Motherhood & More: Trip allows time to recapture the old, discover the new*

As parents, many times we put our lives on hold to make sure our children have everything they need. They always are fed first or clothed first. Their needs always are met before anyone else’s.

But sometimes, we have to do things for ourselves.

In the spirit of that, my husband and I took a trip — a no-kids, only-have-to-worry-about what-we-want, no-complaining-allowed trip. And it was glorious.

We have been married for 10 years this past April — a long time, right? And in that entire time, we’ve never had a trip together that lasted longer than a day or two. We actually never had a honeymoon because of work commitments.

So we were long overdue. I actually wasn’t convinced we’d really get to go until we were more than half way to our destination. I am an optimist at heart, obviously.

But go we did. We went to Savannah, then Tybee Island in Georgia. It was hot and muggy and gorgeous and fantastic. We had actual conversations that weren’t interrupted by arguing children in need of a referee. We ate in restaurants without having to make sure there was a kids’ menu, because heaven forbid they eat something other than a burger or chicken nuggets.

We drank grown-up drinks at 3 in the afternoon.

We were together. Just us.

I took three midday naps.

I remembered what it was like to spend days with just my husband and we were able to be us again, not Mama and Daddy.

I walked miles each day without listening to one person with tiny legs complain about their feet.

I didn’t have to brush anyone’s hair but mine, or help anyone dress, or argue about the importance of clean underwear.

I didn’t have to follow a tiny tyrant’s schedule that includes more than frequent bathroom breaks.

And yet.

I didn’t get to show the kids the ocean or force them to try new foods under threat of lost screen time. I didn’t get to swim with them or people watch with them or stay in a hotel with them, which obviously is the best part of any trip away from home.

I didn’t get to stay up too late with them, watching a movie they probably shouldn’t be watching or share the history of a gorgeous old town.

I think it’s good for our kids to see us as separate from them, not just Mama and Daddy, or “The Ones Who Make Us Do Things We Don’t Want To Do.”

They need to see us as who we are as individuals, who we were before them. But it’s hard when you can’t quite remember who that is. Taking a few days to just be me, to just be us, let me have a bit of that back. And I was able to see how different of a person I am now, eight years later.

And maybe it let my kids miss me a bit and appreciate me just a little bit more.

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on June 22, 2016.

Motherhood & More: With the holidays upon us, I am thankful for coffee*

Every year I wonder how it is that the holidays have come so quickly. I’m not nearly ready for any of it and it’s become a tradition to rush around crazily at the last minute. I don’t think this is so much because I put things off, but rather I pile too much stuff on in hopes of being everything to everyone.

So, in the spirit of giving myself a break, I’m copping out on this column. I’m going easy on myself. So this will not be literary genius of a piece, as they normally are, of course. This will be a last-minute, thrown-together list written in between work and laundry.

You are so welcome.

Without further ado, I give you my Thanksgiving List Of Things I Am Thankful For:

• I’m thankful my daughter slept all night in her own bed without crawling into mine, snoring and stealing all the covers.

• I’m thankful for interesting work I can do from my dining room table.

• I’m thankful my son enjoys reading as much as I do, even if his favorites employ toilet humor instead of complex plot development. “Captain Underpants,” I’m looking at you.

• I’m thankful we have a house that is a cross between 1920s craftsman, 1980s renovation and 2010s my-children-have-too-much-junk-and-refuse-to-clean-up-after-themselves.

• I’m thankful for coffee.

• I’m thankful I have a husband who sometimes makes me lunch when I’m busy writing a column that is past due.

• I’m thankful for laughter and corny jokes and friends and family who indulge me in both.

• I’m thankful for people who buy and appreciate the jewelry and hand knits I so love to make.

• I’m thankful for parents who raised me to know how to do things for myself, like making a pie, sewing a dress or growing a garden.

• I’m thankful my backyard is shady so I have an excuse not to plant a huge garden that requires a lot of work.

• I’m thankful for warmth and good food.

• I’m thankful both of my children are thoughtful and kind.

• I’m thankful for health.

• I’m thankful for coffee.

• I’m thankful for the village in our real village — we have a good set of friends/neighbors who always are willing to help each other when needed.

• I’m thankful for a husband who doesn’t complain too much when I leave the living room strewn with yarn and project materials.

• I’m thankful for feather blankets on cold mornings.

• I’m thankful for good wine and good bourbon.

• I’m thankful for knit sweaters and socks.

• I’m thankful for hair dye to hide all of my gray hair.

• I’m thankful for friends who remain friends, even when we hardly ever see each other.

• I’m thankful for Minecraft entertaining my children sometimes so I don’t have to.

• I’m thankful my husband fills up the car’s gas tank so I don’t have to worry.

• I’m thankful for love and acceptance.

• I’m thankful for coffee.

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on Nov. 25, 2015.

I mean, I understand. Tortilla chips are delicious.

I convinced my husband to go out for Mexican food last night which was a miracle from Sweet Baby Jesus as he (my husband) is incredibly strong and full of will power and we do not eat out because we cook at home because the food there is better and better for you and cheaper and we are supposed to be eating all the 'right' foods because that will make us invincible.

So I got a giant chimichanga and a big bowl of queso and have zero regrets.

Except maybe for the amount of tortilla chips I allowed my daughter to consume but win some, lose some, right?

So we went out to eat because neither one of us felt like cooking and I was exhausted from all the no sleep I'd gotten the night before and really I just wore him down.

I've found that if I ask enough times eventually one of those times he will say Sure!  Let's go out to eat!  Complete with exclamation marks because that is totally how he talks.  (Not really.)

And I can't even get mad at him not cooking because he will cook when I don't want to which leaves me no excuses to go out to eat.

But sometimes you just want a taco from a Mexican restaurant, you know?

Of course, since we did go out to eat that meant that I accidentally forgot about the meat I was defrosting in the microwave to cook and it set out all night so I had to throw it away this morning when I remembered.

But I'm still calling it a win because I didn't have to wash dinner dishes and because Sebastian only said the word 'fart' loudly in a busy restaurant three times.

And now I have to get back to work because I am the new Web Content Editor for our office, which means that I get to change up the web page when someone tells me to.  It doesn't come with a raise or even really the actual title but I still think it's neat.

Do these $3 reading glasses make me look web-content-editory?

Also if you look closely you can see my new star shirt so let's consider this a how to wear diy post.

You're welcome.

Motherhood and More: It is no longer us vs. them — even ironing*

When I was younger, my sister and I had certain household chores.  Not always, but most of the time we all kind of banded together with my mother to keep on top of things like washing dishes and sweeping floors and cleaning bathrooms.  My dad was and still is the cook of the family – taking everything he makes seriously, even if it’s his beans and cornbread. 

But most of the cleaning fell to the girls.  And that was fine, it was just the way it was.  But as I got older, I became a bit more irritated at all the ‘women work’ we were expected to do.  And I wasn’t one to suffer in silence.  I complained and complained and complained and can almost, to this day, feel my mother rolling her eyes at me.

One subject that we constantly debated was the fact that my mom ironed my dad’s shirts.  To me this was the ultimate low.  Like – she was not valued as a woman and life partner because she was made to iron a work shirt.  And when she didn’t have time the task fell to me. 

One day, after a particularly sullen teenager outburst, my mom told me that in the future I would be happy to iron my husband’s shirts.

I think you can guess how I responded to that.  I don’t remember the exact words, but I believe it came with scoffing and laughing derisively because no way was I ever going to stoop to that level where I enjoyed being subservient to a man.

In college, my determination hadn’t waned much.  I fell into women studies classes because I took an English elective about women writers, but stuck around for a while, contemplating a minor.  While immersed in these classes, however, I became even more bitter and angsty over the plight of women.  I was not a joy to be around. 

But I didn’t want to be mad all the time.  I didn’t want to hate men.  Not that that was a requirement to take these classes, but from my experience they were all US versus THEM.  I decided I didn’t want to live like that, and there is a limit to how much wallowing one person should do. 

I did not pursue the minor.

It took years and years for me to find my place in the world, in my life, to figure out who I am.  And I realized that did not include being a bitter woman.  Yes, I agree that women still have a long way to go for equality.  But to me, real feminism doesn’t have to be such a negative, polarizing thing.  It’s not us versus them.  It’s having the ability to choose. 

And I was given that ability.  I chose to be a stay-at-home mother for years.  I chose to go back to work.  I choose, daily, to support my husband and family as much as I can, just as they choose to help me.  We’re in all of this together.  Sometimes I do more cooking and cleaning, but my husband does more outside work like mowing and changing the oil in the car.  Sometimes we work side-by-side to finish a task, be it raking landscaping rock or folding laundry.

So a little thing like ironing my husband’s shirt doesn’t seem like such a big deal anymore.  I don’t feel undervalued any more than my mother did.  She was right.  I do enjoy ironing my husband’s shirts.  I like doing something for him to show my appreciation, my love, be it ever so small.

 (Also he’s really bad at it and does it wrong and it’s just better if I do it myself.)

*This column originally published in The News-Enterprise on August 27, 2014.

Mother's Day

Many times, and for many people Mother's Day is not the ridiculous, greeting card smooshfest that we are taught to expect.

We're supposed to have well behaved children who lovingly bring us breakfast in bed with a side of diamonds.  

And when that doesn't happen, oftentimes we feel like something is lacking.

A few years ago I had an incredibly rough Mother's Day.  It was my first one as a parent of two children, and it followed the hardest few months of my life.  I had been struggling with depression, but didn't realize it.  I just figured that I wasn't very good at the whole mothering, stay-at-home thing and needed to suck it up and grow a pair and pull up my big girl panties and all that motivational crap we tell ourselves when life gets rough.

So that year when my husband picked me flowers and made me breakfast and did not get me a present because we were broke and that money would be better spent on things like food, I felt like I wasn't appreciated.  I felt like he didn't understand how hard everything was for me and was glossing over everything I did as Mama.

Obviously that wasn't true.  Obviously I had issues with myself and just projected them onto my poor husband.  I will forever cringe over the memory of that Mother's Day.

I no longer feel like I did that year.  Parenting two children is still extremely difficult, but my head is in a better place and I don't want or need a special, store-bought gift to show me that I am appreciated.

You know what I want?  I want the pancakes my husband made for me.  I want all of the handmade cards and notes my children created.  I want the hugs and kisses and time.  I want to make cakes and desserts for my own mother and mother-in-law.  I want to show those mothers that I appreciate and love them.

I want my rowdy, dirt-covered children to act just like they always do because that is who they are and why I love them.

I want to spend the day with extended family, cooking together, eating together, laughing together.

And I want to end the day with my oldest child comforting the storm-scared youngest by letting her lay in his bed and teaching her rock-paper-scissors.

And yes, there was a nice, store-bought gift.  But it pales in comparison to the rest of the gifts I was given on Mother's Day.

(I'm wearing the newly-shortened Washi Dress! MUCH BETTER!)

The full monty*

My husband is running a marathon on Saturday.

It's not the wussy half-marathon.**  Nope, it's the full monty: 26.2 miles.  (Because the other 26 miles are nothing without the 0.2.)

This entire thing is not something I understand.

Okay, maybe not the entire thing.  I get the need to push yourself, to work harder than you've ever worked before to reach a goal.  It's just the length of this goal that boggles.  I mean, 26.2 miles!  I think I can run 2.  Maybe 3 on a good day. And I always push myself, I do - usually until it hurts.  (See yesterday's post.)

So I'm proud of him.  He's been training for quite some time, forever it seems like.  And he's dedicated, which is pretty amazing when you think about how awful it must feel to run that long.  He's gotten up to 20 miles because everything he's read said that if you can run 20 miles you can do the entire thing.  That's probably because after reaching mile 20 you're brain shuts down and stops sending signals to your body that this is painful so please to be stopping now because it knows you're not really paying attention anyway.

At least that's my theory.

We have to get to the marathon place super early on Saturday so he can get all of his swag and stuff, so the kids are staying with my mother on Friday.  I don't think they'd do well with the extended amount of time we'd need to be in the crowd, anyway.  I'd rather not deal with a tantrum-y 3 year old and her bored out of his mind brother.  Because apparently it takes time to run a marathon, like four whole hours.  (Even more of a reason why it is completely unfathomable to me. RUNNING FOR FOUR HOURS IS INSANE!)

However, I'm incredibly proud of the hubs for doing what he's doing because I see how much effort he's put forth.

And I'll be cheering from the sidelines because LOOK AT WHAT MY HUSBAND CAN DO!

*Made you look!

**In no way do I consider a half-marathon wussy.  Don't throw things at me I WAS JOKING.

Of course I win. I ALWAYS WIN, CHRISTOPHER.

After a night of interrupted sleep, my husband and I have mini competitions to see who got the least amount of sleep and who is therefore worthy of the most sympathy and the ability to sleep in on Saturday while the other responsible adult wakes up with the children, the oldest of whom seems to think it's totally fine to start his day at 5 in the morning.

I keep telling that child that it's totally not fine, but he doesn't listen to me.  This morning, thankfully, he stayed upstairs until 6, though I could hear him walking around earlier than that.  But he needed to sleep with us because there was apparently a huge buzzing dragonfly in his room that was preparing to sting him at any moment. 

It turns out that his window was cracked and we live super close to a busy bypass and train and really, I think the incessantly loud traffic noise and stupid, over-exuberant train whistle woke him up.

So it was early when I was dragged out of bed because my children aren't cuddlers in the sense that they can be still and just lay with you.

They may want to lay down, but they don't want to lay down and be still.  There is turning and wiggling and elbowing and general not-comfortableness that does not encourage any of us to dawdle in bed. 

And this was after my husband came home late from being out of town for work.  It was around 11 before he showed up, and maybe I should have gone to bed since I'd missed out on good sleep all week from a certain 3 year old who wakes up screaming a few times a night.  But I kind of thought he'd have a sympathy present for me as I'd had to deal with both grumpy children by myself for two days and also had to take Adele to soccer practice wherein I spent the entire time chasing her back onto the correct field because once she gets the soccer ball she just wants to keep running and kicking and the only way to stop her is to pick her up and carry her back to the correct spot.

I also had to pack up two chairs and three jackets and a stuffed dinosaur and a water bottle while keeping an eye on my precious angel who was mad because the concession stand was closed and I wouldn't promise her that she could have a sucker at home (because you don't need anything to make you more hyper, Adele.) and so she ran all around, including toward traffic because the only way to really punish me for not giving her candy is to have me lose my mind.  I finally got her to stay sort if in one area by having Sebastian kick the soccer ball with her. 

But I also thought Chris would have a sympathy gift for me because Adele colored all over the bathroom and herself with a non-washable blue marker, and this was after she overflowed the toilet by flushing down a whole roll of toilet paper.

But no.  Nope.  Zero presents. 

So we went to bed late but I couldn't sleep because I'd had a ton of french press coffee in the afternoon to try to keep myself awake on account of being ridiculously exhausted and we all know what happens when I do that.

So I lay there and lay there and tried to calm my brain down, and just when I finally think I'm close to sleep I hear screaming from the monitor.  Okay then. 

I go upstairs and pick Adele up out of bed and sit with her and as soon as I do she falls right back to sleep.  And I sit and hold her for just a few more minutes to make sure she's good and asleep but also because there are very few moments a day when she's still and even less when she sits
still in my arms.

So no sleep.  But I did get to enjoy a quiet, non-argumentative moment with my fiery, I-do-everything-myself 3-year-old baby girl.  And maybe that's worth it. 

(Although a present would have been nice, Christopher.)

This is sort of a wedding anniversary post

Yesterday was mine and my husband's seventh anniversary.

We marked the occasion by me forcing him to clean the kitchen because I was too tired, which may or may not have been because I stayed up too late the night before 'celebrating' and by that I mean watching "Hemlock Grove" and drinking two glasses of Christopher's homemade hard apple cider that is a little surprising in its potency - every time I drink it.

Smoochie-boochies!

Or maybe I was too tired because I'd done 45 minutes on the elliptical machine at the gym, followed by 45 minutes on the stationary bike with the full leg press addition.  I'd say it was because I was dedicated (which I am, really) but I think it was mainly because I wanted to finish the second part of two-part "Doctor Who" episode.

I mean - aliens that dress up in human form and pass gas and laugh a lot?  WHAT'S NOT TO LOVE?

So anyway, we also marked the occasion by me taking the ipod away from Sebastian for three days on account of the tremendous fit he threw because I allowed him to choose whether to play on the computer for 30 minutes or watch a show and he choose the computer but then thought I'd just let him watch the show anyway, which I wouldn't.  So I was forced to listen to the tantrum drag on and drag on and so I locked him in our (large, expansive) playroom just so he wouldn't wake up his sister, who was napping at the time.  I wanted to send him to his room but he told me he'd just be loud when he went up there and wake Adele up.

So. 

I'm hoping today goes a little better.  Already it has.  I stayed home from the gym today because I think both Adele and I are sick.  She's stuffed up and extra cranky when she doesn't get her way and I've got a sore throat.  We are a magical bunch, no?

Instead I took Adele to Kroger after I dropped Sebastian off at school because I needed something for supper and they had one of those little carts that kids can push around and I think it might be the best invention ever.  She refuses to actually sit in a cart because anything that would make my life easier is obviously in opposition to her Life Plan.  So I saw the little cart and thought - why not?  It couldn't actually be worse than me chasing her throughout the store.  (If you're in Target and hear 'Adele? Adele!  Adele!  I'm over here! Stay with me!  Get back here!  Come here!  Adele!' then that's me.  If you see my kid send her my way.)

And it worked.  She stayed right with me and wouldn't let me touch the cart at all.  "I push!  I push!" she said.  She only put a couple of things in the cart - including a bag of goldfish that I let her keep because I was feeling generous.  She even put all of the things on the belt for the cashier to ring up, except for the bag of flour that I didn't want to have to clean up off the floor because we all know it would have fallen and spilled everywhere and then she would have stomped in it and picked it up by the handfuls and thrown it in my face.

So we did well.  And she didn't even fight the car seat, which these days is hit or miss.  You have to let her buckle the top part herself.  Sometimes when she's feeling feisty she half buckles it, then takes it apart and looks at you like "Ha ha!  See what I did?  You want me to buckle it, don't you?  Well, wait for it, wait for it, wait for it.... Tricked you again!  You're so gullible, Mom!" multiple times until I forcefully buckle it myself and then she screams and spits and screams some more and my shoulders reach up and up and up until they're almost at my ears, trying to block out the sound.

But not today.  So far.

I realize it's only 10 in the morning, but I'm hopeful.

So back to our anniversary.  We said "Happy Anniversary" a few times and when he came home from work he took the kids away to hike around a bit and look at some ducks while I recuperated from the exhausting day.  And then he gave them a bath when they got home.  And then he cleaned up the kitchen and vacuumed.

Guys.  That's what being together so long does to you.

And it's absolutely perfect.

(I gave him a peanut butter sandwich for dinner.  You are so welcome, Christopher!)

I mean, we really should have remembered a gun. Or at least a crossbow.

What if the zombie apocalypse breaks out while we’re hiking and we have to fight them off?  We should have brought a gun, I said.

My husband was not as amused as I thought he’d be:  And I just remembered why I never bring you hiking with me, he said.

He was joking, of course.  He loves it when I bring up the possible zombie apocalypse and he likes it even better when I bring up the possible alien invasion a la Falling Skies.

It’s all about being prepared, people.

We had just dropped the kids off with Chris’ parents and had a whole day to kill* before we went to visit some friends, so we planned a long hike.  Hiking was something we used to do a lot of, but of course it’s not that easy when you’ve got two children who like water and so hiking by a creek with them is not a good idea if we didn’t want to jump in after them.  Which we didn’t.

I wrote a bit about our love of hiking and being outside here, and actually that is the last time I went, I think.  Which makes me a little sad.  I mean, look at how little my babies were!

But Chris and I walked for about 3 and a half hours at Otter Creek, and I even made him hold my hand for 15 seconds in order to force romanticism on him.  I took a picture so I'd remember it.  See?

My legs were sore and I’ve still got some muscle aches, but it was so incredibly calming to spend a day just the two of us, hiking a trail we have hiked many times before, both as a young couple dating (way back in 1999) and as a married couple, and now as a married couple with kids.

And maybe next time we’ll actually take the kids with us, provided it’s warm enough for them to jump into the creek because we all know there’s no stopping it anyway.

*Kill like the zombies.

 

A Valentine's Day Manifesto? Or something?

Oh Valentine’s Day. 

You are usually a day I look forward to, then become disappointed when it doesn’t live up to some commercially manufactured ideal of what you’re supposed to be.

And then I feel stupid because the commercials also make me feel like advertisers think women are only interested in what their significant other can buy them.  As I told a friend today it makes women look vapid and greedy.

And so I’ve decided, this year, that there will be no jewelry giving, there will be no hurt feelings because I wasn’t sent flowers.

I’ve got a pretty amazing life.  And I’ve got three people who I love more than anything in the world. 

Ignore the exhaustion. Focus on the cute kid.

I’ve got Sebastian, who despite his refusal to give me anything other than ‘Eskimo’ kisses because the regular ones are ‘gross’, will hug me so hard, and who told me this morning that that was my gift because “hugs are presents, too.”  (Be still, my heart!)

And he’s appreciative.  We ran out of bread this week and I baked some to ensure that he could take a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to school.  When he realized what I’d done he said “Oh thank you so much!  That is so nice of you!”  It totally took me by surprise, yet didn’t.  You don’t expect a 4 year old to notice when you go out of your way for him.  But he’s not a typically 4 year old.

I’ve got Adele, who, once we got over the initial fear and screaming, is actually making potty training her much easier and quicker than with her brother.  She will blow kisses at the cat and hug anything and everything she can.  She loves to help clean up and wants to be involved in whatever everyone else is involved in.

This isn't how you work puzzles?
Sans pants and sans hands?

And I’ve got my husband, who makes me laugh and makes sure I know that I’m loved. 

He's a nice-looking man.

It’s pretty awesome.  And so much better than ugly, heart-shaped jewelry.

Although he probably only has more because I dye mine

It’s my almost favorite day of the year, otherwise known as Christopher’s birthday.  And this is my almost favorite day of the year because it’s the day when our age numbers are the same, and I am no longer one number ahead of him.

He's going to hate me for posting this picture. But at least I
cropped out the other ones, CHRISTOPHER.

It’s important, you see.

I mean, in the grand scheme of things it’s not all that important.  But in my admittedly small scheme of things, it’s kind of a big deal.

I hate, HATE being teased.  Or at least I did until I started dating Christopher (FOURTEEN WHOLE YEARS AGO OH MAH GAWD), who lives to tease and make fun of and joke around with people.

Have you met him?  He’s probably made fun of you.  And he won’t do it behind your back.  He’ll do it right to your face.  He’s an equal-opportunity maker-funner of.   Or something.

And so my skin grew thicker and thicker and thicker with each lovable insult over the years.  And it is lovable.  He’s funny and witty and quick.  And I’ve learned to be funny and witty and quick, too. 

To not take myself too seriously. 

To laugh at myself when he calls me a cougar. 

And life has been decidedly more fun.

It’s exhausting constantly worrying about what people think of me.  And it’s exhausting stressing over someone not liking me, or thinking that I’m kind of dorky.

I now embrace my dorkiness.

And it’s all thanks to Christopher, who makes fun of me on a daily basis for being as dorky as I am.

And with all of that teasing, I’m able to love myself more. 

And I’m able to laugh right along with him when he makes fun of me for watching stupid television shows.  (Project Runway – you are so dumb but I JUST CAN’T QUIT YOU.)

However, that all being said, it’s nice to know that our age numbers are currently the same, even if it’s only for six months of the year, and even though that still won’t stop him from telling me that I’m old.

But no matter. 

I’m pretty sure he has more grey hair than I do anyway.

(Happy Birthday, Christopher.  I love you in spite of your grey hair.)

I'm not gonna lie. This probably isn't the best thing I've ever written.

I think my gift of nonsense has run out.  Or at least taken a vacation.

I’m tired.  The kids have been waking up between 6 and 6:30 every morning, which I know isn’t that early but it’s early enough.  And if you add in the changing weather that always messes with my awakableness and I don’t want to do anything. 

Obviously I don’t have that luxury. 

But I haven’t really felt much like writing.  

*********

On Saturday Chris and I had an at-home date night.  We’d gone to the Fall Festival at Sebastian’s school where I was almost late to work the craft booth that I was cursing myself for signing up for in the first place.  I say almost because there was no one there yelling at me for being late but it was at least five minutes past the time I was supposed to be there that I showed up.  But since no one was mad to my face so I’m calling it a win.

We had walked there, which only takes 10-15 minutes and is probably quicker since we wouldn’t have to worry about putting the kids in car seats or finding a parking spot.  While I manned the table, Chris took the kids around let Sebastian jump in the bouncy house and eat a hot dog and just see all that was happening.  I think it was a neat little festival and will probably plan better next year so we can stay a longer.  The whole thing made me want to be more of a member of the community.  I miss that.  I guess it will come with the kids, especially when they start playing sports or participating in extra activities. 

So anyway, after that we put the kids to bed and Chris started the grill.  We had a really nice, quiet, late dinner, with an emphasis on quiet.  Dinners are usually a rushed, messy, loud affair with me trying to force feed Sebastian a bite of whatever we’re having and also listening to Adele fuss because I’m not feeding her fast enough, and hey, is that more spaghetti ground into the carpet in the dining room?  Awesome. 

But this time it was just us, steaks, a candle and a conversation.  A long conversation. 

Chris and I talk a lot, I think, but we don’t usually take the time to talk.  To have a conversation.  We do have brief ones when we’re driving in the car and the kids are strapped in, but usually that’s interspersed with Sebastian talking about all the trees and cars and stoplights he sees and are we in a forest Mommy?  I think we are.  Are we going to crash?  Pssroperpps!  Oh!  We just pretend crashed!!  And of course Adele is yelling because she’s tired, but not tired enough to just close her eyes and go to sleep but just tired enough to be pissed that she’s being forced to sit in her car seat.

Not a whole lot of room for a meaningful conversation.

I told Chris that we should take the time to do that more often.  We can still have dates at home with the kids in bed.  It was nice.

And since there’s no real point to this post, I’m going to leave you with a picture that Sebastian took with the ipod.  I have no idea what I’m doing in it.