Mushy Alert

8 years together.

7 jobs.

6 years of school.

5 cars.

4 places of residence.

3 children.

2 people.

1 happy family.

Well, besides Ava in this picture.



Do you ever find yourself thinking, "I did not sign up for this."

Like when you're scrubbing poop off the wall or using 7 towels to sop up the standing water in the bathroom that your two year old flooded?

I do.

And I did.

Sometimes I wonder if, when Dan walks in the door from work and finds me scuffling around the house in my pajamas, hair askew, smelling like sour milk, looking wholly unattractive (and holy unattractive!), sometimes raving, and sometimes crying, while the kids run around willy nilly through an obstacle course of clothes, toys, and laundry, and thinks, "I did not sign up for this."

Though he'd never admit it, I am sure he has and for that I feel very sorry. I wish I was the beautiful, skinny, slightly more sane girl I was 8 years ago. At times I feel like I tricked him into marrying me.

In an agreement like marriage, where expectations play such a large role, I have been so lucky, to be a satisfied customer. Dan more than meets my expectations. I got what I signed up for and more. Dan delivers!

I signed up for him. I do not know a better man . He is a gentleman and a gentle man. He is exactly what I didn't know I needed, what I now know I need, and exactly what I want. Eight years later he is even better than I imagined.

And the discrepancy between our respective eight year metamorphosis makes me feel sorry sometimes but mostly inspired to try my best to be what he hoped for.

It is safe to say that I love Dan more each day. But for some reason, each time I have a child, it seems that my love for him jumps exponentially.

I really couldn't live without him.



Happy Anniversary, Dan! I love you!

The Run Down

Over the last ten days:

We decorated the Christmas Tree,











It looks like it was decorated by a couple of kids cause it was. I had intentions of going back and redoing it, but realized I would be fighting a losing battle and really, who cares if the ornaments are not equally spaced?

And what tree can claim to be fully decorated without a collection of hairbows?


It snowed. Real snow. In Houston. It was very cool (literally) and very bizarre.


The kids loved it.



Well, Luke started out loving it, but refused to wear anything to keep himself comfortable, like a hat or mittens.


Then he wasn't loving it so much any more.


Ava loved it from start to finish.



Max had an upper GI test done where it was confirmed that he does not have pyloric stenosis but does have reflux.



Dan, Max, and I played Joseph, Baby Jesus, and Mary at a church nativity.


Luke got sick with the croup but still managed to look cute.


Dan's car died. Then it came back to life. Then it died again. The mechanic couldn't figure it out because when we dropped it off, it started right up.

But then it didn't start. Then it did. Didn't. Did.

We think we're gonna get a new car.

Between the latter two I nearly had a nervous breakdown. I really needed to be an octopus to hold my sick one and my six week old at the same time, but not close enough to spread germs, as their neediness nearly always overlapped. But thanks to the thoughtfulness of a couple of friends and the debut of Max's smile, we made it through!

My parent's came down for the weekend. We built lots of lego towers, made cupcakes, took a trip to Ikea, and Ava saw her very first movie in the theater (Princess and the Frog). Her favorite part of the whole experience was the candy and popcorn. It was a great visit and a nice relief to have a few extra hands with the sickness stuff.

Ava got the croup.

But she has really hit her stride lately. She has taken on so much more independence and has been very pleasant. She wants so badly to be a big girl and do what big girls do. This month has been such a roller coaster, gladly we are at a peak!

And many evenings on the couch, after the bigger ones are in bed, I snuggle with my sleeping pile of love. And it is pure bliss. Always a highlight of my day.

Smile

Between Luke being very sick and Dan's car dying again, this week has been pretty rough.

I want to blog about our snow day. Real snow! In Houston!

I want to blog about my calling, or actually more like how much I miss my old calling.

I want to blog about decorating the Christmas tree.

I have a little line-up of posts in my head along with a big line-up of tasks I really need to complete at home. Like take a shower.

But we have relegated ourselves to the most basic elements of living this week, like keeping people alive. (showers are even a luxury, I guess!)

But there was no way I couldn't not blog about this today.

Max woke up smiling.



I have been talking to him and singing to him for weeks in an effort to stimulate his little mind and hopefully make up for the fact that he recieves less attention than either Ava or Luke did as newborns.

He has been sweet and lovable, yet oh so vacant, as newborns tend to be.

But this morning when I picked him up and cooed at him he smiled.


And he looked at me. And I'm pretty sure he was thinking, "Oh, there you are!"

He is a little piece of heaven. His snuggles are warm and soft. And his cheeks are the perfect landing pad for my lips. His little head is a velvety peach.

And today his smiles are very reassuring that maybe I can pull this thing off after all.

Hello...

Luke might just be the cutest two year old boy this side of the Mississippi. Really. He is cute!

I have mentioned before, his affinity for ceiling fans. Maybe it's more like an obsession. He points them out ecstatically wherever and whenever he sees one. "Pan! Pan! Pan!"

And a reply is absolutely required. "Yes! Oh my gosh! A fan! Luke, that is so cool!"

If you think for a moment that your reply is not necessary, it doesn't take long before the escalation starts, "Pan! Pan! Pan! PAN! PAN! MOMMY! PAAAAN!!!!"

Sometimes he does this while his older sister is asking me a very serious question which also must be answered without hesitation (or else!) and while his little brother is screaming.

So occasionally I find myself walking around the house, whether he's talking about them or not, saying, "Wow, look at that fan!" or "Cool fan" just in anticipation. I'm usually not that far off.

And since we went to Utah and he saw Grandma Linda and Grandpa Don's grandfather clock, which he both loved and feared, his obsession has expanded to include both fans and clocks. Similar squeals of "Clock! Clock! Mommy, a clock!" are a constant.

In fact, his most loved "toys" for the past few weeks have been these:


That would be an old clock I found cleaning out a closet and the Lowes 2009 fan catalog, which is now in tatters from too much love.

Luke's first request when he wakes up, is "Clock! Pan!". He snuggles up on my bed with his blanket, hippo, and clock, and turns through the pages of his Fan Book pointing to each one saying, "Pan!" and waiting for my sleepy reply, "Fan!"

He insists on bringing his clock with him in the car. And when he carried it into Walmart the other day, the employee at the door stopped us asking if it was a return so she could put a sticker on it. And I explained that no, it wasn't a return, he just likes clocks.


Until a month or two, he was not very interested in TV or movies, which was alright with me. Then he saw the movie Wall-E. And he was hooked. He wanted to watch that movie all day, every day for weeks. And then he saw Spirit and that became the new Wall-E. And from there he has moved on to Cars and Up!

And if you have seen Up, you know that it boasts a flying house, lifted by tons of helium filled balloons. Now whenever he watches it, he must retrieve and sit with Ava's dollhouse. Whenever the house is shown he points back and forth between the TV and the dollhouse saying, "House! House!"


Since he was pretty little, I have teased him by hugging him up and saying, "You're mine!" He thinks it's pretty funny. The other day he came up to me, laid his chubby little finger on my shoulder and said, "You mine!" And I couldn't help but think, "If you only knew how right you are!"



He melts my heart with his generosity of hugs and kisses. He has finally stopped kissing with his tongue out, which is kind of nice. And I would love to record his little voice. For a while there, he either talked in a syrupy sweet voice or a gruff and rough old man voice.

And I hope I can always remember the way he says fruit snacks: "hoot nacks!" The "hoot" said with the diaphragmatic gusto of a karate chopper.

He is just plain sweet. And he is mine! And I am his!