Happy Anniversay honey! Here's your house!

Today is our 11th wedding anniversary, and we celebrated in style. Fred bought me a house (we closed last night at 8:30 pm). He also bought me a house for my birthday when I turned 28. Pretty awesome husband, eh?

Hopefully I'll get around to telling the story behind this whole crazy house thing, but for now I'll leave you with some pics of Fred and I.

Happy anniversary Freddie! Thanks for my new house.

I love this crazy guy!

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

The VP of Awesome

I've been meaning to write this post for almost a week now, but you know... life. Finally I've found some time to brag on my husband.

Fred is a pretty amazing guy. Now, I know a lot of women say that. I mean, who wants to admit that they married someone who is less than awesome? But in my case, it really is true.

On August 12th, we found out that Fred had received a huge promotion at work. And seriously, it couldn't have happened to a more deserving guy (again, I know I'm his wife, but hear me out).

Fred started working for his company back in 1996, when we were living in Vancouver. When it was bought out by an American company, he was offered a job with the company in San Francisco. When it moved offices to Dallas, he was again given the option to move as well.

Anytime I come to see him at his office, his co-workers constantly tell me what a great guy Fred is. The women in his office threw me a baby shower (at his work, no less) when I was pregnant with Elise. It had nothing to do with me, but rather reflected how well-liked Fred is.

The same can be said about his clients and vendors. All you have to do is look at the donation page for Team Elise. A majority of the donations have come from them.

I don't think they make people like Fred anymore. He is one of the hardest working people I have ever met; willing to go the extra mile no matter who asks him. "That's not my job" is not part of his vocabulary. I've touched on this before, but since we moved to the U.S., Fred has been the sole income earner for our family; due to visa (immigration, not credit card) issues. That would put huge amounts of stress on anyone, but Fred has never, not ONCE, complained about it. It is because of him that during these tough economic times, we are doing fine.

And now he has finally been given a job that reflects his work ethic. And I could not be prouder of him. Well done, Mr. Vice President!

What an Amazing Father looks Like

I wrote this last year for Father's Day, and as hard as I try, I just can't say it any better than I have here.


Dear Freddie,

Elise is one lucky and blessed little girl. I know it, one day when she's a bit older; she will know it, and I hope that you know it too.

I love that, from day one, you jumped into fatherhood with both feet. You had never changed a diaper or fed a baby a bottle before, but it didn't matter. You make being a father look natural and easy.

I love that you love to spend time with her, making memories that will stay with her the rest of her life. Your time with her will assure her of how loved she is, and she will grow up knowing what a good man is.

I love that when she is scared or upset, she calls your name too. She knows her Poppa is a great source of comfort, and she can rest just as easy in your arms or mine.

I love that she gets her sweet and out-going personality from you. When I see her going up to kids she doesn't know in a store or playground and chatting with them; there is no doubt that she's your daughter. She loves to be around other people and thrives in those situations.

I love how excited she gets when the front door opening announces that you are home from work for the day. I think every father should be greeted by little shrieks of joy at the end of a long work day.

I love that you find fun in things that most people would view as a chore. You have made bath time and getting ready for bed one of her favourite times of the day. I enjoy listening to the songs you sing and the little rituals you do that are just yours and hers.

I love listening to you speak to her in Portuguese. I think it's wonderful how passionate you are that she learns that part of her heritage. I also love to hear her speak Portuguese too and am blown away at how well she's doing.

I love the man that you are, the husband that you are and the father you have become. I mean it when I say that I couldn't be raising such an amazing little girl without you.

Love,
Momma and the Beans

They say it's his birthday

While I would love to write a post waxing poetic about my love for Fred, I have in-laws landing at the airport in less than 2 hours and my house looks like a landfill threw up. Sooooo, let me just say Happy Birthday to THE best husband and father in the world. Elise and I are blessed.

Love you Freddie!

Love them...

A picnic in the park with my two most favourite people.

When sleeping can kill you

You may remember this post from last month in which I was lamenting about Fred's snoring. Well, after only 10 years of marriage did I finally convince him to go see a doctor about it. He was then referred to a sleep clinic.

The clinic took place last Saturday night. He got to sleep in a private room with cable TV and most importantly, uninterrupted sleep (that is, no middle of the night blood sugar checks). Jealous. I'd go sleep somewhere hooked up to wires and electrodes and other crazy things if you could guarantee me at least 4 hours on uninterrupted sleep.

Anyway, we got the call today from the clinic saying that Fred needs to go back for a follow-up. The reason? He stopped breathing over 120 times when they tested him. 120 times. 120. Times.

Seriously, that is crazy. I joked with him about all the brains cells that have been killed over the years due to oxygen deprivation. But it's not really a joke. Severe sleep apnea can lead to issues such as; heart disease, high blood pressure, compromised immune system, poor mental and emotional health, irritability, sexual dysfunction (apparently not-so-much on this one for Fred, or I wouldn't find myself in the position I'm in), and learning/memory problems. One in five people with severe sleep apnea also suffer from depression.

So he has a follow-up test this Saturday. I'm thinking about locking him in the closet at home and trying to pass myself off as a late-30s male with snoring issues. I'll do anything for a little sleep.

And some cable TV.

Snoring me to death

I love my husband. I do. Really. He is all sorts of awesome and then some. But I'm afraid I might have kill him* one of these nights. Soon.

My husband is a snorer. And unless you are married to a snorer, you cannot understand the pain and suffering that I'm going through right now.

It used to be that if I poked him enough, he would eventually find the perfect position to lay in so he wouldn't snore. Lately, the position is becoming harder and harder to find.

Last night I laid awake for over two hours, listening to him saw logs, and at one point I envisioned smothering him* with a pillow. And as usual, he woke me up about 10 times when his snoring reached such a cacophony that he was drowning out even the neighbour's dog.

Unfortunately, I can't use earplugs, because I need to be able to hear Elise over the monitor if she cries. Plus the idea of something stuffed in my ears like that is a little creepy to me. Short of duct-taping his mouth closed*, I don't know what to do anymore.

Does anybody have any anti-snoring tips that work? Please? I really have grown quite attached to Fred and don't really want to off him*.

*100% joking about the killing stuff. Blame it on my strange sense of humour.

Happy Birthday to me!

My 33rd birthday came and went yesterday, and I'm still glowing from all the wonderful birthday wishes, and the FUN surprise party that Fred planned.

I woke up Sunday morning very groggy because Fred and I were up until 3:00 am, working on the walk video (from my previous post). Fred and Elise brought me my card and presents, and after I nursed Elise, I went back to sleep until about 11:00. I am just way too old to stay up that late (we were up until 3:00 the night before too).

I thought Fred and I (and Elise, of course) were going to have a nice quiet dinner out, but somehow he managed to sneak 20 of our friends (plus three toddlers) into a reserved room without me noticing. There was much merriment and, of course, cake!

When I remember back to my birthday last year, I'm struck at how sad that day was for me. I don't remember why, as I've written in a previous post, 2008 was a horrible year for me. Only one week after I turned 32, Elise was diagnosed with diabetes. Perhaps I had an impending sense of doom... I don't know. I just remember feeling very bleak about the year ahead.

Fortunately, I have a good feeling about 33!

Elise giving Momma a birthday kiss!

What an amazing Father looks like

Dear Freddie,

Elise is one lucky and blessed little girl. I know it, one day when she's a bit older; she will know it, and I hope that you know it too.

I love that, from day one, you jumped into fatherhood with both feet. You had never changed a diaper or fed a baby a bottle before, but it didn't matter. You make being a father look natural and easy.

I love that you love to spend time with her, making memories that will stay with her the rest of her life. Your time with her will assure her of how loved she is, and she will grow up knowing what a good man is.

I love that when she is scared or upset, she calls your name too. She knows her Poppa is a great source of comfort, and she can rest just as easy in your arms or mine.

I love that she gets her sweet and out-going personality from you. When I see her going up to kids she doesn't know in a store or playground and chatting with them; there is no doubt that she's your daughter. She loves to be around other people and thrives in those situations.

I love how excited she gets when the garage door opening announces that you are home from work for the day. I think every father should be greeted by little shrieks of joy at the end of a long work day.

I love that you find fun in things that most people would view as a chore. You have made bath time and getting ready for bed one of her favourite times of the day. I enjoy listening to the songs you sing and the little rituals you do that are just yours and hers.

I love listening to you speak to her in Portuguese. I think it's wonderful how passionate you are that she learns that part of her heritage. I also love to hear her speak Portuguese too and am blown away at how well she's doing.

I love the man that you are, the husband that you are and the father you have become. I mean it when I say that I couldn't be raising such an amazing little girl without you.

Love,
Momma and the Beans

Being Weird is not so Strange

My husband walked in on me vacuuming the ceiling of the master bedroom the other day, and what is so supremely awesome about that statement is what followed. He came in the room to get Elise who had wandered in to watch the freak show that is her Mom, saw what I was doing, batted not an eyelash, and walked out.

The reason I was vacuuming my ceiling, besides the glaringly obvious fact that I am insane, was because I looked up there the other night and noticed the copious amounts of dust that had collected on the space that hung over my head while I slept. You see, we are unfortunate owners of a house with a popcorn ceiling. And the dust collects up there on the pebbled surface; holding like barnacles to the side of a boat.

On a side note, I would like to travel back in time so I could meet the guy who thought popcorn ceilings were a good idea and give him a good, swift kick to the groin.

Anyway, if you know me, you know this little dust collection was causing me to obsess to the point of not being able to do anything else until I got rid of it. So I got the vacuum out and did my thing.

Which brings me to the part about Fred walking in on me. What I love about the fact he didn't think it weird that his wife of nine years was vacuuming the wrong surface, is that we have gotten to the point where he is totally okay with all my weirdness, all my quirks, all my idiosyncrasies, all my foibles; and it doesn't even register with him that I'm doing something that most people would think is bizarre.

When I asked him about it later, he just shrugged his shoulders and said, "it was just Joanne, being Joanne."

My husband gets me. I'm glad somebody does.

Number Nine

It seems like only a year ago I was writing this celebratory post of our 8-year wedding anniversary; yet here I am, just 365 days later waxing nostalgic on number nine.

Fred and I have done a lot in these nine years, and I'm not just talking about the actual stuff we have done. I am also amazed to look back and see how much we have grown as individuals and as a couple.

In nine years we have gone from arguing like cats and dogs; to owning a dog (actually two dogs), and sometimes petting the neighbour's outside cat. Oh, and instead of fighting, we actually discuss the issue instead of acting like two raving lunatics. For the most part.

In nine years we've realized that there is no "I" in team, but there sure is a "me". But you have to move the letters around and that's just a lot of hard work. So it's really best to let the team remain and work together as one.

In nine years we've gone from loving ourselves, to loving each other, to loving God. For some reason, we're not always good, and we find ourselves back on square one. But I'm glad to say we don't stay there very long.

In nine years we have discovered what it means to die to our own selfish desires. In doing that we were blessed with the most adorable, smartest, sassiest, and heartbreakingly beautiful child you will ever meet. And we are not biased at all.

In nine years we've come to realize that life doesn't always turn out the way you pictured it, but as long as we are in it together, we can always make it through one more day.

In nine years it finally dawned on us that stuff is just stuff, and it is not important in the grand scheme of things. Keeping up with Mr. and Mrs. Jones just doesn't matter and we have learned to be content with what we have.

In nine years we've learned that while we don't always get it right, we never let it get so bad that we can't come back from it. We have discovered what the word "commitment" really means.

Nine years has taught us that when you get knocked down, you help each other back up. Rinse and repeat as needed.

So to my wonderful husband, I say Happy Anniversary. Thank you for 9 mostly fabulous years. What? Anyone who says every minute of every day of their marriage is perfect, is full of lies. If I had to pick a number, I'd say we've had about 8.7 perfectly fabulous years.

What a strange way to end a happy anniversary post. Whatever... love you, Freddie!

Happy Birthday Freddie, now here's your present...

My first crush was Johnny Depp's character from 21 Jumpstreet, Tom Hanson. Tom was dark, he was brooding, and best of all; he was complicated. I quickly realized that the type of guy I was attracted to had those qualities and more. I loved the artistic type; a musician or painter, who often got lost in his own thoughts, only to emerge days later with an epic new poem. He could serenade me on his lute and loved to philosophize over tea about life, the universe and everything.

If you know my husband, the type of guy I just described is the complete antitheses of Fred. So why is Fred my husband and not Officer Tom Hanson?

Well, number one, Tom Hanson is a fictional character. And while reality and I sometimes appear as though we are just mere acquaintances, I am not crazy. And number two, if I had married a guy like the one I described above, he'd be dead and buried in my backyard by now.

It's not them, it's me. As much as I love creative people, I just don't want to spend the rest of my life with one. The more I got to know "creative-type" guys, the more I realized that they sort of lived in their own world, by their own rules, and by their own watch. And they pretty much drove me crazy with all their meanderings and what-not.

So I married Fred. And got everything I needed in a husband and more. So what kind of husband is Fred? I'm glad you asked...

He's the type of husband that takes our daughter out every Saturday and Sunday morning; not only to give me a break, but because he loves spending that one-on-one time with Elise. He's the type of husband that cleans up the kitchen every night after dinner. He knows how to make me laugh, how to put a smile on my lips, and after 12 years together can still make my pulse race. He loves to surprise me, and spends most of his fun money bringing me little gifts. I don't think I've ever met anyone as generous as Fred.

He can wrap a present like nobody's business, which really has no real-world application unless you're working at a booth in the mall during Christmas. I'm just sayin' that my presents always look really purty-like.

He doesn't always get me, but he loves me anyway; despite my long list of quirks. Actually, I think he loves me because of them. He's honest, hard-working, funny, an AMAZING father, an INCREDIBLE husband, and let's not deny it; handsome and sexy as the day is long.

You know that episode of Seinfeld where George does the complete opposite of what he normally would do, and his whole life turns around for the better? Well, I guess in this case, by marrying Fred, I "pulled a George". Wow, that kinda sounds dirty...

This post was supposed to be so much more; I wanted to wax poetic (and perhaps write my own epic poem to be accompanied by a lute player) about how great a man, husband and father Fred is. Unfortunately, life once again, has reared its frantic head; making it impossible to devote the time and effort to this that I had wanted to. This post sounded so much better in my head. Everything sounds so much better in my head.

Maybe I'll start writing next years birthday post tomorrow.

Anyway, happy birthday Freddie! Thanks for being who you are and exactly who I was meant to be with.

The PlayHaus that Fred Built

My husband and I are the type of people that talk about a lot of stuff we should do/need to do. For example; we should really buy a decent barbeque (or grill as Texans call it), we need to go on a fun vacation somewhere, we should start researching cars in the likely event that one of our cars bites the dust (after all, mine is 10 years old, and Fred's is 13 years old). The list is long and the journey to get through it; arduous. And for some reason, none of it ever ends up happening. Mostly because life keeps popping up and getting in the way of our grand plans.

One such thing we talked about a few months ago was, "we should really get a fun play set for Elise." This was back in March, and Elise had been living with diabetes for 6 months. A lot of people do something for the year anniversary, but I had it in my head that Elise needed a play set now. You see, Elise loves going to the park, but sometimes, with the very strict schedule we're on, it just doesn't fit into our plans. So if we couldn't go to the park, we would make the park come to us.

So I started looking at Craigslist, and when I realized the beating it would be to find some poor soul who would help us (and hopefully owned a pick-up), schlep all the way out to some place like Mansfield (because there were no good play sets listed nearby), tear down the set, bring it home and re-assemble it, perhaps sans instructions, I decided there must be a better way.

Our answer came by the way of a Toys R Us flyer; we saw that they had one of the play sets I had researched on-line, for $100 off! This time all we needed was the help of a poor soul with a pick-up.

When Fred brought the packages home and we had opened them up, we saw that this was going to be no easy task. The instructions said it would take about 8 hours with two people. Yeah, if those two people were Superman and Batman (known for their play set building ability), and we lived in Bizarro World where time travelled backwards.

There were about 100 pieces of wood and about twice as many screws. But all the pieces belonged to different groups, so I set about sorting and labelling the wood and the screws; a job which took over an hour.

Which is nothing compared to the hours that Fred toiled over this thing. It took over three weeks, but this amazing Poppa built the whole thing pretty much by himself and all by hand (no power tools). He worked late into the night by flashlight, on weekends; whenever he could find a spare moment. His muscles ached and he wound up with blisters the size of quarters on his hands, but he never complained and never gave up. He sure loves his little girl.

So I present to you... the PlayHaus That Fred Built (I like the word haus - it's jaunty). Elise LOVES it and you just can't beat the proximity to our house!

I think, therefore I am ... what?

It's exhausting being me. And not in a good way. Not in the I-have-all-these-fabulous-things-to-do-and-places-to-go-and-body-parts-to-be-refurbished way. It's more in the I-am-going to-think-myself-to-death way.

I'm what you would call an over thinker. I over think everything. Including this blog post, probably. But that's besides the point. I spend so much of my time thinking and re-thinking, that I end up thinking myself into a corner; unable to move from the sheer thoughtiness of it all. Yes, I'm quite sure that is a word.

Take, for example, this one time Fred and I were driving somewhere. It was quite a drive, and I was unfamiliar with our surroundings. At some point in the trip I turned to him and asked, "are you driving me out to somewhere remote so you can kill me and dump my body?" Okay, I was totally joking when I asked him this, but the way my brain got to there was this:

"Hey, I don't recognize where we are... where did he say we were going again? I haven't seen another car in ages. It's pretty isolated out here. Lots of trees and wooded areas. You know, this would be a perfect place to take someone if you were going to get rid of a body. Fred's been pretty quiet, I wonder what he's thinking about. Ohhh look, a squirrel! Wait, maybe the reason he's being so quiet is because he's plotting my murder and he's trying to figure out the best spot to leave my body."

I think I have Mr. King to thank for thoughts like that swirling around my cranium.

I can blame my insomnia on my tendency to over think things. I lie awake at night dreaming up scenarios that could happen, and what I would do to get out of them. The other day I asked Fred if he ever thought about what he would do if our house caught fire one night.

His response? "Whatever would I do that for?" Fred doesn't really talk like that. Only when I recount a story in my head does his diction take on a much different sound. He also has a British accent and uses words like "fortnight". Anyway, my point is, I do think about these things.

Obviously, it would depend on where the fire broke out, and if it was blocking the stairway. I would, of course, run heroically into Elise's room, grab her from her crib, and open the window in her room. I would then use a bed sheet from the linen closet to scale my way down from her second story window, with her strapped to my back with another bed sheet. I guess I would have to throw Fred and the dog out the window first, since they are utterly incapable of planning an escape of their own.

If Fred and I were superheros, I would be Miss Meticulous and he would be Fly-By- The-Seat-Of-His-Pants-Man. I am the stick-in-the-mud to his flapping around like a paper kite. I usually slow us down with all my thinking, and Fred? Well, sometimes he doesn't slow down enough to think.

But somewhere in there we have found balance, and it works... for the most part. I always tell people that Fred's strengths are my weaknesses, and vice-versa. And we're the same where it matters. I could get all over-thinky about it, but for once, I think I'll leave it alone. I will say this, God really knew what He was doing when He gave me Fred.

I guess you could say that Fred completes me. No you can't... not without me vomiting all over you because that was so, so lame.

He made me cheesecake

Valentine's Day has never been a big deal to me. I really, really don't care about it. I just feel bad for the guys and all the pressure it puts on them to make their woman swoon. I'll probably get kicked out of the Girl's Club just for thinking such things, but that's okay. I stopped paying my membership dues a long time ago.

This year, Fred told me he wanted to cook me dinner on Valentine's, but the meal itself was going to be a surprise. This made me a little nervous... Fred is not what you'd call a cook. The only reasons he usually comes into the kitchen are to forage in the fridge for something already made, or to get to the garage. I give you exhibit A:

Very early on in our marriage, Fred decided one morning to make me breakfast in bed. So he went into the kitchen while I was still asleep, looked through the cupboards and found some pancake mix. He thought that it looked rather simple, so he whipped up the batter, and then read the directions to see how to cook them. He saw that there was an instruction to turn the temperature to 400 degrees, and when he looked around the kitchen, the only thing that had a temperature control was our oven. So he commenced to bake the pancakes in a 400 degree oven. If you ever make pancakes "Fred-Style", you need to bake them for about 30 minutes. Just as an FYI.

Fred learned two very important lessons that day. Number one; his wife hates breakfast in bed, and would never, ever eat where she sleeps. And number two; a chef he is not.

Which is okay, I don't really mind being Commander-in-Chief of the kitchen, although some days I'd rather saw my arm off with a rusty blade and beat myself over the head with it than try to figure out what to make for dinner. But I seem to have wandered off topic; back to my point.

So Fred went shopping, bought all the ingredients (taking Elise to the store with him to give me a break), brought me home a red rose (I hate bouquets of flowers; it seems like such a waste when they die), an Aero bar, and a sweet card that Elise had picked out. It had dogs on the front, 'nuff said.

I was not allowed to enter the kitchen as he turned it in to a maelstrom of pots, pans, knives, and other such cooking utensils. I was tempted to peek and watch the impending destruction of my kitchen, but he threatened me with a slotted spoon if I dared try. I can tell you this, it smelled amazing!

A few hours after he started I was presented with grilled rib-eye steak, steamed asparagus, and oven roasted garlic potatoes. He did a great job and even cleaned up the entire kitchen. There was supposed to be homemade cheesecake for dessert (as alluded to in the title), but he ran out of time. He did make it the next night, and I was blown away by his culinary skills. I'm starting to get a little suspicious that he actually CAN cook, and the "pancake debacle" from so many years ago was just to throw me off.

So I may be changing my opinion of Valentine's Day... if it gets me an incredible home cooked meal (that I didn't have to shop for/make/clean up), then I say bring on February 14th! Thanks Freddie, for being such a wonderful, thoughtful, skilled-in-the-kitchen husband.

In case you're wondering what I got him... Office Space on Blu-Ray. That I made him go pick-up. And no card. Which I didn't even remember that I hadn't gotten him a card until the next day.

Yeah, I know. I suck.

Thankful

As we ate our Thanksgiving fondue, Fred and I discussed the three most important things we're thankful for. He very eloquently told me how thankful he is for me, our daughter, and his work. And while I can't quote him verbatim, he did say some very sweet and touching things. He also said he was thankful for HDTV, but I'm thinking that was a joke. Then again, he IS a guy...

I am first and foremost thankful for my husband, Fred. I am thankful that he is such a hard worker, with an ethic that people should aspire to. He holds 100% of the burden of a paycheque on his shoulders, and never gripes about it (unlike me, who has been know to complain about the majority of household tasks being my responsibility). While we are hardly untouched during this time of economic uncertainty; I know we will weather this storm and come though okay, because he has been such an amazing provider. I am thankful for the man that he is, a shining example to Elise of what a man should be.

Of course I am thankful for Elise. This world would be a much darker place without her. I wake up every morning, excited to go into her room, and greet the new day with her. Not a day goes by that she doesn't make me laugh. She has gone through more in her past 15 months than some people go through in a lifetime, and it has shown me what a fighter she is. But underneath that determined personality is a sweet, loving spirit. She makes me aspire to be a better mom, and person. And she has even taught me that I am so much stronger than I give myself credit for.

The third thing I am thankful for? Insulin. Without it, Elise would not be alive. So thank you, Frederick Grant Banting (a Canadian!).

So what are you thankful for? I'd love to know!

Poetry in Motion

Sigh... I love this picture. I love everything about it. Especially since it includes my two most favourite people in the whole wide world. I love how serene it makes me feel, and how nature's beauty bursts forth from its two-dimensional image. But most of all, I love what it represents. A father, walking alongside his daughter. Looking down at her with pride and love (okay, you can't see his face, but trust me... it's there). And she, at the moment, seems almost oblivious to his adoration and support, but will one day look back at this photograph and realize just how much her Poppa loves her.

Happy Father's Day, Freddie!

I am so blessed to have a husband who takes his role as Dad seriously, and has such a fun time while he does it. He is a wonderful father to our little girl and someone I can depend on for help when I need it. Going back to when I first met him, I could tell Fred was going to be a natural as a Dad. He has always been so amazing with children and they have always been drawn to him. And now it's even better to watch how Elise lights up when she sees him.

I already know I am a lucky woman, and one day Elise will realize how lucky she is to have a father like him.

Elise discovers the window

They seem to be plotting something...


Check out those legs!

There's my Poppa!