This morning, the sun slanted through our bedroom window and lit on my husband and my son, sleeping peacefully next to each other. They were snuggled up under our blue-striped flannel sheets, and they looked so warm and cozy and peaceful.
It was such a beautiful sight - Super-Hubby's dark hair and whiskers next to Tom's soft, blond, fuzzy head. It lit up my day.
Oh, I wish I'd had my camera.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
My life, according to a dumb net quiz
| This Is My Life, Rated | |
| Life: |  8.4 |
| Mind: |  7.1 |
| Body: | 8.9 |
| Spirit: |  7.6 |
| Friends/Family: | 7 |
| Love: | 9.1 |
| Finance: | 9.1 |
| Take the Rate My Life Quiz | |
So according to this quiz, my life is pretty good. Which is absolutely true. My life is actually very good. At the end of the quiz, a box popped up commending me on my way above average love score. The box instructed me to share some advice on how I manage to be so lucky in love. I didn't fill it out, but if I had, this is what it would say:
I'd love to spout off some ridiculous platitude about karma, about how I deserve the love I have because I am such a good, loving, gentle person. But the truth is - I am just lucky. Impossibly lucky. And immeasurably blessed.
Last night, when I was too tired to hold Tommy for one more minute, Super-Hubby came to the rescue. Even though he had gotten less sleep than I had the night before, even though he had a long and stressful day at the office, he volunteered to stay up with our wide-eyed son until he finally went off to dreamland around midnight. Super-Hubby even let me get an extra 30 minutes or so of sleep. That is love.
He also scrubbed the bathrooms. Need I say more?
I am lucky. I grew up in a home where every day I was reminded that I was loved. My mother used to tuck little notes inside my lunch box telling me she was proud of me and that she loved me. My father made an effort every morning to have breakfast with me, to catch up on what was happening in my life, and to tell me he thought I was a good kid. I can't ever remember him reading the paper or a book while eating with me. When we breakfasted, that was our time together.
Love was given freely in our home, but once in a while it came with a price. Sometimes when my mom was feeling especially stressed she would remind me of how much she did for me because she loved me. It was a mild guilt trip, but an effective one.
I have read and read and read 1 Corinthians 13. But I had never seen it LIVED until I met my husband.
Sometimes, I am guilty of doing the same thing to Super-Hubby. I do many things for him out of love, but once in a while I feel a need to be recognized for them, to be told how wonderful and loving I really am. (This behavior is why I can't, in good conscience, attribute my luck in love to karma. Plus I've done some really mean things in my life.)
But Super-Hubby doesn't even comprehend that love could demand recognition. He just does things because he loves me - and he neither expects or desires repayment of any kind. He doesn't keep score (I put him to bed last night - now it's your turn), he doesn't demand anything. He just loves. It's an awesome example, and one I am always grateful for. I have learned a lot about love from him.
I hope Tommy learns from his father's example, too.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
The Good News
Ah, I love Super Hubby's new hours. I LOVE them. He is home for dinner, most nights. He goes to bed with me! Most nights. We don't breakfast together, but hey, I can't complain.
We actually did family activities this weekend. Well, if you consider a trip to Lowe;s and Wal-Mart a family activity. But hey.
So, things are good in our household. Super-Hubby is relatively happy with his new job, and I am over the moon.
Just thought you might like an update.
We actually did family activities this weekend. Well, if you consider a trip to Lowe;s and Wal-Mart a family activity. But hey.
So, things are good in our household. Super-Hubby is relatively happy with his new job, and I am over the moon.
Just thought you might like an update.
Monday, November 14, 2005
The Dark Knight sees the light of day
On Thursday, Super-Hubby will start a new job. A day job.
My nocturnal sleuth of a husband will actually be awake for breakfast, for the first time in nearly three years. Well, maybe.
To be honest, I'm not quite sure if I am excited about the change, or terrified. With any luck, the new job will give him more time to spend with Tommy, which would be a great thing.
I wonder what it will be like, to smile at him over cereal in the morning. To kiss him and wave him off to work. To have him home in the evenings!
I am wary that this may not be a good thing. He may be tired and grumpy all the time. What if he objects to my evening visits with my buddy Elise across the street? ER just isn't the same when you watch it alone.
What if he hates the new job? What if he misses the wee small hours of the morning when he could do whatever he wanted without anyone bothering him?
I guess we'll have to see.
My nocturnal sleuth of a husband will actually be awake for breakfast, for the first time in nearly three years. Well, maybe.
To be honest, I'm not quite sure if I am excited about the change, or terrified. With any luck, the new job will give him more time to spend with Tommy, which would be a great thing.
I wonder what it will be like, to smile at him over cereal in the morning. To kiss him and wave him off to work. To have him home in the evenings!
I am wary that this may not be a good thing. He may be tired and grumpy all the time. What if he objects to my evening visits with my buddy Elise across the street? ER just isn't the same when you watch it alone.
What if he hates the new job? What if he misses the wee small hours of the morning when he could do whatever he wanted without anyone bothering him?
I guess we'll have to see.
Hello Rattle
Tom to his rattle, clutched in his left hand: "Whoa, what is this? Are you a rattle? How do you make that sound? Hmmm .... what do you taste like?? Aaahh, stop hitting me in the head!"
Tom's rattle: "Rattle. Rattle."
Tom (dropping his rattle): "What the heck? Where did you go? Oh, you're over there! Come back here! Why are you just laying there?? MOMMMMMM!!!"
Tom's rattle: "Rattle. Rattle."
Tom (dropping his rattle): "What the heck? Where did you go? Oh, you're over there! Come back here! Why are you just laying there?? MOMMMMMM!!!"
Thursday, November 10, 2005
The list
Things I have been promising to do for at least 2 weeks, yet still have not done:
1. Cancelled reservations for Cole at the kennel.
2. Booked hotel for pre-and-post-flight.
3. Thoroughly cleaned the master bedroom.
4. Gotten rid of the cardboard and newspaper recycling.
5. Laundry.
6. The Christmas Card List.
7. The Christmas Card Letter.
8. The (ever adorable) Christmas Card photo.
Argh.
1. Cancelled reservations for Cole at the kennel.
2. Booked hotel for pre-and-post-flight.
3. Thoroughly cleaned the master bedroom.
4. Gotten rid of the cardboard and newspaper recycling.
5. Laundry.
6. The Christmas Card List.
7. The Christmas Card Letter.
8. The (ever adorable) Christmas Card photo.
Argh.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Once upon a time ...
There was a girl who was great at beginning things, but lacked the ability to follow through. She started a blog, with plans to post something each and every day, but soon found that she was unable to keep up with those plans. Life, as usual, seemed to get in the way.
Her half-finished dusting of the downstairs is evidence. She can barely finish a thought without getting distracted and (Darn it, I forgot to do my Bible study again this week. And the clothes need washing. And gotta get Tom's baptismal certificate. And cancel reservations at the kennel. Come to think of it, where's the dog? Crap.)
She started writing blog posts in her head - she has seven collected now, titled:
La-Z-Baby
Spring is in the air
The Dynamic Duo take a chauffeured road trip
For the love of ...
Who's afraid of a little spitup?
What happened to my cheesecake?
Nancy Drew and the mystery of the Christmas Card Caper
Maybe this week some of these blogs will see the light of the Internet. Who knows. I can wish.
Her half-finished dusting of the downstairs is evidence. She can barely finish a thought without getting distracted and (Darn it, I forgot to do my Bible study again this week. And the clothes need washing. And gotta get Tom's baptismal certificate. And cancel reservations at the kennel. Come to think of it, where's the dog? Crap.)
She started writing blog posts in her head - she has seven collected now, titled:
La-Z-Baby
Spring is in the air
The Dynamic Duo take a chauffeured road trip
For the love of ...
Who's afraid of a little spitup?
What happened to my cheesecake?
Nancy Drew and the mystery of the Christmas Card Caper
Maybe this week some of these blogs will see the light of the Internet. Who knows. I can wish.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Whatever happened to Thanksgiving?
Last night, the lead story on the local news was the fact that retailers have their Christmas wares out, as the holiday gift-lust has begun. The reporter also mentioned that a local station has begun playing Christmas music 24/7. WHY, WHY, WHY??
I had to laugh at the newscast, where the story about Christmas trees and lights for sale was broadcast ahead of two murders and a fire. Ah, the power of retail.
But really, I feel sorry for Thanksgiving. It is a lovely holiday - full of family, delicious food, relaxation. No gifts to hurry and buy, no stress. Just lovely pumpkin pie. But poor Thanksgiving always gets lost in the hustle and bustle of Christmas. Most of the country seems to treat it as just another obstacle to overcome before the end of the year. It's sad.
On that note, I am very thankful for everything I've been given in life - which is, well, everything. Literally.
Our home was purchased thanks to my husband's inheritance. It was furnished with my parents' furniture, because as full-time RVers, they had no use for a house full of antiques. My new kitchen was remodeled by my husband and my father, free of charge. Almost all of the baby supplies - from Tom's teeny, tiny socks to his crib - were gifts. We are so blessed.
Not to mention each morning that God gives me the gift of life and the chance to wake up and see what I can do with the day. Here's hoping it's something worthwhile.
I had to laugh at the newscast, where the story about Christmas trees and lights for sale was broadcast ahead of two murders and a fire. Ah, the power of retail.
But really, I feel sorry for Thanksgiving. It is a lovely holiday - full of family, delicious food, relaxation. No gifts to hurry and buy, no stress. Just lovely pumpkin pie. But poor Thanksgiving always gets lost in the hustle and bustle of Christmas. Most of the country seems to treat it as just another obstacle to overcome before the end of the year. It's sad.
On that note, I am very thankful for everything I've been given in life - which is, well, everything. Literally.
Our home was purchased thanks to my husband's inheritance. It was furnished with my parents' furniture, because as full-time RVers, they had no use for a house full of antiques. My new kitchen was remodeled by my husband and my father, free of charge. Almost all of the baby supplies - from Tom's teeny, tiny socks to his crib - were gifts. We are so blessed.
Not to mention each morning that God gives me the gift of life and the chance to wake up and see what I can do with the day. Here's hoping it's something worthwhile.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Arrrgh, matey
My pirate name is:
Bloody Grace Kidd
Every pirate lives for something different. For some, it's the open sea. For others (the masochists), it's the food. For you, it's definitely the fighting. Even though you're not always the traditional swaggering gallant, your steadiness and planning make you a fine, reliable pirate. Arr!
Get your own pirate name from fidius.org.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Electric Toilet Paper
My husband's great-uncle was a child of The Depression. Like many children who grew up never knowing if there would be enough to eat at supper, Uncle Bill became a great stockpiler in his later years. When he died, he left a modest two-bedroom home crammed full of "emergency supplies."
A short list of some of the items that I understand were in his basement:
Dozens of cases of Coca-Cola, three gallons of mayonnaise, an ancient glass gallon-jar of "sweet and sour mixed fruit", forty or so cans of tomato soup. Fifty pounds of ice melt, and hundreds of rolls of paper towels and toilet paper.
When the in-laws cleaned out Bill's house, they gifted us with some of the paper products, name-brand, still in their original packaging. An excellent deal for both parties: they get rid of a bunch of junk, we save money on paper towels for the next year.
The only problem is that whenever the paper towels or the toilet paper get damp, they smell like hot electrical wires. This turns cleaning up a spilled cup of tea into a "Where's Waldo"-type hunt for the outlet that smells like it should be smoking. It means a trip to the bathroom often leaves me wondering if maybe I should unplug my electric toothbrush once in a while.
Hey, but as least my life has some ... er ... spark.
A short list of some of the items that I understand were in his basement:
Dozens of cases of Coca-Cola, three gallons of mayonnaise, an ancient glass gallon-jar of "sweet and sour mixed fruit", forty or so cans of tomato soup. Fifty pounds of ice melt, and hundreds of rolls of paper towels and toilet paper.
When the in-laws cleaned out Bill's house, they gifted us with some of the paper products, name-brand, still in their original packaging. An excellent deal for both parties: they get rid of a bunch of junk, we save money on paper towels for the next year.
The only problem is that whenever the paper towels or the toilet paper get damp, they smell like hot electrical wires. This turns cleaning up a spilled cup of tea into a "Where's Waldo"-type hunt for the outlet that smells like it should be smoking. It means a trip to the bathroom often leaves me wondering if maybe I should unplug my electric toothbrush once in a while.
Hey, but as least my life has some ... er ... spark.
Thursday, October 27, 2005
The Great Pumpkin v. Santa Clause
Ok, so it's not even Halloween, yet I have Christmas carols spinning around my head, dancing with sugarplums and snowflakes. This is not because I happen to love Christmas music (I've been known to play "Silver Bells" in July). This is courtesy of the screwed up retail world.
Where there should be ghosts and goblins, there are elves and reindeer. Even Sears, the manly, hardware-centered department store, has gotten into the Christmas spirit. Three weeks ago I stopped in to purchase a new water filter; instead, I found myself browsing aisles festooned with sparkly garland and embroidered velvet stockings.
All this pre-Halloween Christmas cheer gives me the heebejeebies. When Santa comes to town, all my holiday insecurities suddenly return from their summer vacation, where they spent long days lazing in the sun by the pool. Sometimes they drank mai-tais. Now they're back, and ready to work.
Confession: I am a horrible gift-giver. Possibly the world's worst. I can never pick out just the right gift - often I get in the right ball park but then don't pick precisely the right item. It is always embarrassing on Christmas morning to see someone's face when they are trying to decide how best to praise a gift they hate.
(Not to mention that Christmas should never be about gifts, anyway. But that's a whole 'nother diatribe. With Advent coming up, I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to get into that issue.)
What makes this gift-giving blight worse is that everyone I know is great at giving gifts TO me. Like the mini-prep that my mother-in-law gave me a few years ago. Not something I would have asked for, but something that has become indispensable in my kitchen.
Because of my gift-giving issues, I love it when people make wish lists, even though I am really bad at making those, too. The problem is that there are very few reasonably-priced items that I want. If it's something necessary, I buy it for myself. Everything else is either too expensive (a trip to Greece) or too menial (new dish towels) to make a nice gift. But in the spirit of Christmas, I'll make a list.. Here goes:
1. New oven mitts. Mine are nasty.
2. Rummikub
3. A mini-DVD camcorder, to capture Tommy's cuteness for posterity.
4. A rosemary tree.
5. A leak-proof travel mug that will fit in my cupholder.
Sadly, that's all I can think of right now.
I'm going to put sleighbells on my jack 'o lantern and leave cookies and milk for the Great Pumpkin.
Where there should be ghosts and goblins, there are elves and reindeer. Even Sears, the manly, hardware-centered department store, has gotten into the Christmas spirit. Three weeks ago I stopped in to purchase a new water filter; instead, I found myself browsing aisles festooned with sparkly garland and embroidered velvet stockings.
All this pre-Halloween Christmas cheer gives me the heebejeebies. When Santa comes to town, all my holiday insecurities suddenly return from their summer vacation, where they spent long days lazing in the sun by the pool. Sometimes they drank mai-tais. Now they're back, and ready to work.
Confession: I am a horrible gift-giver. Possibly the world's worst. I can never pick out just the right gift - often I get in the right ball park but then don't pick precisely the right item. It is always embarrassing on Christmas morning to see someone's face when they are trying to decide how best to praise a gift they hate.
(Not to mention that Christmas should never be about gifts, anyway. But that's a whole 'nother diatribe. With Advent coming up, I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to get into that issue.)
What makes this gift-giving blight worse is that everyone I know is great at giving gifts TO me. Like the mini-prep that my mother-in-law gave me a few years ago. Not something I would have asked for, but something that has become indispensable in my kitchen.
Because of my gift-giving issues, I love it when people make wish lists, even though I am really bad at making those, too. The problem is that there are very few reasonably-priced items that I want. If it's something necessary, I buy it for myself. Everything else is either too expensive (a trip to Greece) or too menial (new dish towels) to make a nice gift. But in the spirit of Christmas, I'll make a list.. Here goes:
1. New oven mitts. Mine are nasty.
2. Rummikub
3. A mini-DVD camcorder, to capture Tommy's cuteness for posterity.
4. A rosemary tree.
5. A leak-proof travel mug that will fit in my cupholder.
Sadly, that's all I can think of right now.
I'm going to put sleighbells on my jack 'o lantern and leave cookies and milk for the Great Pumpkin.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Diaper Picasso
My son seems to enjoy modifying his diapers. No matter what, the moment I finishing fastening all 200 (ok, maybe I exaggerate a bit) of the little snaps on the legs of his clothing, I hear the distinctive "splurt" that means a diaper customization job has just been completed.
Which means, of course, that he wants a fresh canvas RIGHT NOW so that he can have more artistic, olfactory fun.
Sometimes I wonder if having a diaper-free baby would be more effective, then I have visions of poo covered clothing, carpeting, bedding ... and I decide that I am too faint of heart to try this particular child-rearing technique. Kudos, though, to those who use it successfully. It would certainly cut down on our diaper bill.
Well, off to the diaper mines ...
Which means, of course, that he wants a fresh canvas RIGHT NOW so that he can have more artistic, olfactory fun.
Sometimes I wonder if having a diaper-free baby would be more effective, then I have visions of poo covered clothing, carpeting, bedding ... and I decide that I am too faint of heart to try this particular child-rearing technique. Kudos, though, to those who use it successfully. It would certainly cut down on our diaper bill.
Well, off to the diaper mines ...
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