The time I almost broke all of Jared's ribs.

Have I told you about the many times I’ve almost killed Jared? Like about the time he was renovating our basement and left fifty million sheets of drywall blocking my cereal cupboard?

You can’t keep a girl from getting her honey nut on before work. That’s considered straight up torture in some very privileged countries, including the one I currently reside in. So I asked him to move them.

Our kitchen is a bit narrow. The layout has my beloved cereal cupboard on one side with the fridge and washing machine facing it on the other. Jared stood on the fridge/washer side and started standing the drywall up one piece at a time so I could grab the goods. Unfortunately a sheet of that stuff is mighty heavy. 15 sheets? Even heavier. Just as we stood the last sheet up I knocked it with my elbow or butt or giant brain and the whole stack fell like dominoes pinning Jared to the washer under four hundred pounds of drywall. He screamed. That is a straight up lie. He just gasped for breath and whimpered.

This next part I blame on shock.

I stared at Jared, then the cupboard and then at Jared again and then the cupboard.  I reached for the cupboard.

Jared found his voice and yelled, “MEL!”

Ok, ok! I stood the sheets up and he kind of crumpled. I worried he might be dying until he looked up at me in total disgust.

“You went for the cereal?”

“I, uh, I didn’t know..”

“You WENT for the cereal?”

“I’m sorry! It was instinct! It wasn’t by choice!”

And that’s the morning Jared decided we shouldn’t have kids for at least a couple of more years. You know, until he could get that food before family thing rewired in brain with therapy or something.

Thing is, he forgave me. It probably helped that he didn’t suffer any internal bleeding. Our marriage and his organs survived.

That is why I’m obligated to forgive him every night when he falls asleep as he’s giving me the back massage that he insisted on giving when the pain, THE PAIN, got to be a little too much. (pleasenoteIamincrediblymelodramatic )

 Every, freaking night.

So there you go Lesco. We’re even.

PS, you can tip the scales in your favor if more of these show up in my life. Just saying.

My husband digs me, my belly is big and so is my baby.

We were lying in bed this morning watching the sun rise when my dashing husband said the most romantic thing to me.

“ Hey Mel.”

“Hmm?”

“If we got divorced and I married someone new, I’d cheat on her to be with you.”

Awesome. Ten years in and the love hasn’t stopped flowing from those handsome lips of his.

Not the only demonstration of his unyielding devotion from the last twenty four hours. When I was too lazy to move my butt off the couch last night after expressing lofty dinner ambitions that involved me, a couple of knives and the food network, he made me a spicy meatloaf. Perfect fuel for the massive twenty mile run I went on with my running club later that night. Except replace twenty with two, run with walk and running club with Phin in a stroller.

And if we’re going to get technical replace two with one point eight nine. I hate my conscience for making me admit that.

In my defense, it took a really, really long time. First off, the stroller has an injury suffered when Phin shoved it under the treadmill while I was running on it. For real running. Swear. Ok, maybe gripping my stomach, begging for mercy and half jogging while Jared held a blow dryer to my face on the cool setting. I’m guessing Phin was just trying to stop the beast that appeared to be killing his mother. Either way that front tire is now wack.

Second, we had to stop and admire every green garbage can. Doesn’t help that today is garbage day. They were lining the streets.  

Last, I’m ginormous. That too puts a damper on my athletic prowess.  I have a ‘broid all up in my lungs. Nothing like giant, harmless tumors to slow a girl down. I currently measure fifteen weeks ahead. That’s an improvement. My belly has the shelf thing going on. 

See?

I won’t lie. I am so grateful to be pregnant, but dang, it’s hard this time. I hadn’t properly prepared myself for how different this go around would be. I want to be honest on this, but it’s tough when you have people jumping out of the bushes to tell you how much you suck for feeling the way you do. I know others have it much worse. I’m aware.

Really though, life is so good. I am trying to soak up every last minute as a family of three. I doubt Phin will ever remember the time he was the center of our world, but I will. I don’t want parenthood to come off as roses when it’s just not for so many, but my kid is such a crazy joy. There were plenty of tough moments that had me locking myself in the bathroom, can’t deny it when there’s pictorial evidence on this very blog, but crap. He is just so perfect for me. He still clings to me like a little spider monkey. He still pulls my face in for kisses when I get out of the car at work. He still wants his Momma when he feels his young little life has dealt him an injustice.

Now he talks to me. He tells me what he wants. He apologizes enthusiastically if his wild ways end up in a Mom/Phinny collision. He knocks on the door at five am so he can join us in bed for a few minutes before the day starts. He’ll sometimes wrap one arm around my neck and one around Jared’s. Even the thought of it makes me melt. Our life is so fun and happy. And dang that boy is beautiful. Inside and out. Old Mel is already jealous of younger Mel. I can just see myself thirty years from now yearning to relive just five of the minutes where Phin curled up in my lap and stroked my hair with tiny Phinny hands while he dozed off.

Someday I’ll have to watch him give his whole heart to someone else. And while it’s natural and there is no way I’d rather have it, the idea of someone else being the center of his life makes me ache. Clearly it’s because I picture my baby and not some grown human, but he’s my baby! Mine. I protect him. I try to make his world as safe and good as I can. It’s hard to watch the clock in the corner tick away.

My bad. A little emotional tangent snuck it’s way in. Really, I’m amazed to watch him learn so much every day. I can’t believe we’ll be starting the process over with another. Wow.

By the way, I dreamed I had a girl last night. She weighed 8lbs 2oz at twenty weeks premature. Because I had gestational diabetes (which I’m pretty sure I do but I haven’t had to take the test yet).  And she was covered in red veins and scales with a cute nose.

So if that comes true in the next day or so, I called it.

Easter.

It happened and I didn't have a single piece of chocolate all day. Pick yourselves up off the floor. We do our Easter egg hunt on Saturday. Get what I'm saying? My one day moratorium ended this morning when I had a Cadbury egg for breakfast.

Jared's ham turned people's taste buds into cheering crowds that could not be tamed. Sadly my sweet onion pudding did not do the same. I feel inclined to argue that if more than three people at the table had tried it....but I digress.

We live down the street from a couple of churches and normally by nine in the morning we have cars parked up and down the street with people rushing down the sidewalk to make it to Easter services. I look forward to it for 364 days. I don't know if attendance is suffering or they added a later service but it didn't happen this year. Bummer. Phin and Liza tried to console me by pointing out every jogger, dog walker and ambulance. Not the same. I'm planning on sending a letter to a whole lot of someones as soon as I get my hands on a membership list and can perfect my forgery of the Pope's signature. Just kidding. That's not believable. I'll pick some mid ranking cardinal.

Moving on to pictures before I get blacklisted from entering those pearly gates.

An experiment.

Phin is all about testing the properties of various materials. Right now he’s checking out crappy metals and various forms of bpa free rubberish stuff. Clearly Gerber didn’t run this same study or we would have sturdier spoons to play with.

Just so you know.

One more day.

I know the country is experiencing record highs. Temperatures that allow you to pull out shorts for your babies and yourselves. Weather that makes me want to sit on my back porch in a bathing suit so the rest of the world doesn't suffer while I expose skin so white it could blind the Cullen family
.
But I don't get to do that. You know those weather maps that show the nation all color coded for the daily highs? While the rest of you have been soaking in yellows and oranges and reds, we're blue.

Blue. We were sixteen degrees below average yesterday. Below.

I hear you. "Woman, stop repeating yourself!"

No.

Blue! Below! Snow on the ground! Tears frozen like icicles! Toddlers gaining the ability to talk in full sentences long enough to ask why we're being punished!

Corruption son. Legalized gambling and prostitution, record setting drop out rates, casinos offering $4.99 prime beef dinner, but serving you choice instead. I could go on, but why bother?

I have not lost hope. We have signs of spring. I remember when I first calculated Phinny's due date, a May baby, I secretly hoped he would be born in April. A true spring babe. You know, like Bambi. Dreamy right? As long as we could keep the me being shot by an overzealous hunter part out of it. A spring baby he was, born the last week in March. It snowed that night, but less than a week later the trees were full of cherry blossoms and spring green.

I can see the tree buds now,  moments away from opening. My baby is days away from putting a year behind him and moving further away from the night we met. This winter, one of my least favorites, will be officially over tomorrow. There are daffodils and croci all set for Easter in a few weeks.

Let's make it through one more crappy winter day together. One more hot drink from 7-11. Tomorrow? A slurpee.

p.s. If you feel really sorry for me, you could always make this to cheer me up.

Martha will tell you how. Go here.

Don't feel it.

I want to feel like a grown up. I really do. Some days I wake up and look down the line of my bed. I see my husband. I see my dog. I see the nameless cat staring us down from the end of the mattress with eyes that say “I’ve been doing this for six hours. I could have smothered you.” I see my toddler. Actually, I feel my toddler. Usually his feet are shoved so far into my back that in order to try to escape the reach of his lanky legs I have my face smashed against plaster texturing that looks so much better on the wall than it does on my cheek.

You can imagine how hard it is to leave such a clearly comfortable place of rest. It really is. You’d think the lure of a hot shower and some alone time would do it, but I feel like a college kid who contemplates ditching her first class for just one more hour of sleep.

Then I remember. I’m a wife. I’m a Mom. I’m an employee with a mortgage to pay and health benefits to earn. I’m an adult.

It just doesn’t feel like it.

Is this feeling of just playing a part a recent phenomenon? I’ve heard myself say, “I don’t feel like I’m turning thirty.” 15 months and counting. Every freaking day, counting.

Is it easy living? A hundred or so years ago I bet there were many, a majority even, who felt every year of their calendar age. Perhaps it was more tangible. No magic creams or laser surgeries. You could touch your face and feel every one of those fifty years.

That last part can stay in the past. Give me my moisturizer of give me….wrinkles. And I prefer moisturizer.

The part I want to embrace is the maturity and ease they used to show in tasks that overwhelm me. Perhaps it was illusion, but for the sake of this post I'm going to believe it wasn't. I would like to be able to host dinner parties that encourage grown up conversation. Ones where we sit around and talk about politics and social injustices into the wee hours of the morning. If reality tv sneaks its way in there I hope it sneaks right back out. I hope we talk about artists we love and travel we’ve done or dream of doing. All while being completely unpretentious, just excited about this big beautiful globe.

I want to contribute to this world. I want to change people’s lives for the better. I want to lie in bed and have an idea come to me. Or volunteer and see something that’s lacking. I want to create something that isn't superficial. I need to give back while I have more than my fair share. I want to teach my children by example. 

Not to say there aren't vain things too. I want a dressing table. I want to sit in the morning and collect my thoughts. I want to go to work looking polished. I want to feel like a grown, successful woman.

But alas, as I've said before, some days I’d just settle for matching socks.

Hey, guess what?

I’m having a baby.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

The last several months have been a blur.

I had an MRI scheduled for the first working day after the New Year. I took a test before, to be sure, and maybe, maybe saw something.

It was not all happy toasting in our house. I think Jared’s first words were, “I’m scared.” Not to have a baby. We want another baby very, very much. I’m sure some of you want a baby so much that you can’t imagine anything other than joy.

Turns out it was the right reaction at the time. I won’t go into it, but we are quite happy to have made it this far. This far is not so far, just a little into trimester two, but it’s more than we originally thought. Doctor too.

So she told us we can be cautiously optimistic. Easier said than done.

I’m not one of those tiny pregnant chicks. Thanks to my dandy fibroids, I’m huge. Poor uterus measured 6.5 months at my first appointment. I wasn’t even eight weeks. I haven’t asked her what it was since then. Why bother?  

And it’s painful. Silly ‘broids got to go.

If it ends in a baby, it couldn't be more worth it.

So that’s a little bit of what’s happening over here.

That and my Phinny is becoming more beautiful and wild by the second. I am just so grateful for what I have. 

It's that day!

Today is for lovin.

I have shifted between loving and hating this day my whole life. How silly. Just another day to hang thematic balloons and eat candy. Why the hate unless you have some sort of sugar intolerance or suffer from globophobia. If that’s the case, my condolences.

So I’ve embraced it.

Balloons? Check. In fact, check times 35 or so. Check, check, check.

Sugar? I’m prepared to go into a mild form of diabetic shock.

Hearts on our clothes? Not quite. I consider finding matching socks, regardless of the holiday depicted, a giant success in the wee hours of the morning.

We do have a yummy dinner planned. We’re not too fancy around these parts. Just a little Ella playing while we assemble a lasagna with our hands and then take it apart again at the table. If you think that was me trying to say eat in clever way, you’re wrong. I’m pretty sure Phin will dissect every layer and possibly request all intimate objects within throwing distance examine a piece. We’re working on it.  

But I love my people. I’m so lucky to wake up next to the person I click so well with. To feel adored. To know that despite the fact that we argue, we always want to make up and make out. Whoot. And my little wild thing? The destroyer of our house but owner of our hearts? So in love. This post is goopy for sure. A little too sweet when life is hard and people are facing hard things. Let the goop in my friends, even if for just a few minutes.  

Goals. And grammatical errors cause my brain is literally Swiss cheese. Literally, literally a dairy product .

Source

I have some goals. It just so happens that it’s still January suckers.

How appropriate.

The good thing about blogging is that it holds you responsible. At least in my case. Most of my family reads mine to insure I don’t post pictures of them picking boogers or sitting alone watching Law and Order SVU and Yo Gabba Gabba on split screen. The threat pops out every time they deny me the last crescent roll/chip/cookie/insert random edible during Sunday dinner. Actually, I've never had to threaten it out loud. It’s more like,

Sibling reaches for food.

Mel gives look.

Look says “Uh, I was planning on eating that B…”

Random family member gives look.

Look says, “Too late sucka, this chicken leg is coming home to Mama.”

Mel gives second look.

Look says, “Dude, drop the leg or it’s happening.”

RFM cocks eyebrow, gives look.

Look says, “You wouldn’t.”

Mel double cocks eyebrow. Give demon head tilt. Gives demon smile. Gives demon look.

Demon look says, “Don’t make me. Actually, please make me. The world deserves to see the real you. No they don’t. But they will.”

RFM looks crushed. Grip loosens. Chicken falls. Gives look to floor.

Looks says, “I hate my life.”

Mel eats chicken. Mel feels warm inside.

And that’s why one of my goals is to lose weight. Except it isn’t. Not saying that is shouldn’t be, but I’m not giving that Sunday fun up.

Real Goals.

Do things for people. Too general? I often say things like “I want to bake so and so some bread.” or “I need to send a little card to this person.” But my follow through is awful. I always have an excuse ready like work/baby/house stuff/Jared out of town/my dog dragged and destroyed an entire box of chex on my bed. No more world. Well, less often at least. Someone is getting some freaken cookies and a card this year.

Start doing the little things with my Lesco again. Somewhere in the whirlwind of the last two crazy, crazy years we let a lot of things go that we used to regularly indulge in the previous eight. Phin was asleep yesterday and we reminisced. Some of that stuff has to go the way of the wind until our babes are grown and we are just two again, but some of it needs to come back. Playing Uno for potential spouse enslavement? That’s romance that needs to live on.  

Exercise regularly. I’m one of those humans that does it in spurts. Stop that. I have races I want to participate in and they aren't the kind I can do without training. 

There's more. But they're the personal, make ya'all blush and feel sorry for me kind. Just joking. You guys are too cool to blush. 

Is it too late to say Happy New Year?

Home means Nevada to me.

Because this

is only thirty minutes from this.

And you have places like this in between.