Love Notes

Over the years, I've collected quite a few love notes written by husband. Some of them are very well-written. Some of them have a lot of flowery language. Some of them sweet and sentimental. Some grateful and thankful. Some of them funny. It's always a fun treat to go back and read them.

Lately, my husband's love notes have been very short and simple.

Nowadays, he just gets right to the point.

 

How very practical.

Toaster Husband

Sometimes, I don't know why women get married. Most of the things a husband does in a marriage can be accomplished by a toaster.

A toaster would be a great stand-in for a husband in the evening. After work, all I would have to do is plop the toaster in front of my husband's computer. Add a pair of headphones...voila....a husband.

Having a conversation with a toaster is the same as having one with a husband.

"Hey toaster, can you take a break from your computer to tell me how I look in this dress."

"Thought so."

Also, when I have a really bad or interesting day at work, I can come home and tell my toaster. It's basically just like telling a husband. Our conversations involve the same level of empathy and emotional intelligence.

"Toaster, my day was really hard today. The boys screamed the whole way to my mom's. I had this really long meeting and then I had to write a 20 page brief."

"Oh...and I may have scratched your car...just a little."

Raised eyebrows? Is that a hint of emotion?

So Much To Celebrate

We're coming off of a family and fun-filled week. I think the busy-ness is part of the reason I love the holiday season. Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, all in three short months! And after the family leaves, the calm is even more defined and appreciated.

Yesterday we celebrated my mom's Halloween birthday, a couple days late. We were originally going to spend the day at her house. But thanks to a crazy windstorm which took out my parents' power, the party was relocated to our place. All four of my siblings and our kids were gathered together. It was nice to all be in the same place.

We had a nice cheese plate for an appetizer and I made our family's favorite Spaghetti casserole. It's amazingly delicious and insanely easy! I always use whole wheat pasta and the kids never even notice, much less protest, the extra healthiness.

The kids showed off their cute costumes.

My cute niece was an adorable bumble bee! 

Ryan showed off his eating skills.

My dad showed off his wrestling skills.

I filled a pinata for the kids....but since we weren't planning on having the party at our house, we were slightly under-prepared (can you believe we don't own a single rope?!) So we all improvised.

Jacob body-slammed the heck out of that pinata.

All the kids with their buckets of loot.

Everyone at the party was at risk of being pummeled by bouncey balls as Ryan practiced his throwing arm on unsuspecting guests. The kid has an arm!

Then we all sang happy birthday to Grandma.

When the guests left, my husband and I sat on the couch to watch a movie and sip the left over wine. The kids, blissfully unaware of Daylight Savings Time, woke us up at 6:00 a.m. My husband and I took turns dragging ourselves to the living room to comply with their occasional demands ("Mom, I'm hungry!" "Baba pees mama!" and  "Ryan POOPED!"). Then we snuck back into the warm covers and drifted in and out of sleep.

As I was about to get out of bed, my husband pulled me back in.

Husband: "Happy Anniversary."
Me: [holy crap! Totally forgot! Play it cool CP] "Happy Anniversary sexypants."
Husband: "I got you something."
Me: "You shouldn't have gotten me anything." [no seriously, you shouldn't have]

My husband hands me a plastic bag which clearly contains the sole object of my desire for the past three months... A Seahawks Russell Wilson jersey. (Did I really want the jersey or did I want the man....hmmmm, that's a hard one).

Me: "OMG. Thank you!"
Husband: "Don't buy me anything."
Me: "I didn't."

Ooops.

But in all seriousness, I'm so fortunate to be celebrating six years of marriage with this guy.

Dating

We don't agree on a lot of things. Ok, we don't agree on most things. But we are able to respect each other (mostly) and, most importantly, learn from each other. He's made me more appreciative of details and order. I think I've helped him to embrace the big picture and to enjoy a little bit of chaos and spontaneity once in a while.We made a good team. And cute kids.

Today is promising to be an awesome day, although we have no real plans to celebrate our anniversary. I'm going to meet up with my sister to find a bridesmaids dress for her March wedding in Tennessee (plane tickets BOOKED! I love flying!). The Seahawks are playing a home game today. I'm going to have to find a way to keep up with the game in between pulling bridesmaid dresses over my head. And I have a brand new Seahawks jersey to celebrate!

Go Seahawks!

Baby Brain

This time last year, I swore up and down that I could never have another baby (I don't deal with surgeries, all day nausea, or abdominal separation very well). But right now all my complaints seem light years away. 12 months sure does a lot for the mommy-amnesia effect.

Now discussions of a third baby are a daily occurrence in our house. The discussions always end the same, with my husband putting a very big and strong foot down on the idea. Part of me realizes that he will come around in time. Or that my begging will wear him down. Or that my cunning and deception will improve (I just may resort to such measures, if necessary).

I keep telling my husband that there is a 100% change he won't regret it. And I do have a good point. I doubt anyone looks at the face of their newborn child and thinks, "yep, I totally regret you." Unless that person is a cold-blooded serial killer who starves baby kittens and purposefully puts sour milk back in the fridge, just for pleasure.

Surprisingly enough, even though we are completely different people (don't even get me started with how garlic bread should properly be made) my husband and I agree on almost everything. The things we don't agree on are very piddly and unimportant. The biggest thing we don't agree on is politics. Even then, we manage to co-exist very peacefully during election season.

So, the fact that we don't agree on baby #3 is really hard for me. Especially because it is something I want so desperately and so fully and so immediately and something he is adamantly against. The most unfair part is that we don't have to sit down and discuss the issue to get through the situation. If he doesn't want baby #3, it just doesn't happen. He automatically gets his way. Two kids is our status quo and if I want it to change, the impetus is 100% on me.

Right now we are gridlocked in a friendly daily battle. Who can most fully support their position regarding baby #3 with the most evidence collected throughout the day (can you tell I'm a lawyer?). Whenever the kids are simultaneously being difficult, my husband uses that to fuel his position. And when the kids are being adorable and sweet, that's when I chime in to argue my side.

I now submit my proof from this weekend...

In Defense of Babies:

They look cute eating popsicles

 

And donuts

 

 

They give each other make-overs

 

They wear baby crocs

 

They draw hilarious self portraits

They do weird things. This morning I woke up to find 20 Ziplock bags full of Play-doh on my table. Jacob told me he made snake people, separated them into families, and gave them Ziplock-bag homes. And he did all this at 6 a.m. The bag on the left with only two snake-people represents our next door neighbors.

Last night, Jacob started crying in his bed at 9 p.m. interrupting the middle of our movie. When I went in to get him he told me he was crying because he "pooped a little" in his pull-up. His crying woke up Ryan who also began to cry. I handed Ryan off to my husband and took Jacob to the bathroom. When we checked out the situation, there was very tiny skid-mark in his pull-up. Seriously kid? This?! Is why you were screaming and woke up the baby?

As Jacob was crying from the poop situation and Ryan was crying from having been woken up, my husband threw me a knowing glance and said, "imagine if there were three!" All I could think to do in response was to smile pleasantly and insist, "We need one more!"

Then there are moments when we are all playing on the living room floor together. Ryan and Jacob are giggling hysterically at something their daddy is doing and I just melt. In those precious moments, I'm sure to pipe in with an, "Awwww, our babies are so cute. How can you NOT want another!"

So this is my daily baby battle. As my maternal instincts are preparing to explode from want, I'm up against a cold, harsh wall. Part of me thinks I should be happy with the precious children that I have. Part of me realizes that I am amazingly blessed to have so many people to love. But the other part of me knows that there is still room in my heart and in my life for another. This other part of me feels as if something is missing or incomplete. There's a little empty space in the corner of my heart waiting to be filled. That part of me is very, very strong.

Legalese and Spouses

The problem with being a lawyer is that most people (non-lawyers) don't understand what you do. My dad is a lawyer. Whenever I showed any curiosity in his career or had to interview him for "career day" I left the conversation feeling more confused than ever. "I have no idea what my dad does," I thought to myself. Why couldn't my daddy just be a firefighter or a teacher or a doctor?

When I was in lawschool, the parents of the children I babysat always seemed so impressed. "Our babysitter is going to be a lawyer," I heard them brag on one or two occassions. I remember feeling very important. Then one day, a little girl that I babysat for asked me, "What is a lawyer?" The four year old had a very clear picture of what her daddy (a doctor) did at work, "he makes people feel better!" I tried to explain to the four year old the excitement and challenges of litigation and representing people who have been sued. It didn't quite translate into child-speak.

"When people are in car accidents, they have doctors to help them get better and tow trucks to tow their cars and lawyers to help them....um...to protect their....uhhhhh.....to help make sure people don't take all their money."

"Oh, like the police? Where's your gun? Do you have a badge? Have you been to JAIL?"

When you really boil it down, being a lawyer is a very abstract concept. Lawyers get paid to use their brains, think up ideas and arguments, and talk in a language that only the Courts understand. So yeah. That's what I do all day. Think, argue, and interpret.

The other night, I went to happy hour with my boss, his wife, and a mediator. When my boss' wife joined us she asked, "How did your summary judgment hearing go? Did you win your argument about circumstantial evidence? Did you file your motion in limine?"

My eyes bugged straight out of my head. My mouth might have hinged open, like a robot with a malfunctioning jaw. I looked like I had just seen a cat drive a car down a highway. My boss' spouse is one of Them. She's a non-lawyer. How is she conversing so easily about summary judgment motions and circumstanital evidence and motions in limine? I was thoroughly impressed.

My husband likes to talk to me about his work. And I always try my best to sound interested and give the appropriate amount of good feedback and praises. But I have been increasingly frustrated by his lack of ability to know what the heck I do all day. When I try to tell him about a really great ruling we got on a motion, his eyes kind of glaze over. After I explain how excited I am to have found an important case to use in a motion, he turns back to his computer and lets out closed-mouth "huh" sound (oddly, it's the same sound that he often gives me when I ask him if he likes what I made for dinner).

So, I kind of stopped telling him about my day or talking to him about my cases. He has also stopped asking. I've reached the point where I've given up hope of having someone at home to talk to about my days at work. It's a bit isolating and it's very frustrating. Especially when I have an uncontrollable urge to vent about something crazy opposing counsel did or an achievement that we accomplished.

I never wanted to marry a lawyer but I do miss the companionship of someone who can related to my work experiences. I guess this is where a network of lawyer friends come in handy. Maybe someday I will have time for a social life. But honestly, as lame as it sounds, I really like the company of my children right now (which is a good thing because it's often the only company outside of work that I get to enjoy). I never worry about them not laughing at my jokes (all I have to do is throw a fart sound in at the end). Or judging me when I have seconds of cake. Or thinking that I am weird when I throw all caution to the wind and act like a child. I will be so sad when they suddenly become too cool to hang out with mom. Darn, then I will have to go out and find some real friends.

Wanting

Exactly one year ago, I swore I would never have any more kids. The whole c-section thing (x2) was pretty traumatic. The second time around, I'm pretty sure it was mostly in my head. But it was still rough. I remember sitting there in my hospital bed, trying to recover, being in pain, not being able to walk, feeling like death. In that moment, I swore up and down, to the depth of my soul that I would not, could not, ever do it again.

But now...a year later, I don't remember what the pain felt like. I don't remember what the death felt like. I just remember that I felt like death and pain. And that memory in itself is slowly fading, like ink bathed in sunlight. That memory is being swallowed by want. A deeply-rooted want. A want that is completely illogical given that we are already so short of space (4 people in a 950 sq. ft, 2 bedroom, 1 bath home) and money (I will be paying off Ryan's hospital bill for the next two years and I will be paying off my lawschool when the kids go to college!). It is illogical given the fact that I absolutely hate pregnancy. That I just figured out daytime childcare for the two children I already have. That I just started a new job that is becoming more and more demanding.

Despite the complete irrationality, I want another baby. I feel like our family is missing someone. And as I lose my baby to toddlerhood, as his gummy smile becomes overrun with teeth, as his chunky thighs begin to lengthen, as his one-legged shuffle turns into walking, the want is overpowering. It just feels right. It feels like the next step. It feels like the answer to a question I haven't even put into words. It does not make sense in my brain, but in my heart the feeling is infallible.

But it takes two. And so far, my husband is exercising his veto power. He swears we are done. That we can't handle the kids we have. That he have no where to put another baby. We don't have room in our cars. That we cannot afford another hospital bill. That we already have no energy and no time.

I hear what he says. But the words sink lifelessly to the pit of my stomach and settle there uneasily. The logic is not enough to explain away how I feel. To satisfy my need for another person to love. To fulfill my dream of being wrinkled and bent and surrounded in a room bursting full of children. I just keep thinking that there is a life up there, waiting sadly to join us. And a chunk of my heart is wanting desperately to love it.

Can't Climb Out -- UPDATED

I'm in a rut. Work is awesome and contimues to get more awesome. But everday stuff? Ugh. I feel like I do the same shit every day. As soon as I pick up the kids after work I sink into the same exact routine. Each day I swear it will be different. But it's not- usually because I'm too tired to do anything new. The baby is tired and clingy, the toddler is tired and whinny. By 6:00, I'm basically counting down the minutes until it's 7:30 and I can start the kids' bedtime routine. For some reason, I think that as soon as they are in bed, excitement will abound. But it does not.

After the kids are tucked in, I'm too exhausted to do any of the million chores on my list. My husband is back to staring at his computer screen all evening. There's nothing to do but follow suit. And like a zombie, I sit in front of my laptop clicking aimlessly around the internet. Sometimes, I'm so bored that I actually will work. Sometimes.

The past few days, this predictable routine has been frustrating. Mostly because my husband and I are so stuck in our routine that we barely exchange any words aside from the occasional text message about who is picking up dinner. When we do have free time, he's predictibly zoned-in on his computer. We've probably only had one real conversation this entire week. That conversation was on Wednesday when I asked him about a work event and he responded. It probably lasted two minutes.

Aside from that, he hasn't really said a word to me all week. At first I was slightly annoyed and would try to initiate a conversation here or there. But now, I'm furious. I've been purposely not saying anything to him to see how long it will take him to realize that he hasn't made any effort at communication. Sadly, either he doesn't even realize there IS a lack of communication or he doesn't freaking care. I can't decide which is worse.

Today I lost it. Jacob was having a tantrum in his room and screaming at the top of his lungs. Ryan was being clingy and fussy. My husband was, duh, sitting in front of his computer. Earlier in the week he had texted me about the possibility of going to a movie this day. I waited for him to bring it up all morning and afternoon. Nope. And stubbornly, I wasn't going to bring it up first. As 5:30 approached I realized there would be no date. With the screaming of both kids in my ears and the equally defeaning silence from my husband, I wigged out. Without saying a word, I grabbed my car keys, put on my shoes, and walked out the door.

I had no destination in mind. In fact, I didn't want to go anywhere. I just wanted to keep driving. I wanted to sit in the peaceful car and think. How hard is it for a couple to say "good morning" and "good night" and "goodbye" and "hello" every day? I never get any of those unless I say it first. When was the last time either of us actually said, "I love you." Not this week. Don't even get me started on our lame 5 year anniversary celebration last Saturday.

I started to cry. I fell into the self-pity trap. I thought about my ideal relationship-- a husband who kisses me goodbye every morning, who gives me a hug for no reason, who will randomly tell me that I'm pretty, who makes me feel loved without me having to seek out affection, who can sense when I'm upset and will actually care enough to ask me about it, who will tell me about his day, who will ask about mine. Then I compared that to what I got this week. Silence. Unacknowledgement. Apathy. Obviously whatever is on his computer screen, it's more interesting than me.

I continued to drive. Past the grocery store. Past the new housing development. Past the on-ramp for the highway. I drove in circles in a parking lot. Then I stopped the car. I sat there in the dark. In the quiet. I felt alone. Angry. Frustrated. I cried. I saw a couple holding hands as they walked to their car. When was the last time we held hands? I cried harder.

STOP. I forced myself to stop. I wiped away my tears. I stepped out of the my pity party and put my mom-hat back on. I ran into the store and grabbed something for dinner. I also grabbed a huge bag of chocolate to bury my sorrow in. I paid for my stuff and left the store. I arrived home to find everyone  sitting in front of the TV. Not a word from my husband. With tears left uncried and sadness still unresolved, I slipped back into that dreaded routine again.

Now the kids are asleep and here we are. Both back at our DAMN computers. I don't know how to break the silence. Why do I always have to make the first move. WHY?!

Appropriately, this was the fortune in cookie with dinner tonight:

I drowned myself in chocolate but it didn't help.

*****UPDATED******

I confronted my husband and....it turns out he's pissed because I "scratched his car" on Monday.

WTF.

A '94 Ford Probe that barely runs, sits in our garage, and that hasn't been driven since my husband bought his 2010 Jetta. A car that is less valuable than the sum of its parts sold separately.

The silent treatment continues....

Expectaciones Nonnes

So....this weekend was our fifth wedding anniversary. After five years of marriage, I'm a fountain of marital wisdom, equipped with volumes of advice to pass down to future generations. I could write a soliloquy. But, honestly, everything I learned can be summed up in two words. So, do ya want to know the secret to marital bliss?

No Expectations.

Or, in Latin: Expectaciones Nonnes. Ok, I made that up. But it sounds good, right? Yes, the lack of expectations is a wonderful thing. It will save you every time. It's hands down, the best gift you can give yourself.

See, in the past, I made the mistake of actually expecting things for anniversaries. You know, like cards. Or flowers. Or power tools. You can file that last one under "Things I've Learned About Men From My Dad."

This year, I didn't expect anything more than a "Happy Anniversary" text as I woke up at 8am on Saturday morning to discover that my husband was gone for work training all that day and never even bothered to let me know. And that's precisely what I got.

Funny thing is, I didn't even care. Sure, when given the option, everyone would prefer to be doted upon and showered with attention and gifts. But when you're scrubbing baby spit up out of the carpet, trying to coax your kid out of chewing a booger he just picked, and getting lost under a never-ending pile of piss-soaked sheets, romance kind of is lost on you. In such a situation, a five minute, solitary soak in a pink ring-stained tub in a bathroom smelling of mold that temorarily houses an array of poop and spit-up covered clothing, is the equivalent to a $200 meal at a five star restaurant....without all those pesky calories.

So that night, I made tacos for dinner. My husband's favorite. Then I half-assedly scrubbed a sink full of smelly dishes. Then we watch an episode of Boardwalk Empire. And by 12am I was in my bed, separated from my husband by a kicking, eyeball clawing, hair pulling rascal who had suddenly decided sleeping was for "other" babies.

That's pretty much what they mean when they say "happily ever after," right?

Expectaciones Nonnes.

Yeah.