It’s That Time Again

Christmas photos!
Every year I’m all “This is the LAST TIME I TAKE THEIR CHRISTMAS PICTURES!” And then the next year rolls around and I’m like “this time will be different! They will cooperate and I will have the most kick ass picture in Christmas picture history!”
And every year, this happens.

(That one makes me laugh the most, because halfway through the “session” The Teenager started DOING PUSHUPS! For ABSOLUTELY NO REASON! Except TO MAKE MY HEAD EXPLODE!)

I took over 100 (!!) that’s just a sample of the awesome-ness. I did manage to get 3 that I like, but I don’t know if I like them enough to send them out. Perhaps I’ll just use one of those and caption it “Because there is no such thing as The Perfect Christmas Card Photo. Merry Christmas!”

I’m so clever. I know.

“Blog Feelings” are stupid.

Is this thing on? Hello?
So, it’s been a while since I’ve posted here. I’ve been thinking a lot about blogging and my reasons for continuing to do this 6 years after I first started. I just haven’t been able to translate those thoughts into The Written Word. I hate admitting that I have feelings about blogging. But I do. And you do too. We all do. It’s just kind of lame to talk about those feelings. Or maybe it’s only lame when I talk about them because I am, generally speaking, kind of lame.
A couple of weeks ago I had a conversation with my daughter that I never wanted to forget, so I posted the conversation word for word.
The post was submitted to stumbleup*n and without warning, there were 10,000 strangers reading that entry, every day for an entire week. I have never in the history of my blog had that kind of traffic. Not even close. And to be honest with you, I do not want that kind of traffic. It brings out the Scary People. I was completely freaked out by the number of people visiting my blog, but tried not to pay too much attention to it.
But then, people started shitting all over the post and my blog, saying things like “you should have your daughters ass checked for worms.” And “Your Grandpa sux, I’m glad he died and happy for your loss!” and my favorite “go to hell!” (because my post wasn’t funny. Keep in mind, it was a real life conversation that I had with my four year old daughter, NOT a script for a sit com.)
I’m no stranger to Asshole Comments. I understand the internet is not always a nice place. You should see the comments that I get here from time to time. (The most recent one on my anniversary post from a mom of 2 in Alabama who said “The reason you two are still together is because you are too fat and he is too ugly to find someone else….eat the dip and have a nice day!”)
(Excuse me for a minute while I address Christine personally since she won’t answer my emails to her fake email address: What is your problem with bean dip? You bring it up in almost every comment, it’s like you hate it or something. You can insult me all you want, but LEAVE THE DIP ALONE. What did the dip ever do to you, man? P.S. Have a nice day too!)
I know the internet isn’t always a peace, love and Jesus loves you kind of place and I am mostly fine with it. But the level of hatred that I experienced over an innocent conversation was a bit overwhelming.
There really isn’t a point in writing about this. I think I just needed to write it out so that I can try to move on from the crazy experience and continue doing what I love to do…Write stories about my life so that I never forget.
Because I love my life, as simple and ordinary as it is. I really, truly do.

That’s as romantic as it’s going to get UP IN HERE, UP IN HERE.

This morning I woke up at 4:30 am to the sound of my husband shaving in sink in the bedroom.
“Could you BE any louder?” I said in that grumpy way that I talk at 4:30 in the morning.
He apologized and turned the water on and off in a much gentler way. Within a minute of being woke up, I realized what day it was.
I knew he had no clue.
I waited as he walked around the room picking up various things that he needed for work. Keys. Cell phone. Time card. Gum.
He said nothing.
The 19 year old me would have been mad and not said a thing. I would have let him leave without bringing it to his attention so that I could use it as a weapon later that evening.
But present day me is too old and tired and, perhaps, mature for all of that drama so I got out of bed, hugged him and said “What’s today?”
“It’s Monday.”
“I know it’s Monday, but what IS today?”
“It’s the 17th…”
Still. Nothing.
And then I saw the look on his face change. He finally realized that today was our wedding anniversary. Our 18th wedding anniversary.
He felt bad and promised to take me out this weekend. And instead of getting all dramatic about how dare he forget our anniversary! I accepted his offer because after this many years together, drama is pointless. At this point, if he brought me home a can of bean dip for the bag of fritos that has been torturing me for the past 3 weeks, I’d be like “Thanks for the best anniversary present EVER!!
Seriously…all that matter is that He Love Me Long Time.
So, yeah, Happy 18th year of marriage to us.

(A friend just sent an “Happy Anniversary email (Yes, we have friends in real life. I KNOW.) and included this never before seen picture. It’s no wonder we’ve lasted so long. We’re awesome.)

Meaningful Conversations with a Four Year Old

“Mom, why is everyone sad about Opa?”
“Because Opa died, Mija and we miss him.”
“Can we go see him?”
“No, we can’t sweetie.”
“Can we still love him?”
(Holding back tears) “Absolutely. We can still love him.”
“But we can’t hug him anymore?”
“No, but we can blow him kisses in heaven like this.”
“But can we blow him kisses if we’re wearing lipstick?”
“Yes, we can.”
“Mommy. I want to put my kisses in an envelope and give them to his heart.”
(Gets an envelope from the desk.)
“Will you hold this open while I blow my kisses into it?”
“Of course.” (On the verge of losing it, because oh my God, so precious.)
(Blowing kisses into the envelope.) “*kiss* One *kiss* Two *kiss* Three *kiss* Four *kiss* Five…”
She sealed the envelope and as she did an wave of emotions swept over my entire body. I was on the verge of an emotional breakdown of epic proportions. I took a deep breath in, bracing myself for The Ugly Cry when she held the envelope up.
“Mom” She said “can you please hold this? My butt itches and I need to scratch it.”
Emotional breakdown averted.

Get it? Because I’m “addicted?”

I belong to a Flickr group called “Bokeh Wednesday.”
Every Wednesday, we can post up to 2 photos with bokeh to the group pool to show off our best bokeh shots from the week.
What is bokeh? (From Wikipedia) Bokeh is a photographic term referring to the appearance of out-of-focus areas in an image produced by a camera lens using a shallow depth of field.[1] Different lens bokeh produces different aesthetic qualities in out-of-focus backgrounds, which are often used to reduce distractions and emphasize the primary subject.
Here is an example of a photo with Bokeh–

The blurry backgroud with all the preeeeetty cirles? That’s bokeh
I’ll admit that I freak the eff out every Wednesday because I love posting my bokeh shots and going through the group pool to see what everyone else came up with. Every Wednesday when PigHunter comes home I’m all “OH MY GOD LOOK AT MY SUBMISSION TO BOKEH WEDNESDAY!!!111!” and he’s all rolling his eyes and pretends to be interested in A FLICKR GROUP because he knows how much I love it and how happy it makes me. And I know how stupid that sounds, but we all have those little things in our life that we geek out about that are kind of lame to everyone else, right?
Anyway.
Most of the pictures that I post there don’t get much attention (i.e. make it to explore or get lots of comments) because the quality of my pictures don’t even begin to compare to those posted in that group.
(No, you’re not imaging it. I really just typed that sentence and I really am writing an entire post about a group on Flickr.)
But yesterday, I posted a shot that made it to the front page of explore. That is like, THE ULTIMATE for a Flickr dork like me. (a Flork?) And so, I had to post it here. No, really…I HAD TO.

Maybe if I were this excited about, let’s say, decorating my house, I wouldn’t have to call Lena and ask her to help me “make my house pretty for under $200 for my party on Saturday.”

Bobs!

G-Unit has become obsessed with the question “When I become an adult can I ________?”
“When I become an adult, can I lock the bathroom door?”
“When I become an adult, can I cook my own macaroni and cheese?”
“When I become an adult, can I wear makeup to school?”
But her most favorite one for the past month?
“When I become an adult, can I have big boobs like you, Mommy?”
She’s completely fascinated with the idea of big boobs and cleavage. Every time I put a shirt on her, she asks why she doesn’t have lumps like I do when I put a shirt on. And so we have the same conversation almost EVERY DAY about how “Yes! You’ll have boobs like Mommy when you’re an adult” (Except, fingers are crossed that she doesn’t because, girlfriend, big boobs aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.)
It would seem that she doesn’t have the patience to wait until she’s an adult because last night she came to the dinner table looking like this:

“What is that in your shirt, G?”
“Oh, those are my boobs.”
And she was SERIOUS.
And I was laughing.
And PigHunter was in shock.
Eventually she let us in on her little secret and we all laughed for a very long time.

I don’t even want to begin to imagine what the Teenage Years are going to be like because I’m scared.

To Everything There is a Season

Today is the first holiday since my Grandpa’s death.
And today was the day that I would have picked up the phone, called him and thanked him for his service to our country.
Today is the day I would have told him how proud I am of him, like I did every Veterans Day.
But today, I couldn’t pick up the phone to make that call and it hurt like hell.
The initial wave of pain that I felt when he died has been replaced with a sadness I can’t quite explain.
A part of who I am died the day that he left this earth and today I felt the sting of that loss. I can no longer refer to my Grandpa in the present tense. That part of my life is history and a new phase has begun. The phase in which I refer to my Grandpa in the past tense.
I know there are happier days ahead and I look forward to the day I can think about Him and not feel an incredible emptiness in my heart. I look forward to the day I can speak of him in the past tense and feel joy for having had him in my life for as long as I did.

We’ll Call This One “Sick of Swimming. Sick of Swimming”

G-Unit puts her spin on a Disney classic. Good luck in trying to figure out which one. Ha!

Because I Never Want to Forget This

This morning when I was trying to wake The Middle Child up, he wouldn’t budge. I pulled the covers away just a bit in an attempt to wake him. When I did, I saw the silver watch laying next to him. It was my Grandpa’s favorite watch. The day after he died, my Grandma gave it to Ethan because my Grandpa had said when he died, he wanted him to have it.
“Ethan” I whispered. “Why is Opa’s watch in your bed, sweetie?” I asked him. He turned towards me, slowly opened his eyes and said “because I was missing him so much last night. I wanted to feel close to him.”

It’s those little moments that are incredibly hard to process. Trying to help my children deal with their loss and sadness and my own at the same time. As a mother, you never want to see your children in pain– physical or emotional. But it’s especially hard to deal with when there’s nothing you can do to lessen the pain that they feel.
I am trying my best– I listen when he needs me to. I reassure him that Opa knew how much he loved him. I tell him that some day it won’t hurt as bad as it does in this moment. I hold him close when he needs to cry and I give him space when he needs to be alone. I can only hope that I’m doing right by him in helping him through his grief.

Because I Never Want to Forget This

The day after my Grandpa died, my Grandma gave each of my boys something that belonged to their Opa. She gave The Teenager his pocket knife. She gave The Middle Child his favorite silver watch.
This morning when I woke Ethan up for school, I pulled his covers back just a bit. When I did, I saw the shiny, silver watch laying next to him.
“Why is Opa’s watch in your bed, Sweetie?” I asked.
“Because I miss him and I want to feel close to him.” He said.