I Like You

Today's post is brought to you by the number 4.

Recently, my sister and her boyfriend decided to take the plunge.  They've set a date and the anticipation has started building.  I remember that feeling, it starts slowly and a few days before the wedding you're running on pure excitement.  The day comes, the party happens and then life returns to normal-- except for the new bling you're sporting.  Jim and I have always tried to celebrate our marriage especially on our anniversary.  We make it a point to talk about how we think we did with our relationship over the course of the year and try to identify what our goals for our relationship are for the coming year.

When I decide to celebrate something, I tend to over do it.  Hence the impromptu wedding dress I purchased the other day-- yes, it was 50% off and I did feel incredibly guilty for buying it, but whatever, You Only Live Once (YOLO).  I declared that our number 4 anniversary needed to be celebrated with crazy abandon and that we, for lack of a better expression, needed to "do-the-damn-thing."  For weeks, I told Jim that we were visiting friends in another state and that we needed to take the day after our anniversary off, all the while, I was planning and scheming a private little beach ceremony.

This weekend, my Dad was nice enough to watch our kids so we could steal a night away with each other, share a few moments on the beach and celebrate a not typically momentous, but equally as important, anniversary.  (I sincerely mean this, each anniversary that passes is another one that I'm truly proud of, we are making it in a time when others aren't or can't and I'm not afraid to admit that I'm proud of us because it isn't always easy.)  The pictures below are from our day at the beach, where it was just Jim and I (and the seagulls) laughing and pledging our love to one another.

**Don't worry if you don't get it.  No one in my family does.  When I jokingly said that Jim and I were going to mark the occasion by washing each other's hair in the ocean, and they believed it, I realized that what I was doing was "unconventional," but totally our style.

The sign that I made for him.  I had it all planned out, he was going to come to the back door, see the sign and be overcome with emotion. Here's what actually happened: Jim opened the door, looked my way and then immediately went into the bathroom.  There I stood, lookin' a fool.

Shock. Then anger when he realized I had totally gotten one over on him.

This.

Plus this.

Equals this.
Here's a tip when making your own bouquet: there is a reason that bouquets typically come wrapped in ribbon, floral tape is sticky.  If your fingers are sticky, you're pretty much going to feel like a two year old.

Some fancy-pants camera action.  The wrapped item was my gift to Jim.
All I said was that I chose a traditional anniversary gift to mark the occasion.

Inside was a book, which is the traditional gift for the fourth wedding anniversary.

Waiting for me.
Yes, I did walk out with the dress half zipped taking pictures of his reaction. (WHAT?!)
It would have been hilarious if he had a camera and was taking pictures of the reverse angle.

I feel like I'm channeling my Grandmother's in this picture.  So retro.

The only full length shot we have of ourselves.
Working on a budget means when you see a mirror, you gotta seize the day.

Cullen walked in while I was editing this one and said, "This one looks weird."
I kinda agree, but who cares, YOLO!, right?

4th Street beach for our 4th wedding anniversary.  I'm so punny.

Here's the present, now let me explain.
One of the most important things in our marriage is that we constantly make an effort to make sure that we like one another.  People stay together for all different kinds of reasons: kids, finances, comfort, etc.;
well, the reason I want to be with my man in fifty years is because we genuinely like one another.
I truly think this is the building block of a healthy, meaningful marriage.  Don't just love one another, like one another too! 

Us.

I heart my husband for doing this... but posting this without commenting that boy-handwriting in the sand is almost unintelligible, wouldn't feel right.

Yes, the next 3 pictures are almost the same...

Told ya' so.

According to my tweet earlier:
Yes, I do think because I have a cell phone camera , Instagram and a dslr that I'm an amateur photographer.

Did I mention that it was incredibly windy that day?

One of my favorite pictures of Jim.  Ever.

  


And now, here's a series I'm calling, Gratuitousness Pictures Of Me Jumping In A Wedding Dress.


**Please note that this is dedicated to the basketball coach that I had in 6th grade who pointed out that he didn't think I could jump.  You, Sir, can eat it!  Here's undeniable proof that both of my feet can leave the Earth's surface at the same time when I will them too!

Thanks for everything, Jim.  I like you and I love you.

A Toast

Today's post is brought to you by the number 72.

While I was watching The Today Show, I saw a clip of a toast that a set of Grandparents who've been married for 72 years gave via video at a their Grandson's wedding reception.  Since Jim and I are celebrating our 4 year wedding anniversary (more on this to come next week), I thought their message would be apropos to mark our special occasion; and let's face it, Jim and I are just 68 years shy of being this couple!

Grandma Edna

Today's post is brought to you by the number 91.

Yesterday, my Dad reminded me that my Grandmother would've been 91.  I was named after both of my Grandmothers and have always felt a particular kinship with each of them.  I find them fascinating and when family members tell stories, I always close my mouth and listen up; I don't want to miss an opportunity to learn more.

Edna, my father's mother, was born just outside of San Francisco.  In my opinion, she was a stone cold fox, the epitome of the 1940's siren.  As best I can tell, she met my Grandpa Jim when he was stationed in California during WWII.  After only a few days, he left and when he came back from the Pacific, she agreed to move literally across the country to a small coal mining town, where they lived with his parents.  (Doesn't that sound like a plot of some fantastic Nicholas Sparks movie adaptation?)

I have no idea what that transition was like, although, I'm imagining it was overwhelming and probably lonely at any given moment; but she toughed it out.  Eventually, they moved down the street from my Great Grandparents and started a family.  My Aunt and Uncle were born 11 months apart and then my other Uncle and Dad followed shortly after.  Since my boys are 14 months apart, I often think of her when days are crazy and wonder if she could relate to my situation?  I'm guessing she could relate, although I'm thinking her situation involved more red lipstick, high heels and cotton dresses.

I've seen pictures and heard stories about my Dad's childhood and from what I can tell, she was pretty awesome.  She made 3-D birthday cakes before they were going for a-thousand-bucks-a-pop (my favorite was the Barbie Doll cake she made for me where the ballgown was edible), ate cheese balls with toothpicks to avoid the orange stained fingers and once forgot her purse at a gas station in the middle of the desert on a trip across the country, which pissed my Grandfather off, but I find it rather lovable and legendary.

After a good life, filled with what I'm assuming were many happy moments (too many to count, I hope), she died on my Dad's 39th Birthday; she promised him that she'd make it to his birthday.  We buried her with the things she loved, a troll doll that was a grandmother character (don't judge us, it was the early 90's and troll dolls were incredibly popular), tabloid magazines and a few other treasures that she'd need with her on the next part of her journey.

It's odd to think that she's been gone for 20 years, it seems so long.  But, if Edna's kids and family are still mentioning her, laughing about "old times" and remembering her birthday 20 years after she's gone, then she must have done something right while she was here.

Edna and Jim on their wedding day.

Inscription she wrote on the back of the photo above.

Jim, my Dad and Edna at his High School graduation.

It's Not Enough

Today's post is brought to you by the number 30.

I've never addressed the fact that both Jim and I work, so here it is: I'm a 40+ hour a week worker, who has 2 kids and I'm fine with it.  Sure, it means that Jim and I are constantly juggling things like staying late, picking up barfing kids from daycare, not going to all of the milestone doctor's appointments, etc., but that's the situation I've got and I deal with it pretty well.

I'm not a proponent or opponent of doing the "work thing" or the "stay-at-home gig," I only advocate that other men and women do what works best for them.  I don't even have to think about this dilemma, because I know that working keeps me healthy and grounded, and that's kinda why I do it.  However, those benefits don't outweigh the cost that is the most precious to me: there are some nights, like tonight that I will only get 30 minutes (max) to spend time with my kids before they throw themselves on the floor and scream to be put to bed.  (This is not an exaggeration, Cullen literally looks up at us with his puppy dog eyes and asks when he can go up to bed; I've gotta admit, it's endearing and awesome- most of the time, except for nights that I work late.)

I wasn't a latch-key kid by any means, but I had two working parents, and I turned out fine awesome and I'm confident that my boys will be awesome too, so we're taking that component out of the argument.  What completely sucks about 30 minutes of quality time with my kids is what that actually looks like and just to be clear, this is what I'm talking about:

7:30ish: I open the door.  Overwhelming excitement from everyone, "Mama's home!"  The delightfully, exuberant squeals last for precisely 3 seconds and then I'm dropped like a bad habit for iPads and goldfish crackers...
7:30 and 3seconds-ish: I think, "yes, I'm home!  I can finally concentrate on those two beautiful, wonderful kids..." But just as I'm about to, I start to get these racing thoughts, like:  what are we having for dinner, what type of day have the kids had, is anyone sick, do we have anything that needs to go into the laundry, do we need to clean up (hold your laughter, Dad!), what's on tap for tomorrow, we need to turn in money for the teacher's wedding gift, I need to schedule that 15 month check-up, I have to call the bakery tomorrow to get an anniversary cake, etc., etc., etc."

So there I stand, burning my 30 minutes quicker than I can savor them and before I know it, I'm kissing one and then the other of the boys goodnight and they're off to bed.  Most nights, after I work late, I sit on the couch- as though I've been sideswiped by a truck, and think out loud, "Seriously?!  I cannot believe this day is over and I only got 30 minutes with the boys.  That's not fair and it's not enough."

It's not something that's going to change anytime soon, nor am I looking for it to change, because I realize that things in life just aren't always fair.  I also know that my plight may not be as bad as some, so I'm grateful that it's just one night a week, but that's not going to stop me from thinking that it sucks.  However, these are the realities that all parents face, working or not.

The only remotely nice thing about working late is that the sleeping baby pictures that I sometimes get are really cute.  So, I do consider that to be one non-terrible thing about working late, but that's the only thing.

That Baby Smell

Today's post is being brought to you by the number 7,006,313,162.

The day that he was born, the world's population was roughly 7.1 billion people- I calculated it to be 7,006,313,162, give or take a few thousand.  That "he" is my nephew, Baby Joseph, born to my sister- and best friend, Megan and her boyfriend, Joseph.

I was there for the whole thing, she did such a good job.  Pretty sure that I would have been terrible at the whole pushing, breathing and remaining calm thing, I've never stood more firmly behind my decision that c-sections are the best option for me then I do right now.  But not her, she was a champ; she was amazingly strong and her Mama instincts took over the moment he was born.

She's my hero and I was so happy that she let me share that experience with her.

Every time I see him, I make sure to breathe in his baby smell.  Remember that baby smell?  It's usually a combination of baby wash and baby throw up with some a&d ointment thrown in there, well he's got it.  He's also got the distinct smell of milk in his neckrolls, a family that's madly in love with him and a special place in my heart.

And, I mean just look at this little man, is he not the cutest?    He reminds me so much of Cullen when he was a baby that I did a side-by-side so everyone can see what I'm talking about.

These 12 Things: Dress Edition

Today's post is brought to you by the number 12.

So, here's all these dresses that I want.  For the record, I don't need them nor do I really have a place to wear them, but I definitely do want them.  (Not gonna lie though, pretty sure that I'm going to be ordering 2 of them since I've already started pleading my case to Jim as to why I desperately do need them.)  

$39.94 via: Old Navy

$59.99 via: Boscov's

$27.99 via: Target

$69.95 via: Gap

$44.80 via: Kohls

$18.00 via: Target

$74.00 via: Avenue

$37.99 via: Kohls

#39.99 via: Kohls

via: Express

 The look for less**:

$89.90 via: The Limited

$60.00 via: Kohls

   **I included a look for less section this time, because I love a good bargain.  Seriously, can you even tell the difference?  I legit cannot tell the difference.

A Small Technicality

Today's post is brought to you by the number 25.

This weekend, when we were strolling through tearing up and down the aisles of Home Depot, I remembered that one of 30 before 30's is:

#25: Grow herbs.  Any herbs will do, just so long as they were planted by my little, fat fingers.

Originally, I had intended to cultivate these herbs from seed to product, but instead, I figured I would take the easy way out and broaden the scope of my goal and buy pre-planted, guaranteed to succeed plants.  (It's a small technicality, but I'm not going to let it stop me from considering this goal accomplished.)  At first, I only saw tomatoes and peppers, both of which I think are gross and disgusting, which is aslo definitely why Cullen refers to tomatoes as "barfy tomatoes," so I found two options that I do like: apple mint and strawberries.

Cullen and I spent a few moments outside getting dirty and repotting the little plants before we brought them inside and put them on the counter near a large window.  Fingers crossed- actually, fingers majorly crossed, that these little green strawberries turn into big, fat red ones that we can all enjoy.  When I went to water them this morning and realized that Jim had already done so, I was thinking, "Wow, these suckers actually have a chance!"  but then I remembered that's usually how it goes for the first few days; then we slack off and poof, all the plants we've ever owned are dead within a week or two.

Here's to hoping that I get to make some strawberry shortcake in a few weeks with my home-grown produce.