ten years

Dear Husband,

Ten years ago today I put on my white dress and veil and met you in that little church you just had to get married in. The one all our friends said would immediately go up in flames as soon as the two of us walked in. They thought they were so funny. We walked in that church. We did the thing. You made an honest woman out of me, and I? Well I finally married the guy. The one. That guy that I had been waiting for since I saw Sixteen Candles at seven years old. Don't laugh, no matter what you think these days, you have always been my first choice. You were the one I ran back to, not once, not twice, but three times. You were the one I held out for, held my breath for. I know. It doesn't seem that way now, but I really did. I really do. Still to this day I wake up in a panic after dreaming that I'm back in college and you're not returning my phone calls... Then I notice the two kids in our bed and all is right with the world again. But in case you still don't believe me, let me refresh your memory.

We met on a Friday night. It was sweltering in late July, and for so many reason I did not want to go to that party at Patty and Danielle's. But Lauren made me because she said I couldn't sit around and mope at home on a Friday night. I went, just to be supportive, and just to show I was against the entire thing as a whole, I wore hat, minimal make up, and a tank top I'd bought at a Santa Cruz thrift shop my last year of high school. I was at that party no more than twenty minutes when you walked in, fresh off your important wireless company job. I didn't know that then, I just saw you all dressed up in your mandarin collar and Clooney hair cut, and wondered, Who invited this guy? On my way out for a beer run I smiled at you and you gave no reaction at all. So I commented, "Who died?", and I think I threw you off. Upon my return from said beer run you said, "Nice hat", and I knew you were exactly the person I should be hanging out with at the party, but I stayed with my group of a good while.

What I didn't know then, but I know now, is that we were the two least likely people to fall in love. I was post break up, you were way past serious relationships. I felt like I was on a time table for love and romance, and you had no desire to reestablish the word "girlfriend" into your vernacular. No matter, there we were, acting like assholes to each other because I guess we both thought, if I can get this person to hate me, I won't have to admit that I like them. It was pretty much love at first sight.

We spent the first semester of my senior year at Fresno State ignoring the obvious. I was freshly twenty one and you taught me the importance of social drinking. You taught me how to have fun again. I loved those nights that we just sat in a bar and drank, getting to know one another, but not too much for fear we'd fall, but slowly we did fall. I let go first, then you, and we tumbled into a place so scary and uncomfortable we (actually, me) ran. I did. I ran the first time. Because I was so afraid you would say, "no", if I asked if you could love me back. My heart could not take it, so I ran.

On a side note, I still should have taken you to formal that semester. You should have said no to that other girl. Just my opinion. Also I should have gone solo, but my pride. Oh my pride just couldn't stand it.

We spent the spring semester on the edges of the obvious. We'd see each other at a party. We'd run into each other on campus. You'd call me at work, or when you knew I was in class. Leaving me voice mails. I got an email that Valentine's Day from you, just saying that we should hang out soon. There was a party soon, something so non threatening, as to ignore the fact that we missed each other so damn much. And then I gave in. That night we went out as friends, just to get some drinks. We weren't even drunk, just high on nerves and anticipation. You offered to drive me home, and I simply said I'd rather go home with you. So, we went.

We became so tangled that semester. Never coming up for air. Staying in on Saturday nights, watching movies and SNL, walking to get beer in the warm spring air. I'd tell you I had to study, and you'd tell me to do it at your place. We found that comfortable place where we didn't have to fill the spaces with words or actions. We could just be. Before we knew it, it was summer and we filled our days and nights with each other. I was happy and you were too, and for the first time it felt real. Like a real relationship. But it didn't last.

With the fall came the break up. We were just too serious. I wanted it all. I wanted the ring and the commitment. I wanted all of you and all your time. And you didn't want to feel. You just wouldn't admit how serious this was becoming. So you ran. Fast and swift. It was over before I could catch my breath.

I went through all the scenarios in my head. I looked for ways to catch your attention. I walked the routes I  knew you would walk on campus. I went to the same bars on the same nights. I actively ignored you as if you would notice. I spent the winter mourning the relationship, drowning my sorrows every night of the week, binge watching law and order before people really binge watched TV. And I waited. I waited for your call.

And you called. And I did my best to play it cool. But I wasn't, because I was back to you in less than five days. We rushed. We rushed into it. We set no boundaries. As you moved closer to graduation, and I spent my days working, as we drifted further and further apart. But every time we talked about breaking up, we just couldn't. It's not what we really wanted. And so we fought. We left each other in bars. We threw drinks at each other, and didn't call each other. And I was so mad because I thought we were done. I thought we were through. And we almost were.

We found our way back that summer. By Thanksgiving you were back, one hundred percent, as we worked though our fears and our issues. But they would crop up again. I would play the marriage card, I would in act time lines you were never going to follow. We'd spend the next few years watching everyone couple up and marry. We'd save our money and buy our first home, while you were in Alaska no less. You came home from a six week stint working in the frozen tundra to a "new" to us house with old furniture. And again, we'd still fight over boundaries and rings and why the hell weren't we getting married?

But we did. You even went the old fashioned, Alex P. Keaton route and asked my Dad if you could marry me. For some reason that is one of my favorite things about you. I never thought I'd marry a man who would ask. I never even knew I wanted to marry someone who would ask. I ruined my own proposal, I didn't want to go out of town or out to dinner for that matter. It makes sense as we are not the "big proposal" type. My proposal was perfect, I was tired and pissy, and you were fucking fed up with my ass, so you got down on one knee outside our half bath in that tiny shit hole of a house. It's so damn poetic, I can't stand it. and that is not sarcasm, that's the truth.

We married. We did the thing. A year and a half later we bought a bigger house and about nine months after that we became parents. That's when all this shit got real. I spent five years trying to convince you to love me and marry me, and that is cracker jack in comparison to what we have to live through now. This parenting shit is hard. So hard, that it makes our marriage hard. But we do hard John Crutchfield. The mess and the chaos is where we thrive. How bored we would be if we just agreed on everything. What would we do for fun if we couldn't talk shit to each other or argue over politics or religion or the Kardashians? And what the hell would we do without these kids? We would be so bored. Oh sure, we'd probably go to Cancun or Hawaii two times a year, but we'd get sick of each other and be stuck without little buffers to lighten the mood. You know I'm right.

Here's the thing. You think I'm not happy here. In this life we've made these last ten years. It's so far from the truth it makes me want to cut you. But I understand. I'm not always easy to live with. I complain. I have pity parties. Some days I don't want to be touched. I don't want you to grab my boobs while I cook dinner. I don't want to hang out in the garage with the neighbors, I just want to watch some Grey's Anatomy. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that sometimes you're not the first priority. I'm sorry that sometimes I really don't want to have sex. I'm sorry that most nights I'd rather sleep. I'm sorry that I don't fight as hard as I used to, but that's what happens when you are comfortable. You don't think you have to fight anymore. Because the comfort feels good and it feels right.

It feels like I've fought for you and this relationship for so long. Would it be crazy to say that I just want to live? I want to live this life with you and be comfortable. I want to live this life with you and be happy. I don't want to be anywhere else. I want to be right here, with you, and the kids, and I want to relax. We don't have to fight so hard anymore. I'm right here. I've been right here the entire time. I waited for you. I held my breath for you. I don't need sweeping romantic gestures, I just need you, dummy. I've always just needed you. Sure I've take you for granted. Sure I've pushed you away when I'm in a funk. And I will always take my shitty days out on you. But you knew that. None of my bitchiness is new. In fact you should find comfort in it.

It's been ten years since I walked down that aisle. I wasn't even nervous. I knew. I had know all along that this was the place I had always wanted to be. Still after ten years of marriage, by your side is where I've wanted to be all along. Even when I'm hangry, tired, and PMSing, it's always been you.

It will always be you.

Happy Anniversary, Crutch. 

Swept Away

I can't remember the last time the Hubbs swept me off my feet. This year marks ten years of marriage, and we were more or less dating the five years prior to that. So over time you forget those moments when the one you love, or hate, depending on the day, totally takes you by surprise. But this year, for whatever reason, The Hubbs pulled out all the stops on Valentine's Day.

Hotel Room Selfie

We are not big Valentine's Day people. The Hubbs thinks it's an obligation. I like the overuse of pinks and reds. We don't usually go out to dinner because of the crowds. We don't get each other over the top gifts because we have kids now, and before that, we usually didn't have the extra cash anyway. The first Valentine's Day as newly weds we stayed in and cooked dinner together. Most likely spaghetti and gluten free spaghetti for me. I don't remember the dinner, but what I do remember is that Valentine's Day finally felt right. A little dinner, a little quiet, and a lot of contentment. It set the tone for all the Valentine's Days to follow. Call me boring, but I really like to be home and cozy with dinner and a movie. And so I figured that this year would be no different.

But it was different. The weeks prior, the Hubbs called around for a dinner location, and was able to score one because I had to work on Valentine's Day. He was worried the restaurant wasn't fancy enough. Fancy enough for whom I asked? Do we even remember what fancy restaurants look like? Then we tried to convince the kids to stay the night with Grandma, but they wouldn't have it. They didn't want to stay anywhere and were sure curious why we would need them too. I figured this year would be like most date nights, we go out, we enjoy some limited alone time, and we come home the the monkeys that would still be awake, way past their bedtime with wild eyes and lots of questions. I was okay with that, in fact I was good with that.

He wanted to go to a fancy restaurant and do this?

A few days before Valentine's Day the Hubbs mentioned that I would need to pack an overnight bag. Yes, he said an overnight bag. I asked him if it needed to be weather specific, and he said no, we'd stay local. He said that we wouldn't be coming home after our semi-fancy restaurant dinner, so pack some pajamas. Which I'm sure was supposed to be roughly translated to "sexy underwear", which I have none to speak of. I mean who has the time? But I was excited at the idea that we would be going away. Away. To a room, with a bed with clean sheets, no human alarm clocks, and no schedule to keep. Heavenly.

This year I was totally swept away. The kind of "swept" that makes romantic comedies worth watching. It was nothing extravagant, it was nothing historical, but it was perfectly us. It was the idea that the Hubbs wanted to do this for us. For. Us. To give us this night, and this time together, that is so precious these days. He reminded me that he does listen and pay attention, as evidenced by the package from Lisa Leonard. Sure enough, the earrings I posted to the Hubbs Facebook wall over a month ago were now mine. Then dinner out was fantastic. We sat and talked for an hour without serious interruption. Even though I had to send my dinner back (I'm a food allergy person aka a server's nightmare), and then they threw away the Hubbs dinner while they remade mine, we just ordered more drinks. We laughed about how the cooks and the server probably hated us, and didn't mind waiting longer for our food, since this time we didn't have to keep a schedule. We didn't have to cut the night short. We walked around Fresno's Tower District, which we never inhabit, and I went to a bar I had never been too. We had time, time to spend and waste together. We had each other's undivided attention. And I only took out my phone to capture some pictures.

When we did make it back to the room, the one the Hubbs booked on the sly, it was glorious. Champagne and chocolate covered strawberries, laughter and love. We watched stupid TV and sipped champagne and laughed about both. We had a wonderful night just the two of us, and were able to really enjoy each others company. We didn't have to argue about the kids or the dishes or all the paper towels I leave on the counter. It was just us, like it was so many years ago. Because we sometimes forget that we really do like to be around each other. We get busy and distracted. We have to work and parent and sell Girl Scout cookies all weekend, then fit in some grocery shopping along the way. We don't get to be selfish and runway together. So we forget that before all the other chaos, it was just us.

He pulled out all the stops, champagne included.

We woke up the next morning bleary eyed and exhausted. If we could have, we would have booked another day and night. Just to make the time stand still. Just to live in that little pocket of time where it was just us again. But of course we thought about the girls, and if they were missing us, and if they were giving my mom a headache. We had to pack up and come home, but not before we stopped ourselves and ask, "Why don't we do this more often?". Because I'm voting that we totally do this more often.

After ten years and two kids, I was swept off my feet, and I can't wait to be swept away again.

Isn't it romantic?

My husband really wants to take me out for Valentine's Day.

This may sound normal to you, but in this house, we rarely do Valentine's Day. Sure we do little things, like he will bring me flowers, look the other way when I charge a mani pedi on or around the fourteenth, and I may or may not cook dinner. Like a real one using pots and pans and ingredients that have to be chopped. But anything that needs a reservation or shaved legs is usually out of the question.

Isn't it romantic?

With Valentine's steadily approaching I suggested we go to this fancy chain restaurant because we got a gift card there for Christmas. Look, I am in no way above letting my man treat me with a gift card. Because money we save there means money I can spend on books or fifteen dollar salads at Whole Foods (which are a very real thing). But when he called they said they were booked. Booked? I didn't even know they took reservations, because WE NEVER GO ANYWHERE THAT WOULD NECESSITATE A RESERVATION. And I'm not complaining, it's just a fact. We go to places like Red Robin so no one notices that our kids are bat shit crazy.

The Hubbs was bummed, he called around to a few other restaurants and they too were booked, because I guess Valentine's Day is a thing... Who knew? So I suggested the Ultimate Valentine's Day;

Let's take the kids to my moms. Force them to spend the night. Then we can get take out or cook and then spend the entire night watching movies or stupid YouTube videos, or binge watch a show, in our bed... Then we can sleep in the next day and watch TV in bed or whatever... And we can be in our bed, alone. Just the two of us, in our bed watching movies that say the eff word. A lot.

Because if I'm totally honest, that's what I really want.

It's been years since it was just me and The Hubbs. We used to do those things. Wake up on a Sunday morning and stay in bed for most of the day. Watching dumb movie after dumb movie, and Lawd have mercy if Beerfest and Super Troopers was on. We'd eat food in bed and go to Starbucks and Taco Bell in our pajamas and ignore the laundry or the fact that the next day was Monday. There were no other mouths to feed or bodies to make/force to take a bath. It was just us, being lazy and enjoying every damn minute of it.

Isn't it romantic?

We found a restaurant. They had a reservation at seven. Which is fine since I have to work Valentine's Day anyway. We will get dressed up and ship the kids to my moms. We will enjoy ourselves and eat food we don't have to cook, on dishes we don't have to clean, and then we will come home, and most likely our kids will still be awake waiting for us. And it will be just as good as any Valentine's Day we've ever had.

But before you all get so wrapped up in what a romantic couple we are let me share this story...

The Hubbs and I both had to work last Saturday, but he had to be at his job hours before I had to be at mine. I heard him get up. Which is usually fine... Except he, well, what is it about men and the first thing they do immediately after waking is shit? I mean what is that? Anyway, here is our conversation:

Hubbs gets back into bed.

Hubbs

Good morning (whisper)

snuggling and cuddling happen

Me

silence

Hubbs

Are you up?

Me

Stop. Shitting. With. The. Door. Open.

Bed starts shaking because the Hubbs is laughing

Hubbs

laughing silently

You heard that?

Me

Yeah. I heard that.

Hubbs

Laughing

Isn't it romantic?

The Fair {2014}

Lunch with dad at the horse races. And a selfie!

The Fair. I dread those words. I’m not a fair kind of girl. I mean, I like the exhibits and stuff, but the rest of it not so much . I can’t eat fair food, I don’t dare ride the rides, and the concerts are always overpriced and the free ones are ridiculously crowded. So every October, Fresnans go crazy that the fair is in town. The draw of deep fried Twinkies and the famous cinnamon rolls, the exhibits of everything “as seen on TV”, we even have Horse Racing. I rarely go crazy to the fair. Years ago I felt like it was a parent’s right of passage to take your kids to the fair. Then we took the kids to the fair and it exhausted us and the kids cried about everything. All the food they wanted but then didn’t touch. All the balloon animals that we bought for 100% mark up that popped before we got to the car. All the games we didn’t win. The fair always seemed like a good idea until it wasn’t such a good idea.

This year, the Hubbs and I figured we would let the fair pass us by. I had to work both weekends of the fair and the kids only had a mild interest. Then the third grade classes at my kid’s school decided to go to the fair. And since there is a second and third combo class, some of Caitlin’s friends got to go and came back with a full report. Awesome. For the remainder of last week all Caitlin could talk about was the fair.

The Hubbs said we should try to go. I didn’t want to go at night. And since he couldn’t leave work early on Friday I decided that he should take the girls on Saturday while I worked. Really? He was a little surprised. You won’t feel bad about not going?

Not. At. All.

And you know what? I didn’t. They left Saturday afternoon before I even left for work. I waited for the guilt to set in. While I put my make-up on. While I got dressed. While I drove to work. While I worked. I even sent him a text to send me pictures, and even when I got those pictures I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt. Most likely because I didn’t really want to go to the fair in the first place, but even when I don’t want to go places, at some point I get that “missing out” feeling. Not last Saturday.

I was really proud of myself.

I may not always feel that way about things the girls and the Hubbs get to do without me. I’m sure at some point there will be a weekend where I will have to work and they will get to do something fun. Nobody is perfect.

At the same time, I’m so glad that he took them. They had so much fun. They won some fish. They won some hilariously large plush doughnuts. They had lunch at the horse races. But they mostly had fun with each other. It’s something they will always remember. When they think about the fair later in life they will think about that time they went with Daddy and he spent our life savings trying to win fish and doughnuts bigger than their heads. They will think about the horse races and the horses and the huge cinnamon roll that Daddy brought home for dessert. And they will most likely forget that Mom had to work, and that mom really didn’t want to go anyway. Hopefully.

They won fish, that I predicted would be dead in a week.

Everyone needs giant plush doughnuts. Right?

The fair closed on Monday, and I silently thanked it for all the memories it created. Not just for The Hubbs and the girls, but for me as well. I didn’t have to go to the fair this year to really enjoy it. All I had to do was see the smiles on these faces.

The sixteen hour getaway

Saturday the Hubbs and I got away for exactly sixteen hours. We met some friends in Turlock, got on a bus and rode all the way to San Francisco to see the Giants play. And even though I had to be at work the next day at eight in the morning, I couldn't resist a day with the Hubbs, the Giants, and good friends. See I'm the girl that over plans. I'm the girl that knows she will be too tired to do something like a sixteen hour turn around trip. I'm the girl who makes excuses, like work or the kids. I'm always the one to say "We can't". But not this time. This time I embraced the mess and the full and the busy. I didn't want this summer to pass without going to the ballpark. I didn't want this to be the summer that I used work and exhaustion as an excuse. Because as the Hubbs reminds me, I'm always going to be tired, and I'm always going to have to work. Why does he have to make sense sometimes?

The obligatory bus selfie. Because it's not happening unless you post it on Instagram.

My ballpark selfie to let the Giants and Hunter Pence know I was there. The Giants did favorite my tweet, which got me all kinds of excited. But sadly nothing from Hunter. 

Funny story about this jersey. There were two raffles on the bus. The first was for a gift card to a restaurant in Modesto. The second was for this Will Clark throw back jersey. We, the Hubbs and I, won both. That's right. Both raffles, and the bus was none to happy with us "outsiders". It was hilarious. But as kids, the Hubbs and I both loved Will Clark. Plus the Hubbs works this jersey, am I right?

The game started at six and it was just gorgeous out. I took this picture and thought, this looks like a post card. It was a great night for baseball if you weren't a Giants fan, because they lost. It didn't matter. The Hubbs and I had a great time. We spent sixteen hours with friends who really feel like family. We spent sixteen hours laughing and being together without the interruption of being "mom" and "dad". It was the best sixteen hour getaway you could ask for.

Because if I'm being honest, I'd go anywhere with this man even if it was just a one hour getaway.

I love him more than Instagram {Father's Day 2014}

Today, I spent time with my Husband. The father of my beautiful babies. The man that made dreams I didn't know I dreamed come true. He spent the first half of his day with just his girls, because mom had to work. And no, it wasn't a Mr. Mom kind of day. It was a completely ordinary kind of day. Because he's a Dad. A Dad of this generation. That gets his hands dirty and his heart broken by little people with limited vocabularies. He's the kind of Dad, much like your husband I'm sure, that works hard at work, and harder at home. The kind of Dad you always wanted for your children before they were even born. He's the kind of Dad who vacuums because mommy hates to.

And sometimes I take him for granted. I forget that he needs someone to lean on too. Because most of the time he seems like Superman. Because when I met him, he didn't need a thing, not even me. But somewhere down the road that all changed, and now, he needs me. To be his friend, his partner in crime, his confidante. It's so easy to forget that I'm a wife, his wife. It's so easy to forget that I'm also his friend. Life happens and gets in the way. We have to talk about the bills and the grocery shopping, and how much I'm spending at Target again. We forget to enjoy the little things. The little sliver of quiet after the kids go to sleep. The moments before they wake up. We forget to watch that movie we DVR'd three weeks ago. We forget to sit down and have dinner together. We forget that we were once friends before we were parents.

So today, I hope that he knew, I wanted to celebrate him, and the Dad that he is. Even if I didn't get to spend time with him until after work. I hope that he knows that the hard stuff will turn into the easy stuff, until it gets hard again, and that I will be with him every step of the way. I hope that he knows that I'd only climb this mountain of parenthood with him. That I'd never have made it this far if he hadn't carried me all those times. I hope that he knows that

I also hope that he realized his children adore him. That they really are two of the best things we've ever done.

Today was Father's Day. A day that could have been just another day, but because of The Hubbs, it was anything but. It was a day to celebrate, him and this life we have. A life full of chaos and mess, full of wins and losses, and dirty carpets and dishes on the counters. It was a day that I get to celebrate with him, because of him. Even if it was just as ordinary as yesterday. Because it's the magic we find in our monotony that makes life unforgettable.

And I wouldn't want to do this life with anyone else. 

Father's Day 2014

Nine {on our ninth anniversary}

For the Hubbs on our ninth wedding Anniversary.
Nine things I love about you.  

#9 The way you make me laugh, even when I don't want to. Even when I'm mad at you.
#8 Your laugh. The one you do until you cough. Like when we saw that guy combing his beard at a four way stop.  

#7 You know how to fix things. Like broken cabinets and lights. And even the fifty dollar vacuum that was so obviously dead.
#6 That you clean the house when I'm not home. It used to bother me, but not anymore. Because I hate to clean.  

#5 The text messages you send through out the day. Some husbands send mushy texts of undying love and affection. You send me pictures of fat guys on scooters. Because you know my language of love.
#4 That you speak in movie quotes. That we can talk in Beerfest quotes. I really would freeze you in the winter and skate on you. Among other things from that quote.  

#3 That out of all the things I've ever called you, (asshole, shit face, et al.) my favorite name you answer to is "Dad".
#2 That you have never given up on me, even when I have given up on myself. That you are always the voice of reason and optimism,  even when I don't want a voice at all. That you love all my faults,  and perhaps even love me because of them.  

#1 I love you because that's what I decided on the last  Friday night in July of 1999. When it was so hot I couldn't see straight and  you were wearing a long sleeved button down. You were so dressed up and standing in the kitchen drinking a beer,  and I said,"Who died",  and you fave me the funniest look. Thankfully my sarcasm wasn't lost on you.  

Happy Ninth Anniversary Hubbs. Because it would never have worked without you.

Show and Tell

When was the last time you really hugged your spouse. Like really hugged them, given them one hundred percent of your attention? I know the last time I hugged the Hubbs, because it was the first time I had done it in months. 
I've always said that marriage, including my marriage, is very hard. It's a job. It's another part of life that requires work. I didn't think that once I got married life would be a fairy tale, but holy hell, I thought it would be easier than it really is. I never once realized that marriage is something that has to be cultivated. Something that has to continually hold your attention so that it grows and flourishes. No one bothered to tell me that along the way.
I think as mothers, and as women, we take on the world. We carry it around as if it's a badge of honor. Look at me, I can do all of the things, with minimal help, and oh look, I just posted a picture of me doing all of the things on Instagram. We give, and give, we create, and clean, and make our worlds a better place, daily. Then at the end of the day something happens. We deflate, one hundred percent, and we don't want a single thing. We don't want to be talked to, or touched, or anything of the sort. We want our wine, our favorite TV show on DVR, and sleep. We always want our sleep.
So what does that say to our spouse?
I never once imagined that the Hubbs would notice that I hadn't hugged him. Or spent real time with him. I was even surprised that he would question my happiness or my desire to stay married to him. How on earth could he even think that? But when you walk around with a dark cloud over your head, yell about every little thing, and demand to be left alone for three freaking minutes for the love of all things Scandal... Yeah, I can see where he could doubt me.
I'm the first person to be an advocate for free time. I'm a mom to two wonderful little girls who think the world revolves around them, because it kind of does. I work part time now. I'm a friend, I'm a daughter, I'm a Daisy troop leader, and I'm a writer. I have to make time for all of these things, plus me. But did you see what I forgot to mention? I'm also a wife.
I forget I'm a wife. I forget that for a lot of years it was just me and the Hubbs, before he was the Hubbs. I forget that I'm still a wife, and that he still needs to know that I am. He still needs to feel that I'm his wife. That I love him, even if i want to talk to my bestie on the phone, or watch Scandal instead of talking to him about my day. I forget that out of all the other people that I continually give and give of myself to, I need to give him a little of me too. I forget that even he, the man who hates to hold hands, needs a unsolicited hug every once in a while.
I've said to him, more that once, that I feel like I give and give all day, and that at the end of the day I have nothing left to give. That's not very fair is it? I'm not proud of being a total bitch at the end of the day, with zero motivation, and only the desire to sleep. But I have been, and I am. But now I'm trying to turn a corner.
After fourteen years of dating, not dating, and being married to the Hubbs, I'm humbled by the fact that I still have many lessons to learn on being a wife. That the work doesn't end after you hit the five year mark, or the ten year mark. Marriage is a continuous job, just like motherhood. There is something very refreshing and very scary about being brutally and totally honest, with someone who knows you best. Finding out how far you can go with honesty. Feeling safe again after baring so much. It's so easy to forget that I fell in love with him for the simple fact that I could always be myself with him. That he always accepted the person that I am. Yet, here I am, learning that saying those three little words, mean nothing if the person who hears them can't feel it. I can write a million blog posts about how much I love the Hubbs, but I have to actually love him, for him to know it.   I feel like loving someone is truly without context. It's something you say, and something you do, but how do you put it into context? How do you make it into something tangible, something you can hold on to. Something you can give the other person, your spouse, your love, and say "Here, here is how I love you. Here is how you know". Last week I found context.
Last week, Mac asked the Hubbs to measure her. We've been measuring the girls on their door jams since they could stand on their own. Caitlin has measurements on two door jams in this house, since she's had two different rooms. So, the Hubbs did just that, he measured Mac on her door jam, and showed her just how much she had grown. And as I watched I felt it. That tangible thing, the context, that maybe, just maybe, he needed to hold. Because that is what I have always wanted with him, a house filled with door jams marked with proof of growing children. Those little unspoken things that make up the big thing. That make up this life. Who knew all those years ago, that door jams marked with sharpies would be the exact thing I'd been waiting for in my life. 
It's so hard to show that kind of love isn't it? It's easy to put those feeling into words, but to show it, on a daily basis? That's hard. I think that is why marriage is so hard. It feels like a given. You take it for granted. Your spouse is your spouse. They are supposed to be here, they are supposed to love you, but you know what? You are supposed to love them back. You are supposed to show up too. Marriage can be the constant, but you just can't take it for granted. I didn't realize that I had been taking the Hubbs for granted for some time. That I just assumed that he would know my love, without me having to do too much. Unfairly so, since I always ask him to hold my hand. The one thing that he hates to do, and not because it's my hand, but because he thinks it lame. But he always does it anyway. You'd think that I'd remember that when he wants me, without distraction.
I always read on Pinterest or Instagram, quotes that say hug your babies, or hold your babies close. Today I'm going to tell you to hug your spouse, hold them tight and hold them close. Tell them and show them that you are here, that you showed up today, no matter how much you want to disappear into that book, or blog, or Instagram feed. Give them a little bit more of you, before you deflate. Before you take for granted something you think is a given.
As cliche as it is, actions do speak louder than words. I just never realized that love demands to be the loudest. 

For my Husband on Valentine's Day

I learned a long time ago that we don't do mushy. We don't big puffy heart anything around here. We never have. The sweeping romantic gesture has never been a staple in our relationship. But I'm ok with all of that. I knew, the night that I met you that I wanted you in my life. Even if we hated each other at first. I think that was part of the attraction, we both wanted to have the last word. I've discovered that there is no last word in this relationship. There will be a last anything. But just for today, I will put you on the spot, in the way you hate the most, to celebrate this day, that you hate the most. 
I love you. And not in an "He's so dreamy" way, but in a whole body, something is missing without you kind of way. 
We didn't have the traditional courtship of our peers. We spent our nights boozy and free. Too afraid to admit how we really felt about each other. Because it was so powerful. It had roots. We had a tangled web before we even had a chance to spin it. It's just the way it was.  It's just the way that it is.
We dated on and off for three years. The off times just about killed me. I pined for you. I held my breath for you. I came running as soon as you called. There were so many people who said I was crazy and out of my mind. But I didn't care. I knew this was what I wanted. It's what I've always wanted.  But those years left so many scars that we can't erase. Even if we want to. It's no wonder that I still wake in a panic, thinking that I'm back in my sorority house bunk, waiting for your call, only to find relief at the sight of our sleeping babies.
The love part has been easy. I fell, so hard and so deeply. It was so absolute. I drowned in it and bathed in it. It's the marriage part that has been so hard. I'm flawed and messy. I'm spoiled and self centered. I'm not saying you are perfect either, and together we are no walk in the park.
But I have never thought about a life without you. Since we met, my story has included you. Because there is no me without you. I am who I am today, in this moment because I fell in love with you and you eventually fell in love with me. This life with you has never been easy, but I don't think we would want it that way. Easy was never part of the plan, but love always was.
You my love, are the great story of my life. I could write one thousand stories about anyone and no one, everyone and someone, but none of those stories would be as important as the one I'm writing with you. Because all of those other stories have endings. but we continue to write new chapters of this story. This is the one that matters the most. 
Today is Valentine's Day and all I can think about are all of those Valentine's days of our past. The email you sent me that first year, that reminded me that you must still think about me too. The phone call after months of silence, like a peace offering, like an apology. The year you spent Valentine's Day in Alaska and sent me flowers via a local flower shop, and they included a teddy bear that you swore you would never buy me if given a choice. I still laugh about that now. Our first Valentine's Day as parents when I burned dinner and we ate no bake cheese cake out of the pan instead. 
As much as you hate our life being on full display on this blog, I felt like it needed to be said. Because sometimes I love yous aren't enough. But know this: I love you, in a grand romantic gesture kind of way. I love you in a big puffy heart, unicorn and flowers kind of way. I love you because I still have your first cell phone number memorized, somehow forever tattooed on my heart. I love you because you asked my dad for my hand in marriage, as if people our age still did that anymore. I love you because you were so excited the day Caitlin was born, and so exhausted the day Mac was born. I love you because you let me shower first, even when I'm going to make you late for work, and I love you because you will eat at Cheesecake again, because you know it's my favorite. I love you because we can talk in movie quotes and because a night in our bed watching movies is just as good as any date night.
I love you. Because it's what I decided to do that summer night in 1999. When you made fun of my hat. When you accused me of stealing your beer. When I gave you my number anyway.
I love you because my life would have never worked without you. Because you finally came to your good senses and loved me back. Because you lose all of that good sense when you love me anyway. I love you because you have always fought the good fight for this one thing.
Our thing.
Happy Valentine's Day in the mushy, sentimental, big puffy heart kind of way that you hate. Your Welcome.

Wore {Halloween Party}

What do you do when you see a DIY costume for a pinata on Pinterest?

You make the Hubbs wear his "I'd hit that" shirt with a similar pinata.

Then you DIY your own pinata costume and you go to your neighbors costume party.

Have I mentioned that my neighbors host youth group on Wednesday nights?

Yeah, we are so totally those neighbors.

Look, I bought my Hubbs that shirt years ago, because let's face it, it's so him.

He tried to wear it to the Bon Jovi concert and I stopped him because it's a little faded.

But I'm pretty sure that was fate reminding me he had such a shirt, then God intervened and told the Pinterest Gods to place in my "DIY costume" feed, a DIY Pinata Costume.

Come on.  It was a given, am I correct?

So that's what we wore.

And we got 76 likes on Facebook.

I'm pretty sure that's winning at Halloween Costumes.

This is my "hit me I poop candy" face.

My kids weren't left out either.

This was also a kid party.

Did I forget to mention that?

My kids thought it was hilarious that Daddy was trying to "hit" Mommy.

Thank God, he brought that bat!

Way to turn this into a birds and bees conversation.

Parents of the Year, party of two.

Caitlin was Skelita from Monster High.

I did her make up and hair.

She's pretty adorable anyway, but with some day of the dead make up?

She was just thrilled that she got to wear loads of it.

Why yes, this is my kid not wearing her Minnie Mouse costume.

How on earth did you guess?

We took an old dance recital costume, added "glass" slippers (jellies), one princess hat that for the love of all things holy would not stay on her head, and some Cinderella jewelry.

Awesome, if you consider she had a completely acceptable Minnie Mouse costume in her closet.

But she's cute, and I usually let her get away with everything anyway.

The Crutchfields brought it this year in the costume department.

Oh sure that Up costume trio was great, I mean I'm sure the Dad in that family spent a thousand hours on the cardboard replica of the up house, in the correct colors, with details down to the mail box, that he wore.  And the wife's scouting costume, and the little guys old man sweater and custom made 24 inch walker.  I mean that was awesome, but...

I was a pinata that the Hubbs would totally hit.

Winning.