Lest We Forget

Growing up in Canada, November 11th (Remembrance Day) was a time that we would reflect and give thanks to those who gave their lives for our country.

There was always an assembly at school (usually the day before, since Remembrance Day was always a day off), marked by the reading of In Flanders Fields (see below), and the playing of Last Post. This was followed by two minutes of silence at 11:00 am (the 11th hour on the 11th day of the 11th month), the time the Armistice of World War I was signed in 1918. To this day, the sound of a lone trumpet makes me want to bow my head and stand silent.

We wear poppies on our lapel to honour our veterans; a symbol of the famous poem In Flanders Fields which was written by a Canadian during WWI. To read more about the history of the poem, you can go here.

I thought it appropriate to post the poem today, in Remembrance of all who died so we could live free.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
— Lt.-Col. John McCrae (1872 - 1918)

I'm not even kidding... three years later

I'm going to keep on re-posting this every year until someone listens...

Dear Person or Persons in charge of Daylight Savings Time,

Yes I know the time change was a few days ago so this may seem a little late. You see, it took a few days to put my thoughts down into writing because I've been wandering around my house trying to figure out WHAT BLOODY TIME IT IS.

It seems some of my clocks are smarter than me and change on their own. Some, my husband changed on Sunday. And others still display the "old" time. My problem is, I can't figure out which is which.

So, onto my issue with you. I hate the very concept of DST. It is, quite simply, a load of crap. I don't care that on some farm, in a far away land it makes the cows happy, or whatever bull you're touting, but it screws with my life and it must stop. And I don't appreciate the propaganda the news is spewing by telling me, "you gain and EXTRA hour!" That is pure crap to the highest degree.

We're onto you, yes we are. Who are we? We are the parents of children who cannot tell time, and ergo do not give a flip about your stinking time change. We are the parents of children who are now waking up a FULL HOUR EARLIER than normal now, because of a reason that no longer exists. My daughter has decided to add an extra half hour to that, because that's how she rolls.

An hour may not seem like a lot to you, but when your days are filled with house-cleaning, meal-preparing, blood-sugar-checking, insulin-shot-giving, child-rearing, errand-running, diaper-changing, laundry-washing and nose-wiping; and you do it all while suffering from the 500th consecutive bad hair day, AND quite certain you have poop smeared somewhere on your person (because why else is THAT SMELL following you around the house like the dog when she's hungry), well then, I would say an hour is HUGE.

So I am urging you, PLEASE, for the love of all that is holy... do away with DST. Or I shall be forced to hunt you down, find out where you live and start banging away on your bedroom window an hour before you usually get up. I will also knee you in the groin for the extra half hour. Because that is how I roll.

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

10 Years... a re-post of sorts

I originally posted this about our 8 year wedding anniversary. As much as I'd like to write a whole new post, I think this one sums it up perfectly. So I've re-posted it with a few minor changes.

It took me about 5 minutes to walk down the aisle at my wedding. No, I didn't panic with a case of cold feet. Nor did I trip and fall flat on my face (the more likely of the two scenarios). Fred and I got married on the beach in Carmel, CA, and the aisle was seriously that long. It was a beautiful, temperate day on the California coast, and I had a lot to contemplate as I tromped towards the beach in my two inch heels. Did I look every bit the part of a blushing bride? Do I have enough SPF's to get me through the ceremony? Can they see my underwear through this dress? Hey, look... bugs having sex!

Sometimes I can be as deep as a puddle.

You'll notice nowhere in there were there thoughts about the huge journey I was about to embark on. I think I was a pretty naive 23 year old who looked at marriage as something you did. Did you love the guy? Sure! So why not get married. There were no thoughts of, "what kind of father will he be? What do I want out of marriage? What is my role as a wife?" Amazingly enough, I gave no thoughts about any expectations I had about married life.

Ten years later, what could have been a disastrous decision, turned out to be one of the best things I've ever done. I believe that there isn't anyone out there better suited for me, and I cannot imagine a better, more fun man to travel life's roads with.

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 10 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 5 different states to see my favourite band 8 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 little girl of what a husband should be.

After Elise was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, Fred stepped up to the plate in a way that not every husband does. Is most cases, 100% of the care falls to the wife, and a lot of husbands don't even try to get involved. Call it laziness, call it denial. Whatever it is, Fred does not suffer from it. He is totally involved in Elise's care, and has taken on doing the twice-nightly blood sugar checks (we have to check Elise during the night to catch dangerous, life-threatening low blood sugars). Our daughter would not be doing as well as she is, if it wasn't for her Poppa and his diligence to her care.

Over the past 14 years (4 years dating, 10 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, made a beautiful daughter together, been to hell and back, and now are about to expand our family by one more.

I am so thankful for our marriage. I feel blessed beyond all measure to call Fred my best friend, father of our daughter and soon-to-be-born son, and best of all... my husband.

Top O' the Moron to you (a re-post)

This is a re-post from St. Paddy's Day last year. It still makes me giggle and I have nothing better to say, so enjoy!

Ahhh, St. Patrick's Day... when even if you're Asian, you're Irish. I will be celebrating my claim of roughly 1/16 ancestry from the Emerald Isle by donning a shirt with a quaint little shamrock on it.

Fred and I were in Target the other day when we overheard a rather funny lecture on something quintessentially Irish by someone who was most assuredly... not Irish. He was wearing an Ireland shirt and telling his three friends all about the Blarney Stone. It went a little something like this (he is in bold type, my response is in italics):

You guys have never heard of the Blarney Stone? It's this rock they have in Ireland that hangs off of the side of a cliff.

I stop walking and lean over to Fred and tell him in my best "I'm whispering, but I really want to be overheard voice":

No, no it's not. It's in a castle that is strangely enough, called Blarney Castle.

Yeah, and you're supposed to kiss it and the way you do that is by getting someone to hold your legs and lower you down.

Dear Lord, even if that were true, would you really trust someone to do that in a country where they have perfected the art of drinking?

When you kiss the Blarney Stone, it gives you good luck!

No no, that's when you capture the leprechaun and steal his Lucky Charms. The Blarney Stone give you the gift of eloquence.

I think one of two things happened; either this guy went to Ireland and some locals played a joke on him, or he's just really, really... not very smart.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

I'm not kidding... again

I originally wrote and posted this a year ago. The passage of 364 or so days does not make it any less true, so I thought I'd repost it. Plus, I'm thinking that after what happened with my passport... maybe someone will hear my pleas.

Dear Person or Persons in charge of Daylight Savings Time,

Yes I know the time change was a few days ago so this may seem a little late. You see, it took a few days to put my thoughts down into writing because I've been wandering around my house trying to figure out WHAT BLOODY TIME IT IS.

It seems some of my clocks are smarter than me and change on their own. Some, my husband changed on Sunday. And others still display the "old" time. My problem is, I can't figure out which is which.

So, onto my issue with you. I hate the very concept of DST. It is, quite simply, a load of crap. I don't care that on some farm, in a far away land it makes the cows happy, or whatever bull you're touting, but it screws with my life and it must stop. And I don't appreciate the propaganda the news is spewing by telling me, "you gain and EXTRA hour!" That is pure crap to the highest degree.

We're onto you, yes we are. Who are we? We are the parents of children who cannot tell time, and ergo do not give a flip about your stinking time change. We are the parents of children who are now waking up a FULL OUR EARLIER than normal now, because of a reason that no longer exists. My daughter has decided to add an extra half hour to that, because that's how she rolls.

An hour may not seem like a lot to you, but when your days are filled with house-cleaning, meal-preparing, child-rearing, errand-running, diaper-changing, laundry-washing and nose-wiping; and you do it all while suffering from the 500th consecutive bad hair day, AND quite certain you have poop smeared somewhere on your person (because why else is THAT SMELL following you around the house like the dog when she's hungry), well then, I would say an hour is HUGE.

So I am urging you, PLEASE, for the love of all that is holy... do away with DST. Or I shall be forced to hunt you down, find out where you live and start banging away on your bedroom window an hour before you usually get up. I will also knee you in the groin for the extra half hour. Because that is how I roll.