I remember March 3, 1994 like it was yesterday. I was a Thursday. I remember sitting in the band room that morning and telling everyone who walked through the door that Monday was my birthday. I don't know why - I just was. My dad was in Florida with my grandma and was missing my birthday that year, so I guess I was compensating somehow by making sure no one else missed it.
Towards the end of band my friend Jamie came in and handed our director a little call slip asking for my IMMEDIATE presence in the counselor's office. "OOOOHHHH" everyone chanted at once. It was strange for me to get a call slip - especially an "immediate" call slip. I wasn't worried, but was curious. I tried to talk to Jamie on the way down to the office, but she was acting really weird. I asked her if she was ok, and she just responded that she was upset, but didn't want to talk about it. Strange, but ok. I'll respect that.
As I got to Mrs. Farmer's office, I saw my mom and my oldest brother standing there. WTF? What did I do that was so bad that I needed a family intervention? My mom grabbed me and hugged me and I heard say "The dog died." "What? Pepsi?" I was upset about it, but wasn't sure why they wer both here at school to tell me this news. "NO, not the dog. Daddy."
I couldn't register it, and didn't want to be registering it in my current surroundings. "I want to get my things and leave now."
I didn't cry in Mrs. Farmer's office when my mom had told me that my dad had died. I didn't want to cry there, I wanted to go home and find that none of this was happening. We went back to the band room and I was packing up my instrument when Tim, who strangley enough ended up marrying Jamie - the girl who brought me the call slip- asked me what was wrong and why I was leaving. "Nothing." I couldn't move fast enough to get out of there. He just kept at it though. "No, Something's wrong. Are you OK?" It was at that point in time - in the middle of the band room with all of my friends listening to the trombone section play the second ending of something or other that I lost it. I had to say the words out loud - and by saying them, it made them real. "My dad died." "My dad is dead."
One way doesn't sound better than the other. At 16 (17 on Monday!) it's not a natural sentence to form. I felt like I was in a fog. I just wanted to get my stuff and get the hell out of there. I didn't want to announce to all of my friends in band that my dad was dead. I hadn't had time enough to absorb it myself yet. Nonetheless Tim just couldn't stop pushing the issue, and there I was crying in the middle of band practice with Tim hugging me. Then the bell rang. I think the bell just made it worse. Now everyone was free to find out what was going on with the crying girl. It was awful. I just let go of Tim and ran for my best friend on the other side of the room. She had to ask me to repeat it when I told her what had happened. "My dad had a heart attack and died." She cried and gave me a hug. I remember when I went to release from her a pull back that my glasses caught in her hair and hit the floor. I felt stupid picking them up. It's strange that my glasses falling off bothered me so much, but I was already embarrassed that I was crying infront of everyone and I didn't want anything else to be embarrassed about.
In my mind, I just wanted to quietly get my things and go before I had to speak to anyone. I wish it could have just played out that way. I was so glad to go home. We sat around for minute staring at each other before my mom spoke again. "We need to call your brother and sister and tell them." My mom wanted to be the one to tell them, but she just couldn't stop crying and they couldn't understand what she was saying. She had to keep repeating it over again for each phone call. I just wanted her to stop saying it. I was cursing the words under my breath.
I was really cursing myself. I spoke to my dad the night before he died over the phone. He and my Grandma had arrived in Florida on vacation the day before. They were settled in and planning the rest of their week. I just teased him and gave him a hard time about being gone for my birthday. I told him that he just didn't love me enough, I guess. It was all in fun, but I wish I hadn't done it now. That was the last time I ever spoke to my dad, and I was acting like a brat.
As you do in these situations, you try to come up with a reason this happened. I decided it was my fault. I wanted him home so bad for my birthday that God brought him home to me to prove a point. It took me years to knock down this theory, but the thought of it still lingers in the back on my mind sometimes.
Dad was in Florida when he died. Mom flew down there to make the arrangements to bring him home. Sunday afternoon was all went to the funeral home together. Not for the funeral, but to say goodbye in private. We never had the chance to say goodbye, and didn't want to be thrown into a room full of people to see my dad laying a casket for the first time. My mom went in first. Then my brother and his wife. My sister and her husband went in next. It was getting to be my turn and I wasn't sure I could go in there alone, but I would be brave. My oldest brother then announces that he doesn't want to go in. "You'll be sorry if you don't. Let's go in together."
I can't explain the way the room felt. It was death - it was heavy air - it was dark. My dad was laying there in his suit in front of us. I didn't know what to do. It hadn't occurred to be before this moment, but I started to tell my brother how he would never see me graduate, or get married, or see my kids or meet my husband. My brother just shook his head and said "nope." It was at that point that I felt brave. I touched his hand. There was nothing there. That was not my dad infront of me - that was an empty body. It was empty - that's the only word that I can use to describe it. I sometimes wish I hadn't touched him. It was the scariest thing I had ever done. It's a feeling I will never forget - that emptiness. That cold, emptiness was not my father. It was at that moment that I knew my father was somewhere else entirely.
The following day was Monday. It was that day I couldn't wait for just a few short days ago. Now it was a day I wish had never happened. We were all getting dressed for the calling hours. It was very strange when people would come up to me and say Happy Birthday. I didn't know what to say in response. I knew they meant well, but didn't know what to say.
My dad's best friend was Dennis Smith. He was a character. A lot of people thought of him as a pest, but my dad just accepted him for who he was. We called him Smitty. Smitty loved my dad, and thought the world of my dad and respected him so much. They were truly best friends. I've never seen a grown man look so lost as I did on that day watching Smitty stare at my dad.
Halfway through the calling hours, Smitty took me aside to the coat room and handed me a birthday gift. I felt strange opening it at the time, but looking back now it was the single most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. He left my dad's calling hours, walked across the street in the snow to the Hallmark store and got that for me to make sure I wasn't forgotten. He wanted to make sure I knew how much I was loved, and that my dad would never want me to miss my birthday. I only wish I were able to properly thank Smitty for this life-changing act of kindness. Sadly, he died almost two years after dad. That gift sits in my dining room cabinet today. I will never pack it up, and keep it displayed always. It reminds me that even the smallest act of kindness can change someone's life forever. It reminds me that I was loved, and that my dad was loved. It reminds me of not only of the darkest times, but of the silver linings - even when we don't catch a glimpse of them until we see them reflecting at us in the rear view mirror.
I miss my dad terribly. The hurt never really goes away, but time does make it a little more bearable. I miss Smitty, and only hope that he can hear my thoughts of him from wherever he is. I know that he is happy though. He's with my dad, and my dad had a way of making everyone happy.
I didn't sit down to specifically write this blog. It just sort of happened. Thank you for allowing me to share this memory with you though. Sometimes it still helps to say it out loud - even 14 years later.
Friday, February 29, 2008
If I had a nickel for every time I said that...
I remember when I was a kid my mom would say I sounded like a broken record. I think this several times a day on a regular basis. Now, if only I could record what I say every day, all day and just press play in the morning... ah, to not repeat myself all the time. I've thought about it, and my recording would go something like this...
"It's time to get up, Bud.
No - not in five more minutes - now. We don't want to be late for school.
Please put your clothes on. Please put your clothes on. Please put your clothes on.
Ravenna leave your brother alone.
Why aren't your clothes on yet? Please put your clothes on.
Find your shoes, both of you.
I'm ready to go, where are your shoes?
Hey, keep your hands to yourself, please and find your shoes.
Give me your hand. Give me your hand. No, you need to hold my hand in the parking lot.
If you don't hold my hand then I'll have to carry you. Well then hold my hand.
Stop hitting each other.
Keep your hands to yourself, please.
Tell your sister/brother you're sorry.
Don't aggravate her.
I'm standing right here - I saw what happened.
Didn't I just yell at your sister for doing that same thing? Well then what makes you think it's ok for you to do it?
Ouch, please be careful.
Ouch, please pay attention to what you're doing.
Ouch, please stop doing that.
Do you want a time out? Then please stop.
What am I doing? Yes, I'm fixing lunch - so please stop telling me you're hungry.
Please be patient.
Keep your hands to yourself.
Please stop tattling.
Stop spitting, please.
I don't want to hear it.
You're fine.
Why is your sister crying?
Why did you hit her? Why did she hit you first? Do you both need time outs? Keep your hands to yourself.
Did you flush the potty? Go flush, please.
Stop harrassing your brother/ sister.
Get out of her face, Coen.
Do you hear her crying? Do you think she likes what you're doing? Do you think you should stop doing it?
Be nice.
Is it time for your nap?
Keep your hands to yourself, please.
Don't talk to me like that.
Don't say no to me, please just do it.
How about because I told you to.
Please do what you're told.
How many times have I told you not to do that? how many times should I have to tell you? NO. I should only have to say it once.
Please stop jumping on my bed.
Be careful of the baby.
Stop hitting each other.
Leave your brother/ sister alone.
Stop jumping off of my bed! You're making the whole house shake!
Pick up your mess please before you get anything else out.
I don't care who was playing with what - both of you need to pick it up.
Keep your hands to yourself.
Pick up the mess, please.
Clean it up now!"
... I do say many positive things too, but those aren't the things I find myself repeating over and over again. Besides, even if I do find myself repeating the good stuff - I would never want to record that! I want to do the fun stuff in person!
Do they ever learn to keep their hands to themselves and to stop harrassing each other?
"It's time to get up, Bud.
No - not in five more minutes - now. We don't want to be late for school.
Please put your clothes on. Please put your clothes on. Please put your clothes on.
Ravenna leave your brother alone.
Why aren't your clothes on yet? Please put your clothes on.
Find your shoes, both of you.
I'm ready to go, where are your shoes?
Hey, keep your hands to yourself, please and find your shoes.
Give me your hand. Give me your hand. No, you need to hold my hand in the parking lot.
If you don't hold my hand then I'll have to carry you. Well then hold my hand.
Stop hitting each other.
Keep your hands to yourself, please.
Tell your sister/brother you're sorry.
Don't aggravate her.
I'm standing right here - I saw what happened.
Didn't I just yell at your sister for doing that same thing? Well then what makes you think it's ok for you to do it?
Ouch, please be careful.
Ouch, please pay attention to what you're doing.
Ouch, please stop doing that.
Do you want a time out? Then please stop.
What am I doing? Yes, I'm fixing lunch - so please stop telling me you're hungry.
Please be patient.
Keep your hands to yourself.
Please stop tattling.
Stop spitting, please.
I don't want to hear it.
You're fine.
Why is your sister crying?
Why did you hit her? Why did she hit you first? Do you both need time outs? Keep your hands to yourself.
Did you flush the potty? Go flush, please.
Stop harrassing your brother/ sister.
Get out of her face, Coen.
Do you hear her crying? Do you think she likes what you're doing? Do you think you should stop doing it?
Be nice.
Is it time for your nap?
Keep your hands to yourself, please.
Don't talk to me like that.
Don't say no to me, please just do it.
How about because I told you to.
Please do what you're told.
How many times have I told you not to do that? how many times should I have to tell you? NO. I should only have to say it once.
Please stop jumping on my bed.
Be careful of the baby.
Stop hitting each other.
Leave your brother/ sister alone.
Stop jumping off of my bed! You're making the whole house shake!
Pick up your mess please before you get anything else out.
I don't care who was playing with what - both of you need to pick it up.
Keep your hands to yourself.
Pick up the mess, please.
Clean it up now!"
... I do say many positive things too, but those aren't the things I find myself repeating over and over again. Besides, even if I do find myself repeating the good stuff - I would never want to record that! I want to do the fun stuff in person!
Do they ever learn to keep their hands to themselves and to stop harrassing each other?
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
17 days... and counting
When I turned 30 it was weird. It wasn't scary, but it was strange. I thought - where did 30 years go? I was completely comfortable with it though. At 30 I was where I wanted to be - wonderful husband: check - Two healthy children and another in the oven at the time: check - A career I love: check - A home of our own: check. I had all the necessities of a true adult complete with a ridiculous car payment. Happy is the best description of it. I've always felt beyond my years, and now I was really an adult. You still feel like a kid in your twenties, but at 30, you feel like the rest of the world has to value what you have to say because you're part of the grown-up club now. Silly, I know, but that's what I thought. It doesn't matter that people already valued what I had to say even before the 30-year mark- don't ask me why, it's just what my brain was telling me. It has been a great year. Sure there have been a lot of monkey wrenches thrown in my direction, but the overall picture is still a good one.
In 17 days I will be 31. There's something even weirder than turning 30 going on in my mind. It's a whole new kind of weird. I'm crossing over the 30 mark. Yes, I'm still young, I realize this. But there is this feeling settling in that I'm not going to be young much longer - 31 years has flown by already! It's not just the number though. My shiny white hairs are starting to out-number my pretty brunette hairs. No matter how I brush my hair - what angle I look at it from - the little white strands are there peeking at me. I've had to change my face cream to a more "mature" formula. I've started doubting the clothes in my wardrobe. Is it cute or will I look ridiculously childish wearing it? I'm not old, and have several years before I can even consider being old... but I am getting older. There's a difference. It's a difference I never really thought of though. I guess I never imagined I would wake up one day and be old, but I also never took into consideration the process of getting older.
I had always said I would grow old gracefully, but looking at 31 years young (in 17 days), I've decided to fight it off a little. I had always colored my hair for years, but when I got pregnant with our first child I stopped and never went back. My husband loved my natural color, and truthfully, I did too. It was brown, but there were lots of highlights in it. It's healthier too. The last few months have had me wondering if I should have it colored again to hide all the white hair. At the gym I find myself staring at the young girls - longing to look like that again, and knowing I never will. In my dreams I get stopped on the street by one of those make-over shows and they whisk me away to be made beautiful again.
I know what is in style, but a lot of what's in style isn't practical, or appropriate, for the mother of three to be darting around town in. People are like, just because you have kids doesn't mean you can't be sexy. Well, yes it kind of does to some degree. I can't wear heels while chasing my two year old and lugging a car seat with an infant inside of it without a.) breaking my ankle or b.) dropping the infant. Scarf and necklaces are a no-no unless you want to find me strangled to death by one of my children - dangling earrings are pretty much out for a while too. My shirt can be ripped off of my body at any given point by a temper tantrum, or just a baby being a baby, so I must choose with caution. Jeans - don't get me started! They're either cut so low that when I bend down to pick up the pacifier that my 7 month old throws on the ground (her new game!) my son yells, "Mom I can see your butt! Hahahahahhahaha" in the middle of whatever public place we happen to be at, or else they're so high up my waist that I look all lumpy and bumpy under my shirt. They shouldn't come past the belly button, really, there's no reason for that high waisted nonsense. I need some fairy godmother to show up with an unlimited Visa and and a great sense of 31-year old mother of three Hot Mom style and take me shopping. I already have my prince charming, and my prince and princesses, my castle and my carriage. I just need some lessons on how to be, well 31, without being too old or too young. It's not as easy as I thought it would be. I'm fine with my age. I just want to look like the youngest possible version of it. Come on Fairy Godmother, Bippity-Boppity- Boo me into a hot mom!
In 17 days I will be 31. There's something even weirder than turning 30 going on in my mind. It's a whole new kind of weird. I'm crossing over the 30 mark. Yes, I'm still young, I realize this. But there is this feeling settling in that I'm not going to be young much longer - 31 years has flown by already! It's not just the number though. My shiny white hairs are starting to out-number my pretty brunette hairs. No matter how I brush my hair - what angle I look at it from - the little white strands are there peeking at me. I've had to change my face cream to a more "mature" formula. I've started doubting the clothes in my wardrobe. Is it cute or will I look ridiculously childish wearing it? I'm not old, and have several years before I can even consider being old... but I am getting older. There's a difference. It's a difference I never really thought of though. I guess I never imagined I would wake up one day and be old, but I also never took into consideration the process of getting older.
I had always said I would grow old gracefully, but looking at 31 years young (in 17 days), I've decided to fight it off a little. I had always colored my hair for years, but when I got pregnant with our first child I stopped and never went back. My husband loved my natural color, and truthfully, I did too. It was brown, but there were lots of highlights in it. It's healthier too. The last few months have had me wondering if I should have it colored again to hide all the white hair. At the gym I find myself staring at the young girls - longing to look like that again, and knowing I never will. In my dreams I get stopped on the street by one of those make-over shows and they whisk me away to be made beautiful again.
I know what is in style, but a lot of what's in style isn't practical, or appropriate, for the mother of three to be darting around town in. People are like, just because you have kids doesn't mean you can't be sexy. Well, yes it kind of does to some degree. I can't wear heels while chasing my two year old and lugging a car seat with an infant inside of it without a.) breaking my ankle or b.) dropping the infant. Scarf and necklaces are a no-no unless you want to find me strangled to death by one of my children - dangling earrings are pretty much out for a while too. My shirt can be ripped off of my body at any given point by a temper tantrum, or just a baby being a baby, so I must choose with caution. Jeans - don't get me started! They're either cut so low that when I bend down to pick up the pacifier that my 7 month old throws on the ground (her new game!) my son yells, "Mom I can see your butt! Hahahahahhahaha" in the middle of whatever public place we happen to be at, or else they're so high up my waist that I look all lumpy and bumpy under my shirt. They shouldn't come past the belly button, really, there's no reason for that high waisted nonsense. I need some fairy godmother to show up with an unlimited Visa and and a great sense of 31-year old mother of three Hot Mom style and take me shopping. I already have my prince charming, and my prince and princesses, my castle and my carriage. I just need some lessons on how to be, well 31, without being too old or too young. It's not as easy as I thought it would be. I'm fine with my age. I just want to look like the youngest possible version of it. Come on Fairy Godmother, Bippity-Boppity- Boo me into a hot mom!
Friday, February 15, 2008
Trendy Remorse... and a creepy old guy.
You know the days when there's the potential of having a little spunk in your step? I was having one of those today. I was tired, I felt blah, but yet the mood was swirling inside of me - the I'm a fun, cute person mood. It doesn't matter if you are either of these things in reality, but the mood matters - so you give it a little push in the right direction. Me? I hopped into the bathtub and shaved my legs - always the first thing you have to do in order to be even remotely cute. "Hairy Cave Woman" is just not cute this season.
A short time later I emerged much less Neanderthal-ish than I had started. The next step is the perfect outfit. As I looked through my closet I realized that I do actually have a lot of cute things, and not one damn thing matches anything else! The cute skirts have no tops, the cute tops have no bottoms and don't look right with jeans - and the tops that do look cute with jeans are all sleeveless and there are no sweaters that match any of them! As I rummaged through my wardrobe I came across an old mid-thigh length button-up cap sleeved dress. Yes, it's basically a warm weather smock, but the colors are dark so I'll make it work. I found a little black cropped sweater with short sleeves and stuck them together. My black boots no longer fit since I had kids (yes, my feet actually grew one full size and never went back! Now I have this super expensive pair of black high-heeled boots that I refuse to give up because they cost so much - and I NEVER buy myself expensive things, but the boots were a rare special treat... figures), so I ended up with a cute little pair of mary-jane like flats - no tights or panty hose. I was going for a "young" cute. My latest issue of Glamour (thanks Jen!) says the no-fuss bun/ ponytail is the hottest hair style right now- and who am I to argue with that!? Up it goes.
The kids weren't really allowing me to do much more with this look, so it all sort of ended there - no makeup and no cute accessories. I should have known then - the look just wasn't complete. I felt half-dressed. It's either all or nothing and I was half! Oh, well. It's too late now. We needed to get going. Coen was looking a little homley with the shaggy hair so we were going to get it cut before I dragged the little ones to work with me (Jason had a late meeting today...).
We get to Great Clips - it's not my first choice because they never cut my son's hair right, but I keep thinking "this time it will be different" - it's there that my trendy remorse sets in.
As I was getting the kids out of the car, my dress blows up over my head and my bum is exposed to all of the employees at the local East of Chicago Pizza - well, at least it was a cute day so I happened to be wearing cute little underwears too.... well, you'll have that. We get inside and I sit down. Immediately I notice the big dirty marks on my knees. Great! I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing when I got the kids out of the van and I knealt of the kickboard. Now I just look like a common hooker with my dirty knees! The diaper bag is in the car so I have no baby wipes to fix it so I rub and rub and rub trying to lighten the big black circles. Now they just look like bruises - is that better? I'm not sure. Plus my dress is too short - well it's not too short, but I'm very uncomfortable with my huge thighs exposed. Next to me is an older man ("the creepy old guy") and his son - maybe grandson - waiting to get thier hair cut too. The woman at Great Clips asks me for my phone number so she can find us in her computer. My 4-year old son - who is currently learning his phone number - chimes in to provide her with the needed info - and he actually got it right! I praised him - as did creepy old guy. Then the guy asks my son what his address is. Yeah. I cut him off before he could answer and told him to go sit down and wait for our turn. Was he being a nice old man or was he just being totally creepy - perhaps both. As we continued to wait the dude asks my son if he still remembers his phone number - and he spits it right out. I'll let it slide - but I'm watching you dude. Then he proceeds to ask him what his last name is? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THIS GUY??? I think he's just being friendly and the kid with him is about 15 or 16 and seems to be nice, but seriously. Luckily Coen was being kind of bad at the moment so I was quick to yell at him - maybe a little more than I needed to, but it still kept him from providing pedophile guy with all of our personal info. The whole time, I feel like a slutty mom because of my creeping hemline and hooker black knees. Damn dress. On top of dealing with Trendy Remorse I have to put up with the creepy guy hammering my kid for his social security number. Finally the stylist calls Coen's name and we're rescued form old creepy guy, but not the bowl cut the woman put on my kid! Oh well, TGIF! (and in three weeks my kid's bad bowl cut will be gone).
A short time later I emerged much less Neanderthal-ish than I had started. The next step is the perfect outfit. As I looked through my closet I realized that I do actually have a lot of cute things, and not one damn thing matches anything else! The cute skirts have no tops, the cute tops have no bottoms and don't look right with jeans - and the tops that do look cute with jeans are all sleeveless and there are no sweaters that match any of them! As I rummaged through my wardrobe I came across an old mid-thigh length button-up cap sleeved dress. Yes, it's basically a warm weather smock, but the colors are dark so I'll make it work. I found a little black cropped sweater with short sleeves and stuck them together. My black boots no longer fit since I had kids (yes, my feet actually grew one full size and never went back! Now I have this super expensive pair of black high-heeled boots that I refuse to give up because they cost so much - and I NEVER buy myself expensive things, but the boots were a rare special treat... figures), so I ended up with a cute little pair of mary-jane like flats - no tights or panty hose. I was going for a "young" cute. My latest issue of Glamour (thanks Jen!) says the no-fuss bun/ ponytail is the hottest hair style right now- and who am I to argue with that!? Up it goes.
The kids weren't really allowing me to do much more with this look, so it all sort of ended there - no makeup and no cute accessories. I should have known then - the look just wasn't complete. I felt half-dressed. It's either all or nothing and I was half! Oh, well. It's too late now. We needed to get going. Coen was looking a little homley with the shaggy hair so we were going to get it cut before I dragged the little ones to work with me (Jason had a late meeting today...).
We get to Great Clips - it's not my first choice because they never cut my son's hair right, but I keep thinking "this time it will be different" - it's there that my trendy remorse sets in.
As I was getting the kids out of the car, my dress blows up over my head and my bum is exposed to all of the employees at the local East of Chicago Pizza - well, at least it was a cute day so I happened to be wearing cute little underwears too.... well, you'll have that. We get inside and I sit down. Immediately I notice the big dirty marks on my knees. Great! I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing when I got the kids out of the van and I knealt of the kickboard. Now I just look like a common hooker with my dirty knees! The diaper bag is in the car so I have no baby wipes to fix it so I rub and rub and rub trying to lighten the big black circles. Now they just look like bruises - is that better? I'm not sure. Plus my dress is too short - well it's not too short, but I'm very uncomfortable with my huge thighs exposed. Next to me is an older man ("the creepy old guy") and his son - maybe grandson - waiting to get thier hair cut too. The woman at Great Clips asks me for my phone number so she can find us in her computer. My 4-year old son - who is currently learning his phone number - chimes in to provide her with the needed info - and he actually got it right! I praised him - as did creepy old guy. Then the guy asks my son what his address is. Yeah. I cut him off before he could answer and told him to go sit down and wait for our turn. Was he being a nice old man or was he just being totally creepy - perhaps both. As we continued to wait the dude asks my son if he still remembers his phone number - and he spits it right out. I'll let it slide - but I'm watching you dude. Then he proceeds to ask him what his last name is? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THIS GUY??? I think he's just being friendly and the kid with him is about 15 or 16 and seems to be nice, but seriously. Luckily Coen was being kind of bad at the moment so I was quick to yell at him - maybe a little more than I needed to, but it still kept him from providing pedophile guy with all of our personal info. The whole time, I feel like a slutty mom because of my creeping hemline and hooker black knees. Damn dress. On top of dealing with Trendy Remorse I have to put up with the creepy guy hammering my kid for his social security number. Finally the stylist calls Coen's name and we're rescued form old creepy guy, but not the bowl cut the woman put on my kid! Oh well, TGIF! (and in three weeks my kid's bad bowl cut will be gone).
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Happy Valentine's Day, Baby!
My husband was complaining that I never blog about him. As a Valentine's Day gift to him, today's blog is all about him - and all the things I love about him. And here they are for all the world to see (or a least a few people in the world). By the way - I got my annual mix CD of lovey dovey songs that make him think of me;)
My ode to Jason...
Things I love about you...
That you still hold my hand - even in the car
When you smile at me or the kids, your eyes dance
When I crawl into bed at night you snuggle up to me in your sleep without even realizing it
The way you smell - not your cologne, not your soap - just you in all your manly stink
The man you are - the husband, the father; the friend - all of them so lovingly
I love the way you gel your pokey hair
Your color blindness
And your big bear hugs
I love the way you look in your gym pants (oh, la la!)...
And your sexy legs
Plus you do laundry, dishes & clean litter boxes
I love the way you kiss my neck
I love it when you break out in song when you think no one is listening
I love watching you dance with our girls
And I love that you dance to every slow song with me at every soire we attend
Things I hate to admit I love about you...
The way you listen to your "noisy" music
Your political tyraids & the way you love to "debate"
Your goofy laugh
"The Nail Clipping Ritual" (that you swear you don't do)
The silly noises you make when you grab my... well anyways...
The way you play video games for Coen's sake
And how excited you get for poker night
How popcorn can only be prepared a certain way -
and can be used as a substitute for any meal
And the way you walk around without your shirt flexing your muscles...
and pointing them out to make sure I notice them
I love all of these things and so much more - and I love you!! Happy Valentine's Day!!
My ode to Jason...
Things I love about you...
That you still hold my hand - even in the car
When you smile at me or the kids, your eyes dance
When I crawl into bed at night you snuggle up to me in your sleep without even realizing it
The way you smell - not your cologne, not your soap - just you in all your manly stink
The man you are - the husband, the father; the friend - all of them so lovingly
I love the way you gel your pokey hair
Your color blindness
And your big bear hugs
I love the way you look in your gym pants (oh, la la!)...
And your sexy legs
Plus you do laundry, dishes & clean litter boxes
I love the way you kiss my neck
I love it when you break out in song when you think no one is listening
I love watching you dance with our girls
And I love that you dance to every slow song with me at every soire we attend
Things I hate to admit I love about you...
The way you listen to your "noisy" music
Your political tyraids & the way you love to "debate"
Your goofy laugh
"The Nail Clipping Ritual" (that you swear you don't do)
The silly noises you make when you grab my... well anyways...
The way you play video games for Coen's sake
And how excited you get for poker night
How popcorn can only be prepared a certain way -
and can be used as a substitute for any meal
And the way you walk around without your shirt flexing your muscles...
and pointing them out to make sure I notice them
I love all of these things and so much more - and I love you!! Happy Valentine's Day!!
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