Saturday, April 30, 2011

My gift is a blog post, and Freddie... this one's for you

April 30th has always been a special day. It's my Mom's birthday. I have probably 5 or so friends that also celebrate the anniversary of their birth on this day.

But best of all, it's the day that my wonderful husband came into this world.

I can remember, at the ripe old age of 20 and 3 months, telling my Mom that I was going to marry Fred. We had only been dating for a short time, but I knew this was the man for me. My Mom told me that there was no way I could know such a thing, but I guess we all know how was right on that one, eh Mom? I win!

Anyway, back to Fred. This birthday happens to be a big one. I won't tell you exactly how old he is, but it sounds like 40. And since I'm such a wonderful wife, I have put together a huge surprise party, with catering, hired a band, an airplane will do a fly-over with a banner reading, "Happy Birthday to the BEST husband ever!" And at the exact moment of Fred's birth, we will release 40 doves into the air.

No... wait. None of that will be happening. Because I am the crappiest wife in the world.

I had such plans for this day. I was trying to orchestrate a surprise (not the one above) that would have been so much fun. But it didn't happen. Because if 2011 has been the year of the crap sandwich for this family, then the month of April has been the big, stinkin' pile of sauerkraut on that sandwich.

I hate sauerkraut.

And I have dropped the ball, big time. And I hate that. Because Fred deserves so much more than a crappy blog post and a failed attempt at a birthday celebration.

Fred, I am so sorry. I feel like I failed you. I know our life has been so difficult lately, but that is no excuse. You truly are the most amazing husband and father to our kids that I could ask for. I also know I haven't been the most fun person to be around, but yet you still stand beside me, picking me up when I fall.

I don't ever really write a whole lot about Fred on here, but I wish all of you could know him. I wrote a post for our anniversary a few years ago,, and wanted to include an excerpt of it, because I think it paints the perfect picture of who Fred is:

He loves me despite my many quirks. Even better, he embraces them and doesn't try to change me. He is one of the hardest workers I've ever met, and has never complained once over the last 11 years that our family relies on him, and him only as our income source. Although our senses of humour are very different, he still cracks me up on a daily basis.

If you are lucky enough to call him your friend, you know how he goes the extra mile for the people he loves. If you asked for the shirt off of his back, he would give it to you. And his pants. And, if it wasn't so gross, probably his underwear too.

He doesn't get my love for Lost, but will watch it with me... mainly because it's in HD. He will sometimes show up at lunchtime during a weekday and bring me Chick-fil-a. On Sunday, he mopped the floors for me. I know he loves me and will do almost anything to make me happy. We're talking about a guy who has flown to 4 different states to see my favourite band 7 different times. Love? I think so!

Above all else, he is a wonderful, Godly man. He knows he isn't perfect, but tries his best to live his life according to God's word. He is an amazing example to our kids of what a husband should be.

Over the past 15 years (4 years dating, almost 11 married), we have gone hot air ballooning, driven through Europe, rafted 10 rivers, bought a house, hiked in Hawaii, been extras on an X-Files episode, racked up over $75,000 worth of debt, paid off over $75,000 worth of debt, skied Jackson Hole, jumped off a 30 foot cliff and made a beautiful daughter and son together.

I am so thankful for our marriage. I feel blessed beyond all measure to call Fred my best friend, father of our kids and best of all... my husband.

Happy Birthday Freddie. I love you.

And you can tell everybody this is your blog post
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world

Thursday, April 21, 2011

You can label me ticked off

Dear speech therapist who was so determined to slap a label on my son,

On Tuesday, I brought my 7-month old son to see you because he seemed to have some feeding issues. Within about 10 minutes of meeting him, you had decided that he has Sensory Integration Disorder.

Your basis for this diagnosis? First off, he didn't like it when you donned those bright blue gloves and started touching his face.

I'm guessing that to a baby, having your face touched by some crazy blue hands that belong to a complete stranger is the equivalent of someone I just met giving me a pap smear. Please... say hello, introduce yourself and shake my hand before sticking that speculum up my bajingo.

You were also concerned that he didn't like to have his face wiped. How about I hold YOU down in a chair and proceed to wipe a towel repeatedly over your mouth and see how happy it makes you.

What nailed it for you is when he refused to eat your jar of nasty, no-name carrots. Well crap... I can't say that I blame him. If you had told me, I could have brought him something halfway decent. Perhaps he's a bit of a food snob.

Isn't 7 months a little young to be labeling someone? And what of these labels, anyway? Why does everyone have to be something. Why can't my son just be an adorably quirky guy who doesn't like to eat some days? You're saying that anyone who doesn't fit the standard (read: boring) mold, must have something wrong with them. What a crock. Take me for example:

I don't like the feel of corduroy or velvet

I can't stand shirts with only one pocket.

Crowds bother me.

I don't like people I don't know standing too close to me.

High pitched noises are like nails on a blackboard to me. So are nails on a blackboard.

I hate the smell of fish, I think football is boring, and I abhor it when people pee on the toilet seat and don't clean up after themselves.

I also don't suffer fools.

Gee, if you were recommending 60-90 minute therapy sessions, 3 days a week for a baby that didn't want to be touched by you, I can only imagine that you would have me institutionalized.

You know what, despite my many issues... I turned out pretty okay. Without intensive therapy.

I respect that you went to school and received your degree in this, but my gut, mom-tuition, and bullshit detector trump those letters after your name any day.

Yours very sincerely (and quirkily),

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Take me out to the ball game

On Wednesday we decided to take our kiddos to see the (then) undefeated Texas Rangers. I was a little bit leery because three years later, the memories of Elise's first game still haunt me. There was much screaming. And home runs by the Rangers. That second part is important because every time the Rangers would hit a homer, the fireworks would go off and the screaming would start anew. I think we left after the 3rd inning.

Strangely enough, the Rangers were playing the same team as Elise's inaugural game... the Seattle Mariners. I hoped that wasn't going to be a sign. Thankfully, despite arriving a few innings late, we had a great time. Elise LOVES going to the ballpark, and Mattias did amazing, falling asleep towards the end. And the Rangers won, so.. Woo-hoo!

Go Rangers!

Already a fan at 6 months

Doing the wave

Love. Him.

Starting to get tired

Sleepy boy

Almost there

Aaaaand... he's OUT!

Rangers win!