Things I miss

Right this moment I miss April and May. Not because I'm melting in the heat of the southern summer. I've got no complaints on that front except that I wish I had a pool in my backyard.

What I miss is awesome photographic opportunities like this. When I walk across the yard to check my mail the brown grass crunches under my feet. This doesn't bother me so much except that I really wish, when I look around, that there were a few more trees blossoming. I wish that the pathetic flower pots on my porch weren't filled with shriveled up brown plants. I suppose I could remedy that situation, but there's nothing I can do to replace the blooms that don't require any effort on my part, and those are the ones I miss the most. Not because they don't take any effort, but because they are far more beautiful and bountiful than my sad little planters. I miss the opportunities to capture the intricacies of God's creation. The crusty brown height of summer lacks that special something that comes with spring.

Ch-ch--ch-changes

I know the face of my blog keeps changing. You're going to have to bear with me until I find something that makes me happy and doesn't annoy my critics. Jim didn't like the white space around my headers. Laura didn't like the liquid effect when changing window sizes. And I just thought the dogwood header was too friggin' big. I'd gotten sick of the old gray background and thought it was time for a change. If I'm going to renew my efforts here then I want to be looking at something I will enjoy, too.

Funny I used the word "effort." Since I started up again it's actually been pretty easy. I actually had a conversation with L about this earlier, I don't feel like blogging should be an effort. I think it should flow naturally. What I post are my thoughts, regurgitated back in whatever jumble they occur to me. I'm not a planner when it comes to blogging, although occasionally I might write something and find it unsatisfactory and save the draft for another time. I'm just going to keep throwing out whatever occurs to me in the heat of the moment. I think it works well for me.

Feedback is always welcome buy it doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to change anything. HA!

Bite it.

When I was a kid I used to bite my fingernails. I made a conscious decision to stop when I was around eleven years old. My aunt Laney always had pretty long nails and always, always had them painted. I wanted fingernails like Laney. With the force of sheer willpower I made myself stop biting my nails. I distinctly remember how proud I was when I accomplished that feat. I could actually see white at the tips of my nails.

Adrienne could grow her nails 3 feet long without a second thought about how long they were getting. No nail biting, just chips and breaks from digging in the dirt like a normal 7 year old.

Genevieve and Charlotte both bite their nails. It's a bad habit, one which I've fought and conquered, and have always hoped they'd do the same on their own. But, with the even of Charlotte's finger infection this past weekend I decided to be a little more proactive about it.

I don't know if it's going to work. You hear success stories and others who say that it never stopped them. But I went ahead and spent the five bucks on this:



Today as I was applying the second coat (of a twice per week regimen) my curiosity got the better of me. I carefully slid some across my left index finger and allowed it to dry while I finished up the girls hands.

Bolstering myself for what I knew must be disgusting (it would have to be gross to actually work) I gingerly licked the tip of my fingernail. Holy. Shit. That was the most disgusting bitter thing I have ever tasted. I'd rather chew aspirin.

"The easy way to stop nail biting." If I hadn't already quit 20 years ago I'd sure as heck quit now. Blech.

whelmed

I don't know how I got to be the most important person in Matt's world. I am constantly befuddled by the thought, and yet it brings me endless pleasure. There is something terribly special about a man who works his ass off so you can have a comfortable life with all your needs met. A man who comes home from long hours at work, often more than a regular 9 to 5, and proceeds to help take care of kids, change dirty diapers, clear tables and take out trash, and even help with dishes after dinner. Maybe he doesn't do every one of those tasks every day, but he always does them without complaint.

Just thinking about him overwhelms me sometimes. Sometimes when he's at work I miss him, I feel it as an ache deep within my heart and soul. And then he walks in the door and he's amazing and goofy and perfect. He calls our three year old Bob and wrestles with the five year old. He writes books with our seven year old. He cuddles with the baby and puts him down for a nap. This life couldn't possibly get any better. He is such a good father. I am so thankful that I found such a good man to raise a family with. He told me the other day he likes having kids with me. I asked him, incredulously, "you like having kids with me, or making kids with me?" He said both. I'm still not sure what he meant by "having." But he's definitely pulling his weight on the parenting thing so I guess whatever he meant it works.

I love watching him with the kids and listening to their conversations. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside when I see him teach them funny little tricks, or invents new games with them. They have such big imaginations. Father and children so much alike. They love it when he composes songs and stories about them on the fly. I try but I am a poor substitute. Daddy's stories rule, and his songs are longer and funnier than Mom's. Sometimes I think the only thing I really have going for me is that I can cook better than he can.

i need to do this more often

I just went back and read my very first entry on this blog. And as I was reading I thought "dang, I am good!" Why the heck don't I write like that anymore? I don't know if it's because I lack time or if I am too lazy... maybe it's the stinker kids who won't stay in bed. Or the sink full of dishes that needs to be loaded in the dishwasher. It may yet be the toys and books on the living room floor. Or the load of laundry I left in the dryer.

Right now, right this second, I am going to say screw all that stuff that needs to be done. I am going to take 15 minutes and waste it on something for myself. I'm not washing cars or edging patio sidewalks. I'm sitting and letting words flow from my fingers. I don't have a specific thought or contemplation tonight and I think that's ok. I'm going to take this time to just BE.

Xander is pretty well determined to break this up for me. Little turd.

I think I am at a point in my life where I am pretty much content. I mean, there are things I want or need materially, but when I think about things I want to do or places I want to see I really don't have any particular goals lined up. I am happy doing what I'm doing right where I am. Eventually the where will change, but I don't believe the what will be altered all that much. The reason why I have such contentment in my life can really be attributed to one thing. One person.

Matthew.

Everything he does, everything he has worked for and become, has been for us. He works so hard to make our lives better. I take that for granted far too often. I have to remind myself not to. Not everyone out there is lucky enough to have an ideal marriage. I know some people think I sound naive but they don't know Matthew. If they did they would understand why, underneath all the minor irritations, my life is pretty much awesome.

A few months ago we went to a ball and I had a long talk with a guy Matthew works with. He and his wife were having some problems and it broke my heart. They have babies and I just thought how awful for those innocent little ones to be stuck in the middle of this. When Matthew and I got back to our hotel room I wept for that family. He told me "Honey, you can't fix everyone."

He was right, of course. I know not all marriages last (my parents divorced after 25 years). I can't change anyone, I can't make them treat their spouse better, or make them work harder to have a happy home life. But what I can do is work together with my husband to make our home life as happy and healthy as we possibly can. For us and for our children. I pray that each one of them finds the same happiness in their vocation that I have. I pray that my son grows up to be as good a man as his father is, and that my daughters surpass me (because I know my flaws, but I don't know any men better than my husband). I pray that I don't fail them.

Like father, like daughter

Adrienne so so her father's daughter.

Matt has this bad habit of ripping (literally) the tags off the inside of his shirts because he doesn't like the way it feels. This usually leaves a hole in the back at the collar. He doesn't like to cut the tag because it leaves a tiny bit there and he can still feel it.

He is weird. And so is his daughter.

Adrienne came up to me tonight, as she occasionally does, and told me that the tag on her shirt was rubbing her neck and it didn't feel good. I cut it off for her. At least she can still be appeased without ripping holes into her clothing. haha

Nail biters. Argh.

Today I had to run Charlotte up to the ER urgent care clinic. Nothing serious. She has a paronychia infection on her finger (probably from biting her fingernails). Thursday I noticed it was a little red. Friday it was a tiny bit swollen and I discovered the evidence of infection so I cleaned it and put on some Neosporin. This morning when we woke up her finger was pretty swollen at the tip and redder than yesterday. Since I'd already cleaned it out and had been topically treating it and it looked worse they put her on oral antibiotics. It's a pretty common infection but when I saw it was swollen I didn't want to risk it getting really bad. Charlotte doesn't seem to notice the difference. She's a pretty tough girl. The hardest part of her recovery is going to be keeping her dang fingers out of her mouth and nose. I already bought that nail biter funky polish and applied it to both Charlotte and Genevieve's nails. I hope it works.

Red books.

True story:

"Genevieve, pick up this red cup and put it out in the kitchen."

. . .

Five minutes later.

"GENEVIEVE! I told you to pick up this red book and put it out in the kitchen. You moved from one side of the room to the other and didn't pick it up! And by 'book' I mean 'cup'!"

She picked up the cup and put it in the sink.

S-m-r-t

My son is a doll. I am enjoying watching him grow, seeing all the funny little things he does.

When Xander wants a drink he likes to drop his pacifier inside the cup before he drinks up. It's a very deliberate action. Pulls the paci out, looks at it, drops it in the cup, looks in the cup, takes a drink.

He also has been helping me get diapers when it's time for a change. Unfortunately if the dirty diaper is handy he seems to think this is a viable option when I say "Go get a diaper!"

I'm lazy

So in the last several months my blogging has taken a major nosedive. I also started up a twitter account because my friend asked me to so she'd have more followers. She fell off the tweet wagon and I'm still lounging around. Not super prolifically, I have been told that I leave people hanging.

But, in order to try and get back into the swing of blogging I intend to start off using my blog along the same lines I use twitter. I can elaborate a little more. And hopefully this blog will be slightly less neglected.

Laundry was never so fun

As I was unloading the dryer this evening and sorting out the clothing Charlotte decided to help me. After tossing out a few shirts she leaned into the open door and called in "Hello! Are you in there!? Is there a party in here?!"

She slays me.