Happy Birthday Andy!

I married a wonderful man.

You may have picked up on it, but I'm pretty fond of my husband.

You may have also picked up

from the two above photos

that Andy likes the Huskies,

and his black sweatshirt...

Today is his 30th birthday.

Mostly, Andy is pretty unaffected by life. He takes things with an easy stride and quiet resolve. This birthday milestone is no different.

When a friend asked him how he felt about turning 30 Andy just shrugged and said that he was okay with it, that it made him feel like a valid adult now.

Before I had even met Andy I remember telling a girlfriend that if I ever got married (I was one of those I could be single forever gals - not a man-hater, just someone who was pretty comfortable as a single) I wanted to marry a "man."

When I said it, I meant someone with strong hands, a deep voice and big muscles who wasn't afraid to get dirty, especially while changing my oil and mowing the lawn.

But as I have discovered more and more of the treasure inside of my husband, I realized that although Andy does have lovely, rock-hard muscles and a swagger in his manly step, those are not the qualities that cause me to think of him as a man.

We have just had a new near-17-year-old boy move into our house. He is a BEAST! Six-something feet tall and a good 250lbs. Linebacker material (for other women whose husbands do not watch sports, the linebacker is the big-guy on the football team). He stomps around the house challenging everyone, throwing his weight (quite literally) and bragging about how he is twice the man that Andy is.

Confession:

The first two weeks

I was SO

irritated by this peacock

attitude.

I really wanted to put him in his place

and point out all his shortcomings

until the spirit in me that loves Jesus

fluttered enough to catch my attention

and remind me

that this show of arrogance

is most likely masking

some deep wound.

His hurt will never be healed

by my pointing out his failures

over and over.

The contrast between this boy and my man is so startling. I wish so badly that I could make our giant kid understand that masculinity is not a matter of size, it is a matter of character.

If there were ever a magic trick that could make teen boys actually listen to what I said, I would use it in this relationship. I would point to my husband and commission our new charge to care less about his stature and instead learn from Andy.

My husband lives out an example of humility.

A fact you should know about Andy is that he is really good (REALLY GOOD) at a lot (A LOT) of things. He is just one of those guys who can pretty much pick up any sport or activity and be awesome at it. He knows his skills and he uses them well. He also knows that besides physical activity he is highly intelligent and quick witted. Yet he approaches new situations with a watchful eye. He does not look for moments to prove himself or show someone else up, instead he listens, he learns and he does his best whenever he can.

When I first met Andy, I mistook his quiet and understated confidence as arrogance (or, perhaps it did use to be arrogance, but he has outgrown it). Now, when I watch him or work with him, I am amazed at how comfortable he is with himself and how capable he is.

I love knowing that he is the best around, but never hearing him say it himself.

Andy is generous.

Andy gives cheerfully. He looks for opportunities to support missionaries, he tithes without fail and he loves to walk Jack through toy aisles looking for something fun to play with.

Several years ago we were part of a building campaign at our church. I had an amount in mind that I wanted to give and was nervous to tell Andy about it, as it was a lot more than I thought we could do. But when we talked about it, he had the same amount in mind! For months and months we gave, even when it felt like we couldn't do it. At one point I wanted to back out and quit, but Andy remained steady and we saw the entire campaign through.

Andy expects to learn, grow and change.

I am not married to the same man I walked down the aisle with.

The man I am married to now is deeper and wiser and more understanding than the man I first feel in love with.

Andy has made intentional decisions to change attitudes and actions that have been part of his make-up for a very long time. He refuses to cop-out from hard work relationally by saying, "that's just the way I am." Instead he does the slow and steady work of learning about me and teaching me about him.

He is softer now, more compassionate, is slow to anger, speaks wisely and plans for the future.

The man I am married to now has stepped into his responsibilities as husband and father and has WILLINGLY made sacrifices to his own comfort in order to care for me and our boys.

Andy listens to God.

None of what I've just said would matter much, nor would it be a part of who Andy is, without the fact that Andy hears from the Lord and is willing to obey.

I am so very grateful that Andy cares more about what God says than any other voice in his life, including mine.

If you ever get a chance to hear all of Andy's story, it is worth listening to. Andy is the best example to me of a life transformed by the love of a heavenly father.

The man I live with and love now, is not the man who went by Andy Aichele 10 years ago. He has grown from heavy drinker, recreational-drug user, angry, aggressive, disrespectful, imprisoned, dismissed, dishonest, calloused, and careless to honoring, thoughtful, respectable, influential, brave, and willing to go where he is sent.

Andy,

I adore you. I am grateful beyond words that I get to journey through life with you. Thank you for being a MAN: living boldly, loving deeply and leading well.

Happy Birthday!

Trial By Fire

Andy and I have now finished our first week of in-home work. We relieved a couple so that they could have a week off. After a crash-course of how their house worked they handed over their keys and left us to the lions.

I felt a little foolish during training, but I made a special point to ask what I was allowed to talk about on this here blog, in regards to the kids who Andy and I are interacting with.

You will be happy to know that I can still share about this adventure, I just have to be vague in reference to the kids. No names, no ages, no identifying details. I knew, going into this ministry, that I would be working with kid who needed a safe place and a refuge from unhealthy and unsafe families and situations, but until this week I didn't KNOW.

I spent Wednesday night sitting with a young woman as she experienced an intense flashback to the brutal events that brought her to GAP. She was mentally trapped in a memory of abuse. She couldn't hear me, but she gripped my hand as she screamed and moaned. Andy was upstairs with some of the high school boys, and each time they moved or came into view she was terrified.

After a consultation with her therapist I got her a drink of water and lead her, unseeing, to sit outside. As we sat on the porch swing, she calmed down. When she could hear me, I started to tell random stories. Anything that I could think about that was unrelated to the world she knows. I talked about my mom's new paint colors, about moths, about driving to Arizona.

Eventually, she sat limply on the swing, but started to ask me questions. She asked about how Andy and I met, and about school and about why we moved. After a long time of swinging and talking, she said she was ready for bed.

I got her another drink of water and stayed up while she brushed her teeth and put her pajamas on. In the morning she acted like it wasn't a major event and just moved on with her day.

At some points of the week, we felt like we the girlfriend in "The Parent Trap." Kids hid things from us (the phone and remote) they told us tall tales, they frightened us with the realities of bobcats and javelinas (okay, that was just me that they scared)

Javelinas,

in case you are like me and

have never heard of them,

are a sort of wild pig.

Sometimes called, a skunk-pig.

They travel in packs and

are highly aggressive.

They have large, sharp canine teeth

and a gland somewhere on their body

that can produce a stench kin to a skunk.

They eat cactus and small children, so I've been told.

They are blind-ish and as a result travel about at

dusk and dawn.

They terrify me.

They have taken on a mythical quality

of evil and if I see one, I might decide to

scream.

In the course of two days I was told that I was beautiful, and that I was ugly. That I was cool, and that I was mean (said with as much venom as a frustrated elementary school boy could muster). Kids jumped up to help us when we asked, or they jumped up, literally, on counters and couches in an attempt to exactly the opposite of what we asked.

I worked with two elementary schoolers who could barley read and struggled to write.

Andy did impromptu workouts outside and the boys thought it was a treat to do lunges across the driveway.

I prepared food according the the mandatory menu (the menu will have to be a whole other post, or two or three) and I also whipped up food that got rave reviews from the kids. I consider it a personal triumph that in a house of seven kids, from elementary to high school, every child but one ate the asparagus I made and asked for seconds and thirds. And that happened after many cries of dismay when I pulled it out of the grocery bag.

One teen in our care took a special liking to Andy. Though he also like to spin stories and push the boundaries, he seemed to battle within himself - "do I want to help these newbies, or do I want to make it miserable for them?" He did a little bit of both, but when he said, "You guys are weird. I've never met anyone as weird as you." He said it with a hint of admiration and later in the week he casually dropped the suggestion, a few times, that when we have our own SPLASH house we should ask for him to come live with us.

Andy and I both felt like we were able to, by God's grace and strength, to handle each event that came our way. We developed genuine care for the kids we were with and I cherished the moment that the boy who fought with me the most asked me to come read and pray with him before bed.

Both Jack and Joey got fevers while we were there and Andy was attacked by some sort of sickness early in the week. When he went to bed by 8:00, I managed the house by myself and it was fine. I remained healthy until we left and as soon as I was in the car I was struck by what I think was my first-ever migraine. I sat motionless in the van as we drove home. Then I went straight upstairs to throw-up and fall hard-asleep for a few hours. Andy, the champion of all husbands, took the boys to the park and left the house silent for me to rest. When I woke up I felt a million times better and ate a little dinner before turning in early.

At the beginning of this venture I wasn't sure I was going to be able to say that it would be "fun," but after this week, I can say that it will be. I loved almost every minute of this week. I love the kids and I love the staff of this ministry. I love my husband and was amazed again by him as I watched him interact with the kids.

Yesterday afternoon we learned that we may be in our own house very quickly. We toured it and Andy and I both agreed that we could make it our home. It is in the process of being cleaned and stocked with furniture, and though it is not ready our program director said that if she received a call today with a sibling set of six kids, she would send them to that house and tell us to get there ASAP.

Andy and I still are working out how we will make sure to give our boys the individual time and attention that we want them to have, but we feel like we have time to make those discoveries.

Last night, as we both sat with Jack and told stories and prayed, Jack wrapped his arms around our necks and said, in the tone of voice that belongs only to sleepy preschoolers, "I love you guys."

We love you too Jack.

We love you too!

We have today and tomorrow to rest and do laundry and then on Monday we walk into another house. A new set of kids and a new routine.

If you had asked me four months ago what I though of someone who did this job, I would have immediately thought of all of the hard parts. But today, I see the hard parts only in light of the miracle of being able to, even for just a few days, communicate to a child that they are safe and cared for and important.

And that Jesus loves them.

Today, I am amazed.

Surprise Ending!

In the few days I have been here, I have made several big shopping trips.

It takes a lot to restock a house! Cleaning supplies, groceries ... you never think about having to buy all your condiments. You just know that when you open the fridge there will be mayo and ketchup and dressing and mustard and sun dried tomatoes ... until you move ... and there is nothing! And if you forget to buy baking soda, well then, you can't make muffins!

But anyhow, I have been to a lot of stores lately. And and each store I have come home to discover that one (or more!) of the items I purchased had a broken safety seal, or no seal at all... or that the bag had been cut open on the back and taped with masking tape!

I'm not sure what to do about this phenomenon.

Is it a southwest thing?

I suppose I have taken it for granted that if I toss a bag of basmati rice into my shopping cart that the package will be intact. Or that if I bring home a jar of peanut butter it will be sealed for freshness (I have had three faulty jars of peanut butter in the last week - different stores, different brands). Perhaps I have expected too much. Perhaps it is time that I carefully analyze each product I place in my cart before I make it to the checkout line. Perhaps I will start writing polite, but straightforward letters to the stores and distribution companies and receive hundreds of dollars of free products to make up for the inconvenience of having to return or repurchase staple items. Perhaps I don't have enough time or energy for that and I will just start praying over each poorly packaged item I discover and hope that my family is not poisoned.

In addition to this disturbing trend, I have also discovered that Fry's is most definitely not Fred Meyer.

...

Wait!

GAH!!!

I was just about to post a side note and discovered that I no longer can find the right-justified button on my blog options! How I am supposed to give you a side note in the center of my blog?? How? Someone, please tell me how to fix this problem!

Side Note: Please imagine it on the actual SIDE of the post.
I know that you remember when my Everett CrossFit trainer commented on the perviously linked Fred Meyer post. You will be horrified (and probably delighted by the awkwardness of it all) to know that throughout my time working out there he referred to that post (and several other embarrassing ones, including giving Andy the nickname "huge") on a regular basis.

I must now tell you, this is the end of the side note, as I don't have the clear signal of the text returning to its regular position.

Side note. End. Now.

...

So Fry's. It is not Fred Meyer.

Our landlords were describing the best places for groceries and likened Fry's to Fred Meyer. It is part of the whole Kroger conglomerate. But people, it is a pitiful substitution for my beloved FM.

How can it be so bad you ask? Let me tell you:

Strike one: the aisles aren't wide enough for two carts to comfortably pass each other. Strike two: the first jar of peanut butter I grabbed was leaking all over and gave me greasy hands. Strike three: they do not carry prosciutto or pancetta, or any other cured meat that is better than bacon and delicious when wrapped around almost any vegetable and roasted. Strike four (okay, I know there are only three strikes in a "strike" series, but I couldn't come up with anything better at this exact moment - forgive me): the checkout boy made a comment about my huge order and I said that I had just moved and instead of being nice he said, "I'm sorry." Lame checkout boy. Then he made it worse by saying, "Where did you come from?" "Seattle." "You should have stayed there." Doubly lame checkout boy.

See. Not Fred Meyer.

And now, for the final news of the day, which has nothing to do with groceries or Fred Meyer or my underwear, and which I was not anticipating having to write about, but now must because I hear hobbling upstairs, Andy has come home injured.

I wasn't blogging when Andy was ultimate fighting, but if I had been, I would have told you about his unnatural ability and willingness to continue life-as-normal with a major injury. One of our dear friends and mentors once described Andy by saying, "He's the kind of guy that would go hunting and get shot and forget to tell Emily about it until two weeks later."

A truer word was never spoken.

So when he comes home and nonchalantly says, "I think I hurt my ankle." That means something serious.

He went out tonight to play football with some of the guys from our neighborhood and came home happy. In the same sentence when he was smugly telling me about his interceptions and catches he removed his shoes and said, "that is not normal."

Me: No honey!

Me: Please tell me you didn't just go out and damage yourself!

Me: Really?

Me: Aw man!

Me: Honey!

Me: Is it broken?

Andy - unconvincingly: Nah.

Me: Honey!

Me: Honey!

Me: Oh man.

It looks awful. And if it even registers as annoying to Andy, then it is pretty bad. I wasn't able to convince him that it was worth a trip to the walk-in-clinic tonight, but tomorrow might be a different story. So, you may be hearing from me soon about navigating new hospitals and doctors in Arizona. Let's just hope they are more careful with their patients than the grocery stores are with their merchandise!

Firsts

As a mother of an infant and a toddler, I bet you open a post titled "Firsts" and expect to see drooly pictures of Joey's first tooth or a catalogue of Jack's first trip to the ER for stitches. While those events are, most likely, not far off, I have much more interesting firsts to present to you.

I am happy to announce that I have discovered the joy of having a favorite sweater. You may wonder how I have made it to near-thirty without the novelty of a favorite item of clothing.

I'm not sure.

A pair of Andy's sweats came close while I was pregnant, though I had to retire them when I moved in with Andy's folks because I had worn holes in places that are completely inappropriate to expose while living with your father-in-law.

So now, I have a sweater. Soft and loose, but not slouchy. The perfect shade of grey to hide baby boogers and rice cereal. Suitable for wearing to bed, to the gym, or to Target. A wonder of a top covering!

I truly don't think you are interested in my apparel

which is why

I have refrained from sharing

my clothing woes

which involve shrinking

out of everything I own.

*I know, I know,

bragging disguised as complaining,

but it IS annoying

when I have no way to replace

the baggy-saggy jeans and sloppy looking tops*

and re-discovering

how messy this phase of babyhood is.

But it provides a natural segue into my other first.

Which I think you will be much more entertained by.

My first crush on an older man!

SQUEE.

I would say that it is also my first celebrity crush, but that wouldn't be true since I had a doozy of a crush on MacGuyver when I was smaller and a second infatuation with Dean Cain as Clark Kent. But other then that, I can honestly say I have been crush-free.

I've never been much of a crusher anyway.

In fact, Andy holds the distinct privilege of wooing a girl who was resolutely single and determined to keep her heart from wistful affections that might never be returned.

That being said, it is with his full permission that I make this "firsts" disclosure.

I confessed last season that I am a little attached to reality shows. The new season of Survivor has aired two episodes.

In those two episodes I have developed a fond affection for Jimmy Johnson.

Here he is looking rugged and Survivorish.

Here he is looking debonare and flashing that melt-me smile.

Ladies, if I were to meet this man tomorrow, I'm pretty sure I would blush uncontrollably, and probably do a lot of giggling.

Oh dear.

When I announced my fluttery feelings toward this former Super Bowl coach to Andy, he laughed. Really, really hard. Almost as hard as when I accidentally swore while watching the Biggest Loser.

Did I already share that story?

It is Andy's favorite.

And yet another example of

the

[melodramatic voice here]

havoc that Reality TV

is wreaking on my inner person.

Obviously he isn't worried about me being slightly smitten with a famous face. In fact, I think he might be a little happy since it gives me a much greater tolerance for watching Sports Center.

This may just be my season for being a football fan!

What's Bigger Than A Baby Step?

Today, my friends, today reminded me what it is like to have order in my life.

Two days ago, after a complete meltdown, I decided that even though everybody says that after a baby you should rest, give up having a routine, and just let things go until you are feeling like getting around to it, that there are a few things that I need to get in place as soon as possible to keep my emotions and a healthy sense of self in a safe place.

That was an incredibly long sentence. I will try and avoid that in the future.

Let me back up a bit.

After Jack (albeit, a year after) I was in the best shape I have ever been. Since having Joey, and assessing the "damage" my body sustained through pregnancy, I have been more self conscious and spiteful toward my body than I have in a very long time.

It got to the point that I actually canceled a few get-togethers and have dreaded social gatherings (usually my lifeblood!) because I haven't wanted to be seen. I fear scrutiny and feel as if I have failed the universe because I am not back in my single-digit size six weeks postpartum.

Besides feeling disappointed in my body, I struggle with disappointment in my parenting. I loose my patience a lot more often. I forget to feed Jack meals and instead let him survive on spoonfuls of peanut butter and pretzels. I criticize myself each time I have to make a choice of which child's needs to attend to first. At several points in each day, somebody just has to cry for a little bit because I can only do so many things at once.

Combine a crushing sense of discouragement when I look in the mirror, with the brutal realization that I am not as "good" at parenting two kids as I imagined I would be. And you have a recipe for disaster.

In a wave of emotion, Andy sat on the bed with me and listened to me lament all the things I disliked about myself in this season. The way I summed up my emotions to him was to say, "I miss feeling like I have it all together." His response was so insightful and honest and wise that it totally redirected those dark emotions. He said, "You never feel like that. You think you did, but let's be honest, you never do."

Deep Breath.

True.

I look back and paint a picture of myself and my life and the timeline of Jack's infancy with bright and cheery colors. I remember the good and even add a little shimmer to make it sound better... but the reality is, there is and always has been something I am adjusting or fearing or looking forward to.

That truth released me from the trap of all the things that I am not, or thought I should be, or thought that I was. It moved me to look at the things that are draining me and decide which of those things are simple realities of this season that I will wait out, and which of those things I can change.

My first step was to get back to the gym.

This morning I took both boys to the gym. I felt so accomplished! After a few hiccups with getting the boys settled, I ran on the treadmill and then did some ab work and lunges and all those work-outy things.

I did it.

I made it to the gym... in the morning even.

And tomorrow I will go again.

And the day after that, I will go again.

Over the past several years I have learned a few things about myself. And one of those things is that my physical health has an enormous impact on my emotional self, and my emotional self has a profound impact on my spiritual health, and then it circles back to my physical self...

So, after a day of working out, I was motivated to try a few other things that I have been trying to figure out how to mange with two kids. Tonight Jack and Joey had their first bath together! It was terrifying and I was afraid Jack was going to dump water all over his wee brother, but he didn't! We made it!

And THEN, after both boys were bathed, they were both IN BED at the same time. Understandably, Joey will wake up in a few hours and need to be fed again, but still, both boys are in bed at the same time!

Each of these moments combine to make me see that yes, indeed, at some point, either three weeks or three months, or three years from now, order will be restored.

And in three weeks or three months or three years, there will be another set of challenges that I am sorting out and fears that I am facing and accomplishments that I am celebrating.

So friends, let me end by encouraging you. Whatever you are trying to sort-out or fix, or are just wallowing in, it will end at some point. Decide what you can do to make it better and recognize what will need to be endured. Take a moment to be real with yourself and make sure you aren't looking behind and painting a picture that is a little more glittery than it was when you were living it. If you are wishing for what was or what should be, stop. Look at and enjoy and live what is right now.

You can do it.

I will celebrate each moment with you!

It's Mine, All (Almost) Mine

Today marked a very special occasion.

I took myself out for my first, post-labor run/jog/walk. Mostly walk.

It felt sooooo good. I did a long route, knowing that I would be slow and sort of lumber along, which I did.

But I didn't care. It just felt good to move!

It also was wonderfully soothing to my spirit to be totally alone for an hour and to have my body to myself. My dear husband kept both boys and cheerfully sent me on my way.

I'm not sure if he was so cheerful about sending me out because I had been a total brat a few hours earlier and he didn't want to deal with me, or if he was so cheerful because he knew that I would come back a much more pleasant person. Probably a healthy dose of both!

I'm celebrating the accomplishment of getting out alone as well as getting active. I definitely feel like both are worth celebrating, as they take a lot more effort that they ever had before.

In order to leave Joey home, I had to pump a bottle for Andy to have to feed him. Have you ever had to pump? If you have, you know that is one of the worlds most awful activities.

Except when it means

that you can look forward to a

full night of sleep

(minus having to get up and pump)

because your darling husband

said, "If you have bottles for me

I'll get up with Joey tonight.

I think a full nights sleep would

be good for you."

Ohh... sleep. How I have missed you!

After effusive thanks, I said,

"Wow, I must have been acting

so terribly lately for you to offer

to get up in the night!"

Yes, it is true.

I have not been my most charming self

the last few days.

So sorry honey!

Okay, another side note:

One of the things I love

the very most about Andy

is how quickly he forgives.

I am not always nice

or perfect.

Each time I mess up and have to

apologize, he treats the

offense like it is no big

deal. He forgives me

and moves on with life.

What a gift!

I learn so much from him!

DISCLAIMER: If you are a man, I suggest you stop reading at this point. Not that I anticipate any men read this, but if you are a man and you do happen to read this, come back tomorrow for a more gender-friendly post. The following uses words like "lactating" and other referrals to breast milk and breast feeding. I'm pretty sure you don't even want to know...

Only slightly more awful than pumping, was my experience with purchasing a sports bra to accommodate my lactating self.

Earlier this week I went to get a new sports bra. I took about a million, okay, it was only four - because that is all that they had in my size, options into the fitting room (as well as a million pairs of black workout pants, which is not much of an exaggeration).

I made my selection for pants and moved on to the top-wear. The first bra option was pretty good. The second was a pass. The third... oh wait. I can't try on the third one because milk is POURING from my chest.

I didn't even know that could happen! Despite having recently fed my wee child, somehow my breasts decided that in the fitting room of Sports Authority was an appropriate time to gush fluid.

I'm so sorry if that is gross to you. It IS gross. But it HAPPENED. Don't worry, I checked all the garments to make sure I hadn't sullied any of them. I quickly dressed myself and covered my spurting chest. I took my pants and the bra that was adequate, and left the store.

While it took a little extra work and embarrassment to get ready to run, it was oh so worth it! I'm sure my legs will be tired tomorrow and I'm sure that it will continue to be a struggle to make exercise work, but Oh! I'm willing to do the work!

And now, with that happy reflection, I am off to another happy part of my day, resting my head on my pillow, with the freedom to keep it there the next time Joey calls for me...

Andy, I really do love you. Thank you!

He Said, She Said: Today

I'm going to share with you a very true and a very unfortunate aspect of marriage.

It is the fact that sometimes you have to come to terms with the reality that you are just weird. And that you, as a person, even as a loved and adored spouse, can be irritating and irrational and, I hope not often, mean.

Luckily this story has nothing to do with mean, mostly weird.

I am weird.

I am irritating (on occasion).

And it is a darn good thing that I am well loved and have a husband with a good sense of humor because these aspects of my personality come out much more frequently than I would like.

I also happen to be pregnant,

which I like to imagine causes

the increase in these unattractive qualities,

but in reality probably is just a scapegoat for me.

Oh well,

if I've got to surrender my body for the next 9+ months

to an alien creature

then I feel completely entitled to use

all the excuses I can think of.

Today was one of those days that I was totally indecisive. Like one minute I was saying to Andy, "I guess I'll go to the store..." and then a few minutes or an hour later I would say, "I guess I won't go to the store today." Then a few minutes later I would start the same go-round, always about going to the grocery store.

Andy patiently and sweetly ignored my contradictory prater about the grocery store. Giving a simple but genuine "okay" each time I voiced a half-formed plan out loud.

Finally toward the end of the afternoon I had to pathetically confess that I was just in a weird mood and had no idea about what I wanted to do. I rambled on and on about what might be making me think and feel so spastic. Andy listened politely and offered little to say that "no, don't worry honey, you've been completely charming and sensical all day." What could he say? I've been totally retarded!

I concluded my lengthy monologue by saying, "And I feel like a giant pregnant woman."

BONUSE MARRIAGE TIP:

At this point in our marriage

I am too smart to say anything like

"I feel like a cow."

That is much too dramatic to get a gentle response

and what man do you know that likes

to hear his beloved bride called a cow?

My husband sure doesn't.

When I say things like that he just gets mad,

like he would toward anyone else

who talked about me like that.

So I stuck with the safe description

that would communicate the same thing.

Andy's response came out immediately and forcefully, "Well that's good! Because you are!"

I know that might not come across in text with the same teasing but man-factual tone that he used, but it perfectly communicated to me that yes, I am indeed a pregnant woman and I am exactly how I should be... growing big with a baby, so get over it.

Leave it to Andy to snap me out of a funk!

And pregnancy update: I feel huge!

He Said, She Said: Cute

The following takes place just a few months into our marriage when I was still getting used to having the bathroom door open while I prepared for the day, and having a BOY walking around my house.

Emily is curling her hair.

Enter Andy.

Andy: "Good morning cute wife!"

Emily, slightly premenstrual and prone to moodiness - also unaware that a woman should never dismiss a compliment from a man: "Thanks but I don't feel cute."

Andy, jaw dropped and truly confused: "What do you mean you don't FEEL cute? You either are or you aren't."

Emily: "No, in a girl-brain if you don't FEEL cute on a certain day then you AREN'T cute on that day."

Andy, looks like he doesn't understand the language his wife is speaking and may have just realized he married a crazy person: *fish mouth*

Andy: "No. CUTE isn't a feeling it is a fact. You are cute or you aren't cute. Look it up in the dictionary."

Emily: "If only it were that easy. But thanks anyway honey."

Andy, walks away totally baffled.

Emily, finishes getting ready and leaves the house feeling cute.

End scene!

He Said, She Said... Attempt One

Have I mentioned before that I adore my husband?

He is so good for me.

We just celebrated our third anniversary and in those three years I have learned how to talk about my feelings without sobbing. I have learned to care less about what people think of me. And I have learned how to sneak veggies into almost everything.

There are still a million things I can learn from him, but the beauty of marriage is that I have my entire life to glean from his wisdom. Additionally, the beautiful thing about Andy specifically is that he is so patient with me while I learn and he forgives so quickly when I haven't learned.

Yes, I truly love the man I married.

But marriage isn't all doe-eyed and rose-scented. Lots of you probably know how hard it is through experience. And lots of you have probably seen or heard how difficult it is through other married friends. True, it is hard.

It is difficult and it is sweet. And somewhere in the middle it is very, very entertaining.

The difference between me and Andy is huge. He is all man. I take that as permission to be all woman. We process information in different ways, we use the same words to mean something totally different. There are lots of differences.

I'm going off on a tangent. What I really wanted to share are two sound bytes of real life with my husband.

Last night we came home from church and it was later than usual. In general we go to a service at 6 PM and get home around 8ish. Jack usually goes right into his pajamas and then into bed, but he was being SO charming that we let him stay up for a while.

By the time he was tucked in though, it was already 9:00 and I got the cleaning bug. Our landlord is coming over tonight (long story I won't bore you with) and whenever she does I feel compelled to present myself as the pinnacle of housewifery (did you know this word is actually in the dictionary). So I started doing that frantic clean up that includes taking everything off the counters and using a q-tip in dirty corners. The problem with this kind of cleaning is that it never, ever ends. There is always something else that needs to be dusted or organized or washed.

Sigh.

So as I was swept away in the cleaning my dear husband said, "You know you can take a break."

I can?

Oh.

So I would sit down on the couch for like two seconds and then pop up again to do something else.

I think he gave me a gentle reminder to rest about three times before I finally decided, "He's right. None of this will matter in a few weeks, or even tomorrow."

So I sat down on the couch and watched Amazing Race and let Andy scratch my back.

Yep, he's a good man.

But that STILL isn't what I was going to tell you about!

That wasn't even one of the 'bytes!

Argh!

I should know better than to try and have a point when I'm talking about my hero, there are just too many things to say.

I should also know better than to try and have a point when I'm pregnant.

Bear with me please.

Oh never mind. I'll have to tell you tomorrow. I'll warn you now, I'm going to skip the preamble and just jump right to my two favorite things Andy every said.

Not favorite romantic things.

Just comments that he's made about

our life.

If I skip the lead in maybe I can get them out before you start to fall asleep and drool at your desk.

Yes, I know you are reading this when you should be working.

Shame on you.

But I'm glad you read it anyway.

So, until tomorrow...

Three Cheers for Andy!

The Way We Work

Lately I've been getting that rearranging bug. I don't think it is nesting... it is just watching a lot of HGTV and having the urge to make things beautiful.

I like making things beautiful.

So the other day I was scheming with a friend about building a cool headboard... yes building... and from there I started thinking about paint and furniture and pictures and all the trappings of a fun room.

Side note:

I have never had a room

that is all the way finished.

It is my dream.

Someday.

But for now,

in this "starting out" phase of life,

I always run out of money

and energy

and time

before all my dreams are realized.

Mostly I run out of money.

But I still hold hope that

one day I will have a beautiful

finished

HGTV worth

room.

As my mother would say,

"Go on dreaming dear, it is good for the soul."

Anyhow, on Sunday (my brainstorming all happened on Saturday night) morning Andy and I were sitting on the bed talking while Jack roamed the house.

I started talking about all the projects I had been thinking about, "... and we could build a new headboard like they have on HGTV, it wouldn't be hard, and then we could paint the walls and hang up those pictures we have and we could get new bedding and ta da! we'll have a new room!!"

Pause.

Andy says, "Do you have a mouse in your pocket or something?"

Huh?

I don't get it.

I say, "I don't understand."

He smirks and says, "You keep saying 'we.'"

Ha ha. Clever honey.

I say, "Oh yeah. Excuse me. I will build a headboard, I will paint, I will shop for new bedding. You will hang pictures and you will pay for it all."

Now before you go all up in arms on my behalf, I knew Andy was teasing. Well, not teasing exactly because that really is how it will work out, but I am okay with that.

Especially the part where I don't have to make the money. Hooray for a honey who works hard and cheers me on for being an at-home mum!

And who indulges me decor dreams.

Even if they never get finished.

Someday the will.

Someday.

And in the event that you

are wondering about the use of

someday

vs.

some day

either is acceptable.

I looked it up.

Flash

Andy and I went to church tonight, as usual. Our post-church routine is to stop somewhere and pick up dinner. By the time we get home around 8:00/8:30 Jack is either asleep or pretty near, so we put him to bed and then eat dinner while we watch CSI or some other mindless entertainment.

Tonight, however, we deviated from the customary and went over for a co-op dinner at a friend's house. Four couples were there and we each brought something to contribute. It was a truly lovely time, but of course it meant that Jack stayed up WAY later than usual.

It is now just a few minutes before 11 and we are just settling into home. What is so very charming though is that Jack was out cold in the car. Andy got him out of his carseat and as I admired our baby's sleeping face and Andy enjoyed the rare moment of snuggling I off-handedly said, "Doesn't it just make you want to go in and sit on the couch and let him sleep on you?!"

To which Andy replied, "Maybe I will!"

And he did.

So my sweet husband and my adorable son are laying on the couch enjoying each other. A flashback to when Jack was an itty bitty new baby. And a flashforward to our new addition.

Sweet Life.

And LAME-O Was Her Name-O

Earlier today a sweet church woman, whom I really respect, stopped by to drop something off for me. I invited her up, even though my house was trashed. My house is always trashed. No matter how many times I feel like I've tidied the same thing, it still looks trashed. Just part of the mommy life I guess.

I've mostly come to terms with it.

But after this sweet, together, proper lady left I realized that right there, in the middle of my living room floor, just feet from where we were sitting and talking, was my zebra print bra. It must have been pulled from the pile of laundry by little hands attracted to the bright pink lining and bold pattern.

Can you see my shame.

Honestly, I only have that bra, in that print, because it fit so beautifully and the only other color option in my size was nude, and I already have flesh colored undergarments.

Well, and who doesn't want a little fun in the top drawer of their dresser? But I promise I don't make a habit of animal prints or trashy bloomers.

So now that lovely church lady has seen my wild underwear. There is no erasing that sight from here eyes.

There is no longer anything secret about my life.

...

Side Note:

Have I told you my most

embarrassing moment?

Probably not since this blog was born

after the awful incident.

Some day I'm sure I will share,

but tonight I am already living in too

much self-pity and shame

to bear another

mortifying revelation.

...

Today is Andy's birthday.

Happy Birthday you wonderful man!

The highlight of every birthday for Andy is Dairy Queen ice cream cake. I have to special order it because he likes each slice of the cake to have a different candy topping.

It really is a pretty sight and DQ cakes are far superior to Baskin Robins. And it makes him so happy, so I play along and order one every year.

We just came home from having dinner (I tried my hand at homemade french onion soup and it turned out pretty fabulous... I've been having kitchen success lately and am eager to tell you about them soon!) and cake at his parent's house.

Our downstairs neighbor often has had his door open on these hot days and because Jack is so interested in him we have struck up a casual relationship.

I know I haven't told you about this neighbor yet,

but what you need to know for now is that

he is quite (as in very) large,

always half naked,

smells very strongly of cigarette smoke,

and on two occasions has asked

to borrow money from us.

Despite all these strikes against him,

Jack greets him with a smile every day.

Andy and I have learned his name

and are slowing gathering pieces of his story.

This is a good thing.

As we were walking in I was carrying the remainder of the ice cream cake (five pieces). I whispered to Andy, asking if I should offer them some cake. I thought he said, "Sure, there isn't much left."

So as we walked in I offered it, thinking I would put three pieces (for him and his two roommates) on a plate and put the other two pieces in the freezer for Andy to enjoy later.

What actually happened was that they said SURE! and took the whole cake box. There was no graceful way to stop them and take the two pieces we wanted. Oh dear. So I just smiled and wished them a good night and proceeded up our stairs to put Jack to bed.

As we walked up the stairs I saw smoke coming from Andy's ears.

Oh no! What have I done?

"You gave them all of it?!"

I tried to explain that I didn't have time to figure out how to keep the two for us. What I discovered a few minutes later was that when I asked Andy if I should share, he had said, "No, there isn't much left."

Oh no. Ohno ohno ohno.

In a mumbly voice I heard him lament, "I only got one piece!"

There is absolutely NO way to redeem this birthday fiasco. I can say sorry. I can explain the misunderstanding. I can promise more cake another day. But nothing, nothing will bring back that cake, of which Andy only got one piece. On his own birthday.

That is a sad, sad story.

And Honey, I really am so sorry. Don't worry, I'll get your more cake soon.

A Dream Come True

This morning as I was waking up I dreamt that I had a big paper bag full of specialty pastries waiting for me on the counter. As I moved from dream state to awake I thought, "Oh yeah! I have those delicious goodies to start my day!" I was thrilled and motivation for getting out of bed was building, until I realized that there were no pastries. Not even any good cereal or bread for toast.

Our cupboards are bare.

But I did get to sleep in, which is almost as good as pastries so my day still was looking bright.

Then Andy stopped by for a few minutes as he often does before his first job starts. Jack was still asleep so I parked myself on the couch and chatted with Andy while he was working on his online class. I mentioned my dream about the sweet treats and he said, "Should I go get you some pastries?"

Gasp!

Of course!

And he did! He went to my favorite bakery and brought back two delicious choices. He had to call me to see what I preferred of what they had out for the day and he said that when he went back in to order the woman behind the counter said, "I wish my husband would do that for me!"

Is it wrong to feel good when someone else is jealous of how great your husband is?

It probably is a little wrong.

But I still kind of like it.

While The Cat Is Away

This weekend I was gone from my family for two nights.

That is the longest ever!

I was co-coordinating a retreat for 15 women in Chelan (Eastern Washington). I had such grand visions of being that woman who left meals labeled in the fridge and her house spotless. Instead, by the time I handled all the bits and pieces I needed to organize for the retreat, the best I could manage was a whiteboard list of acceptable and easy foods for Andy to feed Jack.

I guess leaving is something I will get better at with practice.

I was okay on Friday night. Even when I got a text message from Andy that said our night-time babysitter had forgotten about her commitment and was on her way to Portland, I didn't really worry. She came back guys, it all worked out. In fact, I wasn't ever worried. I know that Andy is totally capable with Jack, despite his teasing and self-depreciating remarks.

But by Sunday, when all of the tasks of the weekend were finished, I REALLY missed my boys. I couldn't get home fast enough.

When I got home, I discovered Jack calmly eating an almost well-balanced meal, a spotless kitchen, an empty laundry basket and drawers full of perfectly folded clothes, and a warm hug from Andy. When Jack was done eating and was out of his highchair he ran all around me and was eager to play tickling games. In the middle of each round he would stop and kiss me several times, like he was saying, "I'm so glad you're home mom! I just can't get enough of you!"

What a wonderful, wonderful feeling.

I Don't Hate Swimming

First, let me tell you what an incredible husband I have. 

We're down to about 13 weeks before the triathlon, which means I'm kind of freaking out.  It is always a struggle to try and get to the gym, especially when I know I'll be there for more than an hour and especially when Jack is being extra clingy (which he really, really is right now).  So Andy comes home from work and sends me right off to the gym, tells me to take my time and hugs me when I get home, even though I'm all sweaty.

Oh man, I'm so lucky.

Second, wait, I'm not done with Andy.

On Saturday, Mother's Day Eve, ANDY MADE ME DINNER. Not just a frozen meal that I bought so that he could make. He sneakily went shopping, planned the menu and served me a plate of salmon, mashed potatoes and veggies (he only made greens for me, but he made them because he knows I like them). Not only did he make dinner. He also set the table with a shrimp appetizer before hand and after dinner had settled, he pulled out some delicious creamy dessert in yummy chocolate cups.

Oh man, I'm SO lucky.

Third... op! Still not done.

As if dinner wasn't enough. On Sunday I slept in, a good two hours later than I have in, oh, say, about 14 months. When I finally roused myself and walked out into the living room, I discovered a huge bouquet of peach roses and yellow lilies and two, TWO, cards. I got the lovey dovey one from Andy and then I got one from Jack with really wobbly handwriting. I looked at it for a little bit and then realized that Andy had put the pen in Jack's hand to write it. 

So cute!

Speaking of so cute, look at these legs:

And this little boy who wants to be just like dad already:

Three and a half: I should also mention that he made me a delicious breakfast of blueberry waffles, strawberries and scrambled eggs. When I commented on how yummy the waffles were he proudly and somewhat sheepishly said, "They're whole wheat!" 

That's how you know a man loves you. When he buys you whole wheat waffles. 

Really, SO LUCKY!

Okay, fourth - what I wanted to tell you all along - I don't hate swimming. 

I'm kind of amazed by that. 

I went to the gym tonight and ran a really slow two miles and then went to the pool. I got a late start, so I only got to swim about 20 minutes, but the whole time I just kept thinking, "I like this." 

I even thought that after the really weird dream that I had about swimming that involved horses sticking their faces in the pool, forgetting Jack in the water, swimming with my bike seat between my legs and getting tangled in a net and narrow lane... hmm...

So anyway, I just wanted you to know. I like my husband. And I like swimming. 

Not to be confused with loving to slice cantaloupe. 

Just joking.  I LOVE Andy.

That reminds me. Have I told you about how we first exchanged "I Love Yous"? I'll have to write that one out some time. It is always good for a laugh.

Cheers!

Pleasant Learning and Three Side Notes

I'm learning.

This morning could have been disastrous. The door to one of my kitchen cupboards maliciously jumped from its hinges and attacked me.  It now lays (lies?) peacefully on my stove, waiting for Andy or the landlady to return it to its home.  I am out of chai, my morning kick start. The baby I watch on Fridays came over in a grouchy mood. Our car appears to be on its last leg.

I could have sent Andy a text message telling him that the cupboard broke, but what can he do about it at work?  I've learned that if he can't do anything about it from where he is, then it just frustrates him, and I don't get the compassionate response I'm looking for.  So, the door news can wait a few hours. 

I'm out of chai.  I have been for three days. For the first two hours of the morning I pined away.  Hoping that miraculously someone would offer to bring me a Starbucks.  I even considered getting annoyed that nobody had offered.  After all, I posted my plight on FB, shouldn't all my friends come running with caffeinated beverages? No? I'm really not that self-inflated, but don't even try to tell me that you have never found your mind wandering down that path. So, instead of becoming irritated, I whipped up a pretty good imitation of an iced latte to satisfy my need for a sweet, cold, creamy, caffeinated start to my morning. 

The cranky baby (who I love dearly and am glad to have come over once a week) finally went to bed and Jack found his rhythm

Side Story:

That is the first time,

I think in my whole life,

that I have typed or written

the word RHYTHM

without needing spell check.

I love the word,

but for some reason I can

never

ever

remember how to spell it.

I always want to use a

U.

What?

Spelling is not my strong suit.

Obviously.

for the morning.  He is now playing peacefully in the corner with some blocks. My house is quiet except for the sound of worship playing in the background and my fingers clicking on the keyboard. [Amendment: Before I finished this, the cranky baby woke up still cranky, so my house is quiet except for the music and shrill whining and intermittent crying and Jack talking to the other baby asking him why he is so cranky.]

Also,

Jack has his first scraped knee.

He is officially a boy!

He didn't even cry.

What a tough guy!

Our car, our car. A few days ago it started overheating if I drove it more than, say ten minutes. I drive a pretty impressive beater.  I am actually still driving my first car. Since this anyway. It has been a trooper of a car. No real repairs needed.  Or maybe just one.  I can't remember exactly. But it really has just kept going and going and going. But now we are at a place where we need to decide, do we spend our money on fixing our junker or do we spend a little bit more and get our vehicle for the next few years? 

While all of these decisions could have been an opportunity for marital strife or "I'm right, you're wrong" attitudes to settle into our conversations, it hasn't been that at all. I am learning more and more how to trust my husband and his process for making decisions. I know when his strengths are not my strengths and I think he is learning the same. We're learning to show each other courtesy and respect and we are learning together to trust God for his best. 

When our car started overheating I asked Andy if he was worried and he simply said, "No. It's God's car." Oh wise husband of mine. 

I'm learning how to worship and study God's word as a wife and mom (sheesh, how 'bout it takes me a year of motherhood to even start to get this figured out). I'm learning how to love. I'm learning how to make space in my life to hear the Holy Spirit and space to enjoy the life I am living today.

I feel like I say the same thing over and over.  But I am a slow learner I guess. Each day it feels fresh. Each day feels like a new chance to see God's faithfulness or see my own attempts at a "good life" fall short. 

I hope that I am always learning.  I hope that my character is being refined and than my attitudes are becoming more and more in line with the attitudes of Christ. I hope that I don't measure the quality of my life by "happy" but rather by joy, contentment, peace, obedience and love. 

I hope that I remember this all tomorrow when I wake up.

I give you permission to remind me if I start sounding a little cranky or forgetful or selfish. 

Third and final Side Note:

I was talking to a sweet friend

earlier this week.

I think I was complaining.

I was processing.

Asking questions.

You know how girly conversations go.

And she,

with no apology,

no preamble,

told me I was being selfish.

That is what real friendship looks like I think.

Thank you Allison.

Reminiscing

Because our home is pretty tiny, Jack's room has doubled as a storage room for quite some time.  We always do our playing out in the living room, and he's not old enough to care that we use his space for storing our overflowing amount of stuff.

But that changed yesterday.

I was seized with a great NEED to clear it out (This has happened before.  I don't know how it collects so much stuff so fast, but I think it might be a lifelong battle).  So all day yesterday I sorted through clothes (his and mine), put a limit on the number of shoes I can own at one time, and created a heaping pile of items to take to the thrift store.  

One of the things that I sifted through yesterday was a box of letters and cards that I have been saving.  Notes that people have written me, valentines, and letters.  There were some from 1993!  I've saved them because at some point in my life, they have been significant. 

While Jack was taking his nap and the cleaning in the actual room was put on hold, I brought out the box of letters and began to sift through them.  

Many, many letters from my mom, dad and Lizzie.  Written while I was a summer camp counselor, living in Colorado with Annie, or away at college. Cards for birthdays, graduations, and our wedding. 

Some from people I don't even remember, some from now-broken friendships, and even one from an old boyfriend.

It is a common misconception

 that I did not date anyone before Andy.

  Mostly because it was kind of a joke. 

Less than two months,

 and mostly because... 

well...

 I don't know really.

  Maybe just because he asked. 

It didn't really make much of an impact on me.

  I remember

an awkward trip to the zoo,

 getting lost on a hike,

 and actually using the phrase,

 "I think it might be better if we were just friends."

 We weren't friends.

I saved the letter for Andy

 to read when he got home from work.

We both had a good laugh

 at the poor grammar and

my only attempt at boy-girl relationships before him.

  The positive outcome

 of that one prior relationship

 is that Andy and I now have a first kiss story

 that makes us laugh every time

we talk about it.

Maybe, if you ask real nice,

I'll tell it to you some time.

I truly am a words person.  I love compliments and I love the way you can make words work for you.  Because of that, it was hard to part with so many things people had taken time to write to me and about me.  

I did saved some, from significant phases in my life.  I kept ones that brought back memories, made me laugh, and reminded me that at some time in my life, I have encouraged and supported friends. 

It was also fun to remind my sister of what a goof she is.

On the envelope of one letter she wrote me: "Rah rah ree! Kick him in the knee!  Rah rah rass!  Kick him in the other knee!"

When I told her about it over the phone she laughed and laughed and said, "I used to say that all the time!" She has now promised that she will revive it.  I don't doubt that she will.

In the spirit of reminiscing, Andy took a stroll down memory lane last night too.  Every time we drive by the Skate Deck on our way to Costco, he tells me stories about how he used to be the most awesome skater and how much he loved it and who he bought roses for... you know, the whole skate deck scene. 

Well last night, our church rented out the whole place for Children's Ministry.  Andy tried to take Ellery to the last one, but it didn't work out.  So this one has been on our calendar for weeks.

We picked Ellery up and she could hardly contain herself.  I tried to warn Andy that she might collapse into tears after her first tumble, but he was optimistic.

!

(Can you even stand Andy's hunky arms!  Oh man!  What a tough guy!)

It turns out that he was right.  She LOVED it.  She skated with Andy.  She skated with me.  She skated with the woman dressed like a giant peep and she even went around by herself!  

She fell.

She got up.

She laughed.

She skated some more.

By the end of the night her face was red and sweaty.  The only tears came when it was time to go.  

We were all impressed with her skills on wheels.  But my favorite part of the evening was when Andy pushed me around the rink (even though it was against the rules).  I felt like such a teeny-bopper.

Prior to pushing me he also did a lap with Jack in his arms (which Jack loved and was also against the rules). After giving me and Jack rides, he cruised around by himself.  Then, the announcer got on the intercom to remind everyone of the rules: "Please remember: no skating with children in your arms, no pushing others on their skates, and no cross... [I don't know what they called it, but it was the fast kind of skating]."  I think they were just reminding Andy.  My oh so good, bad boy. I love it!

His hunky arms, his great attitude and willingness to fudge on the rules for the sake of a good laugh all contribute to my wearing this last night. 

Yes, my husband does indeed ROCK.

The Sweetest Thing

Lately I've really been craving to have my own vegetable garden. 

I'm not sure why, since I have abhorred all my previous experiences weeding and doing any other sort of yard work. And I detest the feeling of having grit under my fingernails and tucked behind my cuticles. 

But nevertheless, I want to grow something.

Ellery has been very interested in growing things lately too.

Since we live in a condo, there is really no plot of earth to claim as my own.  But my mom volunteered a space in her back yard.  

Yesterday, although it was quite chilly, it was clear, so Ellery and I went out to dig up the weeds and pick out the rocks that were in the bed.

The whole thing was pretty much as un-fun as I always imagined gardening, but not quite.  I guess more unproductive than un-fun.  It was more just a big silly show.

Ellery was very excited to help and kept asking me what we were going to put in there and what her job would be.  When we were picking out weeds she asked me why we were taking them out and we had a long talk about why we get rid of weeds.

I made everything up, but it worked for her.

She took to calling the weeds, "The evil guys," and saying, "Take that!" when she pulled them out.  (I told her the weeds stole all the food from the plants that we wanted to grow, so I think that is where the "evil" came from.)

After about 20 minutes I was thwarted.  The wheelbarrow had a flat tire and the place I had been directed to move the dirt was, upon further consideration, deemed unacceptable. 

So, with cold fingers and a disappointed little sister I went inside.

But, never fear!  Dad to the rescue!  

Let it be known, that I might possibly have the most gentle and kind dad ever known to a girl.  

Even though he was feeling a bit under the weather (more than a bit I surmise) he went right out to the patch of weeds and cleared everything away!  Everything!

So now I have freshly cleared plot to plant my carrots and strawberries and herbs.  

Ellery and I are going to have a blast this spring!

While that was sweet, it gets sweeter still!

Now friends, I'm not sure if you are prepared for this...

I wish you could have seen it...

Andy planned to meet us at my parent's house after work and some errands.  After the gardening, Ellery and I were coloring pictures and my mom was playing with Jack.

We heard Andy coming up the porch stairs and all looked up, eager to see him.

Do you know what that boy did?  He walked in with three single stem flowers.  He presented a white carnation to my mom, a pink one to Ellery and a red one for me.  

Ladies, you would not believe the smile on Ellery's face.  She just GLOWED!

She kept saying, "My very own rose!" 

My mom and I put ours in a vase, but Ellery carried hers around for several minutes, periodically smelling it and smiling. 

On the pictures we had been drawing earlier, I had put a pink flower.  Ellery looked at it and said, "and that can be my rose."

So, Ellery has received her first flower from a boy. 

Cheers to the sweet men in my life, Andy and Daddy!  Thanks boys for loving your ladies so well! 

Keeping Score

One Point Andy:

Arranging for a babysitter so he could take me out on a date tonight.

Two Points Andy: 

Buying me a swim cap, goggles AND an awesome new tennis racket for the spring. 

Three Points Andy:

Opening the truck door for me even though he had to go to the drivers side, unlock the door, and come back to my side to let me in (the passenger side doesn't have a key hole, he asked me to wait so he could open it).

Four Points Andy:

Tucking Jack in, complete with singing, when we got back home. 

Five Points Andy:

Oh wait, I mean five points ME.  As in winning our game of mini-golf... by FIVE POINTS. 

Let it be known that the agreement was that the loser would have to do DDR... and try.  You can imagine my glee and the anticipation I felt waiting to see the manliest man I know boogie down with his anime self.  However, as the expert on the game ahead of him was getting ready for his final round, the machine locked up.  Andy wasn't able to fulfill his duty as the loser, so I now have in my possession an IOU to see Andy's dancing revolution.  You can be sure that I will NOT forget to redeem it. 

I love winning. 

And I love Andy.

More than winning.

A lot more.

Good thing too.

Since this is the only thing I have ever won in our relationship.  

I have to celebrate the small victories. 

Red Shoe Revelations: Part II

Okay, so I broke my promise.  I should know better than to assume that any day will go the way I plan.

I am hoping you will forgive me when I tell you that instead of revealing my RSR:II yesterday I was busying learning the two-step with my adorable husband.  

This was a pretty major night since we have never, in our two years of marriage (and 7 month dating/engagement period) danced together.  Never.

Not once.

Until last night.  

We were both TERRIBLE, but we had a blast.

So now, on to last Saturday evening when I donned my Exhibit B shoes.

For Christmas, Andy surprised me with tickets to the Pacific Northwest Ballet's presentation of the Nutcracker. 

I really wanted to go before Christmas, but we decided that financially it wasn't the best use of our money.  Instead we made a plan to go next year as a belated anniversary celebration.  Do the whole dress-up, dinner out thing.

I was okay with that.

But I was even more okay when I opened my presents on Christmas Eve and discovered two tickets that Andy had sneakily commandeered by way of my equally sneaky mother. 

His hard work at making it a surprise was almost blown when Ellery wanted to tell me about the tickets early.

But that has nothing to do with my red shoes, so we'll save that story for another time...

So, I finally got the tickets and Andy's mom, Angie, offered to watch Jack.  

Earlier in the day I had been totally drenched in snow-muck, so I was so excited to redress and give the day another shot at being cute. 

Plus, what woman doesn't like to dress up when she goes out with her hunky man?

My mom had also given me a very swanky black jacket and I put it on with my red heels.  I remembered the afternoon's debacle, but my vanity won out.  I was determined to be fancy for the fancy Nutcracker.

So I got all dressed and pranced around the house, preening for Andy and his mom.  My heel-walk saying, "look at me, look at meee!"

We made our way out of the house and down the steps...

But my first step onto the side walk sent me right back up the stairs.  

I just KNEW that it would be foolish to try and make it through an evening with those shoes on.  

Another day would be fine.  But Saturday was just too melty and yucky.

So I went back upstairs, put on my ugly, snow-safe, clogs and then traded my swanky jacket for my still cute, but not special occasion worthy, green peacoat.

During my quick change Andy had warmed up the car and was waiting for me right outside our door.  I got in the car and he sympathetically said, "I'm sorry honey."

He knows how much I like being dressed up, and he knew that the weather was putting a serious damper on my style.  

But here was the moment that I had the chance to choose to either pout, and have my evening spoiled, or just roll with the punches.  

On our last several dates, 

I am ashamed to admit that I have been 

the most unpleasant version of myself.  

I have given into tears and tantrums 

and carried a dark cloud into our rare times 

without a babe.

I don't know why I kept doing that, 

but it was becoming an issue and I resolved to stop it.  

What husband is going to want to keep taking his wife out 

when all she does is complain and cry 

when he tries to do something nice.  

It just doesn't make sense.  

So there I was, in the ugliest pair of shoes that I own, on my way to the most extravagant outing, probably of the last year. 

But when Andy said, "I'm sorry honey," something clicked for me.  The dressing up is my thing.  Andy doesn't need me to be all dolled up to have a good time.  He just needs me to be happy and comfortable and companionable.  

Truth be told, he probably doesn't think those shoes are all that great anyway. 

So when I got into the car, I made a choice to not even mention the shoes.  I would carry myself and behave as if I was the hippest girl around. I would smile, I would laugh, I would flirt with my beloved.

And can I tell you what!

My decision to enjoy myself, regardless of my appearance, was honored. Our dinner conversation was significant, full of hopes for the New Year, thoughts on the state of the Church, musings of how we as a family can have a greater impact for the Kingdom of God.  

And our car ride was peppered with mutual admiration for each other.  My lighthearted attitude provided an open door for Andy to express his gratitude for something I had done earlier, a small act that had made a big impact on him.  I would never had known if I had let the storm simmer.

And while Andy was totally miserable at the ballet (he fell asleep in the first act) we both, with unspoken unity, resolved that the night would be a fun one.  I didn't shame him for sleeping, he didn't grumble about being there.

In the past I have let the small things become large.  I have let my evenings be spoiled by unmet expectations or minor offenses.  I have decided to be mad. 

What a waste!

I can build the habit of happiness.  I can make the choice to set aside my ideas of "perfect" and enjoy what is.  

For this New Year, I want to train myself to be content.  To choose levity.  To breath life into my husband and son with the words I speak and the peace I promote.  To be unruffled by the minors of this world.  

So, my dear red shoes, thank you for this lesson.  I am sure there are many more to be had.  But I will take a day, or month or lifetime to soak this one in.

"But godliness with contentment is great gain.  For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it.  But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that."  

1 Timothy 6:6

Happy New Year!