happy birthday 2 u. 30!
with love, MB
xoxo
Labor Day Weekend, briefly
In handy bullet-point format. I know you gots shit to do.
- We went grocery shopping and only spent $64. (Because last week we spent omg $220)
- We watched Hot Fuzz
- We started talking in bad British accents for a few hours
- We bought diapers
- We hung hooks in the kitchen for all the aprons I’ve been making
- We drove to Riversport to watch the slalom, which was revived for the first time since, well, the last time, 6 years ago, which coincidentally was the place and time and event surrounding the night Iain proposed
- We got to hang with three members of the Slimy Pebble Whitewater Team (Hi, Nat!)
- We watched Owen play in the river
- We enjoyed some ice cream at Suder’s
- We had to change what was probably the third-worst diaper blowout in Cormac’s entire pooping career on the tailgate of the truck, and I’m just glad I’d finished my Peanut Butter Swirl by the time the explosion occurred
- We took a family picture at the Ohiopyle falls
- We drove back home, eliminating what I predicted would be a horrible night of tent-camping, if the previous tent-camping experience was anything to go by, and let me tell you, it was
- We did laundry
- We lifehacked an unattractive handmedown china hutch into a sleek aquarium stand/charging station/photo containment unit
- I finally accepted our fish as bona fide pets, and named my two Frankie and Suzie.
And that pretty much brings us all up to speed, excepting the two servings of Utz Cheese Balls I consumed after dinner, because I didn’t really think that deserved a mention. Other than that, is what I mean; other than that we are all up to speed here, yessirree bobbaroo, and I would like to just casually mention that the sleeping through the night trick? HAPPENED AGAIN, oh yes it caps-lockin’ did. And my other son? POOPED IN THE POTTY, bustin’ out the caps lock again for that little treasure. I’ll bore you with potty-chart details another time.
My boys, they growin’ up! Sniffle!
We made it five years
I love this guy.
This was us five years ago in Grand Rapids, Ohio.
And today.
But with a few additions
I’d say things are going well.
Love you, hon.
Wishes do come true
When you look like this
and you feel like this
it’s awful nice to come home to this:
You know you’re married to a science teacher when …
You discover more than a pound of nightcrawlers — in styrofoam take-out containers — in your refrigerator.
At eye level.
Did I mention in your refrigerator? If I weren’t pregnant this would make for a highly effective diet plan.
My Valentine’s Day present
Refinished rocking chair, age 27
Other people exchange jewelry, flowers, candy, stuffed teddy bears, negligee. I feel sorry for them.
My husband took apart, sanded, refinished, and put back together the rocking chair my own mother rocked me in when I was a baby. He left in some of the marks I made in the arms of the chair when I was a kid, rather than buff them out, because he knows I’d be heartbroken if they were gone. He repaired it to be sturdier and quieter than I ever remember it being. He used his own two hands and all his free time. And he knows how important it is to me that I be able to use this rocking chair with my own kids … so he finished it well in advance of May and set it up in the nursery, shiny and beautiful.
I tell you what, you keep your polyester lace and wilting roses. I wouldn’t trade this man for anything.
The things I did for love
Memes: the crutch of NaBloPoMoers everywhere. This one courtesy of LetterB — she’s aces.
Things I Did For Love
- played chicken on a dark suburban street
- spelled out my affection on looseleaf paper, then braved dozens of jeering sophomores to deliver it
- arrived at prom in a 15-year-old VW Rabbit and wearing a lime-green dress
- smoked a little too much ganja
- skipped an entire semester of Journalism 102
- switched to Lucky Strikes and Southern Comfort
- nepotism
- Wyoming with a medical condition
- changed my name
- moved 400 miles and forfeited a honeymoon
- heartburn, leg cramps, a popped hip, bloating, night sweats, and extreme fatigue
- stitches. Babymaker stitches.
- That suppository thing
- Or that time I scooped all the poop out of the bathwater
- kept going, every day.
Turn-ons include
I like this writing every day thing. Who knew?
So I’m waiting for my L.L.Bean catalog (maple syrup, cable sweaters, shearling-lined slippers: HOTT) and thinking about other things that send a shiver down my spine.
- Snow, a roaring fire, homemade popcorn, sharing a blanket
- Monopoly
- 6 ft tall with blue eyes, stubble, and arms that could pummel a teenage thug into jelly
- shiny-clean wood floors
- messy hair
- the way he can really rock out on the guitar
- the remembering of my root beer
- thunderstorms
- flannel
Oh, and I found an entry from ages ago that kind of details our little love affair. Watch out because it’s painfully sappy, though totally true, as most sap is.
600 mg of ibuprofen for him, a big fat anxiety attack for me
Awwww, dudes. Remember when Iain was in the hospital?
Yeah. He’s sick again like that. Fortunately he was able to see the doctor instead of having to rely on the E.R., like last time, but the basic diagnosis is the same: Some sort of virus will continue kicking his ass, hard, for the next 7-10 days.
Poor guy. Right now he’s just a miserable lump of misery, and this particular roller coaster usually dips pretty low into Pain Lake before climbing back up again.
Also, it looks like I may have to make this Memorial Day Weekend eight-hours-one-way road trip without him. Just me and Owen. Eight hours. In the car. Without him.
Anyone fancy a beer?
I write this while the baby’s in the playpen watching Elmo
Mama C-ta took the words right outta my mouth.
The only time I have to get anything done is in the evenings and weekends. This is where the stress comes in. And there is only stress because there is guilt. There is only guilt because I can’t figure out how to balance everything. So Cricket is in bed, great now I can get some things done. But what about that lonely man sitting in the living room, you know, YOUR HUSBAND. You haven’t seen him all day and as soon as he gets in the door he’s now on baby duty. When does he get your attention? So I try to work but I feel crappy because I can hear Sloth sigh in the other room as he aimlessly flips through channels because he has nothing else to do.
I haven’t figured out the balance yet, either. Sucks.
recent flickr
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my sewing tutorials
See my tutorials featured on SMS' Handmade Holidays!
Me, elsewhere
- del.icio.us bookmarks
- flickr photolog
- last.FM music profile
- please send vodka
- ravelry knitting notebook
- twitter tiny updates
Et cetera
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