celebrations

so many things to celebrate this week:
special first first day for Mr. J (complete with back-to-school-basket). 
a birthday for Mr. J that included cheeseburgers and fries for dinner. we are classy that way. 
a first day of preschool for Piglet. I did cry, in the car, a little. 
book group (so far, not loving mockingjay).


and now it's goodbye to August and greetings to September. and already I can sense autumn in the air, whispering on the morning chill and evening breezes. it's coming. but not before we say goodbye to summer altogether, with some more celebrating. and at our house, special occasions call for a sparkling, but completely unleaded, beverage. even piglet enjoyed his in a goblet, which he felt necessitated several toasts. how does he know these things? 

almost worth it

it's almost worth sending Mr. J out of town for a week if he brings home cake.

and if, in his absence, grand friends whisk one of my little ones off on an evening adventure involving big trucks, trailers, farm equipment and horses. Henceforth referred to as the rodeo. because, in his words, "merrill loves me."

newly shorn

and one person in this house is not happy about it and might have cried just a little bit and felt a little bit queasy watching it happen and might feel a pang of heartache every time she looks at his nearly hairless (albeit nicely shaped) noggin. those darned clippers in Mr. J's hands erased some of the little and cute from my boy. But I was outnumbered and that boy seems to like his fuzzy head. and the resulting attention from friends and neighbors.

now when he is naughty, he looks the part.

love for daddy

On the docket today: a new frisbee, a picnic, rocky road brownies, plus a little red sox action on the television to make Mr. J happy. We like the daddy in this house. Joyful shouts and excited wiggles abound each afternoon when the familiar sound of daddy's keys at the door is heard.  The daddy in this house is one who willingly snuggles, wipes, feeds, teases, plays, reads, comforts, and sometimes scolds. The reacher of out of reach things, procurer of prizes, preparer of precious pancakes and perfect grilled cheese sandwiches. He is the daddy. The daddy we love. Even though nobody looks very thrilled about things in this photo:

maybe next time at least one of my guys will cooperate for the camera.

a moose says...

well, I'm not sure what a moose says, but we made a few silly moose for father's day. last year's were a big hit with daddy and grandpas, so we did a redux with butterscotch pudding & googly eyes.  needless to say, the leftovers were saved from waste by an eager three year old.

accomplished

We like goals around here, which I think is a good thing. Sure, one of us is a bit more into personal goals than the other, but as a whole we like a challenge, an object of focus and effort and discipline. Even Piglet is learning to achieve little personal milestones. And recently, Mr. J realized a big  life goal, one that he's been working toward since we met. A goal he shared with me on our first date. The fact that he had any goals in life at all, let alone ambitions and a plan of attack, set him leaps and bounds beyond other boys I dated. So I kept him.

In the 10 years since, we've traded places back and forth. For a while, his goals needed my support while my own took a back seat. Later, my goals were the focus. And later still, back to his. It's not been easy, but it's what you do when you are married. Sometimes we just have to pick up the slack for each other. I'm not very good at it, but I try. The past four years have required more patience than I normally can muster. More sacrifices than most girls like. More loneliness than some would choose. Very few breaks from the grind of reality. I knew (hoped?) all these little trials would be temporary, but sometimes it was really difficult to stay positive. Blindly moving forward in support of Mr. J and his goal without knowing when it would really come to fruition. Stumbling through repeated frustrations sustained only by hope and hard work. Putting all our little ducks in a row, putting other dreams on hold, Mr. J doing all he could, garnering the precursory honors, then realizing the remainder must be left to the powers that be.

And now the prize is his. Mr. J made the plan, he did the work. He did it well. He paid his dues over and over again. He never lost sight of the distant goal, never quit on his objective though often it seemed forever just barely out of reach. It's in his hands now. (No, it's not glamorous). And he is happy (sacrifices well worth it). And I am proud. And it feels so very grown up, yet slightly goofy, and even anticlimactic. But good.

Now maybe I'll train for that marathon.

Or half marathon.

Or how about a 5k?

my romance

...doesn't have to have a moon in the sky. To be honest, my romance...isn't so romantic. It isn't marked by lavish bouquets or luxurious jewels or jet-setting weekends at posh resorts. No champagne and caviar, no box seats at the opera, no ostentatious textbook Valentine-iness. My romance isn't measured by expense or extravagance or gushing love notes. It doesn't include La Perla, or even breakfast in bed. No vampires or Mr. Darcy nor any Rhett Butlers, neither Sir Lancelot. In fact, most wouldn't consider my romance romantic. But it's mine, my own kind of romantic.

Instead of declarations in diamonds and furs, I find romance hiding, sneaking about in the daily grind. It's in the trash cans, that make their way to the curb each Monday morning while I'm still snuggled up in bed. It's in the weekend pancakes. It's there on the nights he says, "just go, I'll hold down the fort."  Even though I'm pretty sure that means keeping the babies concussion-free while he watches football on TV. Still, it's there. When he checks the used-book store weekly for my next favorite novel. When I take an interest in "the playoffs" or Garth Brooks' Vegas debut or the inspiration behind Gus McCray and Woodrow Call. In the late night runs to the drugstore on my behalf. Now that's true love if ever there was. 

Romance echoes in the sacrifices we make for his talents. In text-ing him the latest milestones on the home front while he's away. In organizing his dresser drawers for the 857th time though 48 hours will have proven my efforts in vain. In watching Masterpiece Theatre with me in a blue moon.  In every trip he makes to the post office simply so I don't have to.  In surprise valentine balloons for the little boys. My romance is dotted with his shameless encouragement in my new challenges and gilded with the silly games and testosterone bonding between one daddy and his two little boys. 

I'm not sure what champagne and FTD really have to do with romance at all, really. I suppose they are romanticized ideas of what makes romance romantic, and I suppose they are all romantically nice things. I certainly wouldn't object to the occasional Godiva or gigantic bundle of stargazer lillies. But, even if it means eating leftover chocolate cake for breakfast and calling it romantic or if it means making do instead of living large, I suppose I'll hang on to this romance, this romance of mine.

number 9

Happy Anniversary, Mr. J

9 years...you do the math

1 girl

1 boy

1 dress

1 diamond

1 morning

1 december

1 day

1 for time an all eternity

1 new beginning

it all adds up to

1000s of moments

100s of laughs

100s of tears

9 years

8 vacations

7 semesters

4 moves

2 little boys

1 love of my life

brrrrrr

It never occurred to me that I would ever live in a place where school gets cancelled because it's too cold outside.  I'm beginning to wonder exactly how it happened that I landed in Idaho, where one can actually be too cool for school.

When I married Mr. J, I naively and stubbornly stated that I would follow him anywhere but the mid-west because it's just too flippity flippin cold out there.  I know Idaho isn't the mid-west geographically speaking, yet, here I am, anticipating that in the morning, it will be too cold outside for kids to go to school. Which makes the fourth rule-of-my-life I've broken since meeting Mr. J: Never live in the midwest (or anything like unto it). Ugh.

On the bright side, if the kids don't have school tomorrow, neither does he! Hooray!

School Days: Travel Studies

Travel Studies: Wrong Track

via travelin oma's school days

Homework: Do any or all or be inspired.

~Have you ever been lost? How did you get found? Write about a travel experience (or a life experience) where you needed help finding your way back. Prompt: "I didn't realize I was lost until______."

~Remember a time you felt a connection to a stranger in a strange place. Start a paragraph with this sentence: "I never found out his name, but I won't forget how__________."

~Read a journal entry you wrote a few years ago. Let your heart visit that place and time, remember what you learned, and realize how far you've come since then.

I didn't realize, at least not completely, that I really was lost until that night. Attempting denial so I could pretend to be in control of my world, totally with it, hip, happenin'. Looking for love (or validation or purpose or contentment) in all the wrong places, as the song goes. Then he showed up. So much planning and effort on his part for a special evening, though we were practically strangers. Alas, his best laid plans unravelled at every turn. Not fault of his own, I knew that. I found a certain charm, and felt a sense of pride, at his flustered words and frustrated attempts at a night on the town. I did my best to help move the evening along in such a way he wouldn't feel like and absolute fool. Let's face it, he just wasn't all that smooth. It was a little funny though. And sweet.

It was easy with him. Talking, sitting, driving that night from one end of town to the other. Just being. I suddenly didn't have to be more this way or less that way, or think this thought or say that or avoid saying something else. I didn't have to try harder or pretend more. Perhaps because I secretly sensed he was nearly putty in my hands, perhaps because he was just that genuine. He wasn't strutting about or fanning his feathers. He was just there. With me. Hanging on my every word. Treating me like he thought I was all that and a bucket of chicken. Treating me as a gentleman should, though completely without airs.

I knew by the end of that night that he loved me. I knew it before he knew it. No longer coasting restlessly. No longer wandering aimlessly through empty relationship after pompous fool after weak-minded oaf after spoiled dope. No longer bouncing from superficial to silly to aimless. No longer lost in the dark hallways of anxiety and self doubt. No longer hesitant or afraid to be found, to be loved. Just as I was. I knew it that night. I didn't want to know it--where would be the drama and thrills if I had the answer? But still, I knew it. Safety. Warmth. Kindness. Just love. Found. And now he's stuck with me.

Happy Birthday, Babe

a very happy birthday to one handsome Mr. J

sweetheart to one lucky gal, super hero to two lucky little boys

surprises, wishes, cake and birthday spankings coming your way.

xoxoxo

happy first day of school

this morning's project: assembling Mr. J's back to school basket of love. from here it needs a few additions--more apples, a special treat, a celebratory sparkly drink (mini martinelli's when I can find it). then some fluffing and fussing and arranging just-so. then ready to be specially-delivered by the wife and kids/fan club at lunch time.

it's a tradition. a small gesture that says I'm so glad Mr. J loves his job and it's too bad summer ended so soon and I'm so glad to get our routine back and the house back and isn't the first day of school wonderful and have a wonderful year and we love you. each year I toss in a few favorites and essentials and the bouquet of pencils, because doesn't everyone love that line from that movie?

make your bed!

Shortly after Mr. J and I tied the knot, Mr. J claimed he didn't know how to make the bed.

?

!

It was a "what have I done?" moment in my marriage. I got over it, but still, didn't everyone learn to make their bed by say, age 6?

So he didn't know how to make the bed. Tucking in the sheet corners was a foreign concept altogether. (As was setting the table, I learned later). Doesn't everyone do hospital corners?

There is the sneaking suspicion he only claimed these shortcomings as a way to avoid responsibility. Hmmmm. But, he does mow the lawn, take out the trash, and build shelves. And he did eventually learn how to make the bed. I guess I'll keep him.

birthday love

Mr. J had this pretty bauble custom done for my birthday and it just arrived. I adore it. 3 little tags, one each for the names of my 3 guys. It's perfect. I just might wear it every day.

Custom done by Lisa Leonard. Shop here. Blog here. Inspiring and lovely.

thanks, babe. it topped off my day.

and what a happy day it was: pedis with Katie, courtesy of Grandma Krissy. Mr. J did housework (honest!) and watched the babies so I could enjoy the afternoon. And we made baked beans and brownies (complete with spoon-licking) for tomorrow's festivities.

Ocho

8 years, 3 apartments, 2 houses, 1.5 little boys, a dozen or so trips, a gazillion little moments,

1 you

Happy Anniversary to my B

you get me when nobody else does. or maybe everyone else just sees the true crazy and you secretly find the crazy very attractive and let me keep thinking I'm sane. don't tell me. but if you want to give me a present, that would be ok. xoxo

such a kidder

my husband, B, is an amputee. Specifically, he's missing most of his left pinky finger. Not much in the big picture of amputations. I rarely notice and it's never bothered me. His lack of finger has come in handy in his line of work: he teaches adolescents.  In past years the loss of his precious pinky has been attributed to nose picking, freak farm accidents, slammed car doors (he actually let a date believe she had slammed the door on his finger...), paper-cutters, ("my sixth grade teacher slammed my finger in the paper cutter because I wouldn't stop talking in class" he says), an Amazon pirhana (note: he's never been anywhere near the Amazon), and so on. And today, he managed to traumatize half a dozen neighbor kids with a good look at what's left of his finger. 

While enjoying our nightly evening stroll with M, we stopped to chat with Miss Joy, in whose yard the neighbor kids had congregated. Ages 5-10ish. They had all turned their bikes upside down and were spinning the tires around as fast as the could. Miss Joy, an experienced mother, sensed potential injuries and asked them to stop. No avail. B rose to the occasion and said "Look! This is what happens to kids that spin their bike tires around like that!" Naturally curious, the kids swarmed him to observe his hand and quickly stepped backward, wide-eyed and panic stricken. One managed a look of total perplexity. It really was quite funny. Silently, they picked up their bikes and rode off down the street, periodically cruising by very slowly trying to get another peek at B's mutant pinky. I'm certain they've all been traumatized. We had a good laugh at their expense. Parents, please forgive my husband. He means well. 

What really happened to the finger? It's a long and uninteresting story. Leave it to the imagination.

Daddies

Happy Father's Day to the best daddies I'll ever know!

devoted, diligent, faithful, wise, generous, always learning, crazy about his grandkids

charming, patient, devoted, kind, fun-loving, intelligent, silly, warm

The Basement Chronicles

Framing check

Plumbing check

Electrical check

Sheet rock check

Trim check

Primer check

*nothing like a fluffy white ninja armed with a paint sprayer to make a woman swoon.

Trim painted check

Which brings us to the final stages of the taking-way-too-long basement completion.

Tues: paint ceiling

Weds: paint walls

Weekend: tile & vanity

Next Tues: carpet

Next Weds: pull-it-all-together marathon

I can't believe there is an end in sight. An end scheduled in ink on my calendar. It's real. Practically giddy with anticipation. Next Wednesday will be a very very good day indeed.

We meet again, Doctor Jones

I'm looking forward to May 22nd.

Mr. J has promised me an official date to the official movie theater, with the official Raisinettes,  officially together.  This will require an official babysitter.

Just for THIS

*click  above to view trailer*

the theme music gives me goosebumps every time!

sparks flew...

I love New Year's Eve. I love the promise of a New Year, a clean slate, and 365 days waiting to be filled with triumphs and laughter and obstacles and memories. I love the revelry of this night, even though these days our New Year's Eve reveling is done here at home in our pajamas. December 31st holds special meaning for B and I: we met on this evening 8 years ago. And sparks flew. At least that's what B says. We always try to recognize this night in some little special way, usually avoiding any intoxicated crowds and just staying home with a fun dinner, treats, and Martinelli's sparkling cider. We're really going crazy this year with sparkling apple-grape. I know, we're completely out of control.

Tonight we'll be having a late dinner, assorted artery-clogging snacks, sparkling beverage and these little treats which are a favorite in our house. I found the recipe in In-Style magazine a few years ago and they are always a big hit!

Peanut Butter Butterscotch Squares

• 1/2 cup light corn syrup
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1/2 cup peanut butter
• 3 cups corn flakes
• 2/3 cup butterscotch morsels, melted
• 1/3 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips, melted (I like to use just a bit more)

Combine corn syrup and sugar in a medium saucepan, bring to a boil over medium heat. Remove from heat once sugar is dissolved. Stir in peanut butter and corn flakes, spread in 8x8 inch baking dish coated with non-stick spray. Spread melted butterscotch morsels over the top and chill. Once the butterscotch is firm, drizzle with melted semi-sweet chocolate and chill again until chocolate is set. Cut into 2 inch squares and enjoy!

M will be sound asleep by 7:30pm, then we'll pop in a DVD, and kick back with the food and treats. (I think that's all we've done the past week!) We'll make a list of goals for 2008 together (I LOVE making lists, I LOVE crossing things off of said lists, I love NYE for all the year-in-review lists). Hopefully there will be some sparks, too. ;)

Happy New Year!