Lucky Number Seven.

Happy Anniversary to Us! (Well, I suppose the accuracy of that statement depends on exactly what time and day this shows as being posted on. Our anniversary is July 7. ;) )

Seven years. We've been married for seven whole years. That's a long damned time! We've sure had our share of ups and downs. Let's see....

We got married:



My dress made me look hip-y. Do you think my dress made me look hip-y? I think my dress made me look hip-y.

At any rate, we got married in July 2002.

In October of 2002, one of my closest friends got married to the man she's loved since High School. And I was too big of an ass to attend her wedding. It's something I'll regret for the rest of my life.



In April of 2003, we lost Eric's father to cancer.



He was a wonderful man, and he's still missed today.

Also in April of 2003, my Mom and Mike got married.



And in June, we found out that we were expecting our first baby. Peyton was born in February, 2004.



At the end of March, 2004 Eric's oldest brother Cary got married in Las Vegas. On the way home in April, I rolled our van.



Thankfully, nobody was hurt!

Things were on a pretty even keel until February 2008 when...

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Our little Charlotte was born on September 18, 2008.



Just six days later, her cousin Ethan made his appearance!



Oh--and in April, 2009, I pulled my head out of my ass and apologized to Claudia. ;)

In between these noteworthy events, there have been fights, make-ups, happy times and cranky times. There have been times when we doubted what we were to each other, and times when we doubted if there would even be an "us" to hit our seven year anniversary. Despite all of these things (and in part, because of them) we survived! We made it through, and though the surface of our relationship might have some pits and divots, it's intact.

I asked Eric tonight if he'd marry me again if he knew the resulting seven years would be as difficult as they had been at times. And without hesitation, he said yes.

He didn't ask me if I'd marry him over again, but maybe he was afraid of my answer. So, here, for the entire internet to read if they choose, and on Facebook where I've put it in my status, my answer is yes. I would absolutely marry you again, over and over again. Even though we're both moody as heck and both bring our share of drama, I'd marry you again in a heartbeat, Eric. At the end of my life, I plan to look back at all of my collected memories of our time together from a rocking chair on a front porch while our great grandkids play in the yard in front of us. I can't imagine another man I would want to spend my life with, and I know there's nobody who gets me as much as you do.

Because, you see, seven years ago today I married my best friend.

Happy Anniversary, Eric. I love you!

Hats Off

Don't I make cute damned kids?

We went to the Renaissance Festival last weekend. When I was a kid and we went there, my Mom always let me get a flowered head wreath, and always let Nate get a little something, too. I'm excited to pass some of the tradition off to my girls--it's awesome to go hang out at a place where it's just taken for granted that yes, you ARE a princess and of course fairies are real.

In fact, you're looked at weirdly if you do NOT believe those things.

Peyton had a BLAST. She loved the hell out of it and got to meet Twig the Fairy. She is now completely convinced that magic is real and that there are fairies who can only speak through a flute. That's

awesome, because I think it's hard to keep kids innocent anymore. I'd like to keep her that way as long as I can manage it. Kids grow up too fast.

Chuck didn't have as much fun, but she did have as much chocolate mousse. And mashed potatoes with cheese. And a bit of Mom's turkey leg. And she did get the most adorable baby hat in the universe. I'm going to make her wear it every time we leave the house. No, seriously. I am. It's just that adorable.

Eric had four interviews last week, one phone interview on Monday and has another in person interview on Wednesday. Hopefully something pans out soon!

Anyway, not much else is going on in my life lately. We've been hanging out by the pool and having playdates with our friends--we went to the zoo with Claudia and Isabel on Monday and had some fun with Ava and Addie on Tuesday. We ran into Erin and her family at the Ren Fest, so we scheduled a playdate for this Friday. Busy week!

Hope everyone's having a good summer so far.

A Solid Foundation

I think that it's reasonably safe to say that one cannot underestimate the profound importance of solidly constructed foundation garments.

That is to say, underwear is important. And if you're going to go commando (hey, whatever trips your trigger), it's then crucial that you not abuse the visual landscape with billowing, wide legged shorts, in which you proceed to sit well at or even slightly above my line of sight with your legs spread wide.

I wish I were just making this up to be funny, but recently I had just such an experience at someone's house during a playdate. Granted, she wasn't entirely commando, but we'll go ahead and leave it at two important facts:

1) Full vulvar coverage was not achieved--in fact, only partial coverage was assured, and what remained uncovered was left to flap in the breeze. Emphasis on the word "flap" and "labia". Oh, wait. I didn't use labia. Whoops. My bad. I'm guessing you've got the visual by this point, eh?

2) It was necessary to employ a safe word to flee the situation with the utmost haste.

(Tangential issue. I double dare you to put "vulva" into dictionary.com and NOT click on the link at the top for "Commandos" and launch your own bizarre research project into Vulvodynia that involves both Google AND Wikipedia. I just don't think it can happen. Note: Vulvodynia can be treated with physical therapy. Not to belittle the condition, but I'm just curious about how one would employ physical therapy to cure pain in their vulva.)

OK, so there was a lot wrong with that playdate that even prolific quantities of alcohol wouldn't have cured. The kids had a blast, so there's that, but the grownups left with varying levels of discomfort and unease. And mental scar tissue. However, one thing stands out very clearly for me.

How do you get your knickers THAT twisted up and not know...and how do you have that situation and not retreat to the bathroom to fix it posthaste?

This is what I'm saying people. I love my friends dearly. Male friends and female friends alike--I adore them all and am pleased to have them in my life. But I'm just going to say that there are parts of their bodies I have no desire to see. These include, but are not limited to: lady bits/flaps and gentleman bits.

Now, most of my lady friends are Mamas, and have at some point been required to nurse in front of me. That is not the issue at hand, 'cause hungry babies trump my need for never seeing someone's nipples every time. Similarly, I'm sure I've flashed boob at a friend for the same issue, but when you're a nursing Mom, you don't really give a rat's ass who sees nipple, as long as the baby STOPS SCREAMING RIGHT NOW.

And I really can't say this enough--if you've sucessfully hit puberty (congratulations, by the way) and you require anything over, say, a B cup (I'm being generous), you need to be wearing a bra. Seriously. It's not just a good idea, it ought to be the law. When you go out in public without a bra, people can't not look. You know that. Don't make me stare in horror at your chest and your visible THOs, because I'll admit this: I will look. The part of me that rubbernecks at car accidents and watches the news in horror to stare at crash footage will be looking at your chest.

Don't mistake me here. I won't WANT to look, but I won't be able to NOT look. Train wrecks are hard to ignore. So are nipples. And exposed crotch--whether it's from the top OR the bottom, so super low-rise jeans are a no-go.

Whoever came up with THAT fashion blunder ought to be shot. OH! And also, guys who belt their pants underneath their buttcheeks. What the hell? Just buy pants that fit, dumbass! I don't want to look at your manties as you walk by, and when my five year old yells "What the hell? I can see his underwear! Mama, why doesn't he pull his pants up?!" I am not going to feel in the least ashamed or embarassed.

She's right. Pull your frigging pants up. Leave us a little mystery, mmmkay? Cover that shit up. All of it.

My Little Chuckleberry.

Chuck sits up by herself! She rolls, she scoots backwards, she pulls herself forward. She has two teeth. She eats table food and still thinks her ba-ba is her best friend.

Right now, she's sitting on the floor in the living room, talking to it. She's saying "babababanananamamamadadadada" and "adadada ananana abababa".

I seriously adore this little monkey with a ferocity that has shocked me. After all, I was the one who didn't want to have another kid because she was sure she couldn't possibly love another kid as much as she loved the first. Oh, how I was wrong. I was so wrong. It took a little longer for me to bond with Chuck, but once it happened, it was complete. I love her like she's part of my body.

Don't get me wrong, I adore Peyton too. Some days, though, it's hard to feel the adoration that's masked behind

1. annoyance because she repeates herself ad nauseum.
2. irritation because she moves so slowly that snails pass her in their travels.
3. exasperation because she is LIPPY AS HELL.
4. occasional fury because she has thrown something at myself or the infant Chuck.

But, then again, some days it's easy to adore Peyt. Like when she

1. snuggles her baby sister and coos "It's alright, little Chuckiebaby. I am here and I love you." and Chuck stops crying and grins at her.
   
2. wakes up and comes to me and says "Goodmorning, Sunshine! I love you so much, I am going to be the best kid all day long!"
3. is playing by herself with her dolls or other toys and I see her being gentle and adoring with them.
4. is playing with other friends and she treats them like the gold that real friends are.

I adore Peyton. She brightens all the corners of my world--even when she's being a little sassypants, I adore her. She makes me want to be a better person, to deserve her loving me unconditionally.

But, she's challenging. She's five. Five year olds are challenging. Plus? I'm not too proud to admit that she's my mini-me in more than just looks. She's got my personality, too--which is great, because she's freaking hilarious and stubborn and feisty. Nobody is going to walk all over my Peyt. But it's also not great because she's sarcastic and...well, stubborn and feisty.

Sometimes when Mommy says to do something, she doesn't need the eye rolling and the gusty sigh.

So, don't get me wrong, Peyton is a beloved child in our home. But Chuck? Chuck is EASY. Feed Chuck and she's happy. Change her diaper and she's happy. Give her a paci and she's happy. Snuggle her and she's happy. It's really hard to find something that DOESN'T make Chuck happy--AND, she wakes up that way in the morning, just full of grins and joy. She's started reaching for people when she wants to be picked up--and she always reaches for me. Her face lights up with a thousand watt smile when she sees me--and that's ALL for me, not for anyone else.

Chuck is a baby, see. Babies are easy. They're little balls of chubby fluff and need. Fix what's wrong and they're content. Babies sleep, eat, poo and coo, and it's all adorable, all the time.

But, Chuck is nine months old now. In three months, she will be 1. One year olds are still babies. They still have major milestones to reach, they still have teeth to grow, they're still anticipating the first haircut. But it's a step in the sad direction of growing up. I know how things go from here, there's not much realm for surprise. She will talk and walk and for a while, I will still be the focus of her whole world.

And then she'll start being able to feed herself, and eventually dress herself. She'll take her first steps toward me, but the steps that follow will take her away. It won't be more than a few thousand heartbeats before Chuck's in school too. Before I know it, she'll be telling me that her name is NOT Chuck, it's CHARLOTTE.

Oh, I'm making myself weepy. It's intense stuff, this Mommyhood. I'm gonna go snuggle my babies while they'll still let me!

A Big Pile of Whatever.

Apparently a lot has happened since my last post.

Eric went from telling me that he's considering getting two jobs so that we can have separate apartments, to buying me a new dress and shoes to go out on a double date with Claudia and her husband Jason, to telling me that it's OK that I drank two $11 martinis because I'm worth it.

I have to admit, the lightning speed with which he lets go of an argument leaves me floundering. I hold grudges. Mean grudges. LONG grudges. And when he lets go of it so fast, I also kinda feel like I got robbed of some of my indignation.

I'm trying to move on and get over it. But I'm feeling a little doubtful--not just of Eric, but of both of us. Harsh, mean things were said, and I don't really believe that people say things that they don't mean. Which means on some level, he's considering/has considered divorce.

I'm making amends in my own way. I've deleted all my notes off of Facebook because even though I thought he understood that sometimes I simply need to vent (as I expect he would, too), I did not ever once intend to hurt his feelings. The fact that I did is my fault, and all I can do now is apologize and remove the content that offended him. I think that's reasonable.

But at some point, I guess we both have to stop making the other apologize and finish with all the harboring ill will. Either we need to sincerely forgive each other (which I'm working on, but I'm wounded. Really wounded. I hate being characterized as the bad guy when I haven't done anything that I feel MAKES me a bad guy)...or we need to make a very tough decision.

Thankfully, though, today is not the day for such deciding. Things are evening their keel, and I plan to force myself to take advantage of that instead of second guessing at every step.

That's NOT FAIR!

I'm still in the doghouse. I still refuse to apologize. This has gotten entirely out of control, and I'm starting to resent that he chose this "unnamed source" over me.

Apparently, what I said now classifies me as an "active" liar. Which apparently means I get to see his mean side all the time and makes it OK for him to tell Peyton "Unless Mommy told me one thing and meant another..." repeatedly.

I have a headache, and I've had one since this shit all started.

What I want to know is this: if the person who told him to spy on me just wanted to clue him in, then why didn't they tell him the nice things I posted--or all of the status updates I post on Facebook saying that I love my husband? Why didn't they tell the good things?

Ah, it doesn't fucking matter. He chose to trust someone else before he even talked to me. This is what it's like to be the very bottom of his list of priorities. I'm done defending myself for something I didn't do. He looks for any excuse he can find to think the worst about me, and I'm tired of always defending myself.

I'm done.

Honesty in Lies

I find myself in the marital doghouse again--usually, though, I can tell you why. Tonight I'm more than a little confused.

A while back--specifically on January 16 of this year, I posted a note on my Facebook page. Here, I'll post it for you.

Friday, January 16, 2009 at 10:12pm

Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

(To do this, go to "notes" under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people (in the right hand corner of the app) then click publish.)

1. My favorite piece of clothing is the long-sleeved t-shirt.

2) I have two wedding bands and one engagement ring. The ring goes with one band, the other band is stand-alone.

3) Out of any given ten days, you can count on me not having gotten more than three hours of sleep on nine days.

4) I have to eat things like pretzel sticks, chips, candy pieces (things that can be counted) in pairs. Matched by size. Short with short, long with long.

5) My favorite color is pink. I can't stand hot pink or dark pink, though, just baby pink.

6) Socks have to match. SERIOUSLY, Jillian.

7) I have an unnatural obsession with ridding my ears of wax. I invest heavily in Q-Tips. And they have to be ACTUAL Q-Tips, not the generic ones.

8) I have two tattoos. I want more. The one on my back hurt the most, but I'm sure the one I want on the top of my foot will hurt a lot.

9) I don't really like pizza as much as I think I'm supposed to.

10) I'm co-admin of a parenting message board and I like to abuse my powers to retroactively remove pictures of clowns that might appear in my journal.

11) Oh yeah. I hate clowns.

12) I also hate corn.
12a) It disturbs me that Jerod changes his profile picture to whatever terrifies me at the moment. Jerod, next up can be a Tini Puppini.

13) For the record, I'm not overly fond of carrots, either. I don't think they're evil. Just gross.

14) I've formula fed both of my daughters. I don't regret that decision. I laughingly ask Charlotte if she's hungry for her next dose of poison. I also think it would be an awesome idea for formula to be dispensed by prescription only, because then my insurance would pay for it.

15) I like to engage in arguments with people I consider to be idiots--especially when they have ridiculous and extreme viewpoints. I like to bait them until I get bored. Then I check out without any notice.

16) I love chocolate. But even more than chocolate, I love Swedish Fish. But only the red ones.

17) I really adore movies about football. I've never seen a football movie that I didn't like. The cheesier, the better.

18) I use cloth diapers on my kids. Not because I want to save the planet or be trendy or out of any sense of self-importance or to be better than anyone. I do it because I have the rashiest kids on Earth, and they both had bleeding diaper rashes in disposables. To tell the truth, if Charlotte didn't just get over a terrible rash, I'd go back to disposables--landfills be damned!

19) I really like minivans. A lot.

20) I used to have my nose pierced. I want to get it pierced again, but I think that's a slightly ridiculous thing to do at 31.

21) I told Eric that I would be OK with moving to Indiana, but only because I know that he's never going to have enough ambition/motivation to actually do it. If he ever really DOES try to move there in a real way, he's going to find out one very important thing about me: I have no real intention of ever moving away from Colorado. I was born here, I will die here.

22) If something in a restaurant comes with cheese, I always order it with extra cheese. And then I ask for more cheese when they bring my order to the table.

23) I don't believe in low-fat margarine. In the same way I don't believe in the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. I think it's a myth they tell to fat people to get them to buy margarine that just tastes like crap.

24) I can't stand fried chicken. Or chili (red chili with beans, I LOVE green chili). I'd rather eat my own dirty toenails.

25) I didn't go to my 10 year HS reunion and I kinda regret it a little. Especially now that practically my entire graduating class is on Facebook!

At any rate, it's been up there since January.

Eric received a phone call, or an e-mail, or SOMETHING from someone in his family that told him to check out this specific note. Most importantly, to look at number 21.

To be very, very clear, I have no idea who told him to do this. But I do know two things.

1) Eric doesn't have his own Facebook account.

2) Someone's trying to cause drama, 'cause I don't post closely guarded secrets on the internet.

So, I get up this morning and Eric has left my Facebook page open with that passage highlighted. Gee! I wonder, do you think I was intended to see that? Hmmm. I've had a lot of time to think this over today, because Eric has been studiously avoiding talking to me. Completely. Like, won't even answer my questions, completely. And here's what I think.

I'm not sorry I posted it. I meant it. I have no intention of ever living in Indiana. I have, in the past, told Eric I would, and there are several explanations for that.

• At one time I would have. That time was before we had children.
• He's been saying for years that we should move to Indiana for financial purposes. He's never once made a serious move on it. It seemed a little easier to just humor him.
• At some point it might become financially impossible for us to live in Colorado. While I have no intention of moving to Indiana, at some point I might not get much of a choice. It seems rather silly for me to have been telling him this whole time that moving to Indiana makes me break out in cold sweat. If the decision has to be made for financial gain and betterment, I can't let my emotions get in the way of doing what needs to be done. I thought it would be easier if he didn't know.

ANYWAY. He thinks I'm lying to him now. So I asked him if he'd ever lied to me.

Me: "Have you ever lied to me?"
Him: "Yes".
Me: "Then what's the problem?"
Him: "Well, I didn't post about it on the internet!"

And now he says that "a lot of things are going to change" based on me posting that I lie to my husband on the internet. The completely stupid thing about this is that he already knew I don't want to move to Indiana. I've told him that before. But he's hung up that I posted about it on Facebook. FOUR MONTHS AGO. Also...I posted it on Facebook! It wasn't a secret!

And if things had progressed naturally and we decided that it was in our best interest to move to Indiana, then yeah, I would have let him know how upset I am about the thought of it. I would move there if I had to (although now it's going to be a lot harder to get me to feel good about being there, since it's seeming clear that someone has deemed me the bad guy and I'm getting a feeling based on new friend requests from his family that the story is making the rounds of the whole family. Great. That's an awesome environment. I'm excited just thinking about it.), but I won't like it. I'm sorry, but I've been to Indiana. It's full of things I don't like: corn, humidity, large mosquitoes.

And although he's being very careful not to mention this at all, let's point this out: he logged onto MY Facebook page to read this. Isn't there an old adage about being careful how offended you get when you learn something about yourself by eavesdropping?

I guess I just don't think that I've done anything this drama-licious. I told him that I wanted to move to Indiana. And then I changed my mind. Maybe I didn't feel the need to burden him with the concept that moving away from Denver leaves me feeling breathlessly depressed. It makes me cry. It makes me miss my Mama. I've never lived that far away from my family and I don't want to.

There are things to look forward to in Indiana. My best friend lives there, and it would be so much fun to be able to raise our oldest daughters together.

OK, so one thing to look forward to. But Indiana doesn't have mountains. Indiana has snow that lasts and lasts and lasts. Indiana doesn't have Dana or Erin or Claudia. It doesn't have altitude or dry climate. There's no Santiago's in Indiana. No Bent Noodle, no 300 days of sunshine, no Elitch Gardens and no Broncos. No Dry Creek Elementary School.

It doesn't have Nate, Katie, Heather and Ethan. It doesn't have my Mama.

And no offense, Eric, but God willing, Indiana won't have me.