Happy 7th Anniversary

To my wonderful  husband, thank you for loving me unconditionally, for giving me two beautiful babies, and for helping me model a real marriage for our children. Times are not always easy but they are better when we're together. I love you.

Happy Valentine's Day 2011

Love is in the air.

I heart you.
And I heart you.

And I heart you.

This morning before work, we celebrated Valentime's Day (why do all kids call it that?) with a special breakfast of toast and eggs and chocolate hearts. We went around the table and talked about what we love about each other. Beatrice's responses were very cute. She loves my kisses, Cory's hugs, and Theo's playing. Then we asked her to name something that we do that she loves. Without missing a beat she told us she likes "how Daddy does push ups." Awesome. Cory told Beatrice he loves that she's a great reader and loves books. We both started laughing remembering a conversation we had way back when we first started dating. i was lamenting that I didn't really have a talent to which Cory quickly jumped in "your talent is reading." How is that a talent?! Like nerd mother like daughter, I guess.

Love to you all.

Happy Birthday, My Love

32 years on this blessed earth. I love you more and more with each passing year. Thanks for choosing me and for choosing this life we live. Even on the bad days. I love you. Happy birthday.

Long and Lean Vs. Short and Squat

Oh God, it's happened again. Yesterday while Cory was getting dressed for work, I heard him mutter, "What the..." then start laughing. I immediately knew what had happened.

The night before I had taken my jeans off and draped them over his valet. Ya, my man has a valet, he's sophisticated like that. He puts his work uniform of jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers on it every night. He's very Jersey Shore when it comes to his t-shirt time.


So Cory, still bleary eyed, grabbed at his usual spot and tossed on what he thought were his jeans. There was no grunting or tugging... the pants slipped on effortlessly.

Once we both realized what had happened, I called out to him to come into Bea's room and show me. Don't ask why. It was kind of like when you pass an accident and you have to look.

The worst part wasn't even the visual of my man in my jeans. The worst part was that when I had put those jeans on the day before, I was feeling pretty good. They fit better than the last time I had worn them. That euphoria quickly wore off as I stood there before Mr. Annoyingly- Fast-Metabolism-I-Still-Fit-Into-My-High-School-Jeans. F-my life.

5 Year Anniversary: 2 Ways

Here's the serious post (well mostly serious, I can't resist a little humor.)

Dear Husband,

Marrying you 5 years ago was the best decision I ever made. Actually I take that back. Getting black out drunk 11 years ago and making out with you was the best "decision" I ever made.

Thank you for giving me my babies and the best life I could have ever imagined.

I'll love you forever.

Here's the fun post:

On our 3rd wedding anniversary, Cory and I had a bit of a communication breakdown. Prior to the day, we had a discussion about gift giving. This much we can both agree on. The outcome of the conversation is still hotly debated. My recollection of the decision was that we'd exchange small gifts. My husband's recollection was that we would forgo gifts in lieu of a nice dinner. Things got awkward after dinner when I rolled out the wrapped presents. Fast forward to yesterday when I received an email from my beloved "In order to avoid the snafu of 2 years ago - I want to confirm what was decided about anniversary gifts this year?" Then there was a crass joke made about wood (the traditional gift for the 5 year anniversary.) Here's to at least 5 more years of wooded, I mean wedded bliss.

St. John: 1 year before we were married

This Week's To Do List

Things to do this week:

• Buy a house
• Turn 31
• Move
• Manage various deliveries, installations, etc. at the new house
• Keep 2 kids fed, clothed, and sheltered
• Stay married/avoid divorce

The last one might be the biggest challenge. Wish me luck.

BEAT LA

Thank you, Big Baby. And a shout out to Nate Robinson. I owe you guys one. Now please go on and take the next 2 games. We need to get this wrapped up before Wednesday, 6/16. Thanks in advance.

Conversation I just had with my husband.

Cory: So can we talk?

Me: Does this have to do with the Celtics?

Cory: So if this does get to Game 7 on Thursday night, we'll need to discuss me going to Ryan's to watch the game.*

Me: [no words, just incredulous look on my face]

Cory: Nothing to worry about now, we'll cross that bridge if we get there. Let's just focus on the baby now. And the Celts winning the next 2 straight.

Me: [waddling away angrily] I married you. I actually chose this life.

*He's watched all the post-season games there. Obviously he can't break the streak. That would catastrophically affect the basketball universe.

On the Same Page

One of the nicest things my husband does is bring me home books he thinks I might like from the library. He is a really big reader, something he came into in the past couple of years. He's actually rubbed off on me. In my adult life, despite being an English major and editor, I haven't always been such an avid reader. I guess I've gone through phases. But in the past year I've definitely read a lot more (see list of books on the left hand nav bar.)*

Last week, he brought me home a couple of books. One was titled Three Wishes: A True Story of Good Friends, Crushing Heartbreak, and Astonishing Luck on Our Way to Love and Motherhood. Here's the Amazon description:

Carey, Beth, and Pam had succeeded at work but failed at romance, and each resolved to have a baby before time ran out. Just one problem: no men. Carey took the first bold step towards single motherhood, searching anonymous donor banks until she found the perfect match. What she found was not a father in a vial, but a sort of magic potion. She met a man, fell in love, and got pregnant the old-fashioned way. She passed the vials to Beth, and it happened again. Beth met a man, Beth got pregnant. Beth passed the vials to Pam, and the magic struck again. There were setbacks and disappointments, but three women became three families, reveling in the shared joy of love, friendship, and never losing hope.

It was a good, quick read. I love memoirs, especially ones about women and friendships. And I love books that take place near our home (this one takes place in and around the Boston area.)

He also brought me this book. My man knows me too well.

I am hoping to read a couple more books before the baby comes. Next on my list is Little Bee, then The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

*One thing I started doing earlier this year is actually writing down names of books when someone recommended one or I hear about it on NPR or read a review. Then about once a week or so, I go on my library's website and request the books. They send me an email when the book has come in. I like this much better than the old fashioned browsing of the library's shelves.

Wet Rag

I am writing to you with a moist back. Not the usual "just got back from the gym and sweat through my sports bra and t-shirt" thing (I'm a back sweater...don't judge). Nope, just the daily case of leaning back in my home office chair onto a nasty, damp towel.

Why is there a wet towel on your office chair, you ask?

Maybe because no matter how many times I plead with the Mr. to puh-lease hang his towel behind the door, he insists on putting it on the back of my office chair.

In the interest of full disclosure I will note that the husband's closet is in my office/guestroom. It's not as if he prances into our bedroom all wet, dries off, gets dressed, then goes into my office to drop off his wet towel. We have a bit of a closet situation here, not unlike every other place we've lived. The closet in our bedroom is only big enough for one set of clothes (really, I'm not even being all bitchy wife about it, it's true. But I don't know why I got the privilege of keeping my clothes in the bedroom... anywho, its not about me, its about him.) So Cory was forced into the closet in what used to be the office. Then baby came along so the office was turned into a nursery and he had to move his shit into the guestroom turned office/guestroom closet. Which reminds me of when we lived in our apartment in the city and he had one of those depressing portable closets. Poor guy. Wait, no sympathy for the devil, my back is still moist.

My next plan of attack is to set my alarm for 6 a.m., sneak out of the house, break into his office, and place a used, wet towel on his office chair. Let's see how he likes it.