Let it go...

Most of us have that person we go to when our significant other is driving us nuts.

I am that person for a few people, and I'm not sure if I view my role properly after an exchange I had last night.  So, I thought I'd just put it out there and see what others think.

When someone I consider a true friend comes to me with a relationship problem, I initially allow that person to vent.  Once they have gotten it out of their system, I then try to give them a perspective based on being logical and rational.

If you're my friend, I find it important not to just tell you what you want to hear if I don't believe that's what you need to hear.  If you're my friend, I'm invested in what is best for you and your family.

So, if your husband did something ridiculous, I'm going to tell you, "that was ridiculous."  But I'm not then going to sit there and bash him and tell you to leave him (unless he hit you cause then he can go to hell.  Pack your shit and come sleep on my couch).

Instead, I'm going to give you advice based on who he is, who you are, and the circumstances in your life.  I'm going to try to see it from both sides and tell you something like, "what you have to decide is whether this fight is worth ripping apart your family because if it's not, you get to be mad for a reasonable amount of time, and then you have to work it out like adults."

Most fights are not worth ripping apart your family.  Yes, there are exceptions.  Yes, there are people who are just not meant to be together.  But until you make that decision for yourself, I am always going to encourage you to try to fix the immediate problem, let it go, and move on with your life.

I had a whole conversation last night about forgiveness.  This particular friend stated that she doesn't believe in forgiveness and that her partner doesn't deserve it for what he did.

I tried again and again to reason with her and explain, "forgiveness really has nothing to do with whether or not he deserves it.  Forgiveness is truly about allowing yourself to live in peace."  And I believe that.

Jimmy and I had lunch with Michael and Heather at their home on Sunday.  We all talked and laughed and watched football and had a nice time.

As the product of two divorced parents, I know the turmoil my children would endure if I harbored anger and hatred and resentment for Michael and Heather.  I would be creating a toxic environment and forcing guilt onto my children for loving their dad and step-mom.  I would be making them feel like they need to choose sides and have some sort of weird loyalty to one or the other of us.  My grown up crap is not their problem.  It's my responsibility as their mom to make their environment as healthy and nurturing as I can.

I just can't see the point in living in misery or putting my kids through hell to hold onto pain I endured years ago that actually worked out to make my life much better in the end.

And I don't have to fake it.  I forgave them for what they did to hurt me, and it allows me to be at peace with my life and with them.  It allows me to be friends with my ex-husband and the woman he raises our kids with.  It allows me to see Heather as a good person who cares very genuinely about my children.  It allows my children to be able to just love the people they love without having to worry about whether or not it's going to hurt or bother me.

That is the entire point of forgiving people.  So that you can let go of your hurt and move past it.  Even if you choose to never speak to that person again - or have not spoken to the person for years - don't let pain someone else caused you determine whether or not you are going to be happy.

People who harbor anger and bitterness and resentment cannot be happy.  They are allowing someone else's disregard for their feelings to destroy them.  It's so illogical, it makes my head hurt.

Because this is how I view the world, it is the only way I can see advising my friends when they seek my advice.  Even if I cannot stand their significant other (oh, and there are some I just cannot), I'm still going to encourage them find a way to live at peace with that person while they are in a relationship with them - especially if they raise children together.

So, if you're coming to me in hopes that I'm going to tell you that your S.O. is scum and deserves to be drawn and quartered, it's not going to happen - unless that person hit you - then I'm all about it.  If your S.O. was a moron who forgot your anniversary or hasn't helped with the dishes in two months, I'm going to tell you that you have to find a way to work it out as adults and not let it destroy your inner peace.

And I'm going to do that because I value you and think you deserve genuine happiness and truly believe that's the only way to have it.

Now, am I wrong for that?  Honestly?  Should I just jump on whatever train you're riding and tell you that he's a pig and deserves to sleep on the couch for a month?  I just can't see it, but I'm open to listening to your opinions.

Who am I?

I mean, life’s too short to be worried about what people are going to think if you dye your hair purple at 32.

It just is. 

I’ve been seeing purple hair on Pinterest for months, and I have just obsessed about it.

And then grown up night on Saturday turned into a botched dye job I had to fix, and I was standing in the color aisle and saw “dark violet velvet” and said, “Eff it.  I will have purple hair!” 

And I do now.  Have purple hair.  And I don’t regret it in the least.

I collided with this brick wall because my baby….my very small daughter…is just zooming right along taking first steps and being just gorgeous and perfect and amazing.  And my oldest turned five years old and talks incessantly about what he’ll be when he grows up and my middle boy.  Ugh.  He’s just incredible.  He sings Aerosmith songs and screams at the TV with me when we watch football and picks out light up shoes all by himself.

I have this stupid perfect life.  And I’m clinging to it because it’s rushing by so fast. 

Like, who does Vivian think she is trying to walk at eight freaking months old?!  This is my last time getting to experience it, and as in love with all of this as I am, it’s also killing me to be creeping toward the end of my “last first year.”

And so my whole life is about my family, which I love.  But they just insist on growing up and figuring out what they love and who they are.

So, taking a cue from them, um, who the hell am I?  What do I want outside of raising these amazing children?  What will I do when they are gone?  Because I’ve watched women who make their children their entire life and then have no idea what to do with themselves after their kids pack up and jet off into the wild blue yonder.

I’m a mom, yes.  I’m a wife, yes.  Those are two extremely important roles I play.

But I’m also a woman independent of my family.  A woman who wants purple hair and to get another degree and to spend her weekends getting mud on her boots and practicing to get her concealed handgun license and hanging out with her redneck friends who take her to the gun range and teach her everything she needs to know about a sport that makes her as giddy as football Sundays.

I’m a woman who wants to get more exercise and eat good foods and run around the backyard with her pitbulls.  I want to invest in all of the people around me and stop being afraid to make new friends and allow new people to see who I am and to stop second guessing my desires.  I want to stop ever, ever, ever asking the question, “but what will people say?”  Because, seriously, who cares? 

My family isn’t going to stop loving me if I dye my hair purple and take on two pit bulls and learn how to shoot guns and go back to school. 

People who truly love you want you to be happy and fulfilled.  As long as you aren’t doing things that are destructive, the people in your life may not understand your choices, but if they love you, they’ll support you for just living your life and finding your space to be happy in the world independent of them.

The people in my life are so beautiful and important and give me so, so much happiness.  But there is a danger in allowing your entire being to be dependent on others.  You have to be able to live fully independently of your relationships with others. 

And so that’s what I’m working on.  I’m working on giving myself permission to just make my own choices about things like having purple hair and dressing the way I’m comfortable and loving the music I love and living in a zoo full of people and animals. 

None of it hurts anyone, so who cares?  I have to just keep pushing toward finding the me who remains when all the people in my life are stripped away and I stand on my own.  That’s the person my family needs, and that’s the person I deserve to be.  And so I shall.  Purple hair and all.

R&R

Friday, my parents kindly requested the presence of Miss Vivian Grace for an evening of being spoiled rotten.  Jimmy and I agreed, rented a movie, and fell asleep on the couch watching it.

I've been fighting a cold that took violent hold of me on Saturday.  I couldn't stop sleeping.  Never one to complain about sleeping, Jimmy was a good sport and napped right along with me.  

Finally, at about 2ish, I called my mom to see if she wanted Jimmy to retrieve the baby when he went to the store to get me some Tylenol cold and flu.

Me: "Do you want Jimmy to grab Viv on the way back from Kroger?  "
Mom: "What's wrong?  Are you sick?"
Me: "Eh, yeah, I have a cold.  Jimmy is going to get me some medicine."
Mom: "Well, we're shopping for Vivian a new wardrobe, and she doesn't need to be around you.  You better leave her with me."

Let me tell you how heartbroken I was to be able to continue to lounge around trying not to cough up vital organs.  

I'm so grateful that my family genuinely enjoys spending time with my kids.  I love them to pieces, but being off "mom duty" when you feel bad is really nice.  Not that Jimmy would have made me tend to her by myself or anything.  It was just nice not to have to worry about it at all.

Eventually the medicine kicked in, and Jimmy and I made an incredible meal on the grill and played cornhole in the backyard and built a fire in the fireplace.  It was one of those great nights where nothing special happens but everything is perfect anyway and you just appreciate the one you're with.

And then I slept in again on Sunday....and then I watched the Cowboys work their way to 4 and 1...even after some hater I know text me a picture of AT&T Stadium and told me to go there if I was worried about Ebola cause "no one ever catches anything" there.  (rolling eyes now).  

Jimmy went to bed early, and I read until my eyes crossed, and I couldn't stay awake anymore - I love books that make me do that!

Tonight it's back to business as usual, but this weekend was a nice little timeout to rest and regroup and spend some solo time with my hubby.  I'm grateful for a family that gives me that opportunity.

"Shotgun shuts his cakehole"

Judgeyness is my least favorite quality in people.  Rejoining the ranks of Facebook (and having a joint account with someone who posts all the things) has opened me back up to snarky and judgmental comments (cleverly camouflaged as jokes with an "lol" thrown on the end - I'm on to you) from that lovely social media gem.

Here's the thing: yes, I basically live in a zoo.  Yes, five people and four dogs is quite a lot.  Do I always love dressing four people in the morning or waking up at 5 to let out dogs?  Nope.  Sure don't.  Do I sometimes want to scream because I'm continuously tripping over the three kids and four dogs who are incessantly under my feet?  Yep, sure do.  Do people's comments about how many kids and dogs I have make me wish I could send some of them back?  Um, no.  

"OMG!  That's so many dogs!"  Well, hell, we hadn't considered your opinion when we made the decision to get two new dogs.  Perhaps because it does not affect you in the least or cause you any extra effort or stress.  This is something we've been discussing for well over a year.  It was not a snap decision.  I cannot tell you how many times I had puppy eyes mooning up at me and said, "no.  Not now.  It's not the right time."  

The older dogs are loyal and amazingly patient and protective of the kids.  But they are getting quite old.  They like to sleep and eat and sleep and sleep.  They'll patiently endure Vivian "petting" them, but they really don't much care for romping around the yard with two small boys.  They prefer to lie in the shade in the grass and....you guessed it....sleep.  

Ok, so, why pit bulls?  Because we looked at a lot of large dog breeds, and the pit bull was the breed we came back to over and over again.  They are good with kids, extremely loyal, and look scary as hell (but are big ol' teddy bears).  

Why two?  We got the first one, Judson, when I saw him and said, "yep, that's our dog."  My gut just said he was the right one, and I listen to my gut.  We had him about a week and he had so much playful energy, and the kids go to bed at 8, and the older dogs (as I mentioned) didn't want to romp around and help him run off the energy.  So, after the kids went to bed, Jimmy and I did our best to keep him occupied, but we didn't really feel like we were hitting the mark.  Well, then, the lady who gave us Judson posted a doll house on the same site.  Vivian had to have it.  So, I dispatched Jimmy to retrieve the doll house, and the idea that perhaps Judson should be raised with a sibling was born.  So, now, we also have Jasper - who is just OMG the sweetest dog you have ever met.  The dogs personalities kind of mimic both my sons.  Jimmy and I have talked about it multiple times.  I'm telling you, these dogs were sent down from Heaven just for our family.

Our dogs  play with my kids and make us laugh and are always good for snuggles and are happy to protect us.  I love my dogs.  I love all four of them and wouldn't trade them for the world.  I'm feeding them and bathing them (although admittedly probably not often enough) and (lord help me) clipping their nails and making vet appointments and enrolling them in obedience school (lest you think I'm going to have untrained Pit bulls roaming my home) and potty training and applying flea and tick treatments.  I'm doing what you're supposed to do when you have animals.  Yes, even with three kids and a ridiculous commute and a full time job.

"You've got your hands full there!"  Yep, random guy at the grocery store or preschool drop off or anywhere in public really.  I made lots of children, and I dress them and feed them and work so they have a roof over their heads.  I pray for them and talk to them and push them on swings and work with the 400 people who are in their lives to make sure that we are all a united village raising them to be the best little people they can be.  And while I believe that public assistance is quite necessary and applaud people who use it the way it's intended to be used, I'm blessed enough not to need it.  So, my kids aren't costing you a dime.  So, BACK. OFF.

"Wow, I can't believe you're going to take on school with all you have on your plate!"  Maybe this one is just me being too sensitive.  Maybe people mean something not judgey and snarky when they say this.  But let me tell you how my brain translates it:  "you're spreading yourself too thin and are going to be a less effective employee/wife/mother because you're doing too much."  So, if that is what you mean, kiss my ass.  No, really, I don't feel like mincing words and being polite today.  (I told y'all nothing good comes of Facebook).  So, kiss my ass.

I'm excited to start this new chapter.  Will I have less free time and get less sleep?  Yes.  But it's a temporary sacrifice for the betterment of my family.  I have been thinking about going back to school for years, and nothing ever came together properly.  Now things have come together exactly as I needed them to come together.  I'm grateful for this opportunity and have full confidence that I can juggle this one extra bowling pin thrown into my circus act and do so without harming all of the people in my life who are most important.

So, as I've seen on Pinterest many times: "Driver picks the music; shotgun shuts his cakehole."  I'm the driver in my life, and I'm going to (white girl) dance to the dance mix of my choice.  Others are free to observe quietly or GO. AWAY.

So, about chicken...

I have these blue gloves.  They're disposable.  We used them when we were painting the house, and there were so many that now there is just an endless supply in my cabinet.  I use them for cleaning or changing particularly foul diapers.  That doesn't seem to raise eyebrows.  

But you want to know what does?

This:

I'm not sure when it happened because I haven't always been this way, but chicken freaks me out.  

When I was younger, I'd cook with chicken, and it didn't bother me to touch it.  I'd just wash my hands when I was done.

Eventually, it got to where I'd wash my hands (literally) before I'd touch anything after I'd touched chicken (not just immediately after touching it - but throughout the entire prep of the meal after I'd after already washed my hands immediately after handling it) and then scrub down my entire kitchen with disinfectant when I was done.

Then it got to the point where I'd hover like a crazy person when anyone else was touching chicken and make them wash their hands 48,000 times and I'd wipe down every surface behind them.

At some juncture, I began involving a fork.  I could no longer stomach touching it.  I still washed my hands incessantly and scrubbed every surface in the kitchen afterward, but I'd use a fork to, say, dredge chicken I planned to fry through the battering process.

Now, I am accustom to this, and I am accustom to people making fun of me for it (I'M KEEPING YOU ALL FROM GETTING SICK - YOU'RE WELCOME!!!).  Here's the thing though, I have severe eczema, and all my insane hand washing (for it's not just chicken, I wash and sanitize my hands obsessively now - I didn't used to do that.  I mean, I washed my hands but not like this) keeps my hands cracked and bleeding.  Between my cell phone and money and my germy kids and food prep and door handles and key pads - I wash my hands, wipe them down with wet wipes, or use hand sanitizer an exorbitant number of times every day (OMG, MY HEAD MAY EXPLODE THINKING ABOUT IT!) I have special extra strength skin ointment from the dermatologist that can't even keep it under control now.

Plus, using a fork when you're making foil packets for, like, 12 pieces of chicken slows things down.

So, gloves.  Now I use gloves if I have to touch meat.  I use them, touch the meat, throw them away, sanitize everything, and then take out the trash...and wash my hands again because I had to touch the trash.

Yes, I'm sure it has something to do with my anxiety disorder, but this is one of those areas that I'm okay with being a nut case.  I don't want to change it, but I don't want it to get worse either.  It feels like a very slippery slope between where I am now and a place I do not want to live in my head.

I don't know why I wanted to share this.  I just find it odd the way this has evolved and have wanted to write about it for a while.

So, now that's done.  I'm going to go wash my hands.  :/

Dream On

If this is a dream, please don't wake me up.

I'm not sure what I did to deserve this life.  I have a wonderful husband, three healthy, amazing kids, a lovely home, tons of loving and supportive family, true friends, a good job, my health, and now I get to start graduate school. (I am so excited about school that I could explode!)

The other night, I tried to focus on praying only "thank yous".  I tried not to unload or ask for anything or complain or do anything but be grateful.  (I almost did it.  I threw in one blanket, "please keep everyone I love safe. Amen" at the end.)

After all the trauma and loss of my teens and twenties, I just want to focus on the good of now.  For however long I get to live in this space and breathe in all of the amazing people and opportunities around me, I am eternally thankful for all of it.

And a very happy birthday to Silas.  I have spent five amazing years being your mother, and I thank God he gave me that blessing!  I love you, buddy!

Well, the honeymoon is over

This morning - I couldn’t be bothered to put on makeup.  I could barely be bothered to get out of bed and get dressed and head toward the return to real life.  I was vehemently fighting letting go of vacation mode. 

People keep telling me how brown I am, which is funny.  I tanned constantly in my early 20’s - before I moved to Texas.  So, I know how prone I am to turning brown pretty quickly when exposed to UV rays. 

I had a cancer scare when I was 25 and realized I’m not immortal and completely stopped doing the tanning bed thing.  I’m pale, pale, pale all of the time.  I use my kids’ SPF 50 when we go to the pool or the lake or whatever.  It is a topic of conversation frequently, actually.  It is all my Texas friends know.

And although I sunblocked like no one’s business in Florida, the Florida sun burned me to a scary shade of red anyway.  That is now turning brown, and it is blowing minds apparently.

So, the trip…

We were eager to start our honeymoon and so left on Sunday with plans to stay the night in New Orleans because neither of us had ever really been there.

We arrived in New Orleans around 8:30 p.m. and Siri took us to an area of the French Quarter where men were wearing thongs and suspenders on the street (I later found out it was apparently Pride week) and the streets were super narrow, and I was worried I was going to run a light or run over a drunken partier.  Finally, I pulled into a gas station and made Jimmy drive.  He wound around and around and around and finally we made our way to Harrah’s where we paid $20 to reserve a parking space for 3 hours.

Maybe it’s just me, but casinos are depressing places. 

We switched from driving to walking in circles once we got inside, and after about 30 minutes found a Fudruckers and had our first honeymoon meal at a dirty table surrounded by casino sights and sounds.  We were done with New Orleans.

Jimmy volunteered to drive and told me to take a nap.  When I woke up, he was pulling into the parking lot of a cheap motel.  We agreed to pay the $60 for a room in order to keep from sleeping in the car.

The room was, um, interesting?  The smoke detector was wearing a paper towel necktie.  We refused to sleep under the covers or use the shower.  Jimmy bought me bottled water the next morning to brush my teeth after using the sink water to brush his own and not wanting to subject me to it.  I told him “we totally have cooties now” as we made our way out the door in the morning.  He gave himself a cootie shot and declared us safe to continue on to Destin.

We arrived a few hours before we were supposed to check in.  So, we made a trip to stock up on essentials (like chips and booze) and then perused the Wharf and landed at a bar called Rum Runners.  We consumed sandwiches, the absolute best French fries, beers, and shots, and then finally made our way to our room. 

It was beautiful.  The first thing I did was shower off the cooties.  Then (as I remember it) there was more drinking, ziplining, another trip to the bar, a trip to the pool, and falling asleep.

The next day we spent a good chunk of time booking a deep sea fishing trip and trying to figure out the tram system that would take us to the beach.  We boarded the tram for the beach late in the day and had a good time after we arrived.  Jimmy wanted to sit at the beach bar and have a drink (despite the 400 pounds of beer in our cooler) because he’d never had the pleasure of sitting at a beach bar before.  The bartender was incredibly sweet, and I got to try a beer that Jimmy has been telling me about from his days living in PA.  We avoided sunburns that day.  We ate dinner at Bubba Gump Shrimp that evening and met a couple of pretty cool locals who worked there.  We got back to the room, and Jimmy asked if I’d like to go walking around.  That translated to going back to Rum Runners and dancing while a guy covered fun songs the crowd requested.  Drinks were had…

Wednesday, after missing our deep sea fishing boat by 10 minutes, I declared a day of rest.  I refused to drink and drove us to the beach where we got heinously sunburned.  We ate dinner at The Crab Trap (omg, the best crab dip!!!) and then I made us go back to the room and stay in for the evening and watch Forrest Gump.  Our server the night before had quizzed us on the movie and made us nostalgic, and so we watched it, and it was still such an incredible movie.  It was different watching it as a mother than it was the first time I watched it as a teenager. 

The next day, I woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed.  The plan was another day at the beach and then an evening of partying like 21 year olds.  I was still abstaining from alcohol to prepare my liver for our planned shindig and therefore drove us to the beach.  We had made a trip into town to procure a skim board and a wake board and SPF 4 million.  We rented beach chairs and umbrellas to hide from the sun as much as possible.

We spent quite a bit of time wakeboarding.  Then Jimmy decided it was time to break out the skim board.  He did it a few times.  I tried and fell on my face.  In order to teach me how to do it, he came over and tried to do a run in slow motion…and that is when he broke two toes.  He hobbled to his chair, tried to stand again to walk to the snack stand for ice, and fell back down and turned an eerie shade of white.  Having dealt with exactly what he was enduring when I broke my ankle and when I was in labor, I knew his blood pressure was low.  I called my mom and asked her for advice on what to do.  She gave me advice, and we got Jimmy blood pressure back up.  Jimmy asked me to talk to strangers and ask them for favors, and I sucked it up and did it since he was clearly hurting and I felt it my wifely duty to take care of him.

I managed to get ice, get him a ride to the boardwalk from a lifeguard, and get help from someone getting all of our crap back to the boardwalk.  From there, I said something like, “I love you, but I have to get all of this stuff to the car, so park it here, and I’ll be back.”

He doesn’t listen, so just as I got the 376 pound cooler into the car, he came hobbling up.  I was sunburned, exhausted, worried, and my mind was going 100 miles an hour trying to figure out the next step.  So, I was babbling away when I threw it in reverse and just hit the gas.  I came to an abrupt stop thanks to the bumper of the F150 behind us.

That is when I lost my cool and my poor, injured husband had to talk me off the ledge so that I could track down a pen, leave a note, and get back to taking care of him.

We got him doctored up, and he insisted on returning to the beach.  We did, and we enjoyed ourselves until our chair/umbrella rental expired.

We returned to the room where he took a nap while I embarked on the journey that is getting ready to “go out.”  There are flat irons involved in this, y’all.

He managed to get his boots on, and we walked/hobbled across the property to have dinner at Acme Oyster House.  The server was so great!  She talked me into trying oysters for the first time.  She recommended chargrilled…and I am now recommending chargrilled oysters to you.  YUM!

We explored the rest of the Wharf but ultimately wound up back at….you guessed it…Rum Runners.  This time there was a dueling piano show.  Jimmy paid them $17 in the school fight song contest and asked them to rep the Hogs.  I was the only person in the bar who knew the fight song outside of the pianists.  Don’t worry, Arkansas peeps, I did us proud.  I sang loud and called the hogs!  Unfortunately, they wound up crowning Ole’ Miss the school with the most spirit.  There were more of them, and they had fatter wallets.  (What I’m saying was the contest was RIGGED).

That is one of the most fun evenings I have had in years.  We laughed and sang and danced.  Jimmy had decided early in the evening he was going to tell people he got bit by a shark when they asked why he was limping.  We got a couple of people convinced, and when he got up to dance with me at the end of the evening, one of the women pulled me to the side and said, “Should ‘shark bite’ be dancing?!”  I thought to myself, no, shark bite should probably not be dancing.  He should probably be at home in bed.

Ah, but shark bite was in the spirit of things and imbibing too many cocktails…as 21 year olds do.  Soon, it was time to amble back to the room.  Except shark bite was sleepy and kept trying to pass out in the flower beds, and on the concrete, and on benches.  

Ok now I have to defend my actions here: I tried three separate times to drag, plead, coerce, threaten, bribe him to go upstairs.  Each time I’d get him a few yards closer, and each time he’d go all dead weight and fall out in some random place.

So, I finally gave up and left him on the concrete and went to the room and went to sleep. (I know that is not a new wifey thing to do, but ohmygosh dead weight drunk people are just unreasonable and impossible to carry).

At some point I woke up in the middle of the night, and he was there, so I didn’t have to wrestle with the guilt of leaving him and go search him out again.  Whew!

The next morning I learned that after he had finally made it into the hotel and onto our floor and to the door, he had forgotten the code to our room and so lay in the floor for an hour lightly knocking trying to get me to get up and let him in….I never heard him, but he eventually figured out the code.

Friday was our last full day.  We went and bought our own umbrella and headed once more to the beach.  We played in the water, and I could barely stop thinking about how ready I was to see my kids.  I was homesick basically from the start, and as much fun as we had, I just wanted to see the smiling faces of my littles.

We tried to take up the pictures on our waterproof digital camera and soak in all of the beach we could since we knew it would be the last time we’d see it for at least a year.

That evening we went back to Acme Oyster House and then returned to the room to veg out in our jammies and watch Netflix.  That’s when I got him hooked on Orange is the New Black. (YAY!)

The drive home on Saturday was never ending.  We rolled into our driveway around 9:30 p.m.  When we walked into the house, there was immediate evidence that my mom had gone out of her way to make our welcome home special.  She had created a “Wedding wall” on our blank wall in the living room.  She had cleaned and finished our laundry and bought us new bedding and bathed our dogs.  She took care of all those little odds and ends we hadn’t ever made it to like hanging valances and such.  I cried at how kind and thoughtful she was to not only watch our daughter and our dogs but also spend her time making life nicer for us in our home.  My stepdad fixed our fence and a broken doorknob and I imagine helped with all manner of other projects she had taken on.  We are so lucky to have my mom and stepdad. 

Sunday, we jumped out of bed and got showers.  We ran and picked up Vivian who looked so much older and so much bigger.  She accompanied us to the store for game day fixins, and then we headed to pick up Gavin.  Silas had already declared he was watching football with his dad and would not be coming home.  He did waiver for a while when he actually saw me, and he required multiple rounds of hugs and kisses before I was allowed to leave.  He showed me in his own independent/daddy’s boy way that he really missed me.  It made me happy to know that he still needs my hugs and kisses.

The game was terrible, but we enjoyed our Sunday anyway.  We spent every minute we could with the kids.  After they were in bed, we cooked together and sat on the back porch - which is so ridiculously “us” that it was the perfect way to end our honeymoon.

It was all so imperfectly perfect, and I will cherish the memories always!

Now it’s time to go back to being old and boring…and we will….gladly!