Do you hear the faint ringing of wedding bells in the distance?

You guys know how I just love countdowns?  Well, in 24 days, I'm getting married.

Bizarrely enough, it does not feel like I have already done this twice.

It feels like I'm doing it for the first time.  It's kind of magical, actually.  

Yesterday I put together a ceremony script for our officiant (including the vows) and sent it to Jimmy for his approval.

He texted me, "Well, I can tell by the first paragraph that I'm going to lose it at the wedding.  I'm welling up in McAllister's."

Um, good.  Cause I'm going for sappy and sentimental because that is how being with him makes me feel.

Like, (and this is probably the most telling example of what my life is like that I will ever give), I ate too much, and I was uncomfortable, and then, like, 5 minutes later it was bed time (all of this happens regularly), and I was whining about how uncomfortably full I was on the way up the stairs.

We got into bed and he got all comfortable.  But I kept tossing and turning and adjusting and moving and being totally obnoxious (not on purpose - I could not help it!)  And instead of raising his head and saying "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WOMAN, GET IT TOGETHER AND GET STILL!" like most people probably would have done (and rightfully so), he gently placed his hand on my back and said in the kindest, gentlest, most loving voice, "Just try to think about something else, baby."

Which caused me to stop dead in my tracks and smile the biggest smile and just say a little "thank you" prayer for that man and drift off into a blissful, peaceful sleep.

Little things like that probably seem insignificant to the people around us, but it's in those small moments that I feel more loved than anyone has ever made me feel.  

It's in those moments when no one is around and it's not a special occasion, and I've been wearing the same pajama pants for two days, and I'm covered in spit up, and my hair is a rats nest, but he'd still rather hang out with me in the den of chaos that is our home than do pretty much anything else.  

It's in those moments where he is unjustly angry with me, and I can calmly and succinctly state my case and walk into the other room to fold towels or do dishes (because I clean when I'm upset).  He always truly listens and thinks about what I say, and when he comes to the conclusion that his anger is unjust, he is a true man and walks into the room where I am scrubbing squash out of a onesie and begins his apology with a hug and ends with sincere and heartfelt words addressing the situation.

It's in those moments where one of us is in an absolutely foul mood, so the other one has been picking up the slack with the kids and the house and all the little fabulous components of being an adult to the point of breaking, and the one in the foul mood suddenly sees that her/his rock is beginning to crack and that it's time to suck it up and tag in and let that person regroup....and always immediately does.  There is no turning on the other person or taking advantage of their support.  It's leaning on the other but knowing you have to allow them to lean back on you as well in order for everyone to stay upright.

It's in those moments where I see clear evidence of the fact that I live with a friend.  I live with someone who genuinely cares about me and my well being.  I live with someone who is invested in me and who dreams with me.  I live with someone who places importance on many of the same things as me but also allows me to have my differences without making it out like they are my faults.  We have different political views.  We disagree on the right approach to handle the children in some areas.  We disagree about whether or not black olives are delicious and spinach is disgusting.  We disagree about how watching football is the most entertaining thing to do on earth and how watching baseball is like watching paint dry.  

But, like true companions...true friends....we respect each other.  We can see past our differences and recognize that just because he wants to eat thin crust pizza instead of ordering deep dish like God intended, he isn't a bad person.

I'm making a lot of jokes, but the truth is, Jimmy and I are good for each other.  We're our own little quirky family, and it all works so, so well.  Our home is a beautiful place to live, and I am so grateful for every day I get to spend with all the wonderful people who make it a home.  

I sincerely look forward to becoming a wife for what feels like the first time and for what I know in my heart will be the last time.

Learning through my little one

There are certain things that having a daughter is teaching me.

If I were to describe my body, I'd call myself "solid".  My legs are thick and muscular - some might say I have "thunder thighs".

Back when I was a teenager and on into my early twenties, I hated my build.  I wanted to be tall and thin - not short and stocky.  I'd do all kinds of exercises targeted at turning my thick legs into long, willowy limbs - not quite understanding that no matter how many leg lifts I did, my legs were never going to grow six inches in length or shrink six inches in circumference. 

Vivs seems to be headed in the same direction as my mother and me.  Jimmy says aloud constantly that he hopes she is built like me because he thinks it is beautiful.  That says something to me about the fact that he means it.  If you're wishing it on your child, it means you truly mean it.

And I have come to realize that I think it's beautiful too.  

When I was talking to Vivian the other day - as I do so often because she loves to be talked to - I told her, "baby, I think you are going to be built like your momma and your Nana.  And when people tell you that you are beautiful, you believe them because you truly are and always will be."

It's one thing to say this to my daughter, but in order to truly teach her to love herself, I have to live it.  Sure, I can watch what I say and not tear myself down in front of my children.  But it means nothing if I tear myself down to my friends when my kids aren't around.  It means I'm not taking the steps to live the example that I want my children to see.

Recently I bought a swimsuit.  It's a retro style bikini that covers up my scarred tummy but is a two piece swimsuit nonetheless.  When I got it in the mail, I took a picture of myself in it and sent it to my bridesmaids to show them.  I took a good long at myself in the picture and thought, you know what, this is who I am, and it's okay.

I'm trying to learn that it's okay to just be who I am.  I watch people of all shapes and sizes at the pool.  Some far smaller than me and some far larger than me.  Some are younger, older, taller, shorter (well, not many, but some).  There are people there from all walks of life hanging out and having fun with their families in their swimsuits.  Never, not once, have I looked at anyone at that pool and thought anything negative of them because of the way God made them.  I can honestly say that.  I can almost always find the beauty in different shapes and sizes and colors and religions and beliefs.  It's something I pride myself in.

So, if that is the way I want to view the world and the way I want my children to view the world, I have to start with me.  It's not just okay that I am built the way that I am - it's beautiful.  I've realized this because my daughter is quite clearly going to be built like me, and she is perfect, and I will go scary momma bear on anyone who dares to say otherwise.

Having boys taught me a lot about the world that I didn't know because there is no way I could ever have known because, duh, I'm a female.  

Having a daughter is teaching me lessons about being a female who loves herself.  Even though she hasn't waded into her own self image journey just yet, I appreciate her so much for what she is teaching me about how to prepare her for it, and I pray I am able to set a good example and teach her to love herself exactly as she is.

Having a daughter is truly incredible, and I am so thankful for mine.

Bullying

I feel like I should write something.  Right?

I mean, what is going on with us? 

Vivian is ridiculous.  She rolls over.  She sits up.  She squeals with delight.  Once she “talked” to a bush for half an hour at the pool.

Ah, the pool.  It’s where we spend every non-rainy Sunday-Funday.  I don’t know that I can ever spend another summer without a pool again.  We have met some of our neighbors what with it being a community pool.  Most of them I like.  Some of them I wish would imbibe a few less beers and teach their children not to be bullies.

On that note, I’m in this weird space of parenting where I have to figure out how to handle seeing other children bully my children while their parents are both present and drunkish.

Part of me wants to yell at everyone – GET YOUR SCARY, TWICE-THE-SIZE-OF-MY-SON SON AWAY FROM MY SON!  Part of me wants to encourage my boys to handle the situation on their own – STAND UP FOR YOURSELVES!!!  PUNCH THAT KID IN THE MOUTH!!!

It started with the kid taunting Silas.  “You’re four, and you still don’t know how to swim?!” and escalated to the boy physically picking up Silas and throwing him into the pool (Silas was wearing floaties, but he flipped his shiz all the same - and rightfully so).  The boy also continuously shot Gavin in the face with a water gun full of water from the water fountain (i.e. it was cold).  His mom did make sure to half-heartedly slur “make sure everyone else’s gun has cold water too, Kid’s Name.”  Except my kids weren't armed with water guns at all.  (Oh make no mistake, there will be a trip to Target prior to the next Sunday-Funday.  We will not be caught unarmed again!)

I think it wounded Jimmy’s pride more than he wanted to admit.  When it comes right down to it, blood and DNA matter not a lick.  Your people are your people, and those boys are his people. 

Silas is sensitive and bull headed.  Jimmy wanted Silas to just swim and prove to the bully that he could do whatever he put his mind to.  He quietly encouraged Silas to let go of the wall/rail/me and let his floaties support him.  

Silas didn’t care a thing about proving a thing to the bully.  He hung out on the steps with his floaties and would only jump to one of us and then cling to us for dear life when he decided to stray from the steps.  To which I say, “good for you.  Stay true to yourself.”

But that is the logical, “that is probably the right approach” part of my brain.  Because the momma-bear part of my brain wanted to throw the bully and his mother both in the pool and then shoot them repeatedly in the face with water guns full of cold water.

So, probably the best approach to handling bullying with my kids is to hover on the outside of it and let them handle it in their own sweet way unless and until I see absolutely no other choice but to throw folks into pools and shoot them with water guns.