The most important part of our weekly grocery trip is when my son gets to choose his Jello color. It is a very important decision, my dear readers. He wakes up talking about it, "Mommy, today I'm gonna get BLUE Jello! Or maybe YEWWWOW!"
We discuss this vital choice on the car trip there, carefully weighing cherry Jello against orange Jello. When we finally get to the beautiful Jello display, I allow him to stand up in the cart so he can make a fully informed decision. He'll choose, and then change his mind. He'll put his hand up to his chin in deep comtemplation. He'll freak out a litte, "RED! NO-WAIT PURPLE! NO STRAWBERRY!" and he'll do this until I tell him he has one more minute to decide. He'll scrunch up his face in great concentration, and make his choice.
I had a revelation as I watched him pour over this decision: Is this what my life decisions look like to God? You know, the choices I agonize over on a daily basis? Does God chuckle when I lose sleep over those decisions that seem so HUGE to me, but that actually won't, you know, make the world stop spinning? That maybe I take myself a little too seriously sometimes and all it is is a stinkin' Jello decision? I kind of think I've been schooled by my 3-year-old yet again.
And I further proved it to myself as I stressed about our house: Do we drop the price? Do we lease it? Will I live with my Dad forever?? As I went a little nuts, I felt a chuckle in my heart and heard, "Blue Jello or Purple Jello?"
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
My Fairytale
It's my husband's birthday on Sunday and I want to blog about him in lieu of my annual naughty birthday card. (He buys the most beautiful, sentimental cards for me and I can't seem to stay away from the cards that shock him. I figure it's okay because I'm having his second baby and all.)
I'm pretty sure I fell in love with this man the first time I saw him in boots and a cowboy hat. Of course, it might have been when he watched me wolf down an entire burger and fries at I-Hop and it didn't phase him. There was also the time he wrote out a Psalm in calligraphy for me when he found out I played the guitar, (he thought the 3 chords I knew were sexy.) Actually, it was probably when he told me that he was not interested in being my friend- he was interested in being my man, and I needed to knock off the games. Yep, that was probably it. We've been butting heads and making out ever since.
It's not always a fairytale. With 2 first-borns trying to navigate marriage, there are clashes. Marriage isn't really easy for us; we work at it. We take our unhappy hinies to marriage counseling when nothing else is working. And we sit, side-by-side, and work harder. We eat our pride. We say "I'm sorry." Our fairytale probably looks different, but I see it everywhere:
I see it when he fathers our son...I see it when he talks to my growing belly and tells him/her about the many Daddy adventures they will have together...I see it when he makes Hamburger Helper for all of us when I can't muster the energy to get off the couch...I see it when he tells me I'm a great Mommy when I feel like I suck...I see it when he gets more angry than I do when a client or vendor is rude to me....I see it when he thanks me for doing household chores...I see it when he lets me sleep in on Saturday morning and then brings me donuts and coffee...I see it when he prays over our family...I see it when he writes me love letters and leaves them for me to find at work... And I think I actually swooned the day he cleaned up my puke bucket after a rough night of "morning" sickness. I mean, that's a lot of love, my friends.
At the end of the day, everyday, he comes home to me. Night after night, I'm in his arms. He tells my make-upless- death breath- sleeping in an old t-shirt- self every morning that I'm beautiful. Then, he goes off to work so thatI can live out my dream of stay-at-home mommying. He also comes home early when said dream feels like a nightmare and I need alone time and a tub of icecream.
That's the stuff real fairytales are made of, I think. And I am thankful.
Happy birthday, my love.
I'm pretty sure I fell in love with this man the first time I saw him in boots and a cowboy hat. Of course, it might have been when he watched me wolf down an entire burger and fries at I-Hop and it didn't phase him. There was also the time he wrote out a Psalm in calligraphy for me when he found out I played the guitar, (he thought the 3 chords I knew were sexy.) Actually, it was probably when he told me that he was not interested in being my friend- he was interested in being my man, and I needed to knock off the games. Yep, that was probably it. We've been butting heads and making out ever since.
It's not always a fairytale. With 2 first-borns trying to navigate marriage, there are clashes. Marriage isn't really easy for us; we work at it. We take our unhappy hinies to marriage counseling when nothing else is working. And we sit, side-by-side, and work harder. We eat our pride. We say "I'm sorry." Our fairytale probably looks different, but I see it everywhere:
I see it when he fathers our son...I see it when he talks to my growing belly and tells him/her about the many Daddy adventures they will have together...I see it when he makes Hamburger Helper for all of us when I can't muster the energy to get off the couch...I see it when he tells me I'm a great Mommy when I feel like I suck...I see it when he gets more angry than I do when a client or vendor is rude to me....I see it when he thanks me for doing household chores...I see it when he lets me sleep in on Saturday morning and then brings me donuts and coffee...I see it when he prays over our family...I see it when he writes me love letters and leaves them for me to find at work... And I think I actually swooned the day he cleaned up my puke bucket after a rough night of "morning" sickness. I mean, that's a lot of love, my friends.
At the end of the day, everyday, he comes home to me. Night after night, I'm in his arms. He tells my make-upless- death breath- sleeping in an old t-shirt- self every morning that I'm beautiful. Then, he goes off to work so thatI can live out my dream of stay-at-home mommying. He also comes home early when said dream feels like a nightmare and I need alone time and a tub of icecream.
That's the stuff real fairytales are made of, I think. And I am thankful.
Happy birthday, my love.
Monday, April 11, 2011
PregoFit: Week One (I am Sore)
As I downed my second bowl of Lucky Charms last week, I had a revelation that I needed to take better care of myself and my little cupcake, (what I am calling the baby.) I went from only being able to hold down baked potatoes and crackers in my first trimester to the blessed 4th month where I ate everything in sight.
I could use a little balance.
So, I ordered PregoFit, a total body work-out for each month of pregnancy, and did my very first workout since my 7th week. I'm not gonna lie, I'm soft and jiggly right now and it was painful. However, after trying out several wimpy pregnancy work-outs with my first pregnancy, (sitting on a chair, breathing and stretching didn't really do anything...), I was pleasantly surprised to get my butt kicked by Kristin. She's not afraid to actually, you know, WORK OUT while pregnant. She modifies each work-out to the specific month you're in while inflicting a little pain and smiling the whole time.
I was not able to smile the whole time, though.
I did, however, feel I was getting a great work-out. My muscles are sore and I'm excited to find an exercise program that will keep me strong during my pregnancy and after.
Look out, Gisele Bundchen, I just might put you to shame....
I could use a little balance.
So, I ordered PregoFit, a total body work-out for each month of pregnancy, and did my very first workout since my 7th week. I'm not gonna lie, I'm soft and jiggly right now and it was painful. However, after trying out several wimpy pregnancy work-outs with my first pregnancy, (sitting on a chair, breathing and stretching didn't really do anything...), I was pleasantly surprised to get my butt kicked by Kristin. She's not afraid to actually, you know, WORK OUT while pregnant. She modifies each work-out to the specific month you're in while inflicting a little pain and smiling the whole time.
I was not able to smile the whole time, though.
I did, however, feel I was getting a great work-out. My muscles are sore and I'm excited to find an exercise program that will keep me strong during my pregnancy and after.
Look out, Gisele Bundchen, I just might put you to shame....
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
My Everest
Ever see the "Friends" episode where Joey tries to eat an entire Thanksgiving turkey by himself? He looks at the bird, sighs and proclaims, "YOU ARE MY EVEREST!"
Potty training is MY Everest.
I tried last summer when all of my mommy friends, (who ALL have girls), successfully potty trained their princesses in , like, an hour. After cleaning poo off the carpet for the 5th day in a row, I declared that he could wear diapers for the rest of his life for all I cared. And I put the training pants away and waited until I saw some "signs of readiness."
Dude, here's the big secret: a boy will never show a sign of readiness because having to go to the bathroom interrupts his playing time and it's easier if he can just doodie in the diaper and keep on playing. And, when it is convenient for him, mommy can clean him up.
I've been duped by a 3-year-old.
Mr. Diaper Lover insists that he needs diapers, no matter how many pairs of cool underwear I buy for him, (Buzz Lightyear, pirates, trains.....) We told him that the diapers are going in the trash this weekend. He cried. He yelled. He wanted to put in an emergency call to Granny. Too bad for him that we are ALL tired of changing nasty diapers.
Saturday is D-Day for him. My husband and I are devoting the entire day to the "Progressive Potty Training Method." Basically, all we do for a day or two is potty train and reinforce it. I have all of the necessary items. I am determined to be positive and pleasant. I am ready and motivated.
Please pray that I do not lose my christianity on Saturday.
Amen.
Potty training is MY Everest.
I tried last summer when all of my mommy friends, (who ALL have girls), successfully potty trained their princesses in , like, an hour. After cleaning poo off the carpet for the 5th day in a row, I declared that he could wear diapers for the rest of his life for all I cared. And I put the training pants away and waited until I saw some "signs of readiness."
Dude, here's the big secret: a boy will never show a sign of readiness because having to go to the bathroom interrupts his playing time and it's easier if he can just doodie in the diaper and keep on playing. And, when it is convenient for him, mommy can clean him up.
I've been duped by a 3-year-old.
Mr. Diaper Lover insists that he needs diapers, no matter how many pairs of cool underwear I buy for him, (Buzz Lightyear, pirates, trains.....) We told him that the diapers are going in the trash this weekend. He cried. He yelled. He wanted to put in an emergency call to Granny. Too bad for him that we are ALL tired of changing nasty diapers.
Saturday is D-Day for him. My husband and I are devoting the entire day to the "Progressive Potty Training Method." Basically, all we do for a day or two is potty train and reinforce it. I have all of the necessary items. I am determined to be positive and pleasant. I am ready and motivated.
Please pray that I do not lose my christianity on Saturday.
Amen.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
On Men and Meat
What is it with men and steak? All I did was buy a few steaks on sale. I asked Team Estrogen, (mom and sis), for advice and they voted that my steaks were fine for grilling.
Tonight, when I innocently asked my Dad to grill them while I finished the baked potatoes, there was a long silence and I think I actually heard his heart break when he looked at my shameful steak selection.
Apparently, they were sandwich steaks. And puny enough to cook in 5 minutes. And too unmanly to eat.
I asked him to grill them anyway; I was positive that they would taste fabulous with the right seasoning. Naturally, the first thing my husband said when he walked through the door was, "these steaks....these steaks are so thin! Why did you buy these?!" And then I think he wondered why he married me. And then he tore his clothes and sat in ashes.
And bless Dad's heart, he went into daddy-mode. He came upstairs with 4 articles about steak from his personal food library. Then he read them to me. And then he showed me a diagram of a cow and where each cut of meat comes from. To top off my education, we are apparently going to the local butcher for a final lesson.
Because no daughter of his will ever bring home a $3 steak if he has anything to say about it.
Tonight, when I innocently asked my Dad to grill them while I finished the baked potatoes, there was a long silence and I think I actually heard his heart break when he looked at my shameful steak selection.
Apparently, they were sandwich steaks. And puny enough to cook in 5 minutes. And too unmanly to eat.
I asked him to grill them anyway; I was positive that they would taste fabulous with the right seasoning. Naturally, the first thing my husband said when he walked through the door was, "these steaks....these steaks are so thin! Why did you buy these?!" And then I think he wondered why he married me. And then he tore his clothes and sat in ashes.
And bless Dad's heart, he went into daddy-mode. He came upstairs with 4 articles about steak from his personal food library. Then he read them to me. And then he showed me a diagram of a cow and where each cut of meat comes from. To top off my education, we are apparently going to the local butcher for a final lesson.
Because no daughter of his will ever bring home a $3 steak if he has anything to say about it.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Green Acres
So, I've been living in the country for 3 months, (with foxes, bobcats, rats in the tractor, mice in the field, snakes in the pond and the random aroma of cow poo.)
We moved in with my Dad at Green Acres when my husband got a job that required him to start in 2 days in Oklahoma City. I stayed behind for a month to get the house ready to sell, drank a lot of wine after full days of single parenting and began to grieve the loss of our amazing community in Tulsa. Although I was thrilled to be with my family again, losing my kick ass group of mommy friends was bumming me hard.
We moved in with my Dad at Green Acres when my husband got a job that required him to start in 2 days in Oklahoma City. I stayed behind for a month to get the house ready to sell, drank a lot of wine after full days of single parenting and began to grieve the loss of our amazing community in Tulsa. Although I was thrilled to be with my family again, losing my kick ass group of mommy friends was bumming me hard.
So I did the rational thing with our brand new health insurance and got pregnant. You know, cause I had some free time and all.
After Christmas, Cale and I left Tulsa and then managed to stay sick for about 2 months solid. Not awesome, but wedding season was over so we were able to recoop while watching cable and crying together about missing our "old house." You never saw a more pathetic pair.
Just like that, winter is over and now it's spring. My first trimester is complete and I am working hard to gain back the 17 pounds I lost. Cale has adjusted and decided he loves the country, (and needs a dog.) I get to see my husband doing something he loves. My son has his Grandad...and there have been many manly adventures. And the miracle that I didn't think would happen a second time for me did, indeed, happen. I'm going to have another baby.
Happy Spring.
Monday, March 28, 2011
A Boy's First Groupie
There's a reason some boys never move on from being a "rock star." Think about it: the teen female audience is the most fiercly loyal and enthusiastic you will ever get. And most boy bands, (I'm looking at you New Kids on the Block, Hanson and Backstreet Boys...and I am still trying to get tickets for the Dallas concert), are unable to move on after such devotion. Bless their hearts. It's sad, really. Wait a minute....maybe it starts before the screaming girls. With a much more loyal and crazed female.
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