Tooth Fairy? Anyone???

Ethan is a maniac . . . about his teeth, that is.

The kid brushes, flosses, and uses mouthwash twice a day, no fail, with no prompting.  Pretty impressive for a 5 year old!  Even our dentist, Dr. McKay (who Ethan lovingly refers to as Dr. Decay) was amazed at how well he does with his teeth.

That is why I shouldn't have been surprised when Ethan, well, pulled a typical Ethan.

Yesterday, while speaking with the butt-cleavage-displaying drywall man, Ethan said matter of factly, "Hey!  You are missing a few of your teeth!"

I could have crawled under my couch and died amongst the discarded goldfish that have gone belly up.

Fortunately, dry wall man is a very gentlemanly man who has many children and grandchildren.  He handled Ethan's comment with grace and said, "You are right!  I didn't take care of my teeth and that is why you should!"

Ethan, of course, detailed his teeth routine, and then gave drywall man a glowing recommendation for Dr. Decay.

At least he hasn't noticed the man's butt . . . I do not know how that one would have played out!

Confession Wednesday . . . Part 2

Since I loved, loved, loved confession Wednesday last week soooooo much . . . I decided to keep it going!  You really should try it.  

Really.

You should.

So, up for my absolution today are the following:

1.  I sneak and eat my kids' Halloween candy at night after they are asleep.  So far, they are clueless to the fact that their stash is slowly dwindling, and clearly, I am not going to let them in on it.  If they ask, I will lie.  I am not proud of this.  OK.  OK.  I am a little proud of it, but mostly I just like getting my chocolate fix.

2.  I have considered pulling up the drywall man's pants so I don't get flashed with his ever-present hairy, butt cleavage.  I have considered it, but I have not done it.  I am too chicken . . . but I play the scene over and over in my mind.

3.  My friend's kids have the swine flu.  When she told me about it, instead of feeling empathy for her hard week of sickness ahead,   I mentally calculated the last time my kids had played with her kids.  Then I breathed a sigh of relief that the kids' playtime was not within the H1N1 contagious window.

4.  When hubby decided to go as The Pope to a Halloween costume party, I actually considered going in the following costumes . . .  a pregnant nun (bad!), a prostitute (worse!!), and an altar boy ( I thought for sure I would go to hell for this one!!!)

5.  I accidently threw out hubby's issue of Sports Illustrated.

6.  When asked about said Sports Illustrated, I promptly walked over to the garbage can, pulled it out, dusted it off, and brought it to hubby.  I am not sure that he knows where it was, but I do not intend to tell him.  

Hmmmm. 

 That's all I can think of at the moment.  

But really, after lying to the kids and hubby . . . isn't that enough???

Happy Wednesday!

Post It Tuesday

How about a fun, fresh idea for a Tuesday?

Let's try it!  If you'd like to play along, check out Adventures of a Wanna-Be Supah Mommy.   You can also check out The Mother Load  for more Post It fun!  On to my short, but sweet Tuesday thoughts . . . 

Whew!

I feel better now!

36 . . . 24 . . .36????

My birthday was on Saturday. 

 I am officially now 36.  (Thank you for asking!)

And while I am not that phased by the passing of another year, I am phased by the fact that I am no longer in the 24-35 year old demographic.  Nope.  I am now in the 36-45 year old portion of the population.  Just one, tiny 1/4 of an inch separates the two check-off boxes on official paperwork, but in reality, I am finding that these two boxes are worlds apart.

For instance, at 24, it was an accomplishment to hold my pee during a rowdy night of beer drinking with my friends.  We teased each other about "breaking the seal".  No one. No one wanted to be the first to break her pee seal, because we all knew what would inevitably follow.  Once a girl relieved her bladder, she would be back and forth to the bathroom for the rest of the evening.  At 24, I could hold my bladder like a champ!

At 36 . . . not so much.

At 36, I am lucky if my bladder holds my first cup of morning coffee, let alone a night of beer.  In fact, the old girl seems to be rebelling at me at any chance.  If I sneeze, I pee.  If I cough, I pee.  If I laugh, you guessed it, I pee.

I am heading towards the Depends aisle in the grocery store, my friends.  

This.  This does not make me happy.

At 24, I got my eyebrows waxed regularly, at a salon, by a professional.

At 36, I wax my own eyebrows.  Consequently, I have burned the skin between my eyes more than once.  At 36,  not only do I have to wax my brows, I also have to wax my lip . . . a duty that I had once relegated to the ranks of my old and hairy italian aunts.  Apparently, at 36, I am now part of those ranks.  I carry a pair of tweezers with me at all times, and I pluck stray hairs in the car while I am stopped at red lights.  It seems that the magnified rearview mirror is the only place that I can see those pesky hairs that pop up!

At 24, I colored my hair for a change of pace.

At 36, I color my hair for necessity.  While I have very few grays (hooray!), I am not above plucking out a stray gray.  And now that sharpie markers come in so many different colors, I have and will continue to use a sharpie to color in a strand or two of offensive color.  I love my sharpie marker!!

At 24, I had no idea about who I wanted to be, or, for that matter, who I was at that moment.

At 36, I am comfortable being me.  I love my life of wife, mom, teacher, tutor, instructor, friend, laugher, lover and blogger.  My life is full of daily silliness, laughs and hugs.  I never knew I wanted to be a stay at home mom with 3 kiddies, but I wouldn't change it for the world.  I am blessed!

Because at 36,  my boobs may be way lower than they were at 24, but there are better things than perky boobs.  

I am wiser.

I am more appreciative.

I am thankful.

So, I don't mind checking off that 36-45 box in the slightest.

But, I won't take plastic surgery off the table either!

Happy Birthday Ellerie

To my Halloween baby, Ellerie . . .

born 10/31/2007 . . .

Here goes . . . 

Happy Birthday to you . . .

Happy Birthday to you . . .

Happy Birthday dear Ellerie . . .

Happy Birthday to you!

What a joy you have brought to my life, my dear girl!

I love you.

And as for the terrible two's . . .

Bring 'em on!!!!

Anniversaries and Decisions

Today is my parents' 38th wedding anniversary.

Pretty cool, huh?

It is also my dad's 61st birthday.  I always knew that my mom was smart, but, getting married on your husband's birthday is truly genius.  He has never had an excuse to forget his anniversary!

Anyway, in a world where the easier decision is sometimes to choose divorce or separation, my parents have stuck by each other through some pretty hairy stages of life.  Their faith in each other and their faith in God have always been a shining example to me.  I have witnessed that times  in my life will be hard, but I have also witnessed the beauty and grace of sharing those burdens with the one that you love, the one that holds your heart.  

I believe that great love stories, like my parents' love story, are gifts. 

And for those gifts, I am eternally grateful.

So, Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad!  You two are truly my role models.  Your love for each other is inspiring.  

In honor of your day, here is a repost that I think that your love obviously inspired.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

The Decision

When my dad toasted hubby and me at our rehearsal dinner, he pointedly looked at each of us and said, "Love is a decision that you make each and every day."  At the time, I was so engrossed in the moment and celebrating with my family and friends that I did not really comprehend what he was saying, but nine years later, I am beginning to grasp its meaning.

To fully love another human being, you have to recognize that love is not just a feeling, it is achoice that you need to actively make. Each. And. Every. Day.  Falling in love . . . getting that butterflies in your belly feeling, that feeling that you get when you are a little kid and you are swinging just a little bit too high on the swing set, that feeling that you get when you are just about to dive off the high diving board at the pool, that feeling . . . is the easy part. 

It is the staying in love that is the hard part.

You see, once life takes over, the ability to choose to love takes over too.  And, choosing to love your honey when every fiber in your being just wants to scream, beat your fists into a pillow, and just let honey have it, is so much more difficult than just allowing the hate and anger to consume you.

So, when hubby decided to scrape the snow and ice off of my window one morning before work and used our metal shovel to get the job done, I had to almost bite my knuckle raw in order to not kill him for putting 4 foot long scratches across my windshield with the shovel.  When I found out that we would have to replace the windshield, I had to switch knuckles and keep on gnawing in order to maintain control.    I had to actively remember that hubby was just trying to be nice when he scraped my windshield down. I had to choose to love hubby even when every little nerve in my body was so mad that I could strangle him.  There was no rosy, pretty pink love feeling at that moment.  Instead, there was a bold and cold decision that I knew that I had to make, even though I didn't feel like making it.  

And when I recently messed up our bank account, hubby had every right to be downright ticked at me.  I had screwed up and screwed up royally, and it was going to cost us extra money that we did not have.  But instead of taking it out on me, hubby immediately recognized how terrible I felt, swallowed his angry feelings, and gave me a much needed hug.  He chose to love me even when I felt completely unlovable.  He made a decision to love me. A decision that, at the time, was not easy.

Hubby and I have to make these decisions daily.  Whether it is his clothes on the floor or my penchant for leaving egg shells in the sink, if we let the little things bother us day to day, if we accused and used each other to get our petty anger out, then we would be chipping away at our own foundation as a couple and we would be in no shape to handle the big things when they inevitably creep up.

And they always do creep up.

By choosing to love each other, hubby and I are constantly reinforcing our foundation.  With every choice, our wall gets a little thicker, and with every decision, we are just a bit more solid.  Together.  That's not to say that we don't have our cracks, either.  We do.  But because our focus is to be proactive in our foundation and in our relationship, we can weather the cracks.  We can repair them. And we are that much stronger for it.

So, when we have to face a new life or an unexpected death, when we have to face financial adversity or a tragic loss,  or when we have to face a success or a defeat, hubby and I are ready.  

We have nine years of decisions to prove it.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, to my marriage role models,  I thank you.  I appreciate the role you played in my own strong marriage and in my love story.  I wish you a Happy Anniversary.

I love you!

 And Dad . . .  get a babysitter for Mom Mom and take mom out.  You both deserve it!

It's Not Butter. It's Parkay!

Because of  Ellerie and her day to day craziness, I have been letting some of my daily household chores slack.  Specifically, I have been avoiding the grocery store like the plague.  I just can not figure a way to. . . 

 

a) keep Ellerie safe in the cart.  She can and does escape each and every time I strap her in.

b) keep Ellerie next to me while I shop. Frequently, I have rescued her from a cereal shelf, or I have left my cart in a mad run to catch her little devilish self.  Both of which cause snickers and sly smiles from my fellow grocery shoppers.  I hate snickers. (Not the candy, mind you.  Just the expressions.)

c)actually completely shop for an entire grocery list while Ellerie is with me.  Instead, I have been participating in some drive-by shopping where I just run in and grab a few things when I can.

Consequently, I have done the only thing that I could do in this situation.  I have enlisted hubby's help in the grocery store chore.

This has been a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because, quite honestly, for the most part, I do not like to grocery shop.  Now, if I can shop with my list, and my coupons, and a starbucks . . . with no children and with no time limit, then, hooray!  I like to grocery shop.  But, grocery trips like that are few and far between so, like I said, getting food is not my favorite chore to do.

So, hubby agreed to pitch in, and truthfully, I have to love him for that.  After a long day at work, I am sure he doesn't want to hit the market for the sheer possibility that he may run into one of his student's or worse, one of his student's parents.  No teacher or coach likes to participate in the ambush parent- teacher conference in Aisle 4 next to the peanut butter.  But, the man volunteered for grocery duty knowing full well that that was one of its possibilities.  He is a good man.  For that, I am grateful.

I am not grateful, however, that he is a man in a grocery store.

Because a man in a grocery store does not remember what his wife needed or even asked for.  A man in a grocery store does not consult his list.  Ha!  He laughs in the face of a list!  A man in a grocery store, I say, is an empowered man.  And that, my friends, is dangerous!  

Recently, I asked hubby to take a grocery trip for me.  "Can you get some butter and milk at the grocery store? We ran out."

Hubby didn't look up from his laptop but quickly replied, "Sure hon.   I'll go in a minute."

Ten minutes later  he gathered his keys and started out the door.  "What was I supposed to get again?" he threw at me over his shoulder.

Knowing the dangers of the man and the grocery store, I RAN to the door and yelled after him, "BUTTER AND MILK!!!!!"

He turned, smiled and said, "Right.  Butter and milk."  He winked and then stated proudly, " No problem."  

And then I knew that we would have a problem.

When he returned, he had spent well over $20.00.  He had purchased milk, (2 gallons) lunch meat, sweet and low, and some other assorted goodies.  Quickly, I scanned the bags and asked, "Hon?  Where's the butter?"

"What do you mean 'Where's the butter?' "  he retorted.  "It's right there!"

I looked and my heart sank.  It was  most definitely not butter.  It was margarine.  And if that wasn't bad enough, it was the generic margarine.  The one with the white box and non-descript blue letters that says, "Vegetable Spread".  Yep.  That one.

"Hon?  I appreciate that you went to the store.  I really do, but . . ."  I hesitated.

"But what?"  he asked pointedly.

I blurted it out, "But, this is not butter!"

"Yes. It is. It's what I used as a kid," he explained.

"Well, just because you used it as a kid doesn't make it butter.  Butter is yummy.  This stuff is ," I searched for the right word.  "ummmmm . . . artificial."

He looked at me like I was crazy.  Images of the movie, The Breakup, flashed through my head where the couple fights over the man's grocery trip.  She wanted 12 lemons.  He bought 3.  She had a problem with it.  He didn't understand the problem.  Same here.  I wanted butter.  He got margarine.  Vastly different in my book.  Strangely the same in his.  To-may-to. To-mah-to.

You get the idea.

Before he could explain himself anymore, I just decided to take one for the team.  "Thanks for trying hon.  I appreciate it."

He smiled, satisfied with himself.  I smiled too, knowing that I would have to take back the grocery chore very soon.

Either that or I will have to learn to like margarine.

Yuck.