Robitussin High
Mr Robitussin, What in the hell are you selling? I got up at 10 and took 2 tsp of your cough concoction. I don't remeber walking back to the bedroom. Right after the awful taste there was a fabulous black out period. I don't even remeber falling asleep. I woke up at 3 wandering where the hell I was? I stumbled to the bathroom and thought I 'd be able to go back to sleep when I got back in bed, WRONG.
The good news- I am not couhging. The bad news-I am not sleeping. I have cotton mouth something awful and my heart is a little fast. I hate medicine. It always has this lovely effect on me. I am tired I know I should be passed out for 2 more hours.
I figured I'd get up before my tossing and turning woke Brad up, yeah right. I have laid in the bed for an hour and a half with my eyes closed but it ain't working. I am trying to shut down my brain and quit thinking. I am really trying to quit singing the stupid song that is embeded in my head right now. When I wake up at night it's like a record is skipping, playing the same section of song over and over in my mind. Tomorrow it'll be a different one at least.
What is so important that I must be up and thinking? Power Yoga. We have a daycare appointment and will be at the gym at 7:50. I love yoga. Makes me feel good, good and sore, but good. Maybe I will be able to lay down when Turner naps. That would be nice to catch a couple of hours of sleep, but I don't think it'll happen. I can't sleep in the day time. My eye lids are too thin. Even a little bit of light wakes me up, much less the noon day sun.
Turner is the same way. He is a very light sleeper. Brad has to park his truck on the street instead of in the driveway so it doesn't wake Turner up when he leaves to go to work. I can't just open the door and check on him either. Any noise out of the ordinary and his head pops up. I hate this for him. I know what lies ahead and it's not a lot of peaceful nights.
I got this from my dad. He can't sleep for crap either. He got it from his mom who would sit up at night worrying about ziplock bags. Why couldn't I have gotten the amazingly thick healthy hair gene?
I woryy that I am passing some of my bad habbits to Turner too. To me they're not bad, rather annoying. I am a little OCD. I have rules for life, dressing, eating, just about anything, you name it and I have some preconcieved notion of how it "should be". I am not a clean freak. But when I clean I am freaky about it. I stripped the floors yesterday. Yes the same floors that I scrubbed while on my hands and knees last weekend. But it wasn't good enough they needed to be cleaner. Turner cried b/c I wouldn't let him wear latex gloves, he cried b/c he couldn't come in the kitchen, and he cried b/c he couldn't help clean.
Now I know that most of this is just him wanting to do what Mommy's doing. But I worry, it's what I'm good at. Turner picks up his clothes and puts them in the dirty clothes basket. We wash our hands after going potty and before eating or touching food. He knows the system of the pantry and what food goes in what space on which shelf. None of these are bad things. I think being organized makes life easier. I also know that I organize my closet to go from sleevless to long sleeve, with a whole system of color arrangement and placement according to the style of the garment. Yes, I can tell when I am a complete nut job. I spent an hour not too long ago doing this whole "closet craziness" in Brad's closet. Everything re-hung to face the same direction, sorted into a work side and a not work side, colors grouped together, all pants and jeans refolded, belts rolled up and put in their basket, and shoes clean and in each of their spots. Oh, what a good mood I was in for a week. I know technically I could just hang things where ever and it would be OK, but the thought of it makes me want to hurl.
Now I watch my craziness in a different way. I don't want to make Turnr OCD. Nobody likes a cleaning Nazi. But I am also aiming to make him the world's best grown man, and if he chooses best husband. Hey, if he can put his dirty clothes in the hamper before his second birthday he is light years ahead of his father.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
ER . 2
So this is ER visit # 2 for Turner B. His first was right after we moved into this house. He pushed through the gate at the top of our deck and fell down a flight of redwood stairs. When I picked him up he was bleeding from the mouth. Long story short- he was fine just tore the connector thing that attaches your upper lip to you gums.
Tonight was much less dramatic. Brad got home early from work, we ate super and I was cleaning up the kitchen. Turner was literally under my feet. Brad came to pick him up and go play. When he stood up I noticed Turner's eye was red. Figured he poked himself, then I washed it out with salien solution.
I give him his bath and his eye is getting worse, the lids are starting to swell. I peel them apart and his eyeball is very swollen. We hurriedly get dressed and head to the instcare.
We register, tell the receptionist that he has an irratated eye etc. We sit, and it is apparent there will be a wait. Brad and I look him over and decide his eye is getting worse very fast. This is when Brad's scary gruff side comes in handy. He goes up speaks to the receptionist again. Not 20 seconds later one of the doctors is out look at T's eye and we are brought back.
Well, we hold Turner down and the doc looks as best he can. Doesn't see anything in it. Comes back and wants to give Turner a sedative so he can get a better look. So we hold him down again and he gets a shot.
This is Brad's first time watching someone give Turner a shot. Turner and I are old hats at this. But it sucks every time. Turner is a sweet charming boy and talking to everyone the whole time. Well we look again and decide that nothing is stuck in my baby's eye -good news. Bad- we don't know what is giving him this reaction. It is scarry, but mommy and papa can't act scared and make Turner nervous.
When I say swollen eye, let me explain. The whites of his eye were swelling to the point of over lapping the blue iris. Bad red swelling, scary as hell. The doctor gave Turner an injection of a powerful antihistamine. Within 5 minutes his eye started going down again, thank God. The doctor thinks he had localized anafalaxis, a bad allergic reaction to who knows what? We stayed a few minutes and it kept going down. We were sent home with a scrip for the antihistamine and a red eyed boy.
Now I know why my parents looked so sick anytime they had to bring Tabba or I to the emergency room. When they shut my hand in the door of our van they looked worried, but nothing like an ER visit with Tabba. I was little, don't remember exactly what happened. She had a high fever, was really out of it and we rushed her in. My mom and dad looked so bad that I was really scared. They couldn't fake acting OK, not even to a six year old big sister. I know now that they thought she may have had meningitis. Thankfully she did not.
Being helpless to protect the one person you would give your life for is a miserable feeling. Being a parent means literally being powerless. We can cook the foods that are healthy, we can buy the best carseats and put them in the safest vehicles, we can make them wear gloves in the winter and sunscreen in the summer, but we cannot protect them from freak accidents or horrible illnesses.
I am over protective, I know this and I am totally OK with it. I get it honest. My parents are two of the most over protective people I know. I thank God that they are. It's why I made it through 3 bad car wrecks, and Tabba a couple too. We wear our seat belts, just like mom and dad. We lock our doors, b/c we have been told to do so almost everyday of our lives. I will make Turner do all of these things and a million more. If I could have a lojack installed on him I would.
My life will be spent trying to keep him as safe as I know how. I will irratate the ever living shit out of him, just like my mom and dad did for me. I now realize that they weren't trying to bug me. They just loved me so much that they saw the danger that could've been around every corner, and tried to protect me from it.
So Turner will put up with a hovering mom, no privacy, being reminded to buckle up-even when he already has, and take his vitamins. The thought of anything happening to him makes me quiet and still like peering into a darkness that I fear I would never return from. I know God only gives you what you can handle. I hope he knows that I can't handle much.
When I see people I used to know, and they have kids now, I know why they look older. Those who remain childless age too but it's different. Once I became a mom my mind never stopped. Everything in the world has to be looked at from a different angle. You see the potential for evil and are surprised by the good in people. The "Weight of the world on you shoulders" is just that. It the world that you try to hold back from your kids. Only filter through the good and safe and keep the rest at bay. I know that there are so many things that I will not be able to protect him from. Hate, rejection, bias, God forbid-car wrecks and illness. So I will work as hard as I can to keep him safe from the things I can prevent and hope the rest will side step him
Tonight was much less dramatic. Brad got home early from work, we ate super and I was cleaning up the kitchen. Turner was literally under my feet. Brad came to pick him up and go play. When he stood up I noticed Turner's eye was red. Figured he poked himself, then I washed it out with salien solution.
I give him his bath and his eye is getting worse, the lids are starting to swell. I peel them apart and his eyeball is very swollen. We hurriedly get dressed and head to the instcare.
We register, tell the receptionist that he has an irratated eye etc. We sit, and it is apparent there will be a wait. Brad and I look him over and decide his eye is getting worse very fast. This is when Brad's scary gruff side comes in handy. He goes up speaks to the receptionist again. Not 20 seconds later one of the doctors is out look at T's eye and we are brought back.
Well, we hold Turner down and the doc looks as best he can. Doesn't see anything in it. Comes back and wants to give Turner a sedative so he can get a better look. So we hold him down again and he gets a shot.
This is Brad's first time watching someone give Turner a shot. Turner and I are old hats at this. But it sucks every time. Turner is a sweet charming boy and talking to everyone the whole time. Well we look again and decide that nothing is stuck in my baby's eye -good news. Bad- we don't know what is giving him this reaction. It is scarry, but mommy and papa can't act scared and make Turner nervous.
When I say swollen eye, let me explain. The whites of his eye were swelling to the point of over lapping the blue iris. Bad red swelling, scary as hell. The doctor gave Turner an injection of a powerful antihistamine. Within 5 minutes his eye started going down again, thank God. The doctor thinks he had localized anafalaxis, a bad allergic reaction to who knows what? We stayed a few minutes and it kept going down. We were sent home with a scrip for the antihistamine and a red eyed boy.
Now I know why my parents looked so sick anytime they had to bring Tabba or I to the emergency room. When they shut my hand in the door of our van they looked worried, but nothing like an ER visit with Tabba. I was little, don't remember exactly what happened. She had a high fever, was really out of it and we rushed her in. My mom and dad looked so bad that I was really scared. They couldn't fake acting OK, not even to a six year old big sister. I know now that they thought she may have had meningitis. Thankfully she did not.
Being helpless to protect the one person you would give your life for is a miserable feeling. Being a parent means literally being powerless. We can cook the foods that are healthy, we can buy the best carseats and put them in the safest vehicles, we can make them wear gloves in the winter and sunscreen in the summer, but we cannot protect them from freak accidents or horrible illnesses.
I am over protective, I know this and I am totally OK with it. I get it honest. My parents are two of the most over protective people I know. I thank God that they are. It's why I made it through 3 bad car wrecks, and Tabba a couple too. We wear our seat belts, just like mom and dad. We lock our doors, b/c we have been told to do so almost everyday of our lives. I will make Turner do all of these things and a million more. If I could have a lojack installed on him I would.
My life will be spent trying to keep him as safe as I know how. I will irratate the ever living shit out of him, just like my mom and dad did for me. I now realize that they weren't trying to bug me. They just loved me so much that they saw the danger that could've been around every corner, and tried to protect me from it.
So Turner will put up with a hovering mom, no privacy, being reminded to buckle up-even when he already has, and take his vitamins. The thought of anything happening to him makes me quiet and still like peering into a darkness that I fear I would never return from. I know God only gives you what you can handle. I hope he knows that I can't handle much.
When I see people I used to know, and they have kids now, I know why they look older. Those who remain childless age too but it's different. Once I became a mom my mind never stopped. Everything in the world has to be looked at from a different angle. You see the potential for evil and are surprised by the good in people. The "Weight of the world on you shoulders" is just that. It the world that you try to hold back from your kids. Only filter through the good and safe and keep the rest at bay. I know that there are so many things that I will not be able to protect him from. Hate, rejection, bias, God forbid-car wrecks and illness. So I will work as hard as I can to keep him safe from the things I can prevent and hope the rest will side step him
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
One of my happiest days...
So today started just like so many other truely happy days. Woke up to Turner calling for Mama. We ate breakfast together while watching the best of Sesame St. We got dressed and headed to Becky's house. The kids played, the mommies painted and talked, a good start to any day.
We all had lunch together, how great to look around the table at faces I adore? Then Turner and I went home. He fell asleep on the way, which gave me a quiet moment to talk to my favorite Aunt. I carried my sleeping angel up the stairs and tucked him in. He slept and I cooked homade spaghetti for my honey's supper.
I got a call from Nikki. It makes my day when she calls from work. She misses me just like I miss her. Turner woke up and we played in the back yard for hours. We even called Mimi K and he talked up a storm. After he almost fell asleep in the swing we came in just in time to catch a call from Tunia and Booyah. Have I mentioned before how much I love my mom and dad?
Capped the phone calls off with a conversation about absolutely nothing with my sister. This is my favorite way of talking with Tabba. Not rushed, not about anything important, but just talking, being sisters. Could my day get any better?
Well, low and behold, in through the front door walks the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on. No not Mathew Mc.Conhehay or Johnny Depp. Brad- big, strong, and a little dirty- I personally go nuts for how he looks after a long day of work. Me and the men in my life sit down to dinner together as a family .
So today I have spent time with friends, played with my baby boy, talked to all of the ppl I love but can't visit everyday, and been thrilled to see my husband come home safe from work. My cup runneth over,but it gets so much better. Right after supper and watering the roses Turner is climbing in my lap and I ask him to say Mommy. I ask this everyday and everyday he smiles and says Mama. He can say or repeat anything but has never had the inclination to call me Mommy. But today he named me his Mommy! It is the sweetest thing I have ever heard. I wanted him to call me mommy from the get go but it didn't happen. Brad calls me Mama and Turner followed suit.
Brad is not wild about "mommy". He says it makes him sound like a baby. Hello, is he not still a baby? But he already wants him to be a tough boy, not a mama's boy. I understand, but I have a right to be Mommy if only for a short time. I know he'll out grow "mommy" then I'll be Mama again then down to Mom. Does the shortening of our name correlate to their lessening need of us? It doesn't matter because I am Mommy right now and so blessed to be such.
I have been doing some thinking, I know, watch out that could be dangerous. But my thinking goes like this: Women are born with X amount of eggs. Period the end, you don't get more. So these eggs are with us from birth. To which I take to mean that Turner has been with me all my life. Or at least what was to become Turner. I love this idea. He has been mine since I became my mother's. Is this why it took so long for me to realize that he was actually a seperate person from me? I didn't leave him ever, not for a single minute til he was 3 months old and my mom, dad and sister kept him for an hour. I was terrified. But he survived and didn't even miss me.
So he has always been a part of me. I hope I will always be a part of him. I hope he doesn't out grow me. I don't care what he calls me, so long as he keeps calling me.
We all had lunch together, how great to look around the table at faces I adore? Then Turner and I went home. He fell asleep on the way, which gave me a quiet moment to talk to my favorite Aunt. I carried my sleeping angel up the stairs and tucked him in. He slept and I cooked homade spaghetti for my honey's supper.
I got a call from Nikki. It makes my day when she calls from work. She misses me just like I miss her. Turner woke up and we played in the back yard for hours. We even called Mimi K and he talked up a storm. After he almost fell asleep in the swing we came in just in time to catch a call from Tunia and Booyah. Have I mentioned before how much I love my mom and dad?
Capped the phone calls off with a conversation about absolutely nothing with my sister. This is my favorite way of talking with Tabba. Not rushed, not about anything important, but just talking, being sisters. Could my day get any better?
Well, low and behold, in through the front door walks the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes on. No not Mathew Mc.Conhehay or Johnny Depp. Brad- big, strong, and a little dirty- I personally go nuts for how he looks after a long day of work. Me and the men in my life sit down to dinner together as a family .
So today I have spent time with friends, played with my baby boy, talked to all of the ppl I love but can't visit everyday, and been thrilled to see my husband come home safe from work. My cup runneth over,but it gets so much better. Right after supper and watering the roses Turner is climbing in my lap and I ask him to say Mommy. I ask this everyday and everyday he smiles and says Mama. He can say or repeat anything but has never had the inclination to call me Mommy. But today he named me his Mommy! It is the sweetest thing I have ever heard. I wanted him to call me mommy from the get go but it didn't happen. Brad calls me Mama and Turner followed suit.
Brad is not wild about "mommy". He says it makes him sound like a baby. Hello, is he not still a baby? But he already wants him to be a tough boy, not a mama's boy. I understand, but I have a right to be Mommy if only for a short time. I know he'll out grow "mommy" then I'll be Mama again then down to Mom. Does the shortening of our name correlate to their lessening need of us? It doesn't matter because I am Mommy right now and so blessed to be such.
I have been doing some thinking, I know, watch out that could be dangerous. But my thinking goes like this: Women are born with X amount of eggs. Period the end, you don't get more. So these eggs are with us from birth. To which I take to mean that Turner has been with me all my life. Or at least what was to become Turner. I love this idea. He has been mine since I became my mother's. Is this why it took so long for me to realize that he was actually a seperate person from me? I didn't leave him ever, not for a single minute til he was 3 months old and my mom, dad and sister kept him for an hour. I was terrified. But he survived and didn't even miss me.
So he has always been a part of me. I hope I will always be a part of him. I hope he doesn't out grow me. I don't care what he calls me, so long as he keeps calling me.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Winds of change
Oh the wind is blowing tonight. Blowing in some changes. Changes to a diaper free winter. We have been back into the potty training circus. All week Turner has worn underwear, not the same pair all day, usually two or so but we're on the way.
While on this journey I have discovered a few things. It is harder to train two than one. One is almost two, one is almost 33. I marvel at what testosterone does to a body. It makes men men. It transforms sweet loving little boys into hairy sweaty men. It can take a skinny boney kid and make a brick wall of a man out of him.
With all it's amazing properties, testosterone does have a few draw backs. The most prominate is the inability to hit the toilet when urinating. This wonderous hormone clouds the mind with thoughts of "What's on Tv?" and the irresistable urge to turn to the right or left when the toilet is clearly dead center in front of you.
We women don't have these obstacles to over come. We sit and contemplate the meanings of life. Enjoy what is often our only time alone for the whole day, or what is never our time alone if we have a toddler. Regaurdless of audience, I have yet to hear of a husband complaining of his wife's habit of pissing on the floor.
I have this on my mind for good reason. I have been having back trouble for a couple weeks now. Gone to 3 different doctors. I am now going to physical therapy, or medieval torture, depends on which end of it your at. Anyway, it seems to be helping. So with a little relief from my back ache I hit the house work hard this week.
The floors, my arch enemy. Always there, always clinging to anything to strengthen their dirt aresenal. I came out swinging. First sweeping, attaking all hairs and papaer bits. Then mopping, die you bastard scuff marks. Did the battle fields of old smell like pinesol after a hard won victory?
Then the heavy artilary was brought out, the Dirtdevil. I spent Sunday afternoon prepairing her for war. Cleaned all of her filters, toothbrushed the inside of the canister, she was ready. I hit every carpeted inch of the 4 bedroom 3 bath 21 stair building that is our home. I was gaining ground.
I always save the bathrooms for last. Get good and dirty cleaning them, then get good and clean in a fresh bathroom. Turner and I share a bathroom. It went really quickly, about 7 minutes and it was fit for a queen and a prince. The guest bath downstairs was a piece of cake. It's never used, so it is more keeping legions of dust bunnies from taking up residience.
Now on to the dragon's liar, Brad's bathroom. My strategy is to take everything out. Take it off the couter tops, off the floor and out of the shower. That way there will be no casualties of a dropped toothbrush or a cologne bottled with splatter marks. The emptieness only makes it more apparent that I need a hasmat suit. I love him, I do, but if I clean up any more black beard clippings that are stuck in the clumps of tooth paste in the sink I may have reason for justifiable hommicide. How do you put tooth paste on your tooth brush, brush your teeth, and still have a completly intact glob of toothpaste to spit in the sink? It's the eighth wonder of the world.
I need to remind him that just by being married to me that his life has been extended for at least 10 years. I would, but he would tell me he'd rather die 10 years earlier than heave to listen to me bitch about how filthy he can be. Such is marriage. I have saved him from living in a biohazardous dump and he has filled my days with the never ending tasks of picking up behind him and being his domstic goddess.
While on this journey I have discovered a few things. It is harder to train two than one. One is almost two, one is almost 33. I marvel at what testosterone does to a body. It makes men men. It transforms sweet loving little boys into hairy sweaty men. It can take a skinny boney kid and make a brick wall of a man out of him.
With all it's amazing properties, testosterone does have a few draw backs. The most prominate is the inability to hit the toilet when urinating. This wonderous hormone clouds the mind with thoughts of "What's on Tv?" and the irresistable urge to turn to the right or left when the toilet is clearly dead center in front of you.
We women don't have these obstacles to over come. We sit and contemplate the meanings of life. Enjoy what is often our only time alone for the whole day, or what is never our time alone if we have a toddler. Regaurdless of audience, I have yet to hear of a husband complaining of his wife's habit of pissing on the floor.
I have this on my mind for good reason. I have been having back trouble for a couple weeks now. Gone to 3 different doctors. I am now going to physical therapy, or medieval torture, depends on which end of it your at. Anyway, it seems to be helping. So with a little relief from my back ache I hit the house work hard this week.
The floors, my arch enemy. Always there, always clinging to anything to strengthen their dirt aresenal. I came out swinging. First sweeping, attaking all hairs and papaer bits. Then mopping, die you bastard scuff marks. Did the battle fields of old smell like pinesol after a hard won victory?
Then the heavy artilary was brought out, the Dirtdevil. I spent Sunday afternoon prepairing her for war. Cleaned all of her filters, toothbrushed the inside of the canister, she was ready. I hit every carpeted inch of the 4 bedroom 3 bath 21 stair building that is our home. I was gaining ground.
I always save the bathrooms for last. Get good and dirty cleaning them, then get good and clean in a fresh bathroom. Turner and I share a bathroom. It went really quickly, about 7 minutes and it was fit for a queen and a prince. The guest bath downstairs was a piece of cake. It's never used, so it is more keeping legions of dust bunnies from taking up residience.
Now on to the dragon's liar, Brad's bathroom. My strategy is to take everything out. Take it off the couter tops, off the floor and out of the shower. That way there will be no casualties of a dropped toothbrush or a cologne bottled with splatter marks. The emptieness only makes it more apparent that I need a hasmat suit. I love him, I do, but if I clean up any more black beard clippings that are stuck in the clumps of tooth paste in the sink I may have reason for justifiable hommicide. How do you put tooth paste on your tooth brush, brush your teeth, and still have a completly intact glob of toothpaste to spit in the sink? It's the eighth wonder of the world.
I need to remind him that just by being married to me that his life has been extended for at least 10 years. I would, but he would tell me he'd rather die 10 years earlier than heave to listen to me bitch about how filthy he can be. Such is marriage. I have saved him from living in a biohazardous dump and he has filled my days with the never ending tasks of picking up behind him and being his domstic goddess.
Wednesday, September 6, 2006
Pink Imaptients
So, I should be in bed. But I can't sleep, big surprise. If my back doesn't quit hurting I am going to serve it with divorce papers. Who needs an aching back anyway? Not me. According to my doctor I pulled a rib out of socket. Can you actually do that? News to me. Well whatever he did to "pop it back in" hurt like hell and is not giving me any relief at the moment.
Even if I could lay down and get comfortable the amazing human accordian is doing his solo performance right now. I love him and it is music to my ears right now. We spent the entire 3 day weekend together. He didn't get on my nerves and I think I managed to tap dance around his and not on them.
The more wonderful women who come into my life, the more I realize how much I love my husband. We bitch, that's what women do. We complain about the weather, about the news, about the neighbor's kids, and yes, about our husbands. I am sure they talk about us, just not as in depth as talk about them. I have learned that although my over all grade for my husband would be a "B" in the husband department, he is an outstanding A in the dad department.
He is not affectionate to me. We don't have those talk all night crying heart to heart talks. But we do have our own way of getting along. On the other hand, he is the most loving indivdual I have ever seen when he is with our son. He races into his room on the weekends just to be the first to see him. He lets me sleep in, which I now know is a luxury not afforded to many moms. He has never shyed away from diaper duty, not even the stinky overflowing ones. He is patient and kind and more generous than even I would have expected.
Brad's whole face lights up when he is with Turner. It is the only time that wrinkle on his forhead that makes him look mad or deep in thought goes away. He takes Turner willingly by himself so I can have a much appreciated few minutes of quiet.
This weekend when my back started hurting Brad walked in the house and told Turner to get his shoes on, that they were going to town. This is not an out of the ordinary occurance. I asked where they were headed, to Home Depot to get a few things. Well it sounded great to me. I neede a few minutes of not picking up my 30 lb son and to get a few things done around the house without him on my shoulders.
They came back an hour later, but didn't come inside. I was curoious but let my boys be. Far be it from me to cut short my down time. Another hour passed and Turner came and knocked on the front door and said "Mama meer". So I came "here". I walked outside and my husband, yes the human accordian mentioned earlier, gave me the tour of the new flowers they had planted.
On our side flower bed there is now a lovely bed of petunias, alternating purple and gold. Even in Utah we like our LSU pride to show. He weeded my flower beds too. But, the thing that touched me most was the one pink plant. I have an urn right by the front door. It was filled with beautiful summer blooming flowers, but they had done their duty and were dieing off. In my urn was a new beautiful pink impatient.
He planted a pink flower that should've been named after me in my urn. I love that man. All of the other flowers and shurbs we have ever bought have been blue, purple, yellow, white, etc, never pink. He gave me the grand tour of the delicate petunias and the more hearty mums, then gave me a big hug and kiss on the cheek. I don't think there could be anything more romantic.
He spent the day with our son, planting flowers for Mommy. Brad was being patient and letting Turner help, something not many dad's know how to do. I wondered how Brad would be as a father, but it has come more natural to him than breathing, and takes much less effort. He is such a better husband because he is such a great dad. Yes, we have our moments when I want to hit him in the head with a can of peas. But more often I am so content getting to watch him with our boy. Even better, when it's the three of us laying in a pile in the front yard after super. We wrestle, we ride our bikes, we read bedtime stories together. He is an A over all without a doubt. He is the man I always thougt I would want to have the privledge of raising a child with.
I am glad we waited for 3 years to have a child. I got to have Brad all to myself, we traveled, we parttied. But who knew the greatest party I would ever go to would be the one that started that November morning two years ago?
Even if I could lay down and get comfortable the amazing human accordian is doing his solo performance right now. I love him and it is music to my ears right now. We spent the entire 3 day weekend together. He didn't get on my nerves and I think I managed to tap dance around his and not on them.
The more wonderful women who come into my life, the more I realize how much I love my husband. We bitch, that's what women do. We complain about the weather, about the news, about the neighbor's kids, and yes, about our husbands. I am sure they talk about us, just not as in depth as talk about them. I have learned that although my over all grade for my husband would be a "B" in the husband department, he is an outstanding A in the dad department.
He is not affectionate to me. We don't have those talk all night crying heart to heart talks. But we do have our own way of getting along. On the other hand, he is the most loving indivdual I have ever seen when he is with our son. He races into his room on the weekends just to be the first to see him. He lets me sleep in, which I now know is a luxury not afforded to many moms. He has never shyed away from diaper duty, not even the stinky overflowing ones. He is patient and kind and more generous than even I would have expected.
Brad's whole face lights up when he is with Turner. It is the only time that wrinkle on his forhead that makes him look mad or deep in thought goes away. He takes Turner willingly by himself so I can have a much appreciated few minutes of quiet.
This weekend when my back started hurting Brad walked in the house and told Turner to get his shoes on, that they were going to town. This is not an out of the ordinary occurance. I asked where they were headed, to Home Depot to get a few things. Well it sounded great to me. I neede a few minutes of not picking up my 30 lb son and to get a few things done around the house without him on my shoulders.
They came back an hour later, but didn't come inside. I was curoious but let my boys be. Far be it from me to cut short my down time. Another hour passed and Turner came and knocked on the front door and said "Mama meer". So I came "here". I walked outside and my husband, yes the human accordian mentioned earlier, gave me the tour of the new flowers they had planted.
On our side flower bed there is now a lovely bed of petunias, alternating purple and gold. Even in Utah we like our LSU pride to show. He weeded my flower beds too. But, the thing that touched me most was the one pink plant. I have an urn right by the front door. It was filled with beautiful summer blooming flowers, but they had done their duty and were dieing off. In my urn was a new beautiful pink impatient.
He planted a pink flower that should've been named after me in my urn. I love that man. All of the other flowers and shurbs we have ever bought have been blue, purple, yellow, white, etc, never pink. He gave me the grand tour of the delicate petunias and the more hearty mums, then gave me a big hug and kiss on the cheek. I don't think there could be anything more romantic.
He spent the day with our son, planting flowers for Mommy. Brad was being patient and letting Turner help, something not many dad's know how to do. I wondered how Brad would be as a father, but it has come more natural to him than breathing, and takes much less effort. He is such a better husband because he is such a great dad. Yes, we have our moments when I want to hit him in the head with a can of peas. But more often I am so content getting to watch him with our boy. Even better, when it's the three of us laying in a pile in the front yard after super. We wrestle, we ride our bikes, we read bedtime stories together. He is an A over all without a doubt. He is the man I always thougt I would want to have the privledge of raising a child with.
I am glad we waited for 3 years to have a child. I got to have Brad all to myself, we traveled, we parttied. But who knew the greatest party I would ever go to would be the one that started that November morning two years ago?
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