{Before we jump in here, some random Brittany musings. I can’t decide who I think is more likely to have invented the modern version of Valentine’s Day—women: in order to receive the expensive jewelry they didn’t get for Christmas? Or men: to get women to dress up in sexy lingerie and have at least one guaranteed night of…whoopee.}
Okay. So today’s Valentine’s Day. We all know what happens on Valentine’s Day, right? People wear clothing with hearts all over it, buy flowers for way too much money, eat chocolate, go out to eat, get engaged, exchange expensive gifts and have sex. Don’t act like you weren’t aware of the last one. I’m married. This ain’t my first rodeo. : )
So the other day the kiddos and I were at Target. (Aaahhhh, Target.) We were in the ‘intimates’ section—see above list of V-Day activities if you’re not sure why. Anyway, I was there with my baby boy in the cart and my two little girls looking at all the ‘pretty dresses’ when a young-ish couple walked by. The girl gave me kind of an odd look and I heard her say something to her boyfriend or whatever he was that it was “weird to shop for sex clothes with your kids.”
Excuse me????!!!
My first reaction was embarrassment and self-doubt. Was it some kind of sick that I was here in this section with my kids? Was I scarring them for life? Did it make me look like some kind of…hussy to be doing what I was doing?
That’s when the rage started creeping in.
Who the h@#% does that girl think she is? When does she think would be a better time to be here? As it was, getting all of us bathed and presentable enough to go to the Synagogue of Tarjay was hard enough! Should I have left my kids at home while I shopped? Gotten a babysitter so that I didn’t embarrass her with my scandalous activities? Way to judge, bimbo. Like you have a clue. (Sorry. I was really mad)
Does she think this is my idea of a good time? When I pictured myself six years ago planning my future Valentine’s Days, does she think I was shopping at Target for lingerie with my kids?! (No offense to Target, but let’s be honest. If I could afford Victoria’s little stash of Secrets, I would.)
So here’s the deal girlie. I have three kids. And I don’t just have three kids—I have had three kids. My sweet and wonderful husband has been with me through roughly 26 months of pregnancy. Backrubs, swollen ankles, vomiting, heartburn, stretch marks, hormones, aversions to food, and weight gain that makes me cringe to think about. He’s a wonderful man.
He has been through three childbirths. Down there. Where even I would never want to be. This includes water breaking, the ‘pop’ of an epidural needle, more vomiting, more hormones, screaming in pain, and the worried whisper that I really hope I don’t poop on the doctor. (I didn’t) : ) This man is my best friend and my lover. He makes me laugh more than any other person in the world and there is no one I would rather spend time with. No one.
Isn’t it better that my daughters know that I want to do something special for my husband? Granted, once Judah gets a bit older it would be odd to take him with me, but what’s wrong with showing my daughters how fun it can be to be married? To spend their life with someone who is happy to share his life with them? That even though they may have had babies and their bodies will never look the same, he still desires his wife because she is his other half? I don’t think that’s a bad lesson to learn.
So judge away girlie. I hope you know one day the thrill of love like I have from a man that is truly with me in better and worse. Good luck. : )
It is my understanding that it is not uncommon for children to have imaginary friends. Jimmy Stewart had Harvey, Calvin had Hobbes, and Mel Gibson had Mr. Beaver (which was totally creepy by the way). Even my older sister had an imaginary friend named Mandy. Then I came along and within a couple of years Mandy stopped showing up. I guess reality is better than pretend, even if reality doesn’t always do what you tell her to. : ) Also, I’m super cool and my silly sister didn’t need any friends besides me. Obviously.
Well, up until recently my sweet Adaleine (Sissy) had a friend who she kept close by at all times. I don’t know that I would call her an imaginary friend necessarily, but Gona {like Mona} was with us pretty much non-stop for a while.
Adaleine and one of the Old Navy mannequins. The mannequin's name? Gona of course!
The thing that made Gona different from Harvey, Hobbes and Mr. Beaver was that she was never someone that Sissy just imagined to be there. Gona wasn’t always a girl; she was whatever my girl wanted her to be. If Sissy got a new doll, her name was Gona. If she got a new horse, her name was Gona. If she was playing princesses, she was Princess Gona. You get the idea. And more often than not, if you asked Adaleine her name, the answer would be an immediate “Gona.” It became a kind of joke around our house to ask Adaleine her name when she was playing and act surprised when she just answered “Gona” so matter-of-factly.
Gona spinning around in a new skirt
I’m not exactly sure where Gona came from. I think Sissy adopted Gona soon after our little Judah Bear was born. It was a pretty crazy time with Landon living over a hundred miles away, a new little brother, me packing up our whole house to sell, moving in with my aunt and uncle for a few weeks and then finally transplanting our entire family from Kearney to Lincoln. That’s a lot for a two-and-a-half year old to process. Heck, it was a lot for me to process. But in Gona’s case, I think she showed up to keep Sissy company.
This is Gona concentrating very hard on her painting. It's a pretty serious business. : )
Sissy is a pretty low-maintenance little girl. She’s not terribly interested in ruffles and bows, doesn’t insist on wearing dresses like her big sister or require constant entertainment like her little brother. She will gladly play the Beast to Eden’s Belle, the Flynn Rider to Eden’s Rapunzel, and be the kitty instead of the princess. She’s a very easygoing and roll with the punches type of girl.
Adaleine had fun playing with Barbies at Uncle Todd's house this summer. Coincidentally the Barbie's name was Gona!
She’s our little sunshine. She has what I call a thousand-watt smile—made all the more perfect by the fact that her two front teeth are chipped. She has curly hair that she twirls around her fingers so tightly in her sleep that I have to cut out the tangles every day. She has beautiful squishy little hands that love to be held. And she does everything so slowly, and I have to remind myself that she’s just looking at things a little differently, a little more closely than I do. Or I will go insane. (I’m only partly joking.)
Gona dressing up in her snow gear!
That’s my little Gona girl. Gona doesn’t come around much anymore, and that kind of makes me sad. I miss Gona. But I think that Gona showed up to help my sweet little Sissy get through a weird time in her life. Even if we had a lot of chaos and weirdness going on all around us, there was always something that she could grab onto, talk to by name, and feel better. So maybe it’s a good sign that she doesn’t need her anymore. But there’s that little part of me that knows that my baby girl is just a little less baby now. And that part of me wishes that Gona would have stuck around a little bit longer.
A new stuffed elephant for her birthday! Her name used to be Gona. Now it's Simbo. Hey, at least the names are unique!
Hello out there in blog land! I have been stewing over a few things I’d like to write about and share with—whoever for a while now. Sadly, I have not had regular access to my computer since we decided to move Judah’s bed into the office. At almost ten months old, it’s really time for him to start sleeping through the night. : )
So anyway, that’s why I haven’t been around much lately. But I’ve been thinking about lots of little things that I thought I could just string together and form one long garland of over-sharing. Are you psyched? I’m psyched! I know that sounds dorky (which I've already confessed to being) but my whole goal in starting this little bloggy thing is to be honest. So…yeah.
These are my confessions (Thank you, Usher)
I hate brushing my teeth. I like having a clean mouth and teeth, but I hate the act of brushing my teeth.
When I put on my apron, I immediately turn into June Cleaver. I don’t care if all I’m doing is dumping Prego out of the jar into the pan. I’m June Freaking Cleaver!
Being a female is hard. Fact. Making new female friends is hard. When you’re trying to get to know new women, it can often feel like you’re applying for a ‘friend’ position and no one’s hiring.
My kids are really cute. I honestly think my kids are pretty much the cutest kids pretty much ever and that should be generally acknowledged. : )
I think I’ve shared this before, but I truly never intended to be a mother, let alone a stay-at-home mom. I pictured myself out in the career-driven world kicking butt and taking names. Which is weird, because I’m soooo not kicking anyone’s butt. (Unless they cut in line at Panera. That’s just gonna get them hurt.)
I love making desserts. Anything with cream cheese. Or chocolate. Or peanut butter. I also love bread. And chocolate. And peanut butter.
Speaking of food, I eat cake and brownie batter like nobody’s business. Salmonella’s not a real thing.
In my humble opinion, showering every single day is overkill. Brush your teeth every day? Absolutely. Change your undies? You betcha. Apply fresh deodorant? Certainly. But showering requires an effort that includes re-lotioning my whole body, finding a whole new ‘outfit’ for the day, deciding whether or not I’m going to do my hair, etc. All that effort seems wasted when there are days when I don’t leave the house at all.
It drives me nuts when someone’s hair is in their face and they do nothing to remove it. I literally have to keep myself from brushing it back.
I’m pretty sure Julia Roberts and I could become really good friends if we had the chance. She’s pretty down-to-earth, right? I’ll bet she’s in the market for a shorter, chubby friend to stand next to her in pictures. And it would really help my confidence if I could get her to laugh every once in a while. She’s got a great laugh. I heart her. : )
I occasionally drink milk out of the carton. Not often and not recently, but it’s happened and I just thought I’d put that out there. Just keeping it real.
Having babies is not kind to your bladder. I’ll leave it at that.
Having babies is not kind to your butt, thighs, belly, chest, face, etc. But especially your bladder.
I have a handful of good friends, but I can only talk about bodily functions candidly with my sisters.
Since having kids, I spend an amazing amount of time talking about poop, vomit, and, oddly enough, dragons. Those three topics take up a lot of air time.
On that topic, the girls recently went to spend the weekend with their grandparents. On their return my mother-in-law joked that I must spend a lot of time wiping bottoms throughout the day. That got me thinking. Then I got bummed out and ate something sweet. It’s all kind of a blur from there.
I get a little thrill when I pass someone in the car after changing lanes. I even mutter “Sucka!” under my breath at them sometimes. : )
Extreme Couponing makes me want to extreme coupon. Some of those women are nuts. But some of them are awesoooooommmmme.
Nothing too scandalous there, right? I mean, who wouldn’t beat up someone who cuts in line at Panera? And if we’re being honest I think we’d all admit that we l-o-v-e passing someone who chose the slow lane.
And that wraps up my over-sharing garland session. I feel so liberated! : )
Well, another year has come and gone. I will eventually take a look back at 2011 and ruminate on all that that crazy year held, but for now I want to look forward.
Here it is, January 2, and I’m already behind! But better late than never, right? I have been thinking—mulling, if you will—over the last few days about what I would like to change in this New Year. I’m not a huge fan of New Year’s resolutions. But that’s probably because I never stick with them. So this year, I have resolved (hehe) not to have resolutions. Yes, you read that right. I am SUCH a rebel.
Now before you write me off as being content with my chubby, unhealthy, messy lifestyle, let me tell you what I have resolved to make a part of my new year. Drum roll, please. : )
Choices.
Specifically, New Year’s Choices.
They are different from resolutions in one very important way: while a resolution seems so strict, unforgiving, and controlling, I think of a choice as being much more of a personal decision. The bottom line is that I will probably screw up and miss a day of this or that, but while a resolution would then feel broken and hopeless, a choice can start fresh the next day.
So, without further ado, my New Year’s Choices!
Make my bed in the morning – I think this is totally manageable! I have actually done this before and been pretty successful in doing it but have dropped the habit. And as soon as I get my sheets out of the dryer (where they’ve been for the last two days) I am totally doing this!
Send out birthday cards – I usually start out doing pretty well with this every year and then by May or June I just start to suck. (Although last year I didn’t even try. Seriously. As far as I’m concerned no one had a birthday in 2011. I’m still 27.)
Wash my face before bed – I know what you’re thinking. And I agree. Washing my face before bed is going to seriously hamper my ‘get up off the sofa and stumble mindlessly into bed’ tradition. But I can make small sacrifices for the sake of not looking 96 years old by the time I’m 30.
Say ‘yes’ to my kids more often – This is actually a pretty big one for me. I often find myself telling my sweet girls ‘no’ to doing fun activities because it will make a mess or something else like that. But what I would really like is to be able to set aside my unwillingness to make myself uncomfortable for their sakes. They’re only little once and I don’t want them to miss out on fun stuff. (Sniffle, sniffle)
Write – This one is purely selfish. I want to do something for me. Something I can feel good about and be proud of. I know that my kids are my biggest project and reward and blah blah blah but the truth is I can’t have ‘Mommy’ be my only identity. I need something that’s just for me, or even my Mommy hat is going to be worn to tatters. I would like to blog at least once a week, although I’m not sure I have enough interesting things to talk about. I would also really like to try and write something a little more substantial like a book or short story or something, but I’m not really sure I’m brave enough to try something like that. We’ll see. : )
Exercise – I have a gym membership that has been completely unused for the last two weeks. I would like to commit to going to the gym three times a week. If I happen to work out while I’m there, even better! Maybe this is the year I can stop feeling like I look so ‘mother of three’-ish.
So those are my official New Year’s Choices. Other things I would really like to work on this year are cooking better meals for my family, going on more date nights with the hubby, be more orgaized, being smarter with our money, picking up after myself, and putting away laundry when I fold it. ‘Cause apparently it’s not okay to keep all your clean clothes in a laundry basket on your bedroom floor. Whatever. : )
Here is an example of what I want to change in 2012. You may not be able to tell, but that’s actually my computer desk. But that’s normal. Right?
Before you read this, I must point out that I did not write it. I read it on a wonderful little blog called the little red house and I loved it so much I had to share it. : ) Enjoy!
Dear December,
Welcome!
Let's try to keep it slow this year.....ok?
You always fly by too quickly and we have lots of fun things to do, and a very large amount of butter that I plan on using while you are here.
So stick around for a while.
Dear Snow,
Where are you? It's December, you should be here.
I'm sorry I complain about you in February, March, and April......
...but it's December.
I will welcome you with open (triple layers of clothing) arms.
Dear Christmas Music,
you make everything so magical! Thank you!
I hardly even noticed I was doing dishes with all the fa-la-la-ing going on.
Dear House,
I am so sorry.
Boxes and barrels of tinsel and holly exploding everywhere I look.
Ok actually it's plastic bins and cardboard boxes of pretty normal Christmas stuff,
but tinsel and holly sounded better.
Anyway, House.
You are a mess.
We will have you decked with sparkly ornaments in no time.
Dear Body,
(are you nervous for this one?)
Today marks a special day for us.
You should be excited to know that we are done.....DONE! with antibiotics!
(some of you may know that I have been fighting (and beating!) Lyme Disease for the past 3 1/2 years.)
After almost three straight years on antibiotics (with a few breaks here and there and lots of herbals and magic potions to go with them),
This post is going to sound like a complete downer, but I’m not writing it depressed or anything. Just thoughtful. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about faithfulness and fidelity. I guess I’ve been thinking about marriage in general, and all that goes along with it. There have been a number of situations and experiences that have prompted these thoughts—movies, songs, personal conversation—but the long and the short of it is that it’s on my mind.
I caught the movie Love Actually on television a week or two ago and was really affected by the story of Karen (Emma Thompson) and her husband Harry (Alan Rickman). Toward the end of the movie she realizes that he might be cheating and there’s a very painful scene where she excuses herself from their family Christmas gift exchange and goes into their bedroom and cries. It’s a short scene and she’s quiet about it, but it hurt me to watch it. Shortly after, there’s a scene with the two of them at their children’s Christmas program. The conversation goes like this:
Karen: Tell me, if you were in my position what would you do? Harry: What position is that? Karen: Imagine your husband bought a gold necklace and come Christmas gave it to somebody else... Harry: Oh, Karen... Karen: Would you wait around to find out if it's just a necklace, or if it's sex and a necklace, or if worst of all it's a necklace and love? Would you stay, knowing life would always be a little bit worse? Or would you cut and run? Harry: Oh, God. I am so in the wrong. The classic fool. Karen: [voice breaking] Yes, but you've also made a fool out of me, and you've made the life I lead foolish too.
See, that’s the thing. It’s not just about him cheating on his wife. It’s about everything that happens afterward. All of us ‘strong, independent’ women like to say that if our husbands cheated on us we’d just ‘divorce the bastard’ and leave him in the dust. We’d go on to lead a very fulfilled and happy life without that cheating piece of dirt. But would we? Really? Would we be able to? Would we even want to?
I’m not thinking about all of this because my husband is unfaithful. He’s never given me any reason to worry about that and I’m trying to do all I can to make certain he never goes out looking for trouble like that. I’m thinking about it because it’s all over the place!
With this movie, I am reminded of why so many women stay with unfaithful husbands. Or, for that matter, why so many men stay with unfaithful wives. The simple answer is this: how else can you live? If I were to find myself in this situation tomorrow, I’d be stuck. Do I go out and find a job and pay a small fortune to put my three children in daycare? Do I hope that my spouse will pay child support for the next 18 years? Do I hope that the babysitters I need to hire so that I can work extra shifts are good people? That I can trust them? Do I hope that whatever woman my husband is with in the future is good to them? Do I hope that I will not make my children’s lives hopelessly messed up because I have torn apart the only family they know? Where’s that strong, independent woman now? She’s scared.
I watched that movie one night and practically the next day I’m hearing that stupid Sugarland song ‘Stay’ on the radio. I hate that song. It’s from the point of view of the mistress or other woman or whatever they’re called now. This ‘poor woman’ is so sad because the married man she’s with keeps leaving her to go home. The nerve of that guy. One of the lines in the song is “We don’t have to live this way.” Well at least she’s right about that. I will never understand why women continue to pursue or even accept the unsolicited attentions of married men. (Here’s the video for that song. Feel free to give her dirty looks when she looks at the camera with tears in her eyes. Yuck.)
I guess what that really got me thinking about was just marriage. Marriage. It has come to seem so temporary in our modern age. It’s just the next step on the list of things that you do in life. It’s not serious anymore. I mean, in this day and age where couples are sleeping together right after they start dating, moving in together shortly after, etc., what’s really the point of getting married? Can we honestly expect someone to be faithful just because they have now signed a paper? Probably not.
So here’s where I ended up. I ended up with this beautiful song. Some people might think it’s a sad song, but I really don’t think it is. It’s a real song. Here are the lyrics and my thoughts on them. Not that I’m any kind of expert, but this song has come to mean a lot to me, so I want to share it. Maybe I can help someone in some way. : )
You only know what I want you to – From the moment we start a relationship, we begin omitting the things that we don’t want our partner to know. We don’t want them to know what we really think of some people, what we really wish we could say. Things like that.
I know everything you don't want me to – As much as we may try to keep our guard up, this person that we sleep next to every night knows so much about us that we don’t want to share with anyone else. They know what we look like without makeup, what our breath smells like when we wake up, how we react when offended. They also know some of the things we’ve done that we wish we hadn’t.
Oh your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine – I think this one is pretty simple. Nothing can wound like words from the person you love the most. And nothing means more than sincere words of love coming from those same lips.
Oh you think your dreams are the same as mine – Sometimes it’s easier to pretend that you want the same things even when you’re beyond those first months of a relationship. Sometimes you do what will make them happy, just because it will make them happy.
Oh I don't love you but I always will – There is something about love that sticks with you. Even in our darkest hours, I like to think that I will be able to look at my wonderful husband and just…love him. Even if I’ve been hurt. It will still be there. And that can be a blessing or a curse, which is why it’s so scary.
Oh I don't love you but I always will
Oh I don't love you but I always will
I always will
I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back – I don’t know how many times I’ve turned around or hung up the phone or gone into a different room during an argument. And even though I am trying to get away, I still desperately want him to just…hold me. Whether that means a phone call, a touch, anything. Just fight for me.
The less I give the more I get back – This one I honestly don’t know about. The only application I can think of is the possibility that if I was to stop trying in our relationship, my husband would try to bring me back. For instance, if a woman were to be unfaithful to her husband, he might buy her expensive gifts and do thoughtful things for her to get her to stop being selfish and stupid and think of her vows.
Oh your hands can heal, your hands can bruise – Another simple one. I love the feeling of my husband’s touch in love, but I can’t imagine the pain of his touch of anger. Not just because of the physical effects, but the emotion that goes with that contact.
I don't have a choice but I still choose you – I think this might be my absolute favorite. It doesn’t say I would still choose you. It’s I do still choose you. There are times in marriage when we feel…stuck. “Is this the life I had imagined for myself? Is this what I’ve always wanted?” But the fact of the matter is that we choose this life. I may be so angry with my husband that I want to get in the car and drive away, but there is no one else in the entire world I would rather spend time with.
So is this a depressing post? I don’t think so, but that might just be my opinion. I love my husband more than any other human being on earth. There is no one I would rather be with. He is a wonderful, loving, faithful, thoughtful and amazing man. Not to mention that he’s smokin’ hot. : ) I can’t say that I love every little thing about our life and our relationship, but the best part is that we both want to stick around and try to get all those little hiccups worked out. It will probably take years. But the truth is we both signed up ‘for as long as we both shall live’ so we’re not going anywhere. : )
I had a middle school moment at the gym the other day. Not everyone will relate to this; if you were one of those people who have always been cool, you will not understand. But here’s the gist of what happened.
I was reminded that I am not one of the ‘cool’ kids. To understand, you’ll need to know a few basic things about me. I am 28. I have three kids. I am at least 30 pounds heavier than I want to be. I am ghostly pale. I have never been a member at a gym before. As a matter of fact I must confess that the biggest motivator for me to go to the gym now is that I can have someone else watch my kids while I go and watch TV work out for 45 minutes and then shower and take my time getting ready. Then when I do shower and get ready, I am acutely aware that there are other women in the locker room at that very second that are thinner and less sweaty than I am. So that’s your basic picture here.
So there I am, trying to put my lotion on and get dressed in the locker room without exposing any part of my body to the girl about ten feet away that has just finished her workout. You can tell she’s cool. She knows it, I know it. She just oozes that confidence that comes with knowing that you’re cool. She is tan, trim, and probably 23 years old. She has a very cute little exercise ensemble comprised of new-looking sneakers, cute little black shorts and a red sports bra. Yeah, no shirt. Fan-freaking-tastic. : )
Then she talks to me. Dang it. She asks me a question about the cost of renting a locker or something like that. I am immediately transported back in time 15 years. A different locker room— different ‘cool’ girls ten feet away and different self-confidence issues. Back then it was acne, wondering when I was ever going to start looking like a mature female, wishing my parents made more money so I could get one of those cool Adidas bags. And wishing I was cool like them. Different time, different issues, but the same heart-pounding wish that I could just be…more smooth.
Back to the present day locker room scenario.I dorkily rack my brain, trying to remember what that email that I got a couple of weeks ago said about the cost of permanently renting a gym locker. I only skimmed it, knowing that a fee like that was not in our budget. You know when you just know that you’ve come across as a dork? Like you’re trying too hard? Yeah, that was me.
Anyway I got through that little conversation and started washing my face and getting my makeup on. Cool Girl wrapped herself up in one of those teeny little gym bath towels and trotted off to the shower. (Side note: she didn’t actually trot. I am simply trying to convey her general spirit of carefree-edness. Yes that is a word.) As I’m washing my face she comes trotting back out and asks if I have any face wash she can borrow. Of course I bumble all over myself offering her some of my Cetaphil—which she’s never heard of. And I start thinking, “Crap! Is even my face wash dorky?!”
So here’s the thing. I’m dorky. I always have been and probably always will be. I have wonderful friends that can appreciate that about me. And I have an amazing husband that thinks my dorkiness is actually cute. (Please don’t tell him those two words have drastically different meanings.) So for the most part I’m pretty happy with my general persona. But there are those times. Those locker-room, Buckle sales clerk, trying to figure out if I can actually pull off the whole scarf with T-shirt look times that I am totally a dork. I get through them and give the evil eye to those darn girls trotting by in their cute little scarves. Who wants to trot everywhere anyway? I’m tired just thinking about it. : )
Cue reel of photographic dork evidence:
I started out quite cute! I'm the little one who looks like she's pooping her pants.
Then things started getting weird. Honestly I blame the eighties.
No I don't know why I'm standing like that. : )
Yes those are my real eyebrows. Yikes.
My sister totally looks like she's picking her nose. She probably was. She's gross like that. : )
Fake chest hair? Bring it on.
It was really hot out. We were really uncomfortable. Hehe.
Even on my wedding day...something not totally cool about me. Hmmmmm...
But here's one of those good friends. She knows I'm a dork. (Heck, she's a dork too!) And it just works. : )
