Saturday, July 14, 2012

Ramblings About My Love

A letter to my Slave Love on near our 5th Anniversary.

Well, Boo, I'm late.  As usual.

Don't worry.  It's not the kind of late I told you I was on New Years over the phone while you were stuck at the station (my bad- I was freakin' the bleep out!).  Nope.  Kinda got that one covered already.  Unless aliens have abducted me in my sleep, erased my memory and made me into a medical oddity.  What?  Don't look at the computer screen like that.  A .000000000000000000000001% chance of happening is still a chance.  Don't you read The Inquirer?


Can you believe we've been married for 5 years and together for ten.  Shhuuuuu wwwweeee!  It's been a wild ride, hasn't it, Boo?  I think that shit deserves a trophy.  Not one of those cheesy plastic ones they give out to everybody at t-ball games either.  Nope.  I want the real deal.  You know, the 5 story championship winner, need a ladder to take a picture next to, one.

And believe it or not, the things I loved about you then, are still the same things I love about you now.
Not to say we haven't grown and changed.  After all, we were barely out of our teens when we met and both had a LOT of growing up to do.  But I like to think we helped each other out, in that regard.  You helped me tame some of my -ahem- wildest tendencies *cough jello wrestling cough* and I helped you pull that stick out of your ass that was threatening to come out your nose.  Seriously, Boo.  Straight -laced doesn't even begin to describe the you of way back when.


You're also steady and strong.  You picked a path in life and stuck to it with dogged determination no matter what was thrown at you.  You're honest and stand up for what is right and fair, even when it's caused you more harm than good.   And you're such a gentle and loving father to our daughters, it just melts my heart when I watch you with them.  

Early on, we lost the you and me mentality and because an us.  And I think that has made all the difference in the world in the success of our marriage.  Because we've been to rock bottom, haven't we Boo.  Hell, we've looked around, even pitched a tent and stayed awhile.  But we didn't blame each other when we got there.  Nope.  Instead we said, "Well, this sucks big blue donkey balls!  What's next?  Where do we go from here?"  And it's made us stronger.  More loving.  More committed than ever.  

I have a little story that illustrates everything I love about you.

The other day, when you met us for pizza at the place next to the station while you were on duty, you made a lot of women jealous.  Not just the typical eyeballing that happens every time I'm out with you while your in uniform (that you're oblivious to considering the way you were rambling on about that damn car outside).  But they watched you give each of your daughters your undivided attention.  They watched you hop right in, get down and dirty, and not think twice about it.  Because let's face it, nobody leaves the table clean when The Bun is eating.  That child has some serious go go gadget arms.  (note to self - quit wearing white when it's dinner time)  But as if that wasn't enough, I watched the old biddies' eyes nearly pop out of their heads when you cleaned up the table, picked up the children, and carried my purse without me asking, without even the slightest hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world and helped us all out to the car.    

(I sure trained you well, huh, Boo?  Just kidding.)

The diva in me couldn't resist giving them a sideways smile that said, "That's right, biotches.  He's mine.  You can keep your rich sissy suit wearing schmucks.  But take a picture because that's what a REAL MAN looks like."  

A man who is crazy enough to run into a burning building, strong enough to carry you or your loved ones to safety, handy enough to fix your car, gentle enough to kiss his daughters' boo boos away,  dedicated enough to work 21 days straight to keep his family afloat, loving enough to always skip out on the boys nights, and man enough carry his wife's purse. 

That's why I love you, Boo.  

That, and your cute furry little butt,  baby face and those natural god given pink cheeks.

And I know you lament the things you can't give us.  But, Boo, money may smooth the road, but it ain't what life's about.  I've seen what goes on behind the closed doors of rich peoples houses.  It ain't worth it.  I'd rather be poor, sitting on a ratty couch in the trailerhood, watching ass crazy neighbors, drinking apple pie moonshine and eating spam sandwiches,  as long as I'm doing it with you.  

But, dutch oven me one more time, and I may reconsider my previous statement.  

Oh and, Boo, leave the banana hammocks and chippendale moves to Magic Mike, mkay?  Moves like Jagger?  Not so much.  

Happy Anniversary, Boo!  May the best be yet to come.  

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Heat and Hormones Don't Mix

In case you haven't noticed.  It's HOT, Y'all!  Like burn your preggo belly, enough to leave a mark, on the steering wheel getting your fat ass into your tiny excuse for a hoopdy, hot.

Heat and hormones.  They just don't mix.  Kinda like sand and your buttcrack.  Or nesting and Pinterest.

And I've been a raging, hormonal, don'tfwithme, psycho extraordinnaire.  I've not been fit for human consumption.  My apologies to those who have been stuck in my presence.  Particularly, The Firefighter, who has managed to stoically hold his annoyance in check, and not to rage back at me.  All the while assuring me that this shade of yellow for the kids room is indeed much better, happier, and healthier than the previous two when I sobbed like a lunatic over paint chips in the middle of Lowes.

The boy loves me.

And oh yes, Folks, I'm nesting.   Like a bluejay in April.

Once upon a time, I used to pour over decorating magazines, and agonize over paint chips and decor choices.   I would have called my style back then, beachy/nautical shabby chic.

Now?  After two kids, I simply call it shabby.  Nothing chic about replicating a Babies R Us in your living room.  Doesn't mean I'm not still striving for a home that doesn't embarrass the crap out of me.  One where I don't have to hope I can hide the mess behind the door and my big ol' pregnant ass when a neighbor comes ringing the bell.

While decor is some of what I'm worried about, mostly it's organization.  I have to be organized or everything will fall apart.  I've been creating "play stations,"writing preschool curriculum for Miss Chatterbox, as well as collecting up the things I need for that, cleaning out and organizing.

But my kids can mess up a room faster than a copperhead can bite ya.  (Did I mention that I had one on my back deck the other day?  Yep, I screamed like the predictable first chick from a slasher movie getting wacked, and started throwing tools at it.  Note - throwing a hammer at it, isn't really all that effective.  Just pisses the snake off - but- not as much as spraying it with lysol does.  I would know. And, yes, The Firefighter slept through the whole thing.)

So my first step has been to reteach Miss Chatterbox How To Clean Up.  I implemented a new system as a variation of one I saw on Pinterest (

PS - Anybody know if this is the proper way to credit an idea found on Pinterest?  Bueller, Bueller, Bueller....

I present to you...Clutter Jail.

Basic Idea - Don't pick it up, you don't get it back until the next day. (The original Pinterest idea had the child performing a chore of mom's choice, but as my kids don't read yet... I did a time frame instead.)  PURE GENIUS.  I combined this with the only one toy at a time rule.

Seriously, peeps,  you'd have thought I was starving them.  Or beating them with medieval chains.  Or water boarding them and pulling out toenails in a damp, dingy cave in Pakistan.  I may or may not have considered running away.

This is the door that Miss Chatterbox literally kicked off of it's hinges.  Can you send a 3 yo to anger management?  Kid's got ninja moves.
But no.  Just trying to teach them to pick up after themselves.

The last three days have been that kind of toddler hell that only other mothers understand.  I was ready to throw in the towel if today was going to be another repeat.


My living one piece...ALL.DAY.LONG.TODAY!  Holy macaroni, Batman, it worked!

The decor is the product of unrestrained nesting.  

The kids one piece.  No unwound toilet paper or toilet water on the floor to step in.  No soap on the toilet seat or toothpaste on the wall.

Sorry for the dark pic...But it really is kinda cute.  Yellow walls with polka dots and princesses.  

The kids one piece.  Unfinished nesting here...IE- I still need to finish painting and put up the princess decals/pictures, but still.  It's a miracle I tell you!

Biggest kitchen I've ever had.  Love it. 

But while I was busy dealing with this mess  (In my defense...this was after cooking two weeks worth of meals and prepping 5 baby day freezer meals).

Like the old school mac?  The Firefighter won't let me get rid of the thing.  

The children did this.  Believe it or not, that bed was made before it turned into a trampoline then used to catapult all my clean laundry off of.  Now most of my laundry is on the floor...mixed with the dirty piles I was in the process of washing.  I'm also not gonna show you where they used my toilet as a target for for flinging and flushing Cheerios and Q-tips.

Sigh.  It's always something isn't it?

Happy Fourth People.  Try to stay cool!