Somebody, Somewhere Lost a Bet

Your father and I are celebrating our ten year anniversary today.  Ten years ago, he and I headed out to the church and said our "I dos" together and then had a slammin' party. And yes, I put that in there so that you can mock me for using slammin'.  

I looked good that day. Your dad looked better...I really, really liked him in glasses before he had the laser surgery.  If I was a bit less lazy, I would go and find my favorite picture from our wedding- you dad is grinning, I'm laughing out loud and you can see my friend Sandi right next to me smiling from ear to ear.  Who knows, maybe I'll find it in a day or two. 

But for right now, I'm enjoying a rare minute sitting by myself.  Notice I didn't say "alone". Jordan is taking her morning nap despite the fact that the kid up the street is mowing the lawn and the Terminex guy is drilling holes in the front porch.  We have termites.  Icky, nasty, eating- our- house termites.    This is unacceptable.  I've put way too much time and energy into this house to let small buggies get a piece of it.  So we're waging war- starting with holes along the front porch and long the sides of the house so that these guys realize we're not going to roll over and take it. 

Ha! Double Ha! Now where's my coffee as I watch these guys work.....?

Your dad took you to the Barber shop with him. All dressed up in the dresses that you are now insisting upon, you put on your Keens and headed off to watch Daddy get his bi-monthly haircut and collect your lollipop before heading over to the park. Me?  I sprayed soap and water on the leftover wallpaper nearest the toilet on the main level and spent an hour straddling the bowl backwards to scrape off the paper and glue. The whole room isn't done yet, but the corner should be ready for me to patch and sand after the wall board dries while we replace the toilet this afternoon.

Yes, this is how I spend my romantic anniversary with Daddy.

Granne and Grandbob are coming down to see us after Grandbob goes for a hearing test. I think my mom purposely spoke in low tones for a week before Dad finally gave up and headed to see the Doc. Wonder if he's going to take them out when he comes down here and hears how loud you really are!

Tonight should be fun- we're going to put a new recipe on the stove for pulled pork, play with you guys for a while and then your father and I are following our anniversary tradition.  We're going to go out to a restaurant  we've never been to before and then see a movie. Or two.  I know it sounds dorky, but with all the running around, weird expectations and stress, this was one thing that your father and I both agreed should be kept pretty simple.  With the exception of the year Grace was born, this is what we've done every year.  I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.

And just so you know- I still think the marrying your dad was the best thing I ever did. The very best choice I ever made.    

My tenth anniversary band

In the morning, your dad is going to kiss me good morning and tell me "Happy Anniversary". And then he is going to pull out the most beautiful ring and give it to me as a prize for our tenth anniversary.  I am going to be so surprised.

When we got engaged, your father gave me the most beautiful engagement ring. I found out later that he'd spent time researching diamonds, diamond cuts, settings, traditions, and the meanings of different metals, settings, cuts et cetera later on and that just made me love the ring more.  The only problem was that when he handed me the box, there was another ring there- a wedding ring that matched the engagement ring.  

It was gorgeous. Also in platinum, it had channel set diamonds and looked beautiful on my hand. But silly me, I had always had the idea that my wedding band would look like a smaller version of my husband's. My mom and dad both wore plain gold rings and I liked that.  Because I wore silver all the time and it was the most "elegant" ( I love, love, love that your father thought I was elegant- he's gotten over that) he picked platinum for our rings.  But unless Todd wanted diamonds in his wedding ring, this flashy little ring wasn't going to work. 

So I suggested that he keep it for our tenth anniversary. After he looked at me funny, I remember telling him that since I was sure we'd be married for much longer than ten years, it was good of him to think ahead.  Show his commitment. Not only did he think of the engagement and the wedding, he was already thinking about the ten year anniversary. I was a lucky girl. 

The ring has been living in my jewelry pile (I should have a jewelry box by the time Jordan is twenty- if I don't, it's a good thought for Christmas girls. Hint, hint. ) for the last eleven years. In the morning, your dad is going to go get it, give me a kiss, tell me "Happy Anniversary!" and give me that ring.  I am going to be so surprised. 

Shorts

I'm a blogger. I blog.  The only problem is that you're my only readers. And you don't read yet. Can we say "irony"?

About two years ago your Uncle John started a blog about himself and the island, but I think he was a bit busy to keep up. I  never found anything new on there, so I stopped looking and I think he stopped writing after a while.  But lately I've been inspired by some of the blogs I've been reading online to work on a few projects and try to complete some of the cluttery piles of "stuff" that I am convinced will become something adorable. Or fantastic. Or chic.  

Or it could just be the bags that I can use for the groceries.  All the online ladies have been chatting about a new book about sewing projects that can help with the problems in our environment- recycling sweaters (done it),  shopping bags (do it and carry them) and the smaller bags that you can use to put your veg in so that the cashiers can weigh all the apples and such without using the thin plastic bags that are NEVER recycled.  So this morning while your dad went to the park with you, Jordan took a nap and I gave half a dozen old tea towels a new purpose.  We'll see if I can use them at the store or if the cashiers are too annoyed that they'll have to look in the bag to see what it is.

I'd put a picture up, but I keep thinking to myself "Twenty years from now, are the girls really going to want to see a picture of the veggie bags?" and my answer is usually "No."  You'll be busy, productive, exciting, thoughtful, crazy women and this will be one of the posts that you'll skip over to get the good stuff where I tell you about childbirth and sex. Not necessarily in that order. 

So today was the usual conversation/negotiation/argument about what you were all going to wear today.  Since there was a plan to go to the park, I wanted shorts. As usual, Grace was the ring leader in getting Eleanor and Jordan to want dresses or skirts. Okay, so J can't talk yet, but you can see it in her eyes.  

Me: How about a pretty shirt and shorts? Then you can climb ladders and slide and you won't have to worry about catching your hem.

Grace: No Mommy, I want a dress. I mean, no thank you Mommy. I prefer a dress. 

Me: Well how about your brand new pink polka dotted shorts?

Grace: No thank you Mommy, I want longs. 

Good Morning

I was wondering where you were this morning. I came down this morning, grabbed the last of the coffee and turned on the news. Unlike last week, the DVR actually worked and we had a picture. And for fifteen minutes this morning, there was quiet. Blissful quiet where I heard every word the pretty-pretty man said about the state of our economy.  

But there was no snuggling, so it wasn't much of a trade-off. 

As much as I appreciate the small moments of tranquility and probably talk way too much about me, me, me and my time, I love the mornings where you come into our room and say, "It's sunny, Mommy! It's sunny!" and then proceed to tell me that you are either climbing into bed with me ("IsnuggleMommy") or that we are going downstairs.  By this time Jordan is awake and well aware that conscious people are making noise and walking around, so we go and get her to come downstairs. 

Like her sisters before her, getting the baby out of the crib in the morning has to be one the best things in life.  The looks you have that seem to say,

• "It's you! It's you! You came to get me!"
  
• "Mommmy!"
  
• "I made something for you" (usually accompanied with a smell)
  
• "Did you hear me? Did you hear me? I threw ALL my toys out there! Aren't you proud?"
  
•  or the absolute worst, "I feel miserable and there's something wrong and you're the Mommy- fix this!!!" 
  

So right now I have a rock star on my lap (Eleanor has on her sunglasses), a baby right next to us, fifteen minutes before we need to leave for school and a list of things I need to remember.  Later on in life you can tease me about the staging board in the office, but for right now it's the only thing that keeps us organized while I remember shoes, hats, sweaters, backpacks, lunch, snacks for preschool and ....oh what am I forgetting??

Good Enough

It's 10:42 and I'm still up. I'm writing this on my brand new laptop...but that's another post.

You, Eleanor, aren't feeling well and have been acting out all day. For some reason or another, you've been cranky, clingy and generally bad tempered. Am hoping that it is nothing more than a cold making the rounds and that I'm not going to seriously regret having said that in a few days...

Tonight is one of those nights that makes me glad I don't work outside the house.  Tonight is one of those nights where I look at your dad sleeping soundly beside me as I noisily type away (this keyboard is LOUD) and he doesn't even flinch as you start crying for the dozenth time. Oh yes, there will be a nap for Mommy tomorrow. 

I was having a conversation with BC about "good enough" on Saturday night. And he was talking about parents who had older kids and were just bone tired and/or just selfish and didn't communicate or spend the time with their kids or on their marriage.  I've been doing a lot of "good enough" lately and I have to say I don't like it. 

Oh, there are times when it comes in handy and times when it's a wonderful excuse, but I really, really want to do something well.  I want to be proud of what I do, to see pride on your faces and your dad's.  I want to know that what I do has value. Not just "good enough".

I can understand why people go back to work early and stay late at their jobs. They're completing a task, they are meeting a finite challenge and accomplishing a goal.  There seems to be so little of that around here with the never ending list of things to do.  I have a white board up on the wall in the kitchen where I keep track of all the things I'm supposed to remember. Call Terminex, make a doctor's appointment for me, take care of paperwork, pick up the grill, drop off the snacks in the morning....the list gets wiped away as the day goes on but I always seem to be able to put three or four more up there during the day.  

BC and I spoke while your dad was in Iraq about trying to do everything and keep all our ducks in a row. Hard to do.  I've tried to simplify and streamline, but even that takes maintenance and time that get eaten up during the day.  There are things that I need to do, things I have to do and things I want to do.  Playing with you girls and keeping you from hurting yourselves or peeing on the floor are in all three of those categories. 

With the creativity and energy from our family, it's easy to get distracted. Especially with three other people who are demanding my time and attention which you deserve. But I want to do better than the lowest standard. I want to feel that satisfaction. Not sure if I'm talking about our family, our marriage, the house, my studies, my quilting, photography, writing or just me in general but I'm working on it. 

I'm working on it. 

Yar

Yar adjective
1. (archaic) Set for action; ready.
2. Characterized by speed and agility.

I hope by now I have shown you the Philadephia Story. You can make fun of my Katherine Hepburn imitation and I'll share my popcorn. 

We're having a party

Hold My Hand

I found this idea for a tissue holder online and told the ladies at Eleanor's school about it. A simple pattern, just a 6x7 that is sandwiched, flipped and then sewn with a slight fold before the final flip. It's actually quite cute in linen. But in muslin, with a kid's handprint, it's the world's best Mom's Day present. They told me they're going to put "Mommy, can you hand me a tissue?" on the card.

Wedgewood

You asked me today about my necklace. 

It's not my usual silver necklace. Not the one with the heart that your father bought for me when I was pregnant with Grace.  Not the star that he bought with the star since the heart was for Grace or even the butterfly for Nora.  

This one is gold and has a pretty blue cameo with a flower on it and it came back to us in an unexpected surprise when your dad got out his cufflinks last month. I thought I had lost it. 

Center of the Universe