I’d like to think we tried everything to save our marriage.
Couples therapy until we were blue in the face.
More quality time. More time apart. Family vacations. Medication.
Hoping. Praying. Having a baby.
I posted beautiful family photos on Facebook and wrote funny blog posts. Maybe the Internet could help me create the life I really wanted.
We met the summer after freshman year of high school,
A few months ago, I told you I’d signed us up for a breastfeeding class at the hospital “designed for couples.”
Mark your calendar! Hot date at the local hospital!
Just you, me, a flip chart, and lots of plastic nipples.
1. Pumpkin Spice Lattes at Fivebucks.
I mean Starbucks. It’s not my favorite time of year until I’m spending half my paycheck and one-fourth of my daily-calorie-intake on a 12 oz. cup of pie-flavored steamed milk.
Let’s hope the high-waisted-shorts trend dies before the spring flowers bloom again.
When I was in college, the trend was LOW-rise shorts. So low, that girls’
There’s nothing more exciting than an annual visit to the gynecologist.
The day when you get to be extra late to work because you have to go answer a bunch of really uncomfortable questions about intercourse and self-breast-exams and your family’s medical history. And then walk around all day with a gallon of KY Jelly oozing out of you. Asking yourself …why the hell did I decide to wear a skirt today???!!!!
Before you even see the doctor,
My husband Todd is a stay-at-home dad for the next five weeks until school starts again for him in the fall.
In his time off, he’s been coaching Colt.
Fine tuning important life skills like fist-pounding, vacuum-wand-sword fighting and nose-picking “cheese boogies.”
Every night, I come home from work to de-program Colt from everything he’s learned that day.
But a few nights ago, when I was tucking Colt into bed,
It’s 2-o-clock in the morning.
I “went to bed” at 10:30, but I’ve already gotten up twice to pee. And once to check that the oven is off. And once to make sure the front door is locked.
I’ve jussssssst started really sleeping…like rapid eye movement sleeping…like dreaming about Channing Tatum’s nether-regions sleeping…
When I hear it.
The blood-curdling scream of my toddler from the other room.
It was “summer cleaning” at work, and everyone was assigned a duty. Mine was to clean the sales office.
I’m pretty sure this space hasn’t been cleaned… maybe ever? So it was a daunting task.
After sweeping up several trash bags of dead roaches, dust rabbits, and… hair (Gag… that’s what you get with four women sharing an office)… I could see the progress.
As I was putting away the last clear plastic container of odds and ends,
Why is it that I always have to pee more often when I’m wearing a one-piece bathing suit?
Probably because it’s sucking in my fat so forcefully that my bladder cannot store even one 12 oz. poolside beverage for any length of time.
I know everyone else is just peeing in the water.
That dad in the Deep End, with the red solo cup, has been sitting in his inner tube for 3 hours.
Over the last three years, we have spent approximately $107,499.99 on crap… with which Colt never plays.
Cars, trucks, balls, trains…
Springy-flashy-bouncy-things that vibrate and roar and come with 2,000 tiny parts.
And then we have spent another $25,499.99 on storage bins and lids and labels and baskets to compartmentalize the crap, so that my mother doesn’t call the fire inspector.
And despite all this excess,
Colt has this adorable little friend, Landon, and today was his 4th birthday party.
The party was pirate-themed, so I expected the usual plastic flags, metallic beads, head scarfs.
And sure, there was all that…
Oh, and A LIFE-SIZE-WOODEN-CUSTOM-MADE-PIRATE SHIP [insert choir of angels].
Do you know what we had at Colt’s pirate birthday party?