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!