hispanic. He now wants to know if we're ever going to get to important things, like beer and foreign policy. Whoooo. That Cabana Boy is something, isn't he?


16. You bake him a cake for his birthday, what kind of cake?
If it's cake, I'll say German Chocolate. But he'd probably rather have pie -- either pecan or key lime.
He said carrot.
I said "Really?"
He said "Nooooooooooo!" He asked what I said
and I read him my answer.
He said "Yep."

17. Did he play sports in high school?
Yep, baseball, basketball (not his best) and soccer.
He is now all miffed that I tattled on him and would like you to know that while basketball was not his best, he was All-State in soccer and All-Conference in baseball.

18. What could he spend hours doing?
Playing soccer, watching nascar or any sport, really -- sleeping, and talking politics.
Flying my F-16 simulator, golfing (oooh - I forgot that one!) and building models.
I totally didn't see those answers coming.

I love you, Cabana Boy. *smooch*

What a weekend...

This is a long one, so you might want to grab a snack and a beverage. Hmmm, well, considering the content, perhaps just a beverage. And a comfy chair.

Miss G hasn't had a great weekend so far. Thursday night, I started my First Place weight loss group meetings again (so watch out for Mini-Me Fridays to start over!) and Chris had the kiddos at home. I didn't realize until I got home that I had actually left my cell phone in the car. It had slid under one of Mason's blankets in the front seat. I walked in the door and his first question was "Where is your phone?"

Uh-oh. That's never a good welcome home question.

"Ummmmm, probably in the car, I'm guessing."
"Well, you should think about actually HAVING it with you more often."
"Yeah, I'll look into that."
"Where is the vinegar?"

Uh-oh. That's not good either. That means something needs to come out of the carpet with my super-duper, fantastic diaper-assisted removal technique.

"Why? What happened?"
"Just where is it?"
"Why???? What do you need it for?"
"She pooped on me, okay? She pooped on me AND the carpet, and I want to get it out! I put both of us in the shower with our clothes on, if that tells you anything."

Ohhhhkay then. Poop. The Cabana Boy has some major poop-related issues, so this was not a good night for dear ol' Daddy in the "quality time with the kids" department. (If you've seen the youtube collage of men changing babies' diapers, they are his kindred spirits. The 2nd man reminds me of him during our Norovirus night earlier this year, and the 3rd guy reminds me of when he changed Mitchell's diapers with a painter's mask on for the first few weeks of his career in Fatherhood. No kidding.) Did I also mention that we *just* had our carpets professionally cleaned last month? Yep, sure did. Oh, and I mean what I say at the top of my blog, by the way. You've been fairly warned. Poop seems to come up a lot around here.

Anyway, I helped Chris expertly extract the yuckiness from the carpet and then we got everyone into bed. It occured to me that in order for the poop scenario to play out the way it did, something was up with our baby girl's digestive world. It also came to mind that my first MOPS meeting of the year was in the morning (of course!) and she would probably not be a good candidate for the childcare situation. I am on the steering team (Alana, since you asked - I do publicity) and really needed to be there to help with the registration process and providing some of the food. Things got even worse when she woke up screaming her head off at about 2 a.m. She has issues with the lights being on - like the ACTUAL light in her room, not a night light. (That is a completely different post in itself that I'll bless you with on another day.) This is what she was screaming about, but while I had her in the bathroom going potty and all of that 2 am fun, I noted that her nose was running, she was all kinds of crazy stuffed up and had a cough.

Basically, she was a complete mess.

Luckily, my father-in-law wasn't working the next day and when I called him in the morning, he willingly agreed to put his own health at risk by watching this little germ factory for us. I went to pick her up after MOPS and he reported that she was as goofy as ever and that she didn't act like she felt bad at all. He also handed me a bag that held some rinsed out pants in it, meaning that the poop situation was not yet resolved. (It was also majorly putting a kink in our Operation Potty Training effort. *sigh*) As I put her into her carseat on their driveway, I asked if she had gotten stung or bit by something. He said he didn't think so, but I was looking at this.



As you can see, she isn't all that bothered by the ginormous welts taking up half of her sweet little face, but I sure was. I am allergic to bee stings and swell up in welts like that when I get bit by spiders, so I was thinking that was probably the case. She helped her Papa pick tomatoes in the garden, so it was a completely plausible theory at the time. I gave her some benadryl before I fed her lunch and thankfully, they disappeared after about 20 minutes. I put her down and she took a great nap. No pictures this time, but when I put her on the potty, I noticed that the rash had done a magical reappearing trick as it was now only on her left thigh.

Hmmmm. There goes the bite/sting theory.

Have you ever noticed that kids tend to get this sort of thing ONLY when there is something great going on that you have been looking forward to? My husband and I had a fun date night planned -- we had tickets to the Montgomery Gentry/Toby Keith concert. Of course.

I think we might have the best parents in the entire world because much like my hubby's father, my parents completely threw caution to the wind and gladly welcomed our little hive-sporting, snot blowing, poop shooting two year old into their home with open arms. (I should mention this would also be their first time babysitting all three of them at the same time!) I agonized about leaving her while she was sick, but again - she was running around like her normal little self, minus being a little sleepy from the Benadryl. We ended up going to the concert and having a wonderful time...I'm really glad everyone convinced me to still go. Miss G did fine - the poop situation improved and my parents said she did great.

We all spent the night at my parents' house since we got back so late and their house was so close to the concert location. When my mom and I got Georgia up in the morning and put her on the potty, the hives were back and in full force. This time they were on her right cheek, all over her stomach, and up and down both legs. It was just so bizarre! Thankfully, she wasn't itchy or in pain, but it was really starting to worry me.

Yeah, about that looking forward to stuff thing? My friend, Erin, got a free parking pass and tickets to sit in a suite at the Women of Faith conference and would be picking me up in about an hour and was taking Mason with me. Mitchell would be going to the CSU football game to watch our cousin play. I told Chris he just had to call the pediatrician and take her in now. It turns out that she has an ear infection. I guess the tube in her left ear isn't working like it should and that it is all tied to and possibly originated from her two year molars coming in.

Poor sweet girl. She never once said anything about her ears, and we asked! In fact, we just went to the pediatrician not too long ago to get her ears checked and they were fine. It was Mitchell who had the ear infection.

I always feel badly when it ends up being an ear infection, it makes me feel like we should have known and gotten her in sooner or something. The thing is, in this case, her ear infection was camouflaged. We saw hives, a runny nose, poop issues, no pain, and an overall happy little girl. Not what typically happens when she gets an ear infection.

I started thinking about how many times I do that in my own life. One issue gets covered up with something else. Something completely seeming unrelated gets piled on and before you know it, like my sweet Miss G, I am a complete mess.

The other day is a great example. We ran late for school. The carpool kiddo I pick up was runing even later. Mitchell left his lunchbox in the car and I had to take it back to school. A cup of milk got spilled on the floor I had just swept and mopped. I went to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription to find out they still hadn't gotten the refill authorization from my doctor that was requested a week before. The kids wouldn't nap at the same time. Mason was nursing while Mitchell needed help in the restroom. Miss G woke up from her nap early. I made tacos for dinner and as I went to put a filled up shell onto a plate, I fumbled it and everything dropped on the floor. That I had now already swept and mopped twice.

Ever had a day like that? How do you even begin to untangle that mess and figure out exactly where you started feeling annoyed. Or weary. Or frustrated. When do you physically break down and start crying? (For me, it was the taco that put me over the edge.) By the time my husband got home, I was not in a good way. I was covered in spit up, my hair was in a ponytail and pulled halfway out in little loops from Miss G's makeover attempts with her Dora brush, a trail of taco meat covered my shirt and pants, and my eyes were rimmed from crying. I think he deserves a shout out for not turning on his heel and running a four-hour errand or something.

The thing is, not once during the day did I stop to ask for help. I called my husband to vent and I got a latte, but neither of those made my insides feel any better. The one thing I didn't do is the one thing I should have done, starting with running late for school. I didn't pray. I didn't ask God to help me. To strengthen me. To give me an extra dose of patience. To give me an extra measure of laughter. To give me some p-e-a-c-e.

Seriously, Tara. What a bonehead move. I know that if I ask, He will give it to me. Now, for my friends who are not on the same page with me on this one, I'm not saying "give me a million dollars" and poof - it's there. I'm saying that when I pray for peace and comfort, I get it. Does it mean I'm not worried about things anymore? No. It means that the peace and comfort offsets the worries and anxieties of my life and things are more tolerable and less intense.

Please, learn from my mistake. When you have "that" day, don't wait until you end up being a complete mess before you take a breath and look to Him for some help. There's a good chance your day will turn around, and even if it doesn't, you won't be as weary and beaten down at the end of the day. Diagnose the problem early, and call The Doctor.

Never a dull...well...you know!

So. First things first, yes - still pregnant. I'm due now just under 5 weeks from now, and probably unlike 99% of pregnant women who are due in the middle of the blazing, hot summer -- I'm hoping that I don't go any sooner than that.

Why?

Well. For starters, my husband had knee surgery yesterday. He has this degenerative condition in his joints and basically is working with a bad batch of cartilage in both knees. The surgeon wasn't sure what he would find when he got in there. See - he just had a scope done, no massive cutting or anything. BUT - if the doctor would have gotten in there and found little to no cartilage left, then he wouldn't have been able to pin anything. He would have just cleaned stuff out and called it a day.

What he did find was quite a bit of cartilage that wasn't even completely detached and so the result is hopefully a good one for the ol' hubster. The surgeon thinks that he'll heal quite nicely and have a much reduced level of everyday pain as a result. That's the good news.

The bad news? He is to be completely non-weight-bearing on crutches for 4 weeks. Originally we were told 3 weeks, but now it is 4.

Oh, and no driving. For. Four. Weeks.

PANIC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That's me. Trying to get him to/from work is one thing. NOW, add the anxiety of being apart from him, with no car and the thought of me going into labor. Yeah. Like I said, panic.

It will be fine. It will work out. We are VERY blessed to have many friends and both of our parents in town, all of whom would GLADLY drop anything and everything to rush to our aid when and if we need it. I know this. I just -- well, I'm hormonal and emotional and it makes me about break into hives when I think about it. I'm a planner and this has thrown me for quite the loop.

This is all quite funny if you think back to what I chose as my word of the year.

TRUST.

Think I'm being challenged/encouraged to actually KEEP that word as my motto for the year? I mean, really. Our house didn't sell after 10 months on the market. We are having a baby we didn't exactly "plan" to have. And now I'm not sure that my husband will be able to walk, drive, etc. when this baby arrives.

Yes, I believe I really am down to one option. Trust.

Oh - and just FYI, I'm WELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL aware that I have it exceptionally good. After breaking into emotional tears this morning with my husband, he was quick to point out that if I really wanted to be overwhelmed, I could picture myself in this same situation living in Iowa. Or with him stationed in Iraq. Or worse.

And he's right. That's actually what brought the whole "trust" thing back to the surface for me. This is all working out the way it's supposed to. I know that. Unfortunately for me, it might not have the word "perfection" written all over it the way I expected it to - but I know that it will be okay.

*IF* I trust.

By the way, we do have history on our side. I didn't go into labor until my due date with Mitchell, and Georgia was 6 days late. So, there ya go. (Yes, I'm aware - it doesn't mean this one can't come early, I'm just saying that is not my pattern up to this point.)

So. Here I sit. With a gimpy hubby, two summer-crazed kiddos, a huge belly and a house that is no longer on the market. What does it all add up to?

A life I wouldn't trade for anything, a whole heap of hope and a renewed trust in Him that everything is going to be just fine.

6 Years.

It has been 6 years since we said our vows. 6 years since I saw him nervously turned with his back against the wall so that he wouldn't see me before the wedding as I came to wait at the back of the church for the ceremony to start.



6 years. Today. Wow.

We had plans to take the kids to my in-laws' house so that we could go catch a matinee movie and have a long, leisurely, late lunch and do whatever we wanted to do before meeting up with them at church tonight. Instead, my husband is sick in bed. I don't know if it's just a bad cold, the flu, strep, bronchitis, or what...but he is not feeling well.

We're kind of striking out on enjoying special days and holidays lately.

So. Instead of waking him up, I thought I'd take a few quiet (shouldn't have written that word) moments this morning to talk about him, our marriage and what they all mean to me. We were asked at my MOPS group last week what we valued the most about our marriages. My answer was so easy -- I am married to my very best friend in the entire world. It is without a doubt, a complete luxury to be able to say that and know with all of my heart that it's true. We have our vows (we wrote our own) framed and hung above our bed. Like most of the romantic, wonderful ideas in our relationship, this was his thought. His framed vows were a gift on our first anniversary and he mounted them on the wall that night. He got my framed vows on our second anniversary.

The words that he spoke to me six years ago hang above my head while I sleep, and the words that I spoke to him six years ago hang above his head as he sleeps. I love that. I truly love that, and it's so very us. We loved writing our own vows and every single year on our anniversary, we read them out loud to each other again. I love that even more.

I recently bought a book that I have been using as my own personal devotional for my quiet time in the mornings. It's called The Power of a Positive Wife, by Karol Ladd. I just wanted something that could really help me get through what will definitely be a year of transition for me as a wife and mother. Adding this third child to our family is exciting, but it also has stirred some feelings of anxiousness and uncertainty in me, so I thought I'd be proactive and just arm myself with thoughts, scriptures and knowledge that I can meditate on in those moments where you wonder what in the world you are doing. I am the kind of person that has a tendency to project my own feelings onto those around me, and I'm trying very hard to change the way that it happens when negative, yucky stuff comes up. We have a good marriage today. Like everyone else, we have our struggles and difficulties, but overall, I know that we both have a lot of confidence in ourselves as a couple and feel that we have a solid marriage. My hope is that we can have an even better marriage tomorrow, and I'd love to be the catalyst for that kind of change.

So, I think that I have found a little guidepost for myself in my quest to better myself as a wife. Here is an excerpt from the first chapter...the bold part essentially puts to words the desires of my heart.

Here it is: The most important ingredient in the recipe for a great wife is God-centeredness (not husband-centeredness). First and foremost, a great wife is a godly woman. Not necessarily a church lady or a Bible-study attendee or even a prayer-circle leader. All of these are good things to be, but a godly woman has the distinct characteristic of having a deep and vibrant love relationship with God. She is a woman who loves the Lord, her God, with all her heart, mind, soul and strength.

Why does a godly woman make a great wife? Let's examine the blessings that overflow from her life.

A godly wife forgives, loves, serves, and encourages her husband as a natural outpouring of her love and devotion to her heavenly Father. She isn't demanding, controlling, or overbearing, because she walks in God's grace and offers that grace freely to her husband and others. She reflects the positive qualities of the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

Her walk with God allows her to keep the other areas of her life in balance. She doesn't sweat the small stuff, but focuses on things of eternal value. Nor does she live on a performance track, trying to please her husband in order to gain his approval. She looks to God, not her husband, for affirmation and acceptance. A God-centered wife enjoys her relationship with her husband, understanding that both husband and wife are God-given complements to one another. She finds her joy, peace, and inner strength from the only true source: God himself.

You may be thinking, Come on. No one is that perfect! You're right. No one is - but that's the great thing about God's redemptive power. God is in the business of taking weak, ordinary, sinful creatures; redeeming them; and changing them into beautiful new creations. His power and work in our lives make us better than we could ever hope to be on our own.

So, there you go. My blueprint for where I'd like to go and who I'd like to be.

I love my husband so very, very much and all I want to do is make this year better than the last year. It would be fantastic if I could turn this year into an opportunity to make it a foundation for improving our marriage in ways I never thought possible. I'm excited just thinking about it.

Happy Anniversary, honey. I love you so much more than I ever thought I could, and today more than yesterday. I know what you're going to say, too.

And no, I love YOU more.

The Cabana Boy Said WHAT?! And A Recipe...

Just a few random tidbits here and there, and the chicken enchilada casserole recipe at the end...

**************************************
Last night at dinner -- I made Chicken Parmesan (yum!)with a new marinara sauce recipe --

Me: I am not a fan of this sauce.
The Hubster: I don't like it at all.
Me: *blink*blink* Oh.

That is the first time in our almost 6 years of marriage he's ever said anything like that. I actually just laughed and didn't get my feelings hurt -- after all, I didn't like it either. To be fair, he can't stand tomatoes and that's all that was in the sauce...so there ya go.

***************************************
About 10 minutes later, laughing about how bad the sauce was...

Me: So, did you just take your vitamins with Budweiser?
The Hubster: Yep, sure did. Blog that!

***************************************

I don't recommend not being able to find the word you are thinking of when you are a speech therapist. You don't get cut much slack. Especially when the word is "fast"...

The Hubster: What's up with that cop?
Me: I'm not sure, but he's not going very hurry for having his lights on.
The Hubster: Going very hurry?
Me: Going very hurriedly.
The Hubster: Hurriedly?
Me: He's going pretty slow, huh?
The Hubster: Stay in the shallow end, honey.

***************************************

White Sauce Chicken Enchilada Casserole
(so NOT a Martha Stewart recipe, by the way, Beth Anne!)

This makes either one 9x13 pan or two 8x8 pans.

4 medium or 3 large chicken breasts (boneless,skinless)
3-4 large or 5-6 small flour tortillas
2 cups shredded cheese (I used 2% monterey jack/colby)

Sauce:
5 oz evaporated milk (fat free)
1 can cream chicken soup (healthy request)
1 small can diced green chiles
1 small (8 oz) tub light sour cream
Any seasoning you want -- I used some garlic powder, salt and pepper.

Preheat oven to 350. Boil chicken breasts until cooked through. As the chicken is cooking, stir together the sauce ingredients in a large bowl. Tear the tortillas into 1-2 inch pieces.

When the chicken is done, shred it and stir it into the sauce until well combined. Spray the bottom of the pan with cooking spray and line with a layer of tortilla pieces. Layer half of the sauce onto the tortillas. Spread half of the cheese over the sauce. Repeat the layers. (I had enough for two layers.)

Bake uncovered for 45 minutes or until cheese is melted and everything is hot and bubbly. Enjoy!

Thursday Thoughts - and a recipe!

So, if these are the opposite of deep thoughts -- does that make them shallow? Hmmmmm... hope not, just they're not anything to really chew on...know what I mean?

• I am probably the only person on the planet who is capable of cutting her thumb with celery. Yes, CELERY. (And by cut - I mean, blood was drawn.) I was trying to scrape a yucky part off with my thumbnail and the rib went under my nail and cut it open! ...Welcome to my world, friends. Welcome to my world.
• Okay, so check out the poll. Those of you that selected "Other" -- what is it that you like? Is it pumpkin bread? I just realized I didn't put it on there. I'm dying to know what else is left? Pumpkin ice cream? Pumpkin mousse? Help me out "other" people!
• I bought some Weight Watchers English Toffee ice cream bars yesterday. Uhh, YUM! Ice cream is ice cream, let's face it -- but when I have enough bread and fat exchanges left at the end of the day for TWO of them (they're like popsicle size) -- that makes for a Happy Tara. Have I mentioned that I love ice cream?
• So, I have still been thinking (ouch!) about the whole control issue. It is SO good to know that I'm not alone, and it seems to be a general theme in a lot of people's lives. Alana mentioned in her comment that a lot of us bloggy friends seem to have the same problem. It made me think about that a bit. Is it that most bloggy people are control people? Or am I in the middle of a freakish little subset of control addicts? Or are we just able to say "Yep, I struggle with that?" Or does EVERY person struggle with control? Are there some people who struggle to actually get a tighter grip on things instead of trying to let go more often? Can you imagine that one??? I can't, but I'm sure it exists. (Don't ask me why my mind does stuff like this. I should be exercising it with Sudoku puzzles or something, but no -- I ponder things like this.)
• Speaking of wanting more control -- I actually did take control of something that I've been wanting to for awhile now. Well, Tuesday I sat down and started making a Menu Plan for the whole month! I think that I have been talking (to myself) about doing this for at least a year now. Yesterday was the day that I finished it up and I feel so good about that! I know I am a total nerd here, but it was so much fun (seriously, it was!) that when I thought about what to make for dinner yesterday at about 4:00...I went to the fridge, checked the calendar and saw that the decision was already made for me. I even wrote on there when to pull stuff out of the freezer to defrost for upcoming meals. Seriously. It was awesome!
• In conjunction with that, I'm trying my hardest to save us some money so that when we eventually move, we have more money to spend on the new house for decorating, etc. See, I'm going to add up how much I've spent in the last 6 months at the grocery store every month and get an average. Then, I'm going to see how much I have SAVED based on that number this month with my big effort and put the difference into our savings and keep track of how much is in the "decorating fund." I am a SERIOUS spender at the store, girls. Big, big spender. I know I can tone it down and I think that's why my little monthly menu thing feels so good!
• Speaking of possibly moving! (Do you like how this is pretty much one big "and", "and", "and"...) I had two friends come over for a walk yesterday morning after we all dropped our kiddos off at preschool. One of them asked how the house selling thing was going. I told her that we'd had about one showing a week usually, but not for almost 2 weeks now. I added that if we had a showing call today that I would really be up a creek because I had been feeling sort of apathetic that morning. Uhhhh, YEAH. We got about 1/4 mile away from home and the cell phone starts ringing. I just KNEW it would be the realtor and it was. It was 9:30 and they wanted to show the house between 9:45 and 11:45. Uhhh, not so much. I said I could pull it off by 10:00 so we walked home at the speed of light. Can I just tell you -- I love my friends. I seriously have some GREAT friends, and these are two of them. They didn't ask if they could help, they just asked where stuff was. One ran the vaccum, the other one swept/swiffered while I cleaned up the kitchen sink/counters, made the beds, wiped off the bathroom sinks, etc. Georgia and her little same-aged friend just looked at us like we were nuts. I'm not kidding. Those girls saved my hopefully-shrinking-bootie. And the best part? We laughed through the whole thing and still got our walk in! Thank you, Lord, for my amazing girlfriends.
• We are having a TV-free week over here. Mitchell was quite full of sass and vinegar (that's my version of the old catchphrase) last week so we decided to just axe the ol' boob tube for a week. I have to admit, I was a bit nervous about this because it almost felt like more of a punishment for me than for him, and I know that many of you know what I'm talking about. Mr. Boob Tube helps Mommy check her email in the morning and make dinner in the evenings. Well...it's actually been great and I know that we will now have at least one TV free day every week. I think he would watch it in a heartbeat if I let him, but he's actually been great about it. As far as thinking about his behavior more -- Monday was the same -- a horrible day. Tuesday was marginally better. Yesterday was a truly awesome day. He was SO good. (He's 4, so of course he had his moments -- we all do -- but for the most part he was just a delight.) I am sure that I am a more attentive Mommy this week, and that is probably the biggest reason for the change. I'm hoping it lasts for more than one day! Thank you, Lord, for my sweet, sweet boy.
• I am so, so, SO proud of my husband. I can't really get into details on here, but can I just tell you that he is seriously kicking some lawyer bootie at work!!!! He recently won an appeal that he'd worked on for over a year and won it in a huge way. It was a pretty remarkable case, so much so that yesterday he was contacted by a law publication and they will be publishing the case because it is such a rare situation. I am bursting with pride at his efforts and success. In addition, a judge that he appeared before for three years recently announced his retirement from the bench due to health reasons. My husband hadn't appeared before him for seven years but sent him a letter expressing his admiration, thanks, and respect for the man. He indicated that this man had truly mentored my husband and that he is the reason he is where he is today. Well, this week he received a reply from the judge. He let me read it -- and it brought me to tears. Apparently, my husband's letter had a much bigger impact on this man that Chris could ever have anticipated. The judge's eyesight is failing him -- that is the reason for his retirement. Chris sent the letter in large (24 point) font and double spaced...the judge indicated that not even his clerks that he works with every day think to do that. The day that he received the letter, he'd been at a conference all day and he was unable to read even one more word that day so he had his wife read it to him. He stated that she put it down in the middle of reading it and they both began to sob and hug each other, for it meant so much to them to read the words that Chris had written. He was so touched and so grateful for Chris' thoughts and efforts -- he was actually brought to tears, and brought together with his wife. Can you imagine??? This man does not want to retire, I'm sure he feels like somewhat of a failure, and is devastated to have to end his career so much earlier than he ever dreamed of doing. It sounds as if he was feeling hurt, lost, and very regretful. And then Chris' letter arrives and turns the tide of emotions. Absolutely breathtaking. I told Chris that this whole situation was definitely a God Moment. It was a case of "Holy Attraction" if I'd ever heard of one. I still get goosebumps thinking about it. I could not be more proud of my man, even if I wanted to be. I love him so much -- and I can assure you -- this is so very typical of him. I'm so blessed to call him my husband. Thank you, Lord, for my amazing husband.

Okay -- is that a long enough ramble of random thoughts for you? As a reward, and in the spirit of Mari's Slow Cooking Thursday, here is the recipe that I'm using for tonight's dinner. Happy Thursday, friends!

Tangy Pulled Pork Sandwiches
From Light & Tasty

1 pork tenderloin (1 pound)
1 cup ketchup
2 tablespoons plus 1-1/2 teaspoons brown sugar
2 tablespoons plus 1-1/2 teaspoons cider vinegar
1 tablespoon plus 1-1/2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon spicy brown mustard
1/4 teaspoon pepper
4 kaiser rolls, split

SERVINGS 4
PREP 10 min.
COOK 240 min.
TOTAL 250 min.

DIRECTIONS
Cut the tenderloin in half; place in a 3-qt. slow cooker. Combine the ketchup, brown sugar, vinegar, Worcestershire sauce, mustard and pepper; pour over pork.
Cover and cook on low for 4-5 hours or until meat is tender. Remove meat; shred with two forks. Return to the slow cooker; heat through. Serve on rolls. Yield: 4 servings.

NUTRITIONAL INFO
Nutrition Facts: 1 sandwich equals 402 calories, 7 g fat (2 g saturated fat), 63 mg cholesterol, 1,181 mg sodium, 56 g carbohydrate, 2 g fiber, 29 g protein. Diabetic Exchanges: 3-1/2 starch, 3 very lean meat, 1/2 fat.

Correction...

So, my husband was curious about my latest bloggings (is that a word?) so together we were reading through some of my recent posts. He got a kick out of the "getting personal" post but made me aware of something.

The "Most Admired Trait" section is a bit -- well -- incorrect.

See, I'm a bit ding-dongish sometimes. Here's how our conversation about that section went:

Chris: "Integrity? Hmmm, really? I would have thought it was your loyalty or sense of humor."

*long, akward pause*

Me: "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. So, what trait of mine do others admire most?"

Chris: "Yep. Think so."

Me: "Yeah. I so totally didn't get that."


So, to recap, while I like to think that I have a somewhat decent level of integrity, clearly my ginormous brain isn't the answer.

My real answer is probably my sense of humor. I'm goofy and people seem to enjoy that. I do tend to go overboard sometimes, though with age, that's gotten better. (I'm sure my 4th grade teacher is relieved as I distinctly remember her being less than amused by my sense of humor.)

Okay, I feel better now.

Monday - Marriage and More...

So, I was inspired to jot down the story of how Chris and I met, and then I remembered -- I already did! A whole year ago! It was 15 years to the day that we met and I blogged about it.
He was actually supposed to mow tonight but it's raining -- what are the odds? *teeheehee*

So, today was one of those days where I feel like my son grew up in front of my eyes. Actually, more like when I was in the bathroom. Or doing laundry. Just...today. He seems noticeably older and bigger than he did yesterday.

If you're a mom, I'm convinced that you know what I'm talking about and if you're not, it's quite possible that I sound like I need to have a chat with the doctor or something.

I think it's some new independence that has me thrown for a loop. Things I used to have to ask him several times to do have just sort of happened today. When I woke up this morning, I noticed he was in different pajamas than he went to bed in. I asked what happened and he said he got hot, so he changed. He got himself dressed (I didn't ask him to, he just did it on his own) while I was changing Georgia's diaper this morning. I came back from changing out the loads of laundry and saw that he'd put his bowl in the sink. I said "Hey, thanks for putting your bowl in the sink!" He responded with "You're welcome. My spoon's in there, too."

Okay, am I nuts for letting that get me all choked up?

It's been like that all day long! Every time I turn around today, it seems that I'm met with another "when did that happen" moment.

6 lbs, 4 oz. He started out at 6 lbs, 4 oz. and he had elephant skin. It just sort of hung there on him. His poor little jaundiced body was stuck in the "bug zapper" (a.k.a. the billirubin light-filled suitcase) for 3 days and I remember thinking that for as huge as I felt at the end of my pregnancy, he just couldn't have seemed tinier. His cries were tiny. His diapers were tiny. His little tushy was tiny and fit in the palm of my hand.

One thing I'll never forget about Mitchell is that no matter how far out on my shoulder I held him, he would find a way to get himself positioned under my chin and near my heart. I'd just laugh every time I realized where he'd gotten because it seemed like he moved himself there without me even knowing it.

Well, his sweet cheeks are a little bigger now, but the Doodlebug just did it again.

Home

I did something this weekend that is a very rare occurence around here...I spent the night away from home without my husband and children for my MOPS steering retreat. Going into it on Friday afternoon, I was a bit concerned only because my husband was not having a good day. He was very stressed out by work and a variety of other things...he hit an emotional wall in a way, I think. Anyway -- not exactly the time that I'd love to go jetting off for a day and a half. I would have loved to have been able to sit with him that night, give him a backrub and just be there for him. Instead, there was a semi-frantic exchange of cars and a drive through rush hour traffic for him as he was off to meet my parents for dinner and begin his solo time with the kids. I did get him a card and a little treat on my way to the hotel, but a part of my heart felt sad as he drove away because I felt like I was just adding to his stress. I said some special prayers for him as I walked back into the conference room from the parking lot because I know that when I'm at home with the kids and I'm feeling stressed, it often results in a more anxious, less patient, short-tempered Mommy and I didn't want to be setting him up for the same sort of experience.

Talk about completely underestimating my amazing husband.

I called and talked to him as he was getting the kids into for bed and he already sounded so much better. He told me that everyone had a great time at dinner and that he and Georgia even developed a new trick together, which involved him jiggling her chin around and her making silly noises. Hearing the joy in his voice was a delight for me and I knew then that everything would be fine. Breathing a sigh of relief as I heard him tell me that he loved me and to enjoy my time with "the hens," I hung up the phone with no guilt whatsoever. When I talked to him in the morning, I learned that both kids slept all night (rare these days) and that everyone woke up in a good mood. I even talked to both of them on the phone without it leading to tears about me coming home! Again, I hung up the phone and enjoyed the rest of my day without any guilt about being there.

When I got home last night, I was met by silence, which was a little scary. I will say that there was no blood, broken furniture, and no evidence of fire or flood, so I decided not to panic yet.

As I entered the living room I found my son asleep (asleep?!?!) on the couch, but no sign of my husband or Georgia. As I walked into the empty kitchen past a sleeping Mitchell, I could hear the two of them chattering over the monitor, meaning that she likely just woke up from a nap. (At 5 o'clock?!?!) I was greeted by sunscreen on the counter (a trip to the park), a new trash can (yesssss!) and a picture of the three of them posing in front of a NASCAR car (what?!). Apparently the new Best Buy opened this weekend and my NASCAR nuts got to see the sponsored car parked in front of the store. (He claims he didn't know it would be there, but I'm skeptical.) As I studied the picture of my three happy loved ones, I noticed that both kids were wearing the same clothes that I had left them in the day before. That made me laugh, and I knew that my husband would be claiming to save me from more dirty laundry. I heard Chris say "Let's go downstairs" so I went to greet them.

When my husband brought Miss G down the stairs, I could hear him say "Guess who's here" to her. As they rounded the corner on the landing and we saw each other, the sheer delight in her giggle and the smile that stretched across her entire face both wrapped themselves around my heart. She held her arms out to me and joyfully yelled "MOOOOOMMMMMMAAAAAA!!!!!" I took her from Chris and she instantly wrapped her little arms around my neck, laid her head down on my shoulder and squeezed me with the tightest hug an 18 month old is capable of.

That feeling. That one. That's one of my happy places.

After my world class hug, she immediately sat up, looked at me and in a very serious tone said "I wanna muk." My husband and I just laughed because it was Georgia's way of saying, "Okay, welcome home, yadda yadda...give up the milk, sister."

After a wonderfully comforting bear hug from my husband, he returned to making dinner (pork chops, baked potatoes and a big garden salad - huh?!) and I filled a muk order. As I was putting the milk back into the fridge, I heard Chris say "Hey, buddy -- look who's home!" I closed the door and looked into the living room to see a tousled head of hair, two big brown eyes, and a shy but undeniably joyful smile peeking up at me over the island.

Our reunion was more subdued, but his sleepy grin and gentle hugs melted my heart as I rubbed his back while he woke up and showed me his new Tony Stewart racecar that Daddy had bought for him at "Wullmert." That lasted about a minute and a half, at which point Georgia sniffed out our physical contact and came to voice her displeasure at me hugging anyone but her. My snuggle time with Mitchell turned into snuggle time with Mitchell and Georgia, leading to my husband and I exchanging glances across the room. He could see that I knew I was back where I belonged and I could see that he had been longing for that to happen all day.

Home. I love being home.

We're back...

This is the new "cheese" in our house.


We have reached a new Santa milestone. He willingly sat on his lap and talked loudly enough that Santa could hear him. There were no tears, well, unless you count mine.


(There's the cheese again.) I happen to think that one of the most best places to find the essence of childhood is in a swimming pool.

So, we are back from our weekend away and we are all tired. A good tired, but still -- tired. We packed a LOT into one weekend, and really the only thing that wasn't packed in there was a good amount of sleep. I guess that's what happens when you cram in time with good friends, fun places to go, and beautiful surroundings to enjoy. We can always catch up on sleep. (Oh, and Earen - I guess that means I won't be jogging this week. *wink*)

Just in case you're wondering, Friday night was a repeat of Thursday night with the addition of a 1:30 a.m. trip to Walmart for Georgia and I. We were both in our pajamas for soy milk and swimsuits. We ended up getting: new sunglasses for Miss G that she insisted on wearing through the store (complete with the plastic rectangular holder), soy milk, a size 3T bikini for Miss G (she wears 18 months), and a cute, pink terrycloth robe/dress thing for me. The smallest bathing suit they had for me was literally 4 sizes too big. Bummer. And shocker. Doesn't it seem like Mom is the one who gets the shaft in things like that? Oh well -- I got to watch them swim anyway.

I came home from this weekend with renewed gratefulness for the love and friendship I am blessed to have in my life. The laughs, food, scenery and love that I shared during this one weekend are more than many people experience in a lifetime.

Blessed. I am blessed.

Things I don't want to forget...

I'm taking a break from my seemingly never-ending chore of "staging" the house to go on the market in order to make sure that I document some things I've been thinking about lately. These are little things that I so completely adore right now but are definitely not things I'd likely remember once the kids stop saying and doing them. I try to print my blog out every month or two and put it in my scrapbook stash, so I figure this is as good a place as any to preserve a little history.

*Disclaimer: If you're sick of gushy proud Mommy posts, you might just want to come back another day.*

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Georgia, at nearly 17 months, has this awesome habit of standing on her head at completely random times. It can be in her crib, in the middle of the living room, at the park, in the kitchen, on the sidewalk, or even in the (ewww) bathroom. When she does it, she just comes to a screeching halt, bends herself in half, plants both hands on the ground, and then puts the top of her head on the ground. She usually stays that way for about 15-30 seconds, then gets up and resumes life. It reminds me of Tivo, actually. Like when you pause real-time TV and then just unpause it. I used to think she was gearing up to try doing somersaults like her big brother does all of the time, but lately when I've watched her, it's more like she just decides that the world might look sort of cool upside down at that very moment.

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After he's done reading books and right before he falls asleep, Mitchell - at age 4 and a half , will lay on his back in his bed, put both feet on the wall, place his hands behind his head and stare at the poster next to the top of his bed that has 100 years worth of aircraft while he listens to music. I often just stand in the doorway and peek in - he doesn't know I'm there. I can't explain it adequately, but it is obvious to me that he is IN that poster. He is flying one of those planes. There is a wonderful, imaginative story being created in that little head of his. It is one of those precious moments in time (besides being peacefully asleep) where he has a look of complete innocence.

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Georgia says "Mama" about 458,234 times each day. I'm estimating here. About 400,000 of them are actually questions, demands or statements. Some of the following are examples:

Says: "Mama!"
Means: "Can I have some freakin' milk over here please??"

Says: "Mama?"
Means: "What the heck is this thing?"

Says: "Mama?!"
Means: "How dare you leave my sight! Where in God's green earth are you, woman?!"

Says: "Mama."
Means: "I need a hug."

I love that she does this -- it makes me smile about 89% of the time, which is yet another estimate. The remaining 11% of the time I forget how much I'll miss it when she doesn't do it anymore and I take it for granted.

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My husband is a Looney Tunes freak. He loves Looney Tunes, namely Daffy Duck. When we were dating I used to give him random Daffy stuff for gifts - a DD mug, some socks, ya know - nerdy stuff like that. Well, he has apparently created a mini-him in the form of Mitchell with regards to being an avid fan of the slapstick cartoon. One of Mitchell's favorite things in the whole world to do is to watch "Movie Tunes" with his Daddy.

Things have recently been taken to a new level.

When cleaning out the closet in Mitchell's room, Chris found the Looney Tunes talking clock that I bought for him. In hindsight, it was a solid purchase. Good "wow" factor, and here's the important part -- he lived in a town an hour and a half away from me -- the clock wouldn't be a problem. Fast forward 7 years and two kids later and the clock has come back to life. Chris promptly hung it in Mitchell's room and his biggest thrills of the day are on the hour when the clock brings the characters to life to say a particular phrase. He then sprints into wherever I am and imitates what he just heard announced on his clock. My favorite is his Yosemite Sam impression: "It's 1:00, ya mangy polecat!"

Incidentally, the carpet layers accidentally knocked the clock off of the wall and broke it, causing much heartache. I should have known Super Dad would find a way to fix it. He did, and all is well in the land of Movie Tunes.

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When I'm driving, sometimes I will look at the kids in the rearview mirror and see that they are holding hands across the aisle, looking at each other and laughing. I cannot begin to describe what that does to me.

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Mitchell's "5 Things" he was grateful for last night at bedtime:
1. Kix
2. His Thomas swimsuit
3. Chocolate milk
4. His toes
5. Doors

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When I say goodnight prayers with Georgia before bedtime, she snuggles her DuckDuck by her head and lays down in my arms. I say the "Now I lay me down to sleep" prayer and at the end she pinches her fingers together, and touches her chest twice by her shoulder and says "Mee-men". That's her saying "Amen" and I about cry each and every night because it is so cute.

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Georgia is in love with Mickey Mouse. If she hears the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme music, she will immediately start shouting "Maaaaaa" (mouse) at the top of her lungs and throw her arms in the air with every exclamation.

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When Mitchell talks on the phone to Chris during workdays, his last question is always this: "Daddy, what time are you coming home to tackle with me?"

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These are just everyday, random happenings in our house but I love and treasure each and every silly one. I just can't let myself forget them.

What a guy.

My hubby. He constantly surprises me. (Oh, and it's 1:36 a.m., by the way - still a terrific sleeper over here!)

Tonight he ended up being a little bit later than he thought he would be in getting home from work. He called to let me know (let's hear it for nagging him enough to win that battle!!) and said it was because he was doing something for the kids. I asked what he was doing and he said he was writing them a letter about the 4th of July.

He calls it his "Christmas".

I guarantee this letter will make me cry when I read it. I married one of the biggest patriots that has ever lived. He is bold and proud of his patriotic streak to the point of being almost nerdy. We attend Memorial Day services at the local veterans' cemetary even though we haven't personally had any tragedy in that department...we're there simply to honor those who have fallen for our country. As I mentioned, he is ALL ABOUT the 4th of July. He's like a child on Christmas morning...he just absolutely adores the whole day. Today he left for work in his red, white and blue tie with a big American flag lapel pin. Tomorrow we will all be decked out in head to toe red, white and blue for Daddy.

I'm really looking forward to reading his letter. That part of him is one of the things I love best about my husband...he will NOT stand by and let his children take for granted the things that he feels are most important. They can obviously choose to feel differently when they grow up, but it won't be for lack of trying on his part. The thing is, he isn't forceful or pushy...but he makes his points and he makes them clear and obvious for the kids...what they should appreciate and why. It really is a neat thing, even if it makes me chuckle from time to time. If you've seen the movie, "The American President" it totally reminds me of when Michael Douglas is lecturing his daughter about The Constitution and he said "This is exciting stuff!" That would SO be my hubby.

I still have a memory in my head from when Mitchell was tiny...and I'm talking like 2 weeks old or something. I was making breakfast and I looked over at my boys. There was my husband, sitting at the table holding and reading to Mitchell...this tiny little thing just looking up at him with these big, dark eyes and his mouth drawn into a little "o". Know what he was reading to him? A book that held a collection of his favorite American documents. Peace treaties, The Constitution, speeches made by various political figures, etc. I just had to laugh because that was about the very last thing you'd ever catch me doing, yet there he was, completely joyful in the moment. He is itching for the day he gets to help with Social Studies homework!

Anyway -- I haven't even read it yet and I know that this letter is a family heirloom in the making. It's my husband in a nutshell and I love it.

Consipracy Theory...

Yes, a blog with no direction. Make that blogger with no direction.



I'm tired. Last night wore me out. I've decided I need to watch my kids more closely -- apparently they have some sort of secret code that I am bound and determined to crack. That's all I can figure out -- it was too well orchestrated to be a random accident.



My husband (poor guy) had to work late last night. Make that laaaaaaaaaaaaaaate. Which is fine, that happens. Usually, it's not a big deal. We do dinner. We do bathtime. We do bedtime, one at a time. Then Mommy (that's me) comes downstairs to do whatever she wants. Usually it's cleaning, laundry, dinking on the internet, watching shows, etc.



Last night we did dinner. (No problem.)



Last night we did bathtime. (No problem.)



Georgia went to bed, but unlike her normal waving night night and blowing kisses, she fussed. Her fussing turned into crying about 5 minutes later. About 5 minutes after that, it turned into screaming. SO, Mitchell and I took a break from his Ratatouille book that we were reading to go get her resettled. Mission accomplished. We finished his book and did his whole bedtime routine thing. (No problem.)



I came back downstairs. About half an hour later...I would begin what I now think of as the calm down, night night circuit.



8:45 - Georgia wakes up BAWLING her little eyes out. I come to the rescue, get her resettled, check on a slumbering Mitchell and head back downstairs to keep on cleaning up the kitchen.



9:00 - Mitchell wakes up SCREAMING for me (not good on the ol' throat, by the way). Again, Mommy to the rescue -- back rub, tear dabbing, music starting, forehead kissing -- and downstairs I go.



9:15 - Georgia's turn.



9:30 - Mitchell's turn.



9:45 - Georgia's turn.



10:00 - Mitchell's turn.



And so on ...



I'm sure you think I'm exaggerating that it was that closely timed, but give or take about 3 minutes on either side, it was LITERALLY every 15 minutes. I don't know what the heck was going on up there but strange things were afoot. (Kudos to my fellow horrible 90's movie watchers who know what I'm talking about.)



My husband gets home shortly before 11 p.m. and the first thing he asks me is what's wrong. I don't know what gave it away -- my half torn out bun, my t-shirt stained red with the nasty store-brand fake children's tylenol, the makeup that was halfway down my face and leftover from the day before (true fact), or if it was finding me in the kitchen sink bathing in my newfound love, Stoli Blueberi. (Not really, I didn't even make myself a drink last night but in hindsight, that would have been a stellar plan.) He told me tonight that I looked like I'd been run over by a truck. Always nice to hear.



I told him about our two deviants upstairs and their seriously twisted 15 minute plan and predicted that since it was her turn, Shortstack would be wailing in about 5-8 minutes. He laughed and said "Oh, honey -- I'm so sorry" in that way that you know he truly WAS sorry but I'm not sure if he was more sorry that I'd been dealing with his two screaming offspring or that I was clearly losing my mind. We chatted about his day and like clockwork, my little girl did not let me down. He looked at the monitor, looked at the clock, looked at me and said "Wow. I guess you weren't kidding." Ummmm, yeah. Not kidding.



Since he was home, I decided to bring her downstairs and let him deal with her for awhile. (I don't mean that like "Here, butthead -- deal with her!" I mean that as in "Please, dear man, take pity on me and help." I feel sort of bad -- he just switched from the adult pool to the kiddie pool -- both were filled with cry babies yesterday. Anyway -- she was okay for all of oh -- about 10 seconds and then she just let loose again. The only thing she wanted was to cuddle up on Mommy's shoulders and rock in the recliner.



We finally trudged back upstairs and he thought I was nuts, but I decided to try and put her down one more time. His vote was for letting her sleep with us, but knowing my little hurricane the way that I do, I could almost guarantee you that there would be NO sleep. For anyone.



I did the whole hold my breath and tiptoe out of her room thing at about 12:15, I think. For whatever reason...she decided that yes, she was finally ready to give Mommy a break. Yeah, riiiiiiiiggggghhhhht. She just passed the baton, people. The up all night relay was now in the hands of the anchor -- our friend, Mitchell. Chris and I were laying in bed talking about how SUPER fun pretty much 80% of our life is right now (and I'm not talking kids -- just random crap) when our little man brought in the big guns.



I mentioned (like, in passing) in the last post that he just had his tonsils and adenoids out last week. Well, when he gets to the end of his pain meds, he doesn't like to swallow. At all. So, saliva tends to pool in his mouth and then it becomes a sort of steady stream when he cries. Or screams like a wild banshee. Both of which he decided to do at this point. He was trying to explain to us what was upsetting him, but it was quite difficult to determine what he was saying. Picture a drunk, not so adept ventriloquist with a large drooling problem who is in some serious pain and you will essentially have been a fly on Mitchell's transportation themed bedspread.



My husband and I looked at each other and without even saying a word, decided that he could just sleep with us. Neither one of us had the energy to keep this whole thing up all night, and it was clear that it was going to be an all-night affair. He headed downstairs for a medication refill and a popsicle and I took my slobbery mess of a boy to the bathroom for a little cleanup work. We all reconvened in our bed, got the medicine down, chased it with some water and snuggled in for the night. They boys slept great...I just sort of laid there, dozing in and out of consciousness.

Anyway -- it's now 9:15 and no one is making a peep. So far so good, but I'm sure I've just completely jinxed myself. My saint of a hubby is currently picking up the living room, as I've been instructed not to do anything but relax. I'm off to the couch and am still fighting the urge to make out with the Stoli.

I'll let you know.

Over the top

So, my husband is a self-described NASCAR addict, and apparently it's genetic. Either that or he's into brainwashing. My four year old son is now an official NASCAR fan. Enthusiast. Addict.

Whatever.

It's actually pretty cute how into the whole thing they get together. That's actually what's going on right now. My husband is camped out in the recliner with a beer and my son is on the floor with his speedway and race cars re-enacting the big crash that just happened. They're both all decked out in their race gear and neither one seems to think that five hours is too long for a race. *yawn*

As you may or (hopefully for you) may not know, NASCAR is heavy on the advertising. I am surprised these guys don't have individual caps put on their teeth for their sponsors. Well, my little sponge, errr - boy, has now added many of the sponsors to his ever growing vocabulary of words he recognizes when he sees them in print.

For instance, we'll be driving down the street and he'll yell (not say, YELL) "Hey, Mom! Look! There's the UPS truck - just like Dale Jarrett!" I have yet to drive to the pediatrician without hearing, "Look, Mom! There's the Bass Work Shop" as we pass by Bass Pro Shop. He is an encyclopedia of commercial knowledge in the realm of NASCAR sponsorship.

My husband's favorite driver is Dale Jarrett, so he is also Mitchell's favorite driver. They also like to watch Dale Earnhart Jr. Dale is a big word in our house. It comes up often. Yesterday I found out...maybe a little bit TOO often.

We were driving home after a long day of packing, cleaning and moving things to a storage unit in preparation for putting our house on the market. We decided to just stop somewhere quick and cheap for lunch since we were all hungry and ended up at Del Taco. Mitchell asked what it was called and yes, you guessed it...it is now known as

Dale Taco.

I'll admit, that's pretty funny. I think we both got a good chuckle out of it but I told my husband that this whole NASCAR thing has obviously gone a little bit too far. I mean, Mitchell is half hispanic and it's a bit worrisome to me that he hears "del" as "Dale". Good thing his grandma is teaching him spanish!

The kids' meal came with a boy and a skateboard that magnetically stuck together. Mitchell started playing with it and said "Look, Mom! I got Dale Taco and his skateboard." I just looked at my husband and he started cracking up, shrugging his shoulders and saying "What's the problem?"

News flash -- Dale Jarrett is in the top 10 for the first time all season. There is major, big-time high-fiving happening in the living room. Such timing.

Ohhh, and a sad update there. His engine blew up. Hats were thrown. Lemon words were used. Read below for an explanation of that one.

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Oh, and just as an aside...a friendly warning from me to all of you who have not yet entered the arena of living with a four year old who is thoroughly convinced that he is smarter than you are. (He's actually somewhat convinced me on several occasions, but that's a whole different story.) Be prepared to defend, explain and hear a repetition of every single word that ever comes out of your mouth.

On the way home from Dale Taco, we were pulling up the driveway and my husband made some smart aleck comment about something and I in turn whipped out my most favorite non-cussing cuss word. "Friggin" is somewhat of a staple for me, but I think it's on its way out. Mitchell has latched onto his teacher's idea of "apple words" (words that make you smile and feel good when people say them...words like love, happy, friend, thank you, please, etc.) and "lemon words" (words that make you pucker and wrinkle your nose...words like stupid, go away, etc.) to govern what should and should not be said in our house.

As soon as the friggin' sentence left my lips in the van, Mitchell scolded me by saying, "Mommy, we don't say 'friggin'. It's a lemon word."

Thank you, Mrs. P.! School may be out for the summer, but it's obviously still very much in session at home!

Things I've heard and seen this week...

*clomp*clomp*clomp*clomp*

I look up to see my 4 year old son clomping across the dining room in the pair of heels I'd left by the front door. That alone was funny, but this was classic...

"Mommy, I really like your shoes with the sticks. They're fun!"

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I spent about 45 minutes last night getting so excited about Georgia bringing me discarded faux wood blind slats. They were from the excess we'd trimmed off the new ones in our bedroom. I was laying on the couch after an exhausting day of painting and furniture moving. The slats were across the living room from me. She would toddle over, pick one up and bring it to me like it was made of gold. She was strutting like nobody's business! I would reward her with an energetic "Thank you!" each time and she in turn would reward me with a very proud giggle. When I had the whole pile in my lap and she turned around to get more, I'd toss them back across the room and she'd do it all over again.

Seriously, she was E-N-T-E-R-T-A-I-N-E-D. Another "why in the WORLD do we have all of these bleeping toys?!" moment for ol' Mom.

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About 5 minutes later, we had to ditch the blind slats.

My son thought they made an EXCELLENT sword/Captian Hook hook. Yeah. That wasn't gonna go anywhere good, but it would probably get there quickly.

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As I opened the garage door and started up the driveway on our return home from preschool yesterday, my son said "Mommy, I love living in my blue house. It's my favorite."

*gulp*

Think he's internalizing any of this get-the-house-on-the-market craziness? Ouch.

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I'll end on a great note -- the last thing my hubby said to me before he went to sleep while I laid there in my futile effort to join him:

"I love you so much. Thanks for being my wife."

Stumbling away...

My husband and I went to Las Vegas last week...on Valentine's Day, actually. Neither of us are big on that holiday, but our 5th anniversary was on the 9th and we waited until this weekend so that we could enjoy a LOOOONNNGGGGG weekend together, with President's Day being today.

As I was preparing to leave, Murphy's Law kicked into overdrive around here. (The whole if it can go wrong, it will go wrong deal.) My parents said that they would be over here by 5pm at the very latest so that I would have an hour and a half to do last minute things without the added bonus of trying to wrangle and feed my two little munchkins. Well, as luck would have it, there was just enough snow that day to make a mess of the roads, so my dad was late getting home from work, they were late leaving the house, and traffic pretty much sucked the big one. In addition, Chris was late leaving work and got to do his own traffic fighting stunt, completely crushing all hope in me that I would be able to actually focus on packing.

It might just be our little slice of crazy over here, but from 4-6pm is pretty much known as "the witching hours" in our house. Those two hours between Georgia's afternoon nap and dinner usually present the biggest challenge for me during any given day. The kids are restless, tired, somewhat bored, and so am I most days. There's also the whole dinner thing in there, too. I hadn't even thought about dinner Wednesday night because part of my mom's generous plan involved her bringing and feeding the kids for me. Clearly, that got blown out of the water.

I was trying to pack myself for 4 nights in Vegas -- attempting to account for unknown weather conditions, fancy dinners, casual dinners, and lounging by the pool attire. At the same time, I was trying to pack up two kids for 4 nights at their grandparents' house -- and trying to cover my bases with regards to having enough clothes, church clothes, pajamas, underwear, food, medicine, loveys, etc.

That's stressful enough in itself, right? Well, add to that the fact that my *ahem* well intentioned mother-in-law did my laundry on Tuesday. Most people would probably be exceptionally grateful and appreciative of another person doing laundry without being asked to, but for me -- it actually added to my stress level. The thing is, I am ultra anal about my laundry. Chris has tried three times to do laundry in our five years of marriage and I think he pretty much just gave up after that. (I wasn't very nice about it.) I don't mind doing laundry -- I really don't. I have a very specific organizational system for the whole process and usually plan it out. My MIL came over to watch the kids here on Tuesday afternoon while I saw a couple of clients. I hid the ironing from her because I knew if I didn't, that's all she'd do while she was there. I *thought* about asking her to PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE don't touch the laundry, but I bit my tongue as I left because I didn't want to be tacky. Well, that will teach me. I had three loads of laundry -- one in the dryer, one in the washer finishing up and one in the basket. When I walked in the door, the first thing she said to me was "I hope you don't mind, but I did the laundry." And there it was -- all three loads, piled up on the recliner and loveseat. As I tried not to roll my eyes in agitation and managed an "Oh, okay", she added that my bra was hanging on the rack in the laundry room.

Perfect. Doesn't everyone want to be greeted by their MIL telling them that she has hung their underwear up for them? Seriously.

Anyway -- I'll just say that things were "folded" much differently than when I do it and our clothes were all together -- I sort them by family member as I fold, so I was just out of synch on that end, and those three loads were *of course* the stuff I really needed to pack for all of us.

Okay, so back to the chaotic pre-departure evening. As luck would have it, both kids were pretty wound up -- Mitchell was really excited to go to stay with my parents, and I think Georgia was just feeding off of both of us. I worked up a sweat running around and trying to do a million things at once, toting the kids from room to room to room with me. Finally, my parents arrived and I was able to bark orders at them and try to not leave absolutely everything at home. The plan was to leave the house at 6:30. My parents arrived around 6:20 and Chris got home at about 6:45.

We said goodbye to the kids, leaving me in tears. The funny thing is, neither my dad nor my husband really said anything about my crying. My dad asked if I was okay and Chris gave me that "You're going to be fine" look. I think they were afraid if they asked for details, I'd actually give them and no man wants that. We were all fine with them talking sports and me sniffling alone in the dark.

Our plane ended up being delayed for almost two hours, which just added to my sense of frustration. Hurry up and wait. Why I expected anything else is beyond me.

The good news is that my husband I enjoyed a wonderful, long weekend away. I knew we would, and really, it didn't matter *what* was in my suitcase. I don't know why I get so stressed out in situations like that -- I was doing the best I could with what I had to work with and I still got snippy and freakish.

Oh my goodness -- here comes that dreaded line -- I'm becoming my mother.

I've gotta be smarter, right?

I mean, he's only 4. I've got a few years on him.

Then why do I get the feeling that if he's not already smarter than me, he's closing in quickly?

I think it's just his quick wit that gets me. That and the fact that those little wheels never stop turning. (Well, perhaps BRIEFLY while he's sleeping, but I'm not kidding you -- half the time the first words out of his mouth pick up exactly where we left off before bed. Like he was on pause or something.)

Tonight we put him to bed a bit early, but it just worked out that way. He had a bit of a nap in the car because we were driving around a lot today, but we let him run wild at the mall play place for quite awhile and gave him free play time when we got home before dinner. A nice, soothing bath, a book with Daddy, and all set, right? That was at about 7 pm.

8:30 pm ... Chris and I are snuggled in on the couch watching Super Nanny (ironically). My husband would probably appreciate it if I let you know that he was only watching the show because he usually works late on Mondays and so I watch it by myself, so tonight he was just being nice by watching with me. Anyway -- I tell him to pause the tv because I hear little footsteps on the stairs. Sure enough, there's M peeking his head around the corner.

M: "Uhhh, Mommy? My leg...ugggghhh...it really hurts!"
(See me looking at Chris and both of us stifling giggles here.)

Me: "Well, come here and let us look at it."
(Under my breath to Chris: "Pause the tv since that's what he wants to see.")

M: (with a completely lame fake limp on the way over) "Uhhhgggg. It hurts." (In a weak voice.)

Pause. Looks at paused (love that tivo!) TV.

M: "Hey!! What's this show?? Who's that boy?" (In a completely rejuvinated voice. It's a MIRACLE!)

Me: "M. Which leg hurts?"

M: "I don't really know but it hurts bad." (His weakened state has returned.)

(See us both giggling out loud a little bit at this point.)

Chris: "Come here and let me look at it."

(Looks, prods, squeezes M's leg.)

Chris: "Looks fine, buddy. 'Night!"

M: "Uhhhhggggg..." (all the way up the stairs)


What I'd like to know is who taught him this trick??? I am a horrible sleeper myself. (As a matter of fact, it's 12:30 am right now.) I can remember being 4 years old and sitting on the top of the stairs wayyyyyy over next to the wall watching my mom and dad's tv while they watched from the couch in the living room with their backs to me. I never figured out how they knew I was there, but they usually let me sit there for a few minutes and then utilizing those infamous eyes in the backs of their heads, they'd tell me to go to bed. In all of my years of childhood insomnia did it EVER cross my mind to fake a leg injury? No. A stomach ache? (Last week's claim.) No. Any sort of ailment? No.

I can't wait to see what he comes up with next week. I'm guessing foot. He really likes that fake limp he's developed.

Whew!

Christmas is my favorite holiday, but I wish that someone would invent another holiday just for tired people who are wiped out from the Big Day. Actually, I wish there could be some wacky new law that MAKES tired moms lay down on the sofa while someone else swoops in to clean up the mess, organize the toys, put away the Christmas dishes and take down the tree and decorations. Around here, the next day was just "Tuesday". Not nearly as restful.

Don't get me wrong -- it was a wonderful holiday, but sheesh -- I'm beat.

Mitchell was like a rubber ball bouncing around the house the ENTIRE day on Christmas Eve. He was so excited, he just couldn't stand it. Bless his heart, he wasn't trying to be naughty or not listen, he just could not control himself. To get him dressed was like trying to nail jello to a tree. He was on full throttle, jumping, squirming, giggling, you name it -- he was doing it.

We always have a big Christmas Eve dinner at my parents' house and this year was no exception. 20 adults and 6 kids. Chaos.

Santa always makes a visit at the end of the night and it's so fun to watch the kids and their reactions. I was hopeful that maybe this year Mitchell might be brave enough to give him a hug, but I guess the plus side to that not happening is that he didn't end up getting close enough to figure out that it was my father in law. (Bought another year on that front.) Georgia sat on Santa's lap and just stared with wide-eyed wonder. She didn't cry at all -- just stared. The second Santa walked in, Mitchell hit the floor like you're supposed to do if there's a gunman in the room. He hid behind my legs and said "I just want to LOOK at him." (This is code for PLEASE don't make me go near him, but I really do like him.)

Santa always knows JUST who will be at dinner and has a gift for each one of them and calls them up by name. My cousin's kids had the routine down pat -- listen for your name, turn around and pose for the paparrazi. My nephew did the same thing. Mitchell snuck up there, reached out on his tippy toes to get the present and ran off as soon as he could. As I already said, Georgia just stared and stared.

Our tradition is that the kids get to open one gift on Christmas Eve and it's always Christmas pj's. (This is one I carried over from my own childhood.) We put the kiddos in their jammies and headed off for 11 pm church service. This has *never* been a problem, as Mitchell always just sleeps through it or cuddles up on us and lays down quietly. Well....it seems that Miss G has new plans for our family on Christmas Eve...and they won't include the 11pm service.

They were both sacked out when we arrived to the church at 10:30. We got them out, went inside and found a seat in the back on the aisle. Mitchell curled up on Chris and went right back to sleep. Georgia? No, no, no. Georgia might miss something if she did that. If you are holding her, no matter HOW tired she is, she refuses to close her eyes or put her head down. She has to stand up, look around, and check it all out. She just fussed and squirmed, and squirmed and fussed some more. Finally at 10:55 we decided not to ruin the service for everyone else and packed it in for the night. Bummer -- that was Chris' and my favorite thing to do. Oh well -- we'll get there again eventually, but it might have to be a mid-day Christmas service or an early afternoon one for the next few years from now on.

When we got home, Mitchell was too sleepy to help put out cookies, milk and celery with me so I did it for him. He snuggled into his bed and went right to sleep. I was exhausted and told Chris I'd rather just get up early instead of staying up late. He said that was fine and only asked if I'd get him some water when I went downstairs to get something. As I was downstairs, I started looking around at all of the stuff I needed to do before breakfast and that was all I needed to get a second wind. I went upstairs with the water and to tell Chris that I changed my mind but he was already asleep, so I headed back down.

It ended up being kind of nice -- a little quiet time for myself to reflect on the blessings of the season. I got a lot done but I enjoyed the time alone with my thoughts more than anything. I have so very, very much to be thankful for and I took some time to say some prayers for people in my life (and even some I don't know) whose holidays I know were not quite as merry.

In the morning, I got up at 7 (I was going to get up at 6 but couldn't drag myself out of bed) and got Mitchell all set up with his Cars movie in our room. I shut the gate and told him he needed to stay up there till we told him he could come down. Chris came down with me and soon Georgia did, too. We got the food going, the table set, etc. Both of our parents came along with my grandma and we had a wonderful morning together.

When it was finally time for the kids to come down and check out the goodies that Santa had left, I think that Mitchell was a little overwhelmed. He was very reserved, quiet, and shy. He didn't dive in like we all thought he would -- I don't know if he was extra tired or if he was sort of taken aback by a roomful of grandparents and cameras. Either way, he definitely warmed up and soon became immersed in all the glory that Christmas morning is when you are a 4 year old boy. Package after package brought all of his wishes and dreams come true. It was a fun thing to watch, but almost as fun for Chris and I were watching the faces of all of the grandparents -- I'm not sure who was happier. His favorite gifts included all of the "Cars" die cast characters (Ramon, Flo, Red, Stanley, Lightning, Mater) but most of all "The King" . We'd been hearing about "The King" for weeks, so it was so much fun to see him light up. He also got a big Fast Talking Lightning McQueen, and a remote control train. The list goes on and on, of course. Sigh.

As for Georgia, she was happy shuffling between the bows, ribbons, paper and all of Mitchell's stuff. She loved her Sesame Street Purse from Mommy and Daddy and tried to kiss Elmo through the packaging. I think her favorite gift of the day was the Night Glow Pooh from my parents. Mitchell loves playing it for her and she would just smile, laugh, and smother Pooh with hugs and kisses. It really is cute, so I can't blame her there.

Anyway -- after all of our guests left, we were left to start cleaning up the mess (HA!!), put the kids down for a nap/rest, and get ready for dinner at my in-laws. We headed over there and had a WONDERFUL evening with them. It was kind of funny -- last year, we went dressed casually and my BIL/SIL were dressed up so we decided we needed to dress up this year. We arrived and my SIL was in her pajamas, using our casual dress from last year as her reasoning. We agreed that next year, none of us would go above casual...HOORAY!! Dinner was delicious, the company was so enjoyable and the kids had a ball. At one point we caught Mitchell and his cousin Madison (a year younger almost to the day) double fisting Papa's peppermint bark behind the kitchen counter. Too funny! His most prized gift of this party was by far Cranky the Crane and Georgia enjoyed getting a Glow Worm.

When we got home, we got the car unloaded, the kids in their jammies, and into bed. Then Chris and I did our own gift exchange. We plugged in our little Charlie Brown tree -- it's a little 2 feet (that's being generous) tree that I got at a craft fair years and years ago. We sit by it every year for our gift exchange and I think it's one of our more romantic traditions, personally. We each have a drink and take turns opening presents. It worked out this year that we each had exactly the same number...usually I open more than he does. After we were done opening gifts, we sat and read the year in review book together. My husband started this tradition when we were dating and I adore it. In 2001, it was my last Christmas gift from him -- a 30 page review of the year together. In the end he said that he hoped we could take turns giving the book to each other and that it would become a lasting history for our children. It's just so neat and every year you end up laughing, crying and saying "Oh YEAH...I'd forgotten about that!" I only made it through February so far, but he'll get the rest by New Year's.

Anyway -- after that, we headed upstairs with aspirations for some continuing romance but before you know it, we were both asleep. Oh well -- we'll make up for that later!

Last night we concluded the Christmas chaos with dinner at my parents' house to exchange gifts with my brother's family. All four of our kids are around the same age, with Mitchell being the oldest so you can imagine that it was neither quiet nor dull around there. It was fun to watch the kids play together and open their gifts...the highlight of THIS opening party was a Thomas watch and some VERY cute clothes for Georgia.

I'm about ready to fall over from being so tired, but I should count my blessings. I realize how lucky I am to have so many places to go, gifts to give, gifts to open, meals to prepare and eat, and most importantly, people to love and love me back.

It was a wonderful Christmas...and I didn't even mention this, but it was even a White Christmas, too!