Becoming Mama

I love fashion.  We used to have kind of a thing, me and Fashion, but then I became a busy, broke, stay-at-home mom, and Fashion broke up with me.  These days I mostly just ogle Fashion from a metaphorical tree outside its window (coughPinterest), wishing we could get back together.  I guess I'm kind of a creeper.
This week I finally came to terms with the fact that Fashion and I have actually broken up, probably for good.  On Wednesday morning we had all our windows open to enjoy the lovely autumn weather and, although Henry seemed fine, I was flat-out cold.  I kept adding layers until I finally glanced in the mirror and saw myself decked out in a pair of black and green pajama pants, a faded old flannel of Elvis' (the sleeves hang to my knees if unrolled) over a pink long-sleeved t-shirt, and a pair of red-and-white striped socks adorned with Christmas ornaments.  My hair was unbrushed and coming out of its bobby pin confinement, and my toenail polish was chipped and gnarly.  Good Lord, no wonder Fashion doesn't want to be seen with me anymore.
But you know what? My son doesn't give a rat's ass if my hair looks like a rat's nest.  He doesn't care that I've worn the same oversized flannel every cold day this year, because I like smelling Elvis on it.  He doesn't seem to notice my mismatching issues (if there were any doubt that he's Elvis' kid) or even my occasionally unbrushed-until-noon teeth.  All he cares about is that Mama is playing catch with him, or watching him dance, or reading his favorite Curious George book for the 84th time that day, or zooming cars at one another as fast as possible on the dining room table for his amusement, or fetching him another cup of milk, or wiping his sticky hands and face, or kissing his neck until he squeals. 
So, while I will probably keep creepin' on Fashion for years to come, I don't really care if we ever get back together.  I may not be a fashionista anymore (or even the owner of unstained clothing), but if I may say so I am one hell of a mom.  And that's a label I'd be glad to wear, even over Chanel, any day of the year.

Daylight Savings Time

I guess I'm the only person in the world who hates DST in the fall.  When I was younger I enjoyed the extra hour of sleep, but of course extra time is simply not a benefit offered to the parents of toddlers.So now it's just a loss of precious sunlit hours which is - to me - a fate worse than gaining 5 pounds over the weekend. I mean ... I am a Texan, through and through.  My favorite vegetable is steak, I can saddle a horse, my hair is enormous, and - most of all - I thrive on sunshine.  I don't care so much about sunrise (although it is much easier to get up when it's light out), but it hurts my Southern soul when the sun sets at 5:30.  Yuck!
I do have to admit, we ended up having a pretty nice day yesterday.  We were able to get up and get moving earlier than usual, so we had aleady had breakfast and been to the grocery store by 11.  Then we pretty much sat around and were bums all day.  Elvis watched football and did some lesson planning.  Henry and I had a great time playing Wii sports and dancing to our vast Rolling Stones collection.  We even made a family trip to our local park, where the 3 of us played catch until the sun set (so ridiculously early) before returning home to enjoy a delicious spaghetti dinner.  Even though I can't wait for spring to return, it was a pretty great way to kick off the fall.

NOOOOOO!

Well, I guess I should've known.  In true toddler fashion, my precious flat-out refused to wear his Halloween costume last night.  Even Halloween-themed words (pumpkin, trick or treat, costume, candy, or monkey) sent him into fits.  I spent an hour working on my zombie hair and makeup, and when the big moment came, Henry would have nothing to do with trick-or-treating.  I don't know what happened between Sunday (when he wore it gleefully) and last night, but obviously it was something.
Now, however, he's strutting around in it like the costume company has paid him.  Oh, anything to prove Mama wrong.  :-)

Trunk or Treat!

Elvis and I took our little monkey to his first trunk or treat last night.  As a side note, I apparently live under a rock, as I'd never heard of such a thing.  Anyway, it was in the parking lot at my parents' church, and we'd been looking forward to it for weeks.  There was all sorts of fun set up before the trick-or-treating began, like a photo booth, crafts, a cake walk, and more, and we had a great time walking around, seeing friends and playing games.  For me, the best part was all the costumes.  Living in a college town, I'd almost forgotten that Halloween is supposed to be for kiddos (not cleavage), so I was absolutely delighted by all the mermaids, robots, cowboys, and bumblebees.  Adorable.
When the time came for trick or treating to begin, Elvis & I took Henry around from car to car while my parents stayed at the trunk to give out candy.  I was so proud of my little guy all night.  He loved holding out his "puckin," saying the magic words, and then seeing the candy plop in.  And he said thank you every single time, without us even having to prompt him.  Frankly, he had better manners than most of the parents, some of whom were not above cutting in line or pushing (come on, we're here for the kids.  It's not a competition).  And, best of all, he had a great time in his adorable Halloween costume.  Now we just have 3 more days til the big show, and none too soon: the pants of Henry's monkey costume are already about an inch too short!

My simian sweetheart

I Should've Known ...

I was just thinking to myself last week that it's miraculous how healthy Henry has  been.  We had a cold front roll in over the weekend, and the high winds that always send Elvis and me running for the Kleenex didn't even faze him. Elvis came home sick yesterday around noon, and even then I was thinking how lucky we are that Henry seems to have such a strong constitution.  He played and squirmed as usual, and went down for his nap without a fuss (also as usual).  After naptime, it took him about half an hour to wake up and join the world which was kind of unusual.  Most days, he's wide awake as soon as his big brown eyes pop open, although there is the occasional day when he takes 5 minutes or so.  Even after he dragged himself out to the living room, he kept yawning and trying to curl up for another nap.  It was sort of weird, but then Elvis gave the little monkey a hug and noticed he was burning up.  Sure enough, he had a fever of about 101, but what really scared me was his listlessness.  The light that usually animates his sweet face was gone, and all he wanted to do was sleep.  We hightailed it to our local Target to pick up some medicine, and were almost home when it happened: That face, and that awful noise.  I put my hand up to his mouth just in time to catch the first round of what would turn out to be everything my sweetheart had eaten that morning, and more.  Thankfully, Elvis had a big empty plastic cup on the floorboard, so when my hand overflowed, I was able to catch the rest with the cup.  It was pretty unpleasant for the rest of the (thankfully short!) ride home, but Henry clearly felt better.  He smiled a little bit, and got right to playing when we got home.  He's still running a slight fever, but he's eaten reasonable meals since then, and none of it has come back up, thank Heaven.  And his mini stomach bug must have been super-exhausting, because he slept almost twelve hours last night!
Thank goodness he's feeling better, cause guess who woke up feeling nasty this morning?  Yay, Mama's turn ...

Mama's new room

 

Elvis and I have lived in our apartment for nearly 5 years now. It's a great place in a small, quiet complex near all the neccessary amenities in town. It was almost too big when it was just the 2 of us, but when Henry was born the walls started to close in. The two most cramped places in our house are the kitchen (plenty of counter space, not nearly enough storage space) and the laundry room (I say "room" out of habit). Elvis and I have worked together to make the kitchen a functioning space for two people who enjoy cooking, but the laundry closet has been the bane of my existence, and not just because I hated doing laundry.  It's located in a hallway, so it's always dark.  It only had one small shelf, and the vast majority of the space is taken up by our water heater.

 

All that has changed now, though. I found a spare pare of brackets in our room yesterday while I was doing some cleaning, and Elvis helped me put up a shelf in my little closet. With the addition of a lamp (so I can actually see what on earth I'm doing in there), a few hangers for drying and a cheerful painting by my best friend Kellie, it's actually a place I don't mind spending time now. In fact, I did a load of laundry today (even though it's not laundry day) just to be able to see my little room. I know it's nerdy, but it makes me so happy to have an organized, mostly uncluttered  place. Hooray!

I wish I had a "Before" picture so you could see the difference.

"Sweet beans, Mama."

It broke my heart to stop breastfeeding Henry, for the sole reason that it meant no longer being able to hold him in my arms as he fell asleep. That was my favorite thing in the world for 12 whole months: nourishing my beloved son and comforting him to sleep with my love and my off-key singing. But I still had the sweet moments before settling him into his crib (and, later, toddler bed) complete with a bedtime story and a lullaby, prayers, and kisses rained between whispered wishes for sweet dreams (or "beans" as he says). Elvis began to complain that my tuck-ins took longer than any tuck-in in the history of loving mamas. And I am so glad I never hurried, because now even those days are gone.

Henry is still very loving and affectionate (especially at bedtime), but now he scampers his little buns right into bed to await his bedtime story and smooches. I'm so proud of the boy he's becoming, and obviously the part of me that wants to raise a healthy self-sufficient man knows this is totally right. But that doesn't stop the part of me for whom Henry will always be my precious baby from crying like an idiot after closing his bedroom door each night.

Our New Pet

My little sweetheart loves pretty much all animals, but his absolute favorite animal in the world is - without question - Curious George. Elvis and I had been thinking of a way to dress him up like a monkey for Halloween this year without spending very much money, and the answer to our problem showed up yesterday. We had taken some outgrown clothes to a local resale shop, and spent a few minutes browsing. Not that we needed anything; Henry's grandmothers and great-grandmother can't stop buying him clothes and toys. But this particular shop often has never-worn clothes at ridiculously low prices. Last year we bought H a leather jacket for $4! Anyway, as we were wandering the aisles, Elvis found just what we were looking for. It was an adorable plush monkey costume (again, never worn), and with our coupon it came out to $10! We brought it home, slightly worried that Henry wouldn't want to wear it, as he's definitely a naked baby. But as soon as he saw the thing he couldn't contain his delight and had to put it on immediately, and then stand in front of a mirror to admire himself.

So now we have lost our adorable little boy, and in his place we got an adorable little monkey. Ah well, at least this little monkey doesn't throw his poop. Oooh oooh ooooh!

Crazy 'bout Elvis

I have spent hours bragging endlessly about my amazing son and all the ways & reasons that I love him, but I don't think I've spent much time at all talking about the man who made him. My beloved turns 29 today, and in his honor I present to you an ode of love. 

Elvis (yes, it's his real name) is the coolest person I've ever met. He simply is who he is, without regard for whether people like him. But of course they DO like him because he is - above all - friendly. My very wise uncle says that Elvis "has never met a stranger," which is true because he can instantly find something to talk about to anyone in any situation. It's why most of his students love him.  He just puts people at ease. He's also hilarious.  Witty, dry, corny, punny, slapstick; he loves jokes of all sorts, and is a master joke and story teller.

Elvis loves trivia and absolutely thirsts for knowledge, so he knows a little about everything, and a LOT about a few things. He can school you or anyone you know on baseball history, trivia and stats.  Actually, his love of baseball was one of the reasons I fell in love with him.  It is a passionate, unconditional love; baseball is his religion, his drug of choice.  When we met, his beloved home team, the Philadelphia Phillies, were on their way to becoming the losingest team in MLB history. I watched him cheer and cry for that 2005 team, and I knew there was something very special about a man with that kind of passion and loyalty to such a crappy team. And I was right. Elvis is as good a husband as he is a baseball fan: devoted, optimistic, fair-minded, and - always - doing it purely for love of the game. 

Having known him for 8 years now, it's been my pleasure to watch Elvis grown from a young man to a grown-ass man (the step before old man, of course), and it's been a sweet ride.  He has always had a certain maturity, thanks to his close relationship with his parents (whom I can never thank enough for the treasure they made me, and for all the joy that has come since we met), but his transformation from boyfriend/college student to husband/HS teacher and then father has not dimmed - even for a moment - his wonder, imagination, and creativity. He is a multi-instrument musician, a poet/songwriter, a painter, an author and a playwright. In fact, after reading it at the start of last school year, his HS students opted to mount a production of his original play, Twelve Doors. It was a completely amazing experience for the kids and for him, and I have never been so proud of him. 

It sounds like he is just good at everything, and that is because he is.  He is a tender and patient father to our unbelievable son; he is a dependable and seemingly tireless co-worker, attending games and events on weekends and sponsoring a ton of clubs aside from his own Drama Club; he is quite the most inventive and delightful personal chef, and a helpful sous chef when it's my turn in the kitchen. Most important of all, though, he is - without a doubt - the best friend I have ever had.  He knows me, the real me, down to my every flaw, and he loves me without judgment or reservation. In fact, he said he loved me after knowing me for 3 weeks (yeah, it freaked me out) and then waited patiently for me to say it back because he knew what we had right from the start. He makes me happier than I ever imagined I could be, makes me laugh even in my darkest moods, supports me when I run out of faith or patience, and takes care to let me and Henry know we are the most precious things in his universe - just as he is in ours. 

Lastly, without Elvis I would not have my precious Henry (or - probably - any child ever), and for that one reason alone I will never stop loving him. But there are a million other reasons I love my husband, and I am so overwhelmingly grateful that I get to spend my life doing it. 

Happy birthday to the love of my life. 

The Doctor Is In ...

... The money, thanks to me. I hope she invites me to the lake house I'm about to buy her. Juuuuuust kidding. She's seen me naked, we can not hang out socially. Awkward!

Anyway. So we had a Staph infection going around our house. Henry picked it up in December, and then it laid Elvis out for a week in April. I guess it fed on doctor bills, because each case was worse than the one before it. So - lucky me! - I got the worst of it about a month ago. I thought it was a mosquito bite at first, but it got infected fast and then spread fast. Before I could even get in to se the doc I had about 6 welts on my leg. The doc took care of me and prescribed me an antibiotic, which I took dutifully for 8 of the 10 days. Then, on day 9 I broke out in a hivey rash all over my face, neck, back and shoulders. Sure enough, I had a pretty severe allergic reaction: fever, chills, temperature and all. Super. So it was back to the doctor, who was concerned about the reaction I'd had and ordered some bloodwork. Goody! I went back early the next morning to get pricked, and then waited a whole week (!) for the results: the antibiotic had caused some minor liver problem, as suspected. Oh, and also I'm Diabetic now. She thought that was why my infection was so severe and slow to heal, and she was right. Yay. So now I'm on pills for that too, and checking my blood sugar once or twice a day. My numbers are actually okay now (it took a few weeks to get there), but I'm hopeful that I'll be able to control it with diet and exercise, and get off the medication eventually. 

It's been an adjustment (like, I might seriously consider punching you in the face right now for a cupcake), but mostly I'm happy to be healthy again. And I've lost about 10 pounds to boot. Not too shabby, eh? 

that BITCH! ... An update

Oh my God.
Over the weekend we went to town to swim and hang out with Uncle David.  Yesterday morning I was on my way back to the house with breakfast when I had an honest-to-goodness vision in my head of myself keying Andrea's car (totally not something I would ever do.  Not cool, people).  It was weird, but I shook it off and we went about our day.  For lunch we went to our family's favorite restaurant, a small hole in the wall with delicious Mexican food.  The mood changed as soon as we pulled in and noticed Andrea and her fiancé at a table near the door.  I began to shake with anger all over again.  Would she say something?  Would he?
The 4 of us went about our business and acted like she wasn't there (even though it was so hard not to slap her nasty little face).  It was totally worth all the self control to watch how visibly upset she was, though.  They must have just gotten there, because I got to spend about 20 minutes watching him try to calm her down, patting her arm, stroking her back, etc.  And then, when she couldn't stay any longer, they stood out in the parking lot while she cried and smoked many cigarettes (a "disgusting" habit when my brother did it, but apparently okay for her ... what a surprise).  It was really, really satisfying, even though it absolutely ruined my lunch to see that trick in a place she promised never to bring anyone else.  I kinda hope her tacos gave her the runs all over her pretty little sundress.

that BITCH!

*I don't know if people other than my family read this, but if they do, I feel I should warn you: this is (hopefully) the last unpleasant incident in a long, painful story with a lot of unresolved anger.  I always try to remain upbeat, but this has been the only thing I can think of since it happened.  Please bear with this family mini-drama, and I promise lots more stories of sweet family moments and cute photos of my adorable 2 year old (OMG, 2???).  Love & sunshine, Sarah

PS: I hope you watch Arrested Development, and got a chuckle from my Lucille 2 reference.  If not, get Netflix and clear the next possible weekend.  You've got some TV to watch.


Many of us have crazy exes, don't we?  I guess my worst isn't that bad, but I think this is a topic we can all relate to.  Of all the crazy exes I've ever seen, my brother's ex-girlfriend Andrea is easily the craziest.  To be fair, she was clearly a psycho bitch before they met, as the first thing she said to me when we met was that she does a spectacular fake orgasm that fools everyone.  Just what your boyfriend's sister wants to hear.  She put David (and - frankly - the rest of us) through hell for 3 years with her petty, jealous, immature, controlling, cheating and manipulative ways.  She crashed my wedding and made out with an usher after dating my precious brother for all of 8 days.  She "attempted" suicide (sorry, but 3 Tylenol do not a serious attempt make) twice to avoid losing arguments.  After my miscarriage she posted a status on Facebook announcing her delight that she wouldn't have to pretend to care about yet another baby.  I mean, she was a total, vicious bitch.  It was clear to everyone that they were both miserable for most of their relationship, but they were absolutely determined to carry on like a normal couple.  I did my best to keep my opinions to myself and stay out of their business.  It hurt me so much to see my brother hurting, but all I could do was be a supportive listener.  When they finally broke up in 2010 everyone was elated.  Finally, David got some sense.
When Henry was born she felt the need to compliment him on my FB wall.  I never responded (she had to have wanted something; she never missed an opportunity to remind everyone that she hated kids.  Probably because they can sense evil) and I should've just un-friended her then.  But I was sure I'd never hear from her again/unsure exactly how to un-friend someone, so I never took the time.
Yesterday I returned hom from an early morning doctor's appointment (more on that later) to find I had a message on the good old Facebook.  I didn't notice who it was from at first, and it took me about 3 sentences to realize.  It was the long-silent Andrea, stirring up old troubles.  She informed me that she's getting married next month (ahh, there it is.  Right up front this time), blamed her current problems on a relationship that's been over for 3 years, instructed me never to contact her, and to tell my "monster" of a brother to "go f*ck himself."  Classy to the last.
I was stunned for a few moments, and then shook with rage for about half an hour.  It felt like she'd walked into my bedroom and slapped my face, it was so unexpected and so very hostile.  Even now I can feel my face scrunch with anger and distaste.  Blech.  Anyway, that's when I noticed the message was from "Facebook User."  A quick search confirmed my suspicion: she had vented her misplaced rage on me and then vanished.  I'm sure she thought it was a clever move, but she didn't think far enough ahead to make her precious fiance disappear as well.  I really did not want to get involved with her again, but I sure as hell wasn't going to let her trash my family. I thought it over and sent the fiance a very concise and painfully honest letter that included an objective truth: these two were toxic and they hurt one another terribly.  She was far from an angel, despite how I'm sure she told the story.  So I also included several incidents which led me to douby her character, maturity, capacity for fidelity, and sincerity.  I really hope his friends have warned the guy, but if not I felt it was my duty.  He's in the Air Force for crying out loud, and every brave man and woman in our military deserves better than that. 
So, ladies and gentlemen, here are some important lessons:
1. If you absolutely must provoke someone in a cowardly fashion like this, at least have the guts to face the response.
2. Do not, under any circumstances, underestimate the bonds of sibling affection.
3. Comport yourself with dignity after a breakup.  A sore loser is unpleasant, but a sore winner just needs to be knocked down a peg or two.

Snip, snip!

Henry spent the night with my mom last weekend while the men and I went out to Place. They had a great time playing, swimming, and visiting Nana, and they also had a grand adventure. It took 2 tries, but H got his first professional haircut! Elvis and I had cut it a few times (with disastrous results. See here), but it was high time he had someone cut it who knew what the heck they were doing, so he wouldn't look like a homeless child. I hear he was an absolute terror, but a very patient woman took her time and did an outstanding job. 

Now my baby doesn't look like a baby at all anymore, but an extremely handsome little boy. 

Enough!

So I have a "friend" who turned into a Parenting Nazi when she got pregnant. She was apparently the only person ever to make all the right decisions for her child, and I guess that makes it her job to let the rest of us know just what we're doing wrong with our kids. Lovely. It started out innocently enough; she just wanted to have as natural a birthing experience as possible. But now it's out of control, and every week she's posting what are basically lectures about why _________ is terrible for your child on her blog. It would be one thing if _________ was "too much sugar" or something, but it's always things like "sleeping in his own bedroom" or "using disposable diapers," or "wearing shoes."

I guess that makes me a bad mom in her eyes, because my son sleeps (through the night) in his very own nursery, wearing disposable dipes. He only breastfed for 12 months (his decision) and I occasionally supplemented with formula.  Oh, and he's up to date on all his vaccinations. I should have noticed my shortcomings, but Henry is huge for his age, happy and healthy with a great sense of humor and independence. He shares, rarely cries, dispenses hugs and kisses like candy, knows his numbers, colors and letters, and is even starting to say please and thank you.

Fail, fail, fail.

What ever happened to people minding their own business?

XXX

Thirty, not porn. Don't get excited.

I turned 30 on Tuesday, and it was - all in all - a fantastic day. Elvis surprised me and took the day off work, and we had a great time together, sleeping in, spending my birthday giftcards and enjoying our hilarious little almost-2-year-old. Oh my, Henry is such a delight!

I've been feeling a lot better about the big day than I thought I would. I don't think I'm freaking out or anything like that. I've felt really contemplative lately, though. Maybe more reminiscent. I just keep thinking of times past, friends I've loved and lost, and glorious memories made, both good and bad. I'm not sure if this is where I thought I would be at 30, but I'm sure glad I'm here: married to my soulmate, mother to an unbelievable little boy, and surrounded by the love and well-wishes of our supportive family and friends. What else is there in life?

This Could Be the Last Time ...

It's that time of year again: my birthday approaches.  This year it's a big one.  Maybe the last big one: THIRTY. 

I've been in a really reflective mood over my birthday this year.  I've always been kind of melodramatic I guess, so it's totally within my nature to be like "This is the last vacation of my twenties" or "The next time I go swimming I'll be in my thirties."  Seriously, I don't know how Elvis puts up with my nonsense sometimes.  Anyway ... there's one thing I am delighted to be experiencing for the last time in my twenties: I woke up with a great big teenager-style zit yesterday.  Aww, my last zit of my twenties.



Hopefully.

Precious Moments

Things have been kinda hectic around here the last few weeks, and I feel like the time is flying by.  Elvis was home sick for most of the middle of April.  He's finally back to 100% though, and participated in his school's first annual Faculty-vs-Band football game on Sunday.  It was the first time he'd done any real physical activity since being sick, and even though he's so sore after the fact, he had a great time running around with his co-workers and students.  At the start of the game, before the band played the Star Spangled Banner, I told Henry what was about to happen.  I explained that we had to stand still and be quiet, and he did not seem inclined to participate.  I tried to pick him up to prevent him from running around or jumping on the bleachers or anything, but he did not want to be held.  I was a bit nervous, but as soon as he heard those first few notes, my precious one began to dance.  He stood in place and swayed to the music the whole time, and then cheered when it was over.
Yesterday was SUCH a Monday.  Henry was fussy all day, and by the time Elvis got home from work I was much too exhausted to think about making dinner, and the cupboards were pretty bare anyway.  So we talked it over for a few minutes and decided to go out to dinner and then hit up the grocery store on the way home (to avoid a similar situation tonight, tomorrow, and so forth).  We picked Red Lobster, and Henry started having fun right off the bat when the hostess directed his attention to the lobster tank.  He was fascinated, and I was a little worried he'd throw a fit when we had to leave the lobsters to be seated.  He was in fine form, though, and walked away without a fuss.  We got to our booth and the hostess asked if we wanted a booster seat for the little guy.  Elvis has been after me for awhile to try letting Henry sit at the table like a big boy, so I asked if we could have a high chair just in case.  If he was going to try to get up and run around, he would have to be restrained. 
But wouldn't you know it?  That squirmy monkey actually sat at the table like a big boy throughout the whole meal, and ate his fish and broccoli and drank his milk.  He only tried to get up one time, and when I reminded him that chairs are not for standing, he sat right back down and went back to eating. 
I'm so, so proud of my big guy for his good manners.  He's becoming quite the little gentleman!

Mes Artistes

Elvis has become pretty good friends with the art teacher at his school over the past year, and so he was invited to participate in the school's annual art show. It opened yesterday, and my mother-in-law took Henry and me out to see it. They'd rented out a space and made it look like a gallery, and the whole affair was very fancy and impressive. Henry enjoyed the bright colors of the pieces, but spent most of his time playing catch (or, more accurately, flirting) with Lily, the art teacher's adorable little girl. I guess the show made a big impression on my little guy though, because he came home and made his very own masterpiece:

 

 

 

I could not be prouder of my artist, or our little wall-scribbling monkey.

Another Tough Goodbye

How could you not love those ears?

In 2006 Elvis and I moved into our first apartment. About a month later, a young woman was stabbed in the parking lot, and I got really afraid of being alone. E was working the graveyard shift at a local diner, and I would spend evenings huddled in fear in our bed. In order to give me some peace of mind and companionship, Elvis secretly scoured Craigslist ads until he found just the perfect surprise: a miniature Dachshund pup. She was beautiful, and I named her Scarlett (after the fiery bitch heroine of my favorite book). When she first came to live with us, it was obvious she'd been abused. She was terrified of Elvis, and was so skinny we could see her ribs and most of her spine bones. She would only eat if I sat on the floor with her until she was done, and cried even in her sleep. It was heartwrenching, but the three of us were patient with one another, and eventually became a happy little family. In 2008 we added a cat into the mix, and the two were almost instantly best friends. Then Henry came along, and things went downhill for Scarlett. She was so used to living in my lap, and she let her displeasure be heard constantly when my lap was no longer vacant. She began to act out. It wasn't too bad at first, just a constant whining. But things have gotten worse and worse. She's completely forgotten her potty training. She NEVER used to have accidents, but in the past 3 months she's peed in the house at least once every day. She gets into the litter box and scatters cat poop everywhere. She ignores her own food and eats the cat's instead. She also enjoys a nice used diaper as a toy. She's begun growling at Henry almost any time he comes near, and -worst of all- she actually bit Elvis. In short, things have been moving in a bad direction for awhile. Finally, about a month ago, I told Elvis I'd had it. I was done with the dog, and ready for her to go. I hemmed and hawed about it for a few weeks, and then he said he'd put up an ad. He didn't, so last night I finally did it myself. And I was shocked to learn that, in less than 12 hours, we had 6 responses. Elvis took charge of the task, and found a perfect family for her this afternoon. And when he gets home from work today he's going to take my little lapdog and pass her on to a woman who has the time and patience for her.

I'm a giant mess of conflicting feelings at this point. I'm so delighted and relieved not to have to worry about stepping in puddles when I get up to go to the bathroom at night, or about who'll babysit the dog when we're out of town, or whether she'll wake Henry with her constant night barking. But on the other hand I feel like a monster for getting rid of a tiny little dog who just wants to sit in my lap and love me. Ever since Elvis told me he'd found a taker, I haven't been able to stop thinking about the day I was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes. I was so scared and disappointed when I heard the news, I cried for about an hour. And Scarlett never left my lap in all that time. She just laid there with her chin on my arm while I cried, as if to say "I love you, and you will be fine."

I'm so glad we found someone who has the time to care for and love Scarlett as she deserves. I hope that she treats her gently and with patience and understanding. She's such a tender-hearted little dog who - like all dogs - just wants her people to be happy. And even though I will NOT miss cleaning up her pee with my good towels, I will miss her sweet face and unconditional love for the rest of my life.

Silly Scarlett crawled down the sleeve of my bathrobe one morning.

Signing Buddies

Henry says "Deer!"

Our friend Suzie the ASL interpreter popped in for a quick visit last night on her way home from work. She is one of those people who - in her mid/late 20s - has already had a lifetime's worth of adventures, and is always fun to talk to. Last night she was in the middle of one of her hilarious stories when she happened to say a word that Henry knew how to sign. He was - as always - delighted to be included in the conversation, but I thought he was going to lose it when Suzie began signing back to him. Usually when he shows off one of his signs, nobody knows what on earth he's doing except me and maybe Elvis. So for a "stranger" (that being someone he sees less than once a month) to understand and even respond just made his day. He had a great time showing off his vast repertoire of signs, and I think Suzie was pretty delighted as well. It was so, so cool!

Mr. Romance Strikes Again

I don't think he even reads my blog (if I'm mistaken, then ... hi Babe!), but ever since my post re: my new glasses, Elvis has redoubled his efforts to be a super-romantic husband. He's full of displays of affection, sweet whispered nothings, and little treats from each trip to the grocery store. But the absolute most romantic moment of the year (so far) happened on Saturday night.

Our old friend Joe came around for his quarterly visit to see Elvis & me, and to check up on little Henry (Joe was E's best man, and was one of a few friends who actually came from out of town to be at the hospital when our little man made his big debut). He's currently splitting his time between his girlfriend near Houston and his job with a movie studio in Austin, so we don't get to see him as much as we'd like. He's also a confirmed bachelor, and the differences between his single showbiz lifestyle and Elvis' gig as a teacher and family man have never been more evident. We got caught up, exchanged stories, and heard much movie-making gossip. Then, after Henry went to bed, we settled into a nice game of Uno and played for about an hour without incident.

As it always seems to happen, I was forced to play a +4 card against Joe who was down to his final card. In his overzealousness and, perhaps, after a few too many drinks our often-socially-inappropriate friend Joe forgot himself and screeched "Slut!" Although I was a little taken aback, I knew that he wasn't actually casting aspersions on my character or questioning my fidelity. Elvis, however, did not hesitate. He got pissed, and turned to Joe with A Look in his eyes. After a serious punch in the arm, my knight in shining armor even delivered a rousing speech:

"Apologize right now. That is my wife. She is the mother of a 20 1/2 month old child, and I am the father of that child. Apologize."

Of course Joe apologized immediately and very sincerely, and we moved on to a game of Monopoly. The transgression was forgotten, and we enjoyed Joe's company until he left the next morning. But I learned a very exciting lesson about my husband: he is not only my best friend, partner and co-parent, but also a most ardent defender of my honor. What on earth could be more romantic?

I am NOT a Ms.!

So I understand we live in an age where the old standards of decorum and ettiquette have pretty much fallen by the wayside. But I'm an old-fashioned Southern girl, and I still observe the very important proprieties: I write thank you notes, I say sir and ma'am, I don't talk about politics or religion, and it makes me cringe when I see a man wearing a hat inside or - horror! - at the table. One of the little manners our society has moved past that I have not is the way we address ladies. I understand that unmarried ladies don't want to be referred to as Miss after a certain age, and that's why there's the option of Ms. But I, as a married woman, absolutely hate being called Ms. I guess I can see where, in this politically correct world of ours, it's easier to address everyone as Ms. Such-and-such rather than run the possibility of offending a single or divorced woman. But I am a Mrs. and I am very proud of those three little letters. I hate to sound snooty, but I do not wash, dry and fold 5 loads of laundry a week or get up at 6 to make coffee and breakfast for Elvis to be addressed as Ms. It's Mrs. thank you very much!

I wore this shirt for weeks before we got married.  I couldn't wait to be Mrs. Irwin!

My Practical Valentine

My sweet, sweet husband gave me the most romantic valentine this year: I got a new pair of glasses! Yay!

As a side note: It is ridiculous how unromantic our Valentine's Days have been. Every year Elvis plans something grand and romantic, and every year something completely out of our control goes awry. It's uncanny how life throws those curves at just the right moment, isn't it? But of course the disaster always reminds us that the whole point is to celebrate love, and who needs to shell out $400 for dinner to prove that we're in love? Not this couple!

Anyway ...

I'd been needing glasses for awhile. Mine got stepped on some time ago, and they've never been right since. The lens would pop out with little provocation, and the frame was pretty crooked. So Elvis decided this was the time, and here I sit with brand new spectacles upon my face! It is perhaps the least traditionally romantic valentine ever, but there's nothing I could have appreciated more.

Maybe some chocolate, but of course my beloved brought that too.  He is, seriously, the best husband I could have imagined.

RIP, Old Friend

I bought my very first brand new car just weeks after I turned 19. I'd been working hard for about a year and a half at my crappy little job saving up money, and 9/11 pushed interest rates into the ground. I found exactly the car for me, and committed to an indecent car payment for the next 5 years. It was a sporty little red number that made me feel like a princess, and I LOVED it. Then, one rainy morning about a year later, I totalled it on the way to school. Super. I mourned deeply for awhile, and - once the insurance was straightened out - bought another brand new red car (if God is merciful, I'll never have to drive a car of another color. I love red). I drove the hell out of that car, all over the place. It was our only car when Elvis and I first lived together, and we put thousands of miles on it together. Of course, each year or so it would spend an expensive week in the shop, but we loved that little red car like it was a member of the family. It was our "getaway" car after we got married. We drove it on our first vacation together after we were married: a weekend trip to Mississippi. We brought Henry home from the hospital in it.

Our dear friend Spongy (yes, we name our cars) died for the final time this week. I'd had her towed into the shop, and got the dreaded call on Tuesday morning: The estimate was $3500, and they hadn't even gotten to the major problem yet. With an exceptionally heavy heart, we made the decision to let Spongy go, and I had her towed back home where she's currently sitting and being slowly emptied of 10 years of accumulated junk. Sigh.

Big Game Day

Even though none of us really cared about the game, we had a little get-together last night to watch the Superbowl. It was totally last-minute, but everyone had a great time and got a belly full of delicious food. My parents and E's dad (his mom had to work ... boo!) came over right time for kickoff, and my brother joined us after he got off work, just in time for halftime. I myself am SO over professional football, so I sat with my back to the TV and watched Henry show off for his grandparents and uncle. The highlight of the evening was, without a doubt, halftime. I'd been hounding (pun intended) Elvis to let us watch the Puppy Bowl, and he finally relented and said that, rather than watching whatever Beyonce was going to do, we could watch Puppy Bowl at halftime. Almost everyone protested when Elvis turned the channel (not because they love Beyonce; they just thought the puppies would be lame), but the protests died quickly when Henry caught sight of the TV. He pointed and laughed and even squealed with delight at watching the precious baby kittens. He would look around to make sure we were all watching, and then he'd scream and laugh and do a little dance. It was the cutest thing I've ever seen in my life. I hope he's half as delighted next year!

The Facebook

I saw a headline yesterday about Facebook that intrigued me (yes, I'm a dork. Thank you). Maybe you saw it too, I dunno. It was the results of a study that determined that people, more often than not, feel bad about themselves and their lives after visiting Facebook. I was a little surprised at first, but then when I thought about it I figured that could be about right. I can see where scrolling through various friends' engagement/wedding/baby/new house/new car/vacation/dramatic weight loss photos could be like a tour through your life's failures if you haven't reached those milestones.

As for myself, the ole Facebook has been very very kind. In the past few years I've been blessed to get to know Elvis' extended family via Facebook; I've been able to keep in touch with friends and family as they travel the world; I've kept tabs on engagements, weddings, pregnancies, and babies; Yesterday I reconnected with my best friend from high school. We had some stupid falling out and hadn't spoken in almost a decade (!!!) until Facebook put us right back in each other's paths.

So I guess the lessons I got from all this are as follows:

1. If your friends' successes in life make you feel bad about yourself, get your own life together and make a change. It's up to you, and nobody else.

2. If your friends' Facebooking makes you feel bad about yourself, just be a grown-up and get off of Facebook. You don't HAVE to be there.

3. Be happy with the blessings, experiences, and relationships you DO have in your life.




Facebook Envy

Talkin' It Out

I had my very first conversation with Henry last night. We were playing catch when suddenly he started babbling pretty seriously. He looked so earnest, but I just didn't know what he wanted so I told him "Sweetheart, use your words. Say a word." And he looked right at me and said "Potty." I asked him if he had to go, and he nodded his little noggin with no small measure of exasperation, and then waddled off to the bathroom where he did his business and washed his hands.

That. Was. Awesome.

Back to the Grind

Wow, I can't believe it's almost halfway through January already! It sure seems like the end of 2012 flew by, huh? I hope you had a wonderful holiday season, full of friends & family, good food, and a little bit of extra sleep!

All three of us were sick for much of Christmas break, so that was kind of a bummer. Henry came down with a little cold, and then Elvis and I took turns having the flu. He had it for Christmas Eve, when we celebrated with his parents, and then I got it Christmas morning, when my family came to celebrate. Good timing, no? Well, at least we got to spend our sickness surrounded by the people we love most, so that's something. And despite being sick as a dog, I think we all had a great Christmas. We (Elvis) cooked some delicious meals, everyone enjoyed their gifts, and Henry was so sweet. He could tell we weren't feeling well, and every so often he'd stop playing to come over and give one of us a kiss. Such a little angel.

New Year's Eve was a different story. My dad was out at the family ranch hunting, so my mom offered to babysit so that Elvis and I could do something fun. Last year we went to a baby-friendly party with some of our new-parent friends, and that was awesome, but it sounded great to be able to have some alone time. That's getting rarer and rarer. We went out for a nice dinner (thanks to some thoughtful giftcard givers!), and then came home and moved out onto our patio. It wasn't very cold, so we sat out there in our fancy dinner clothes and drank champagne. At midnight we were able to see fireworks shows from about 5 of the little surrounding towns, so that was really cool. As always, I felt so happy and so blessed to be able to ring in the new year with the love of my life at my side. And, of course, I look greatly forward to the new fun and adventures that 2013 will bring.

And now the school semester has started back up. Elvis is back to working his 12-hour days, and Henry and I are getting back into the swing of things without Poppa. The first few days were pretty rough, with Henry missing his Poppa dreadfully. But I think we're just about back to normal now, playing and frolicking all day long with minimal temper tantrums. My little one is such a sweet, funny, good-natured little thing, and I am so lucky to have him.