I haven’t blogged in awhile because I’ve been extra busy with my photography business this fall. I can’t complain, though. The money I make from my photography business each year is the money we use to take our summer family vacation. Last year we were blessed to be able to go to Disney World. This year? Well, this summer the money will probably already be spent. In fact, most of it already is. Part of it went towards fixing my husband’s front tooth that got knocked out by Little Man’s big noggin, and the other part was used to pay for a $2200 car repair bill after a recent incident I had involving ice and horribly maintained concrete curb. “Sorry kids, no Disney this year, but we can have fun driving around in the car with its brand new tires while looking at Dad’s radiant smile”.
Today at work was a rough day. One of those days when I couldn’t possibly be in every place I needed to be. When I was constantly behind the 8 ball and felt like every effort I made to be helpful ended badly. When everything I said came out the wrong way. Just one of those days.
I was looking forward to picking up Little Man from daycare. He is my little love and can always put a smile on my face with his two year old silliness. Tonight when I picked him up (late) I was handed a plastic bag full of wet and poopy pants. Apparently potty training is not 100% finished yet. I put his shoes on, without socks, because his socks were also peed on and in the plastic bag. He got mad because he thought his shoes were on the wrong feet. I tried to explain to him that they were on the correct feet, but felt weird because of no socks. Have you ever tried to rationalize anything with a 2 year old? Yeah, doesn’t work for me either.
A year and a half ago I went on an amazing trip to New York City with four of my besties. Five innocent 30 somethings, all born and raised in the Midwest, let loose in the Big Apple. It sounds like the premise for a cliché chick flick, so it is inevitable that hilarity ensued. With this particular group of friends, hilarity seems to ensue on a simple excursion to the local Pizza Hut, so shenanigans were indeed unavoidable on this trip. Continue reading
I am a fairly prolific Facebook poster and I know that sometimes my FB friends get to learn way more about what is on my mind than they want to, but I am also a firm believer that there are certain things that should not be posted. I will never post when my family is gone on vacation. I might as well say “Hey world! Our house is unoccupied! Feel free to come and take whatever you want! Oh, and sweep the floor while you’re at it, would ya?” I will never post compromising photos of myself. Because they don’t exist. And I will never post updates about arguments with my husband for all the world to see. In my humble opinion, those kinds of problems belong behind closed doors or with my girlfriends over glasses of appletinis.
That being said, I am going to share about a recent incident between my husband and I so that others can learn from my ridiculously ineffective communication strategies thereby vastly improving their own relationships. I’m like Dr. Phil over here. But with more hair. Continue reading
The other day I was supposed to be editing photos from a recent shoot, but was instead playing Words with Friends on my phone, downloading songs from iTunes on my iPad, and, for some reason, reading a list of “Top 25 Signs You are a Type A Personality” on Facebook. What can I say? I’m a multi-tasker. Which I think was number 12 on the list. I did not need to read this list to learn that I am a Type A personality. I think the fact that my clothes are organized in my closet by rainbow color is a dead giveaway.
Someone recently asked me why I haven’t blogged in awhile. The answer is, as Little Man would say: “I be busy!” “But you have the summers off” you might be thinking, “you probably are just laying by the pool drinking margaritas.” Oh, how I wish with all my might that were true. But, alas, the reality of my summer existence is not nearly so glamorous. Or quiet. Or anything close to resembling ‘relaxing’. Have I mentioned I have three children??
Take some day last week. I would be more specific, but all the days seem to run together in the summer. On this particular day I woke up to my alarm at 6:00 am, got up and spent some time in my garden, made some homemade meals for the homeless, deep cleaned all of my bathrooms, and ran 10 miles as part of my marathon training. This, in addition to entertaining, refereeing, feeding, cleaning, disciplining, and nurturing my three cherubs pretty much wore me out by 1:00 in the afternoon, so while Little Man was taking his nap, just this once, I wanted to take a nap too.
I remember being in elementary school and being given a writing activity with the prompt of “If I could have any superhero ability I would choose____________”. The boys in my class would write they would want x-ray vision and then whisper to each other “so I can see through girls’ shirts”, and then the girls would all roll their eyes and whisper to each other that “the boys are SO immature”. Actually, we still have conversations like this, but now they occur in bars instead of 5th grade classrooms.
I always wrote that the super hero power I would want was to be able to fly. I often had dreams that I could fly and I thought that it would be amazing to be high above the trees looking down on everybody else on the ground. Even now I sometimes daydream that I can fly when I am driving 50 minutes one way to work each day. Flying would be way faster.
When I was pregnant with my third child people told me that having three kids was no harder than having two kids. Those people were big, fat, horrible liars. Having three kids is so much harder than having two. Here are a few of the many reasons why: There are only two parents, which means we are obviously outnumbered. I only have two hands, which makes it difficult to hold every child’s hand in a parking lot. Someone is always left out, which makes for various combinations of sibling rivalries and squabbles. And it is hard to go to amusement parks when only two people can sit on a ride.
Let me start by saying that there are many wonderful things that I love about my husband. He is a fantastic father. He makes dinner. He loves to surprise the kids and I. He puts up with me and my neuroses. No one will ever accuse him of being metrosexual. He will always beat me in a foot race. He is a rockstar when it comes to installing carseats. He never eats my yogurt. He makes friends with old ladies wherever he goes. And he cannot keep a beat to save his soul, which I think is adorable.
This is not an exhaustive list of course, but the above are very important qualities to me, so it is a good thing that my husband possesses them. There is, however, one thing that my husband does that I absolutely cannot stand. In fact it makes me physically ill. Continue reading
Recently my husband and I were talking to a friend about our kids. He told us that the parenting job he hates the most is putting his kids to bed. All that book reading, drink fetching, hug giving, stalling, he hates it all. The educator in me was horrified. Reading books at bedtime is so important to kids! The mom in me was astonished. That sweet moment when your kids hug you and say “good night mommy, I love you” is one of the best part of the day. But the realistic adult in me was appreciating his honesty and nodding my head up and down while thinking “sing it brotha”.