A wedding in 36 hours

I was married young. I am thirty years old and just celebrated my tenth wedding anniversary. Really, really young. Sometimes I tell Jared that it is sheer luck that despite our age and the general dumbness that accompanies that part of one’s life, we married the right person. Lucky, lucky, that’s what I say.

Because of this, I strictly forbade any of my sisters to even think about getting married before the age of twenty five. They all signed the contract in blood and thanked me for hard earned wisdom. Or they walked out of the room before I finished my thought. One of those ways, for sure.

So when my little sister called me Wednesday of last week and told me she was going to get married on Friday, I couldn’t argue. She is past the 25 mark. They really love each other. We all love her Ryan. He really loves her son. We all love his family. Really, there was far too much love going on to be anything but happy. Her original plan was the classic courthouse move, but as evidenced by this blog, our family likes a party. So we planned a wedding in 36 hours.

It was beautiful. A family effort. We cleaned multiple stores out of candles, and filled the place with pumpkins and leaves. My sister got to catering, my sister in law got to flower arranging, and my brother got to anything and everything that was asked of him. The music was provided by my grandma, who played the piano like an angel. One of my sister’s best friends happens to be an official officiate. My cousin had his camera in his car, so poof, photographer. Her mother in law has a salon so the wedding party prepped there. My mom made the wedding cake and Christi and Thomas brought everyone’s favorite salad. Everything just worked.

I don’t have many pictures, not even one of the groom, because I was too busy enjoying the wedding and trying to help everyone make sure that our candle wonderland didn’t turn into a raging house fire with the assistance of five crazy boys under the age of five.

She was beautiful. There were tears during their sweet, impromptu vows. So perfect. Happy marriage little sis! I hope you enjoy many holidays, weekdays and even sick but not very sick days. I hope that when you wake up, even on those crummy days, you look at each other and realize you have someone on your side, always.

Babies, cougars and fire

There are logical questions one must ask themselves when camping. Such as, will I be eaten by a mountain lion?

The posted signs say it’s possible. They say they are drawn to small children. I smell like small children. No amount of showers can ever truly erase the smell of cheerios and Desitin. They are going to eat me. My last meal is going to be deli meat and giant marshmallows. I am going to die with black boogers.

Jared’s internal dialogue is a little different. I haven’t seen anyone for the last five miles. Where are all the people? Do we have the whole forest to ourselves? Sweet! Wait, that doesn’t seem possible. There must be someone else out here. Where are they? They’re hiding. Hiding in the trees. In camouflage. Armed. Do I have a knife? They have guns and scopes and shiz. Oh crap, we’re totally going to be datelined while we sleep.

Even still, we camped. Twice in the last month. For our tenth anniversary we left our babies with my amazing parents, hopped in the car and headed for the coast. We spent a portion of our time in San Francisco surrounded by people and the other half in the hills above Santa Cruz in total isolation. It was so good! We watched the sun set and rise beyond the mountain lion infested hills, over the ocean. We saw no one except for a couple of turned around hikers for a brief minute. It truly felt like we stepped back into pre kid days. I have a habit of counting down while on vacation. “Only four days left, bummer.” “The day after tomorrow I’ll be back in my office.” I didn’t do it once. I really enjoyed every minute.

I imagine even the very best marriages go through moments where you feel disconnected. Like a couple of people who just happen to be wrestling the same kids into bed every night. This alleviated that. I’m still on a high a month later. Nothing like the fear of being hacked or eaten by wild animals to throw you back into the proper groove of things.

Jared must have enjoyed the whole thing too. The second we got home he went all consumer report crazy and bought a tent. We had borrowed equipment from my Dad for our trip, but now we are the proud owners of an eight man tent. Really, what other size would you purchase if your family consisted of two adults and two children who weigh under fifty five pounds combined? It’s bigger than our living room.

We tested the thing out in our backyard where the wild ones were able to climb inside and run laps out of the inclement weather for a couple of hours. After they broke that sucker in, we were ready for the real thing, the inaugural run. We attempted to go Friday, but in midst all the hoopla, forgot the star of the of the show. We left the tent at home. The tent.

So we tried again Saturday. We made spaghetti and meatballs in the woods. Hotdogs, I tell you, hotdogs are the way to go when you camp. It is much easier to keep a baby neat eating a hotdog. No post spaghetti bath in the woods. I almost tried to dunk the kid in the creek but he pulled out his best scare tactic on me and spouted off hypothermia stats while reminding me how high my insurance deductible is. Dirty baby won.

“Everything is more fun with kids!” we said as we set four little rocks by the fire to sit on. “Everything is better with kids!” we said as we ate cake mix dessert out of a dutch oven and told ghost stories. “Sooo much better with kids,” we said as we bundled those loves up and watched them giggle and dive in blankets and sleeping bags.

“Kids suck,” we said as we tried to get Gray to sleep approximately one thousand times between eight pm and five thirty am when we finally gave up and Jared drove the kid around the campground blasting the heater and NPR. Nothing puts a one year old to sleep like The Prairie Home Companion.

I still can’t decide if it was incredibly fun or traumatizing. Phin loved it, so I guess we’ll chalk it up to childhood experience gone right.

John Buck

When I look at my babies it always feels like they are exactly the age they were meant to be. Then a month or six or a year passes and they're different. Still, the feeling persists. I can't picture them older or changed. They are just one and three. It seems they are perfectly suited to be one and three and they will always be one and three. My own little defense against the time machine we live in. Other then brief feelings, imagining them 10 and 12 or 41 and 43 is so difficult. And 82? Never. Never can I picture them losing their little boy voices to puberty and manhood and then, eventually, to the crackle of old age. I wonder if that is how it is with any other mothers. If picturing them past the age they are is reserved for the times you fear you won't see it.
My Grandpa passed away two months ago. His mother has been gone a long time, but I wonder if she looked down on his final days and marveled on how she went from staring at a tiny baby to a man who lived completely.
John Buck has always had a big personality. He was voted most outstanding boy in high school. I mean, c’mon. Most outstanding? Pretty sure they made the category up for him. He was an all star in every sport. He played college football and basketball.He had five beautiful babies with my Grandma and was able to see four of them grow. He played handball with his college buddies for as long as I can remember and there was one fantastic moment where he danced with his pants on his head. You haven’t lived until you have seen your Grandpa do the running man with pants on his head.
He’s always told it like it was. One of our favorite Grandpa lines came on Christmas morning. He opened a package and stared down in silence. Somebody asked him what he thought and he said, “I don’t like it and I won’t wear it.” Tossed the unfortunate gift aside and that was that.
One last memory. When I was in high school I found an old letterman sweater of his. It fit like a dream and I wore it frequently. Years after I came into it's possession, we found a very old video of him wearing the same sweater while he was in college. It was taken on the old yellow film that people try to replicate with phone apps these days. He’s outside doing backflips, goofing around and looking very much like a silly college kid. I remember putting on the sweater and trying to picture it's past. It was once brand new and his. He threw it on as he was running out the door once. Maybe he wore it on a date with my grandma. He wore it when he had no idea what he would be doing when he was thirty or forty or eighty.
I called my grandma today, heard his voice on the answering machine and for a second it felt like he might have just stepped out. When he passed away the world lost something great. My uncle said it best, he was a real man. A real person. And I am going to miss him so much.

In which I publicly declare Baby Year

Haven’t done one of my lists of laziness in a while and today is as good as any. So a little compilation of why this week is awesome.

Someone is having a birthday. Someone fantastic who just so happens to be much taller and better looking than me. Someone who has a black belt in Kung Fu. No seriously, this someone does. Happy birthday Lesco!

Go Niners!! Nevada’s very own Kaepernick happens to be, and I quote, the most dangerous quarterback in the NFL. Says one hundred sources. Google it. Did you know he came from Nevada? You probably did because they’ve said it over and over just the way we Nevadans like it. Don’t judge our enthusiasm, star quarterbacks are rare in these parts. If you’re suddenly confused because you thought he came from some place called NeVAHda, let me school you. Don’t ever say it like that. No vah. Never. Va, like the beginning of vacuum. Like we’re going to suck those dirty birds right up on Sunday. Like that.

PS – Kaepernicking > Tebowing. It’s been Lesco’s signature move for the last 20 years.

I started a book club. After reading this post by one of my very favorite bloggers, I thought, “Huh. I want one of those.” So now I got one. We probably have way too many members for any sort of insightful discussion, but who cares? We’re just excited to have another chance to get together and eat. In fact, the invitation stated as much. Who wants to join an eating club?

I left work for two hours on Wednesday to go to a bounce warehouse with my kids. It was awesome. I felt like I was really connecting with my Phin while jumping down a two story, inflatable slide. He’s so cool. Yet, not as cool as Gray. Boyfriend didn’t even change his facial expression going down that thing. Like, “Please Mom, we didn’t even break the sound barrier. Try again.” Noted little one.

Do you ever wait far too long to grocery shop? We do. Then we end up running to 7-11 every ten minutes for bread, milk or Flintstone push pops because all we have left in the fridge is a limp head of purple cabbage and forty two salad dressings. So hallelujah for a stocked fridge because this family got it done. And I meal planned which is a giant feat for me. Don’t ever ask me if we actually made all any of the meals I planned. Little steps. Itty, bitty, we already ate the tortilla chips for taco salad night, steps.

Last, I feel like I’m finally getting my working mom of two feet under me. Sure, sure some things aren't getting done like they used to, but it’s a baby year. Baby year, you ask? Yes my friends, baby year. That means everything between the moment the kid was born to the moment the kid turns one falls under baby year. Didn’t get Christmas cards out? Baby year. Socks haven’t matched in three months? Baby year. Missed a court date? Baby year! Ok, that last one probably shouldn’t qualify. Let this serve as a public service announcement to check those speeding ticket dates. You’re welcome.

Go Pack! I mean Niners. Whatever.

It was Christmas!

Phin almost got it this year. Except for the part where I told him to be good because Santa was coming. He was over that by December third. Pretty sure to him it felt like I was talking about this guy for years and he hadn't showed, so what exactly was the point.

I get that. Santa bribery is for suckers anyway because come December 26th you got nothing in your arsenal. We'll stick with, do what I say kid or I'm going to burn your stuffed animals to dust. Kidding. Phin is all to willing to throw highly flammable creatures into a fire.

Christmas eve was the longest night ever. While I want my kids to do nothing but sleep 364 days of the year, I was so excited for Phinny to wake up and squeal with delight that I was up checking the clock every thirty minutes. There wasn't exactly any squealing, Phin's not a morning person, but it was incredibly sweet. He wanted to do it all over again the next day. Tried to explain to him that we had to wait a year but the concept didn't quite click. This is a guy who adamently believes Santa is two years old, like him. Try to explain limited resources to that. By the way, I hope he believes he and Santa are the same age next year. I don't know where he came up with that, but we couldn't convince him otherwise.

Gray was a sweet little babe who didn't care what day of the year it was as long as he was fed and cuddled. He got plenty of both. And a stocking full of baby socks and teething toys. He also received a plethora of jammies because Santa doesn't waste time on baby toys when big brother still has plenty. Next year baby Gray, you'll get yours.

Year review in cell phone movies

Posted this on facebook the other day and can't stop watching it. My babies and my guy are so freaking cute in 2.5 speed! Happy New Year!

My Movie from Mel A on Vimeo.

Big Cup.

When I was an incredibly emotional teenager, I would lie in my room with my angsty music playing and imagine the perfect life I’d have when I officially grew up. I pictured big cities, low paying yet emotionally gratifying jobs and clinking glasses. Also stylish friends who shared their amazing closets with me because you know, low paying but emotionally gratifying job.  I felt like I would have to find the magic combination that would make my cup feel full.

What I didn’t picture was finding it here. On the cusp of Thanksgiving I’m feeling it. Exhausted, stressed and even scared about some looming things,  but full.

I write about my Jared annually when I should be composing sonnets weekly, not that he would want that. I’m sure he’d be fine with a bi-weekly or even a semiannual arrangement. He’s flexible.  He is so much more than a husband or a best friend. He is a force in this world and all mine.

When we were at store the other night we took Phin down to the toy section. They had one of those mini basketball things where you see how many baskets you can make. Obvoiusly we got into a serious competition. Like, this one’s for the gold, seriousness. Like, this one’s for dish duty for a week, seriousness.  Just a little thing that reminded me that we still got it. It being the ability to have fun anywhere. Even walmart on a weeknight with two kids. Halle-freaking-lujah. I love the life we led before we had children. I love this life we have with them. I can’t wait to see what life we will have when they’re grown.

And those kids? Those kids are better than I could have hoped for. It’s like they were custom made for me. Oh wait, they were. I did that. My parents have one of those little closets under their stair case. My Mom threw a whole bunch of pillows and blankets in there and told her grandkids it was a super hero cave. Sunday night Phin decided that everyone need to get in the super hero cave. Everyone. All his aunties, his uncle and cousins, his parents and grandparents. He gave us each a pat on the butt as we crawled in. When were all piled in, Phin chucked a Pocahontas book at my Mom’s head, I shined my phone at the pictures and we had ourselves a little story time with a side of oxygen deprivation. We were all laughing and trying to avoid getting an elbow or baby foot to the face, but my Phin made that happen. He is his own self.

And my miracle baby. My Gray. My little one that had us holding our breath every few weeks to see if there was still a heartbeat. Who made it into this world over five pounds when we all worried he might not clear two. So much to be thankful for with my sweet baby Gray.

So my cup. That sucker is filled. It’s full of music and books and coworkers who share my love of holiday music and nurture my new found love of professional sports. It’s full of developing new hobbies and returning to old ones. It’s full of nights where I cuddle in bed with my newborn and laptop and Netflix while my husband studies and my toddler sleeps in his big boy room. It’s full of Tuesday afternoons with my Mom, Sundays evenings joking with my day, Monday night football with my brother and Saturday donuts or shopping with my sisters.  It’s full of friends I can go months without seeing but pick up right where we left off. It’s so full and there is room for more. How? Who knows. I just know I am so very grateful for the cup I've been given.

Happy Thanksgiving. 

 

Wait, Apple Hill isn't a giant apple?

Because Phin thinks it would be so much cooler if it was. After two plus hours in the car with Mom and Dad trying to hype it up,

"Phin, we're here! This is Apple Hill!"

"Mommy, what'd you say?"

"We're at Apple Hill!"

"No! No, this isn't Apple Hill. No!"

"Uh, yeah, this is it." Crap. "This is Apple Hill!"

"No Mama! This, this, we not at Apple Hill!"

Poor kid was expecting a giant Apple Hill. James and the Giant Peach style, but bigger. And you know, an apple.

Vovo pacified him with a giant, but not hill sized, chocolate and caramel covered marshmallow on a stick. Yeah, we let him have that for less than a minute. And he rode a horse, a pony, which fufilled a Momma dream for me. Fun was had by all!

Gray slept most of the day but he ate when he was hungry and was cuddled by many loved ones. So I'm sure he had a pretty sweet day himself.

The whole weekend was pretty fabulous. Living the dream.

 

Christmas, Christmas

It was so much everything and that's the way I like it.

Cousins were there

Stockings were hung.

Parents were still in love.

Carols were sung.

Candles were lit.

Presents were opened.

Chocolate was inhaled.

Babies were held.