A nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon

Roob and The Blur. My girls have no idea how lucky they are to have friends in college who not only are willing to hang out with them, but have extremely cool shades.

I am not sure why this is coming up so freakishly small, but finally there is photographic proof that I am actually raising this child.

Ahhh Goldie. This picture is truly a metaphor for our life together. Don't run too fast, Baby Girl, Mama can't keep up with you. But I don't want to miss a thing.

Ear infections, dreams and real estate

• I have counted 27 violations of the unpopular No Picky-Licky Ordinance since I began tracking five days ago.
• The Asshole Ear Infection That is Ruining Our Lives continues to, you know, ruin our lives. We are sampling all that Big Pharm has to offer and are currently on #4. Extended Screaming Tantrums That Rattle Actual Bones have replaced the regularly scheduled Shorter Screaming Tantrums That Only Sort of Piss Me Off. In other news, Ruby would like me to mention that her ears? Kind of hurt.
• I keep having dreams about the longtime friend who inexplicably (to me) dumped me right after I got married and I don't know what it means. If it didn't hurt so much to think about her, if I weren't so proud and stubborn, if I thought my heart could stand the rejection, if I didn't miss her so damned much, I would call to see if she is okay. So many years have passed and I still can't delete her number out of my phone. Not sure what that means either. Sigh.
  
• While I stubbornly stand by my stance on never ever moving, I sort of wish our neighborhood had more safe places to ride bikes and less used condoms on the street. Also? Did you just see that hooker standing in front of my house? Halp.
• Davey and I found precisely 13.4 seconds with which to snuggle this morning before someone small and urine soaked managed to wedge between us.
• The people who live across the street have listed their house for 20% more than any house in the area. The house is roughly 20% less appealing than their peers. This has solved the mystery as to why the owners wear sweats so frequently as jeans would not readily accommodate balls of that size.
• I should be nicer about the large-sacked neighbors because as part of their marketing strategy, their Realtor forced them to part with the Toddler Fantasyland of Little Tykes equipment that littered their front yard. In this neighborhood, the etiquette for disposal of anything you don't want is to place the item on the street in front of your house (See: No Sidewalks in This GodForsaken Place) and hope that it disappears (usually in under a minute). My friend next door and I waited patiently the morning of The Toy Purge and furiously texted each other when a desired object was set out so we could swap child care and help carry larger items across the street.I am the proud new owner of a slightly used Turtle Sand Box. With a lid!
• If you see a bike appropriate for a four year old girl left out in someones yard, please do me a favor and move it just a little closer to the street and give me a call (or text!)
  

Another Love Letter to my Husband

Davey my Davey,

This one has been a long time coming and I don't know where to start. I am hoping if I just put fingers to keyboard, words will come out and form sentences and magically at the end of it all you will know all of the things sitting on the tip of my tongue that go unsaid. Right now in so many ways it feels like our world has fallen apart around us. But here we are. Everything is so Goddamn hard. But we don't argue. What surprises me about our life is not that there are struggles, rather I continue to marvel at the miracle I live every day to have found you to struggle alongside me. My perfect match. Your willingness to let me be who I am and do what I must without blame or guilt or anger, continues to amaze me. Home is a safe place. Home is where you are.

This season of life feels so bittersweet. The realization of our dream to be the parents our girls need us to be and do the work that needs to be done to satisfy our ambition and conscience comes at a price. When I look back on the past 4.5 years and recount all that we have done, blessings we have received, crisis' we have been through, all we have built and torn down again, there is no wonder why we both feel like we have been hit by a truck at the end of every day. At night when the girls are finally asleep and we look at each other wearily absorbing the first quiet moment together of the day. I loathe this moment because I know that one way or another, someone is going to be disappointed. One of us has to work. The other one is tired. The phone rings. Your show is on. The kids start crying. I don't feel good. We are spent. There is nothing left to give. I am smiling as I type this because you and I both know that others who read this will think I am making some veiled reference to sex. Ha! I'm sure that would be great, but at this point, finding a moment to really listen to the other without distractions and talk about our day would probably be more satisfying.

I still haven't found the words that I was hoping for, and so I will try one more time. Thank you. Thank you for loving me unconditionally when I am decidedly unlovable and selfish and have left you to contend with the chaos I inevitably leave in my wake. Thank you for your steadfast belief that we are going to be together and in love and okay without exception. You matter. You matter to me even when I am inconsiderate. I am desperate for you even when I am being distant. You are the reason for everything......

And I adore you.

First time on the big girl swing

And a few hours before we sprayed her with Mullet Be Gone. You will be pleased to know that a sweet-ish child can now be found in her crib in place of a tiny Billy Ray Cyrus impersonator.

We are relieved as well.

A Day For Digging

It Worked

As part of our family's Mother's Day Weekend celebration my sister and her husband went to Mom's to perform copious amounts of yard work and because they are fully aware of my lack of willingness to perform domestic chores I have been relegated to babysit for our combined broods that now number 5 children.

Sitting here smugly with my face buried in a giant trough of Goldfish crackers as my sister buys snacks that actual children will eat in contrast to the soy nuts and carrots I make my kids choke down, I feel pretty good. I arrived at 8:00 a.m. and immediately proceeded with Operation Wear Their Tiny Butts Out. We walked. We played. We dug in the sand and rode bikes. I showed them no mercy and got them, FIVE OF THEM, to nap at 1:00.

They are stirring now so I better shove in these crackers or I'm going to have to share.

Church Weekend Survival Guide

As most of you know, I don't get out much anymore. But wait! There's hope! This past weekend I discovered a secret that my mother never shared with me and now I will pass it on to you: The out of town all weekend church meeting! Like camp without the bugs or wood cookies! This is decidedly brilliant because not only will your husband not want to come, but will be forced to stay home with the kids because, really? What type of person would deny you a weekend of service to your church. In return for your cleverness, if you choose your travel partners wisely and also belong to a denomination who likes to serve Jesus with a side of debauchery, you will surely have a good time.

Church Weekend Survival Guide

1. Spring for the hotel. (this is perhaps the only rule I followed) Under no circumstance should you accept the invitation to do the Stay in Random Old People's Houses. Think denture cups and weird smells. No wifi. High probability of encountering yappy dog with painted nails. Do feel free to pilfer homemade brownies wrapped in napkins that you can shove in your purse for later that the old ladys will bring to meetings. Old ladys don't skimp on butter.

2. Do not feel compelled to drink the whole effing bottle of wine followed by more wine. Resist consuming entire block of cheese chased with full pound of salami. This will be regretable.

3. If you do drink the whole effing bottle of wine, have the decency to shut your wine hole and pass out like a reasonable church lady instead of further humiliating yourself by over sharing SUPREMELY INAPPROPRIATE information with your co-travelers. Oh God. (Note to self: avoid future eye contact and seek new church.) Oh God.

4. Do not include the word Fuck repeatedly in your conversations with other church members or in exclamation at The Fucking Coffeepot that you are still too Fucking drunk to operate at 7 in the Fucking a.m. after drinking The Whole Fucking Bottle of Effing Wine, or respectable people may become suspicious that you include this word on a regular basis in your home. Fuck me.

5. Bring distractions for the actual planned events. Pass notes. Take walks. Disturb your neighbors. Bring laptop for some Free Cell. Pay attention to exactly one activity because someone will surely ask you to drag your sorry ass in front of your congregation to tell what you learned. Hopefully the hangover will have passed by this time. I was not this lucky.

6. This may be the most important advice of all: Shut up. Seriously. We all know you don't get out much. Please do not make this point exagerated by way speaking so profusely that you have actual froth coming out of your mouth. See Also: Do not overshare SUPREMELY INAPPROPRIATE information with people you would like to make eye contact with in the future.

Fuckity fuck.

Hmmm

I am beginning to wonder if my children are going to turn out weird because of their mother's refusal to listen to any type of music that is either:

a. reasonably cool
b. remotely recent
c. not found under the labels of: folk, 70's, Regrettable Mid 90's, or Eccentric Soccer Mom's Who Listen to Weird Shit.

The Davey is no better and I remember how furious he was when I made fun of him for exposing her to Klezmer music before she was two. Yeah. We are weird.

So far Goldie's favorite songs are my favorite songs from my childhood that I listened to on last generation 45's on my Mickey Mouse record player. Those songs include children's classics like Juice Newton's Queen of Hearts, The Gambler, and anything and everything James Taylor or Bob Seger.

Maybe it is time to branch out as it is sort of starting to freak me out to watch the girls work on their Night Moves on the way to preschool.