She Likes Purple

The last week in numbers

Number of (new!) cupcakes I had: 3 (including Magnolia, finally, and Butter Lane, which were easily the best cupcakes I've ever had)

Number of blisters I have on my feet from walking all over New York City and a large convention center: 3

Number of grainy cell phone pictures Mike sent me of Kyle: 3

Number of grainy cell phone pictures I wanted Mike to send me of Kyle: 9 kazillion

Number of times I said "I'm exhausted": at least 187

Number of fantastic bloggers I got to meet: 6 (Jonna, Metalia, Jen, Megan, Laurie, and Alexa)

Number of celebrities I spotted at BEA: 4(ish) (Dan Jansen, Clinton Kelly, Kristian Alfonso, and Rick Springfield) (I added the "ish" for Kristian Alfonso, since no one I've told in person knows who Hope from Days of Our Lives is.)

Number of glasses of champagne I sipped on: 4 or 5

Number of time I rolled my eyes in the middle of Times Square: 200, at least (seriously, I'm nowhere near a New Yorker, but look where you're walking people)

Number of times I thought, mentioned, or referenced Gossip Girl while in New York: embarrassingly, more than I can count on one hand

Number of new (and also delicious) restaurants I tried: 4

Number of times I exercised in the hotel fitness center: 2 (which I'm annoyingly bragging about, I know, but I DO NOT CARE)

Number of cab drivers who told me I am an "evil woman": just 1, both fortunately and UNfortunately

Number of boxes I lugged across an entire convention center: at least a dozen

Number of times I ran across an airport to make a flight: 1

Number of times I got hit by a bicycle: 1 

Number of times the hotel bed softened the ache of missing my family: fine, at least 3

Number of times I looked around at the bustling city around me and wondered, could I hack it here?: oh, lots

Number of times I thought, New York, I'm sure you're lovely, but give me my boys: oh, lots and then add a million

Number of times I've thought of that Butter Lane cupcake since eating it: um, sadly close to as many as the previous answer

Leaving, staying, always changing

Kyle has another ear infection. Before you each suggest tubes or, I don't know, putting him in a bubble, let me say this in all caps and with much authority: SHIT, DON'T I KNOW.

Mike's taking him for an allergy panel this week and he also has a scheduled appointment with both a pediatric dermatologist and an ear, nose, and throat doctor.

Seriously, our medical budget is about to be dirtily taken advantage of.

Oh, and hey! I'm leaving (insanely early) for a week-long business trip in New York tomorrow morning. I can't recall if I documented this or not, but I was in New York in November (for work) when Kyle came down with the flu of the swine variety. 

It's as if he knows I'm going on a solo flight and he wants to take away the restful sleep and the luxury of a Bloody Mary and just inject stage-five WORRY! into my veins.

Next installment in my Real Marriages series: Mike is a saint.

So, the stress. IT IS CURRENTLY A LITTLE BIT HIGH, OMG.

Don't get me wrong, I'm really excited about this trip, of course, as it's my favorite time of year in the publishing world (BEA) and I've also finally fallen in love with New York (this will be my sixth trip) and even if I didn't love the city, I do love new restaurants and new cupcakes and new blog meet-ups and more time with colleagues I like, but this is just the curse of being a mom: I can't turn off the stress of home while I'm away, even though I'm leaving home in very capable, strong hands.

While I'm gone, I'll wish to be home with my sick baby, and when I'm home, I often think of work and how I can market our books better and how I can answer emails more efficiently and there's always this stupid unattainable desire for balance.

The desire of doing it all: it's both this beautiful blessing and huge curse.

We never can do it all, and we know this, yet we never stop trying.

It's probably why I've been tired since 2008.

***

I may or may not write while I'm gone. I'm sure I'll tweet, though. Have a great last week of May, friends.

This is why we have our own DVRs

The other night, Mike flew out of the bedroom and ran upstairs faster than I've ever seen him move. And this is a man who plays hockey, on skates, once a week.

I don't know what I thought was going on. I was curious, sure, but not curious enough to follow him up there because I was watching Gossip Girl's season finale. Priorities people.

He came back down a few minutes later, with a huge grin on his face.

"Babe, Futurama is coming back with new episodes in June."

I was glad I hadn't gotten off the couch, I'll say that much.

***

Mike and I have a lot of exciting things planned for June: we're getting new phones, going to Sea World with Mike's family, having some people over to kick off summer, the Eclipse premiere (don't let Mike convince you he isn't excited about this too.) So when we talk about June, we've started calling it Juneapalooza.

(We're so weird.)

So, the other day I said, "I have more good news for Juneapalooza!"

"Cool, what?"

"Well, it's not technically for June. But it's still good news."

"Yeah?"

"One Tree Hill is coming back for an eighth season!"

"That's the worst news I've heard all day. You're ruining Juneapalooza."

(Funny thing about that [admittedly very bad] show: I've promised Mike every year since the fourth season that this will be the show's last year because, yeah, those promises made sense. Every year I have to sheepishly tell him, "Kidding! It's still on air." He doesn't believe anything I say anymore, understandably.)

***

Okay, I know Grey's Anatomy has sucked this year and I still don't quite get why Lexie went blond. I even stopped watching at the beginning of the year because, oh man, they went off course. But, I have a fondness for the show, I really do. I think it's produced some of the best episodes of any series. Like the bomb-in-the-body episode where Coach Taylor got blown up? So good! (Also, I like Meredith. Always have.)

So, when I saw the previews for the finale, I was all about it.

I started watching it last night after Kyle went down and before Mike got home. I knew I'd have to stop it mid-way in order to get in a run at the gym. It just so happened that where I stopped it, when Mike got home, was a particularly tense part.

Mike and I chatted for a few minutes, about taking the trash out and dinner and I was feeling really tense, BECAUSE OF A TV SHOW, WHICH IS RIDICULOUS, I KNOW. But, it was causing me to get a little short with him, snappy even. Finally I said, "I'll just take the trash out later. Forget about it, god!"

"Uh, are you okay?"

"NO!"

"What's...wrong?"

"The Grey's Anatomy finale is just really stressful."

"That's an answer I wasn't expecting."

***

I write about tv all day, every day, and I even get paid for it (in part). (Aside: add my work blog to your feed reader, yo!) It only makes sense that I take shows as seriously as I do.

I'm okay with that.

But I do realize it makes it difficult for many people, including my husband, to take me seriously.

It's a good thing I have the image of my husband running upstairs to check the air date of a cartoon to make me feel better.

I sat beside you and became myself*

Three years ago, I wrote this post four days before our wedding day, and I ended it with this:

He has told me, daily, that our life will all work out, it will all be OK, we're some of the lucky ones, we're going to have fun, we have it good, we can only do our best, we have to rise above the stress and the hurt and that he loves me.

Michael, I believe you.

Let's do this.

Three years of marriage later, and I still hear those words from him regularly, and I still believe every one. I ended our vows by telling him he was the best decision I ever made, and even though deciding to have his child eked just slightly above it, it's still a very close second.

No one else knows how beautiful it is to be his wife. Even if sometimes it's beautifully frustrating and beautifully full of dirty socks scattered around our living room, I feel like I know this secret no one else knows.

It's a really cool secret. You'll have to trust me.

It was a beautiful wedding day, it's been a beautiful marriage, it's a beautiful life with, still, the cutest redhead I know.

 

Happy third anniversary, Mike. I loved you so much as we danced on that chilly California patio, tipsy and happy. Today, I love you more.

*Joshua Radin's "Today"

Running, Eating, Facebooking

I registered for a 10K yesterday. Unironically. Although I'm not sure why I just wrote that since I've never known a single person to register for a race ironically.

Or, come to think of it, to spend any money whatsoever ironically.

Registering for a 10K is just something I've never done before or ever thought I'd be ready to do before this year. After I hit "register," I thought: huh, maybe I didn't think this through because I'm ... pretty terrified. Excited, sure, but mostly terrified.

I started training last night. I have four months to finish an 8-week program, which -- if I'm applying my first-grade math correctly -- is plenty of time. That doesn't stop me from wondering how in the hell I'm going to run SIX STRAIGHT MILES (plus a little more). My goal isn't to finish. My goal is to run the entire time, even if my pace is more molasses-like jogging than running. At least it won't be walking. I don't need to pay to prove I'm capable of walking six miles.

I'm also seriously considering signing up for a bootcamp class through our local rec this summer. It's on my to-do list for the year, and I think I'm ready. I wanted to get some of the weight off first, so I wouldn't be too discouraged in class. But. Well. The class is at 5 a.m. You're probably puzzled by that time. Let me clarify: that a.m. means morning and that 5 means just a handful of hours after midnight, when I usually go to sleep. I'll be working out when it's practically still night. 

Working out in the middle of the night by choice sounds like the worst idea I've ever had. (And just this past weekend I had the idea to get up in front of a bar full of people and sing karaoke.)

I can't help but think, though, that finishing something so seemingly challenging might feel fantastic.

We'll see.

***

I've also had this nagging thought lately about starting a food blog. That's insane, I know it is, as I don't think the universe is going to give me a few extra hours to cram into my day. And without those extra hours, I'm pretty tapped out of free time.

It's just, I really enjoy finding new recipes, new ingredients and new techniques and products. I enjoy my time in the kitchen and would love to have a place where I track everything I'm making/baking/ruining. I'd also love to have one place where I keep record of all the fun restaurants I'm trying and what I've tried there. 

It's doing what so many projects and ideas and grand plans do to me: whisper in my ear until I totally forget about them or turn them into reality.

Again, we'll see.

***

Did you know I run a style website? You probably did because I very rarely shut up about it (I'm proud of it, and I think being proud of something is totally okay). Well, if you're interested, we've launched a Facebook page for Style Lush. Go check it out (it's actually really awesome, with links to fantastic things all across the internet, not just from our site).

***

Finally, it terms of my Real Marriages series, is there a question you have or a topic you'd like to see explored? I'm reaching out to a few people for guest posts, and I think knowing your thoughts on this will help me schedule well.

Full circle weekend

We had a really fun weekend. Cherie, a great friend from college, was in town from Portland, so we got our kids together and marveled over how we used to be silly drunk girls who sang really awful karaoke together and now we're mothers with mortgages and multiple mouths to feed. Then we left the kids with their grandmas, so we could go out and act like silly drunk girls while singing really awful karaoke.

So awful, in fact, that half-way through our rendition of Don't Stop Believin', I turned to Cherie and said, "We should just walk off stage now, shouldn't we?" Although we didn't, I think we really, really should have. 

Mike said afterward, "Babe, that wasn't good." And he was being kind.

Anyway, here is a picture snapped Saturday afternoon at Twisted Root, with four kids under two, all born to friends who met in college. We went from late night runs to Taco Cabana to making sure our kids stayed put in their high chairs at lunch, and no one could tell any of us how that happened. Or at least tell us in any believable way.

 

It was great to see Cherie, and I miss her already.

(A few more pictures from our weekend.)

***

And, not only is Cherie one of my favorite people, but apparently she's all the motivation Kyle needed to get off his hands and knees and toddle like the toddler he is.

Here's a crappy-quality video to prove it:

He's doing what so many of you said he'd do: just walking like he's been doing it for months, even though he only took his first steps mere days ago. 

I think it's going to be a huge let-down to him, though, when he realizes we won't always clap like maniacs each time he walks somewhere. Right now, we practically throw him a parade and offer him a pony in exchange for a few steps.

We did realize, immediately after he crossed the entire living room, that we're now officially screwed. In the best possible way.

***

How was your weekend?

"Real marriages" featured post

Every now and then I'm going to feature those women I fiercely admire, the ones who are talking about real life in a real way.

Like Lisa, in this post:

Maybe the lack of sleep and the endless work on the house - Every. Single. Weekend - and the lack of time to ever just BE, just the two of us, maybe the cumulative effect was just too debilitating.

Maybe our roots weren't deep enough when we began. Maybe the kid and the new old house would actually break us.

I said as much, calmer, cooler, close to midnight. Will we break?

And Nick said no. Look, love, look around. Look at the beauty we've made. We've finally dug out from under. We're starting to live in the light.

The first year as new parents is insane in how extreme it all is: extreme exhaustion, extreme bliss, extreme pride, extreme fear, extreme extreme extreme.

It's a lot. It's a helluva lot.

I grin ear to ear every time someone asks me about being a mom, about Kyle, about my sweet, sweet family. But it's also ripped me open in a very strange way. And it's real to wonder if the vulnerability will snap the security in half.

It won't, and when you reach the other side, when the extremes soften into the day-to-day loveliness of parenthood, you'll exhale and realize you didn't break, you are stronger, and you are so proud of who you are and who you're with.

Uh-oh!

Yesterday's post was tough for me. Getting real about things is hard -- harder even than I thought it would be -- so I thank you for your kindness and honesty and I also thank my husband for being the kind of man who would never choose to blog or put his truths online but constantly encourages me to talk about whatever I want or need to.

As cheesy as this sounds, no matter how many wrapped gifts I have or haven't gotten from him, he insists that I write about whatever I want and he loves me for being the insane, insecure, flawed person I am. That's a damn good gift, for sure.

(Thanks, babe.)

In other news, here's me trying to coaxing my child to show off every one of his tricks for the camera. He only obliges me on about 50% of them. Adorable, anyway.

The head shaking IS his idea of dancing, cute little man, because that's (uh, strangely) how I showed him how to dance a few weeks ago. Also, "hello!" is his cue to put his hand (or cup or remote or bagel) up to his ear, like he's on the phone.

He started fake sneezing last week but won't show you that trick.

And to answer your last question: yes, I love him like you wouldn't believe.

How could you not?

The importance of gifts

(I think I'll call this the second installment in a series I'm cautiously launching about real marriages. First post was about dividing household chores.)

My husband has given me some incredible gifts over the years: a diamond necklace, a beautiful bouquet of flowers for Mother's Day the year we were trying for a baby but didn't yet have a baby, a cashmere sweater I really wanted but couldn't afford.

He can wow me with his gift giving.

But, there have been plenty of anniversaries, birthdays and Christmases he's shown up for the party empty-handed.

He lists all the things he wanted to get me but didn't for one reason or another. That rarely softens the blow, although I know he's trying.

One Valentine's, he told me he wanted to get me a massage but wasn't sure of my schedule and didn't realize they offered gift cards, so he gave me the number of the place and said, "you should make an appointment whenever you need one!"

"Your gift to me is permission to get a massage?"

(I probably said it with a little more attitude than that.)

He always, always means well, but gifts aren't important to him. He'd be fine if all I ever gave him for any holiday or birthday or anniversary was a back rub followed by a foot rub followed by free reign over the DVR.

But, I like gifts! Come on, I write gift guides in my spare time! I worked a gift category into our monthly budget. I rack my brain trying to think of new and creative and personal things to give to the people in my life, including Mike.

I think he has a point in that not every special day really requires a gift. We have Christmas, my birthday, Valentine's Day, our anniversary, Mother's Day and the other anniversary I force him to still celebrate. Those gifts rack up. And it's not about the material items, I KNOW I KNOW, so no need to point that out to me in the comments. I KNOW, NOT ABOUT THE STUFF.

(Although, whatever, stuff is fun.)

I have some incredibly thoughtful gifts from him over the years and we always celebrate special days, as I like to do, with a night out. I can usually get a few extra hours of uninterrupted sleep on any of those days, too, which is invaluable, am I right?

In my gut, I know I need to adjust my expectations on this one and enjoy how sweet my husband really can be. He's a keeper, and I think I'm the one who needs a little fine-tuning in this area.

But, sigh, I still like pretty things. I still like opening presents. I still get a little bummed when my birthday or anniversary or Mother's Day gift isn't tangible.

Am I alone?

Are gifts important to you? To your partner? Do you have similar gift-giving tendencies? Did you have to adjust your gift expectations with your partner? Or, do you get diamonds every month on the day of your first kiss?

Let's hear it all.

Quick capture

Kyle said "uh-oh" for the first time yesterday. The video of that will be posted later. Too much cuteness for first thing on a Tuesday morning.

I took this past Friday off for no other reason than I wanted to, and it felt great. I had breakfast with my two boys before hanging out in the sun with Kyle and then hanging out with my mom, Natalie, and champagne in the evening.

It was a good, good day.

So many of them are, and in case I don't say it enough, we're so lucky for how often our days are good.

Even if far too many of those days don't include make-up or a hair brush.

***

First (second?) marriage-related post up later this evening. Thanks for the kind words and interest.

Post-Mother's Day

I think every day should be Mother's Day. Granted, I'd never get out of bed, would gain every single pound back I've lost over the last four months and would only see my child in passing as Mike handled all the parenting grunt work, but my DVR queue would be completely empty and, also, I'd be very well-rested.

Suffice it to say, Mother's Day (weekend) was nice.

Mimosas-in-the-morning-burgers-at-night-sleeping-in-a-lot nice. So nice, I'm on a serious calorie detox this week. And back in the gym this week like I'm being paid to be there.

(Sadly, I'm not.)

I hope your weekend was equally relaxing. You deserve it.

***

I also finally finished Avatar this weekend. I think I was officially the last person with a pulse who hadn't seen it. I hesitated for so long because I find James Cameron to be horrible and giving him a single dollar gets me all worked up (although, you should know me well enough by now to know I get worked up easily).

I'm also not the right market for 3D movies. If a movie requires an accessory to really enjoy it, I'd prefer that accessory to be a champagne flute or a pair of wedges.

But, I wrote a list of things I wanted to do in 2010 and one item is "see all the nominees for Best Picture." 

So, I watched it, and I'll admit it was pretty good. Entertaining, definitely. Enjoyable, even. But, in the words of my husband: "I liked Iron Man better."

I'd recommend it to you for a Saturday night pick if it turns out you're really the last person on earth who hasn't watched it, but it definitely didn't change my life the way I was told it would. It did change my opinion of Sam Worthington, though.

Yum.

***

Another season of The Amazing Race has come and gone and once again I'm reminded how much energy I invest in a reality show that doesn't consider me at all. My stomach hurt for an hour afterward because my team didn't win. 

That's insane, I know.

What's more insane: I'm still not over Kevin losing last season's Top Chef.

I need more hobbies.

***

I've been thinking a lot about last week's post on dividing household responsibilities and also about what so many of you had to say in the comments of that post.

It got me thinking that I'd like to start a little marriage/family series here. That sounds kind of silly when I type it out, but bear with me.

Hillary said something great in a post of her own the other day: "I read some blogs that are all sunshine! rainbows! unicorns! happyhappyhappy! and I wonder how honest those bloggers are being."

Most of the time when I read those shiny blogs, the ones whose lives are well-decorated without a fight on the horizon, I simply make a mental note not to tell them about the time I actually screamed at Mike over a houseplant (should be noted: I was pregnant at the time).

It's not that I don't believe you can go through life and marriage without ever raising your voice or getting annoyed or arguing over silly things because I do! I actually believe far too much of what I read online! That's a whole other issue.

But, I think there's a way to speak of marriage and family in such a way that helps us all grow, even the people who may have it more figured out than most.

I don't think there's anything wrong with saying: I want to work on this, so I'm going to talk about it. Join me, if you'd like.

I also (usually, ha-ha) love hearing your points of view, your insight, your thoughts on a topic. It helps me see things in a new light.

So, I'd really enjoy talking here about things I think many relationships face: budgets, managing family time, managing time with friends, traveling, remembering to be polite to each other, reconciling decorating differences (tell me I'm not the only one who has fought over paint colors), how to argue effectively, ideas for honoring your marriage and celebrating your partner, dealing with in-laws, bedtime duties, giving gifts, date nights.

I really could go on and on. And I hope to, here, and I hope you'll read along and comment, too.

I'll never stop trying to be a better mother and wife, and I think in order to do that, I have to be able to talk openly and honestly about what I'm facing, what I'm overcoming and who I'm striving to be.

Stay tuned.

***

Also, I want these shoes.

All because of him

Hey, buds. You made me a mom all those days ago.

And all the days between then and now too.

You'll always be the only one who could have given me the job. And that's something, trust me.

Turns out, it's the only job I've held that included bison-like weight gain, a catheter and stitches down there. Also, no weekends off, no 401K and worrying my head off is sort of an around-the-clock norm.

It would sound kind of horrible if it wasn't the best thing I've ever been chosen to do.

Being your mom is pretty spectacular. Thanks for letting me do it. 

***

And Happy Mom's Day to my own mother who passed down to me her love of worrying but also her love of champagne, thank god. And who is an even better Nana than she is a mom, and she's a pretty damn good mother.

Bad adult, good mom

Sometimes I think I'm just pretending to be an adult. I have all these questions -- how to keep a grocery budget? how to keep a clean house? how to ignore those pan of brownies on the counter? -- and so many of you have thoughtful, insightful, impressive answers, and I wonder if there was a course I missed in college that all of you seemed to take and pass without having to steal answers from your neighbor.

On the one hand, thank god you're doing all the thinking for me. On the other, you're never invited to my house because then you'd see how often I belly-flop my way through life. 

I am grateful for all the advice lately, really. I wanted it and appreciate it and I will not tell you how often I use your words instead of my own when talking to other people.

(The joys of the internet. You never know when someone's verbally plagiarizing you to a group of their co-workers or in-laws.)

In all seriousness, as Mike and I talked a little last night, I re-worded Blythe's comment about not wanting to remind him to do something for fear of becoming a nag. Obviously I find being grouchy and resentful way sexier than nagging. He understood but swore he didn't see it that way, just like Blythe's husband.

And the internet wins at awesome again.

But, seriously, if you tell me you actually apply make-up every day and manage to make your bed as soon as you get out of it, I'll be forced to start talking about you behind your back, you responsible adult you.

***

Anyway, let's move on to something else. Me in a bathing suit! At our community pool!

(This post took a horrific turn, I realize.)

We signed Kyle up for swim lessons this summer because 1) he absolutely loves the water and 2) we have a great little town pool that offers classes for his age group.

Now, when we first decided to do this, Mike was clearly going to get in the pool with him while I was clearly going to sit, fully clothed, somewhere alongside the pool with good angles from which to take many proud pictures. Unfortunately, Mike's work schedule exploded and now he won't be home in time for the class.

I will have to take Kyle to his swim class and get in the pool with him.

(AHHHHHHH.)

Ideally I'd buy this one-piece suit from Anthropologie to soften the blow of having to wear a suit in public in the first place.

But, seriously, if I had $238 to spend on a bathing suit, do you really think I wouldn't rent a stand-in parent for these classes? 

Mainly I just wanted to bring this entire situation to your attention because I can't quite remember another instance when my love for my child was so easily proven.

Middle of the night screamfests? Being thrown up on and smacked in the face, sometimes all in the same day? Every month, forking over the cost of three of those bathing suits to provide care for Kyle while I work? None of these compare to exposing my stretch marks to strangers all in the name of a little organized splashing.

I may not be rocking the whole adult thing but the first day of this swim class, I'm going to tell everyone with ears what a fantastic fucking mother I am.

I wonder if they'll believe me.

Balancing imbalance

I love my husband. I love him more than I love shoes and bottomless mimosas and movie previews. He's fun and calm, and he's just the greatest man, he is.

You know all this, I know you do, but I wanted to lead with that.

Because.

Well.

I have a question for you. Especially if you work outside the home. (And this question is not about a workplace flexibility forum, you're welcome.) The question is: If you live with someone, how do you divide household chores between you and your spouse/boyfriend/partner/whoever this person may be?

I often I feel I do more around the house, and although Mike doesn't sit around watching Mythbusters telling me I've missed a spot all day long, I find myself getting steamed up about the imbalance at times.

I commute and pay the bills and give Kyle his baths and get us all fed and, yes, you mowed the lawn, LET ME ENGRAVE THIS TROPHY FOR YOU. Remind me, is asshat one word or two?

But, man, that's not fair to him. He does a lot. He does way more than a lot. He's as hands-on a dad as any I know, and he listens to me when I vent about blog drama. That's totally the sign of a good husband.

I sometimes think people don't talk very openly about marriage, especially not online. Not where there are search engines and archives. If you admit to a fight or an issue or a surprise in co-habitating (like, do all men leave their socks laying around or is that just mine?), someone out there will never forget.

But, I believe talking about this stuff, this normal, everyday, most-people-go-through-it stuff is what makes you a better spouse, a better person.

And if you know nothing else about me, you should know I want to be a better spouse, a better person. Every day I want to be better. He may not do the dishes, but he deserves that much from me.

So, I'm curious. How do you divide housework and, more importantly, how do you handle the (occasional/constant/whatever it is for you) imbalance of responsibilities? Voo-doo dolls? Drinking? Lots of put-upon sighing? Or do you act all adult-like and just clean the kitchen without complaint?

Time enough

Kyle's been waking up a lot the last month or so. I read somewhere (one of your blogs, perhaps?) that his age group is prone to dreams rattling sleep schedules, and we also had the one joy descend upon our home that no one said a damn word about at any of my baby showers: MOLARS! Oh, and I'm sure one of his many sicknesses is to blame, too.

If you're asking yourself what sicknesses? you have not been reading this blog very long, have you?

I considered making Fucking Viruses its own category just yesterday.

Anyway, the same baby who slept through the night at five months is waking a few times now, and although it's easy to get him back to sleep and even easier to fall back asleep myself (if I'm ever really awake when I go in to comfort him), it's still hard being roused from a dream starring Tim Riggins so you can have a 2 am party with your toddler.

Last night, he woke up coughing (allergies) and I went in to comfort him some. I picked him up, and he did the one thing he does that entices me to lift him out of his crib in the first place. He rested his head on my shoulder.

Babies sleeping on you is glorious and intoxicating and it makes you want ten more for the snuggles alone. (The cost of clothing and feeding and diapering all those snuggles quickly makes you not want ten more, but you get what I'm saying.) But toddlers snuggling into you? Better than Tim Riggins himself.

I both hate these mid-night wake-ups and love them. Love them because, hello, toddler snuggles, but hate them because (aside from MY SLEEEEEP) every time I lift Kyle up, his legs rest lower and lower against me. His little legs used to curl up by my elbows, and now he's so big and they hang so low.

"You're so big!" I say every day to him. "Where's my baby gone to!?" Sometimes I force him into my arms to rock him and he fights it and cranes his neck and I can almost hear him thinking, "I'm not a baby! Quit that!"

But in the middle of the night, as he rests into me and exhales, the only thing that reminds me of his boyhood are those long legs hanging down, kicking me in the thigh. Stupid legs.

I can't help but think to myself, all misty-eyed and nostalgic for something I'm actually holding, "You'll never be this little again."

One day I won't be able to pick him up at all. When that happens I'm totally starting a blog category called Time's an Asshole.

It just goes by so fast. It hardly takes us into consideration at all.

How do you do it?

I juggle a lot. I'm not looking for a trophy or even a back pat because about 75% of the things I juggle, I chose. (Granted, you could argue I choose to do everything I do, but I don't particularly think wiping my kid's butt is as much a choice as a necessary evil. Some days much more evil than others.)

Anyway, I like juggling. It suits me.

But, it also can lead to stress-induced ragings. Those do not suit me. Or my family. Or anyone in my town.

I'm not looking to lessen my load as much as I'm looking for reminders of ways to occasionally slow down when I need to. How to press pause and unwind.

Exercising and baking and sitting on our porch swing are all things that fall onto my "unwind" list, but I'm just curious what's on yours.

How do you slow down when life speeds up?

I did not poach an egg this weekend, but I did think I was dying

Okay, so that title's a wee bit dramatic but around 2 pm yesterday, I started feeling ... off. Weird. Strange. Not as healthy as one hopes to feel when their house needs cleaning and their child needs rearing.

It hurt to breathe, and then I started getting achy and fevery and a little nauseous, too. Mike was feeling the same, except MUCH, MUCH WORSE BECAUSE HE IS A MAN, but he was wonderful enough to let me crawl into bed and sleep for a few hours and although it was glorious on the one hand (hello, afternoon sleep is always, always glorious on the one hand and usually glorious on all hands), it was also horrible because Kyle was in a super happy mood and I could hear him gleefully screeching from the other room, and I just wanted to take the kid to the park or to get ice cream and not confine him in our living room while Mike laid on the couch and I laid in bed, and we both moaned the day away. 

Thankfully, my fever seemed to break around 6 pm and I mustered enough strength to get up and get Kyle fed and bathed and put to bed (sorry you got to look at the couch for four straight hours, kid!), and I even felt good enough to eat a small dinner.

Mike, on the other hand, was RAPIDLY DETERIORATING and as I type this, he's at the doctor, getting an official diagnosis. I thought it must be the flu, which is why Kyle seemed a-okay, his winter flu shot was doing its job, but the doctor seems to think that's not it.

I would like to point out how stellar my immune system really is. I kicked this thing in four hours, TAKE THAT MYSTERY ILLNESS, and yet Mike is still wallowing in pain and sickness. He may trump me when it comes to electronics or plumbing or tool names, but when it comes to kicking the ass of a virus, I'm all over that shit.

Obviously we're both praying like mad that Kyle does not get this THING, and if you could cross your fingers and toes and send up prayers and good vibes and maybe sacrifice a small animal or two, we'd be ridiculously appreciative.

Suffice it to say, the egg poaching lesson will come later, when my husband can sit upright without whining and when my house finally does get cleaned.

So, June, I'd say. We'll poach eggs in June.

(Also, at what point does this blog become a Sick Blog, and will you still read if I change the name to She Likes When Her Entire Family Doesn't Feel Like Ass?)

April re-cap

April has come and gone, friends, and this month (aside from Croup, molars and taxes) was somewhat uneventful.

I'm doing these recaps to keep a handle on my to-do list for the year and to check in on my weight-loss and on Kyle, since I'm no longer writing him monthly letters. 

So, my big goals this month were to keep my house cleaner and my budget ... budgetier? We did well! Although currently the house is teetering between "eh, not too bad" and "holy shit, is that a day-old pancake on your ottoman?" (technically like 18 hours but whatevs). But, still, we've done well with our housekeeping this month. Same with our budgeting.

I gave up chocolate in April and although I sort of abandoned ship this past week when Mike surprised me with 90-calorie Snickers ice cream bars, I didn't inhale any Easter candy, which was the whole point of going without.

Other than that, it's officially been 4 months since I kicked off my "new year, new ass" goal, and I'm down 23 pounds (as of this morning). So I'm a pound away from being half-way there. HALF WAY. WHOO. I had 48 pounds to lose on January 1st and now I have 25. It's slow going with bumps and set backs and days where I eat far too much cheese, but, wow, I'm getting there. I'll get there.

When I do get there, by the way, I'm throwing a party. You're all invited.

I'll run my second 5K this coming weekend, on Mother's Day. Mike will be at the finish line, with Kyle, and if you think that won't bring me to tears, you've never watched an episode of Grey's Anatomy with me. I cry every single week no matter how awful the show has become. (Why is Lexie blond? She looks ridiculous.)

I put exercise on the back-burner too often in April, but this past week I got my butt back in the gym and reminded myself that while I am very, very busy, I still manage to watch American Idol every single week. (Go Lee!) If I can work that show onto my priority list, I can work a 30-minute run onto it, as well.

And Kyle. Oh, Kyle. He's stubborn and frustrating and cutting molars apparently turns him into a demon character straight out a Buffy episode. He's not walking, but that doesn't stop him from climbing on and off the couch, climbing the stairs and scaling the walls. I'm only slightly exaggerating on that last part. He's talking, a little. He can say "outside" and "sock" and "dad" but not "mama." I won't comment what I think about all that.

But, guys. This kid is MIND-BLOWING in his awesomeness. He is hilarious and smart and sweet and can be reckless and brave or shy and reserved, depending on the situation. He loves to people watch, and while he's a plain maniac at home, he's observant and calm in public, watching, thinking, plotting his takeover.

Whenever you say "hello!" he puts whatever he's holding up to his ear, which is how he got cream cheese from his bagel in his hair the other morning. Oops! He dances now, but just by shaking his head back and forth when you say "dance! dance!" When you ask where his nose is, he shows you his ear but when you ask where Mama's nose is, he shows you my nose. It's hard to miss, I'll give him that.

He's perfect. He's everything. He's Kyle.

May is here and I'm excited about a lot this month: my Mother's Day plans with my own mom; my Mother's Day plans with a mimosa and my bed; possibly seeing a great friend who'll be visiting Texas; our third wedding anniversary; a work trip to both Boston and NYC, which will include meals with FOUR! fantastic bloggers (Jen, Metalia, Jonna, and Megan (the number of hugs will  be absurd!)); and finally tackling that Week in the Life project I mentioned a while back.

It's going to be a good month. It's so far been a good year. And you're part of that goodness, you are. I'm so lucky to know you.

Happy May!