This.

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10411049_10155134689510508_3921452117681142756_nThis.

This is why I fell in love with my husband, and why, despite all the things he does that irk the SHIT out of me, I still fall in love with him every day.

We don’t agree on every issue. We bicker. A lot. There’s a lot of eye-rolling. Even so, sometimes I step back and look at what we have been through in the past few years, and I’m really proud of what we have managed to overcome without completely falling apart.

According to the Meyers-Briggs personality test, we are opposites in every way (except that we’re both extroverts).  The things I may have found fascinating about him in the beginning of our relationship, before kids, now sometimes make me want to rip his face off.

But … this.

Back when I thought tanning beds were a good idea and we met while working at the grocery store on the corner of Perkins and Essen, I saw glimmers of what you see in this picture and I just knew. What makes us work, with all our individual and joint flaws, is the love that underscores everything we do.

Obviously there are things that make living with another person easier, like compatibility, disposable income, lack of family drama and overall health. But my belief is, when you strip away all the fancy words and put away the self-help books, LOVE IS REALLY ALL YOU NEED.

I can’t wait until I have the time and emotional energy to write about the long and painful road I traveled on my quest to find a husband, which ended when I finally gave up and said eff this shit.

And then, I found him.

I didn’t marry this man for money or power or because we were raised in the same religion and that is what you’re supposed to do.

I married him for love, and I’d do it again and again.

Black Santa.

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Today, Robbie and I put our marriage on the line and brought a live tree into our house and put stuff on it.

10635993_1558811224354024_4394608826743847270_nJust like everything else, accomplishing this with three kids running and screaming and undoing everything right after you JUST DID IT was pretty freaking miserable. I know I’m not supposed to say that, and we did take cute pictures of the kids to post to social media so everyone could see how much we’re rocking Christmas … but … wow.

Yeah.

However, all of that stress melted away when I found my Most Favorite Ornament Ever. One of the kids ripped the lid off a plastic tub, and I was in the middle of yelling “FOR THE LOVE, STOP STEPPING ON THE LIGHTS!!!!” and there it was. My black Santa.

Me and Santa, 2014.

Me and Santa, 2014.

If you’re a long-time reader of this blog, you should recognize it. For a refresher, read the short background story.

This is the ornament no one can touch because it’s my favorite. Yes, oldest child, you can play with the plaster hand print we made when you were tiny. But don’t you dare touch Black Santa.

This thing brings me infinite, indescribable joy. I couldn’t ask for a better conversation piece of holiday decor.

That Was A First.

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There is something about me that attracts weirdness, I’m sure of it. Until I can figure out what it is that I’m doing wrong, I guess I’m going to continue to have things happen to me like what happened tonight — when the Pizza Hut delivery person straight up asked me how much I weigh. Oh, yes, she did.

Maybe if I tell you exactly what happened, we can all work together to make some sense out of it.

I was planning to make hamburgers and french fries for dinner, because it’s Friday night and it just felt right. Then I realized that the ground beef was frozen, so I went to Plan B which was pancakes … but we are almost out of syrup. That is when I texted Robbie to ask if he would pick up a pizza on his way home. He responded that he would have some food delivered.

At 5:45 p.m. there was a knock at the door, and on the other side was a delivery woman who looked about my age. Now, I have a special place in my heart for delivery people. Robbie delivered pizzas at night to supplement our income a few years ago when we were trying to follow the Dave Ramsey plan, and ever since then I have really made a point to tip well and be polite to people who deliver pizzas. It seems like it’s an easy job and it is, until your life is in danger. Think about it. Who is too preoccupied to make dinner besides busy mothers of small children?

People who are in the middle of cooking a batch of meth in their bathtub, that’s who.

It took her awhile to pull the pizzas out of the bag that keeps them hot, and she noticed the two boys standing behind me. “I have a two-year-old,” she said. I smiled as I took the boxes from her and said I’d be right back — I needed to go find a pen to sign the receipt. On my way, I scooped up Pepper because she was crying.

When I reappeared at the door with her on my hip, Delivery Woman looked surprised. “You have three?” she said. “Are there any more in there?”

“Nope, that’s it!”

“How old are they? Did you have the smaller ones back-to-back?”

“Pretty much, they’re 21 months apart.”

I thought this was the end of our conversation. Nope. She took a step toward me … and this is what followed:

Delivery Woman: How do you keep your weight down?

Me: I in no way feel my weight is “down.”

Delivery Woman: Do you work out?

Me: I mostly go to the gym because there is childcare there.

Delivery Woman: Which gym?

Me: (Told her which one, how much it costs, and what it offers.)

Delivery Woman: Are you breastfeeding that baby? I heard that burns calories.

Me: No … no. Not a breast feeder. (Starting to inch backwards to close the door.)

Delivery Woman: WELL. I need to know how you do it.

Me: (Trying to tuck the kids back into the house.) Uhhh …

Delivery Woman: HOW MUCH DO YOU WEIGH?

That is when I looked at her like this:

DSC02755As I stood in the doorway of my house with my gaggle of children and two large pizzas, the lady from Pizza Hut proceeded to ask again, “How much? About XXX?”

She guessed my exact weight within 3 pounds. I felt myself nod at her and wondered if our next door neighbors were standing on the other side of the bushes listening to our conversation. I totally would have been. This shit was weird.

As I shut the door, I heard her yell “NICE TALKING TO YOU!!!!” 

Wait.

Did I just make a new friend? Or am I just the kind of person who you meet and think “I can totally ask her how much she weighs?” Give it to me straight. Between this and the gym towel fiasco, I’m really starting to think I’m doing something wrong.

Lies and Truths.

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I lied to my best friend.

We hadn’t seen each other in a year – a year! – when we finally met for coffee the day after Thanksgiving. Her baby daughter is 9 months old and adorable, and even though I was meeting her for the first time, I felt like I’d known her forever. She’s just an extension of my friend. I scooped her up and marveled at her features while she played with my hair.

My friend was adorable, too. She had claimed previously that she was a mess, her house was a mess, her car was a mess. To me, it all looked normal. She looked exactly the same — gorgeous and willowy thin, like always (bitch). Her house and car look like they have a kid in the family, and for a mom like me with three of them at home, it didn’t seem messy. It seemed normal.

After 20 years of friendship, we have watched each other date boys, break up with boys, marry men, move to different states, land jobs, leave jobs, and move again. Having babies is just another one of those major life changes.

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As we tried to discuss a year’s worth of topics within the span of a few hours, she said “I just feel like I can’t remember ANYTHING anymore. I am so scatterbrained.”

And that is when I told the lie.

I nodded in understanding and said, “It’ll be okay.”

I blamed her lack of mental focus on lack of sleep and waved it away, like it was nothing to worry about. The truth is, IT WON’T BE OKAY. AT ALL. It’s not going to go away and it won’t get better. From my experience, the scatterbrained-ness seems to mushroom with each kid and eventually you just sort of learn to live with it. You just adapt to being stupid.

Tonight I lost a pod of dishwashing detergent. One minute I had it in my hand, and the next minute I didn’t. Where the hell did it go?! Did I set it down somewhere? Throw it away? Put it back in the bag? I honestly have no idea. Robbie helped me look for it, and confirmed it was not sitting somewhere in plain sight. Not that I’ve ever completely overlooked something and nearly cried with frustration only to have him pick it up out of whatever obvious place it was located and hand it to me condescendingly. Nope. That has never happened.

Anyway, at this point I will just have to hope that one of the kids don’t find the pod first … wherever it is. I have forgotten more tampons, appointments, and essential pieces of information in the past year than I have in my entire adult life. And yet, we’re all still here, functioning at what appears to be an acceptable level.

So maybe what I said wasn’t a total lie.

Maybe it was actually the truth.

Throwback Thursday.

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It’s so nice to know that there aren’t terrible pictures of me floating around in my relatives houses and beyond. Because I certainly did not have an awkward stage that started around 5th grade and stretched well into college.

Yeah.

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A Lode Of Honesty.

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Oh, boy.

Let me preface this by saying, please don’t go any further if you are my mother, my grandmother, my mother-in-law (oops, too late) or anyone else who may be offended by inappropriate language and/or knowing about my naked body. Although, if that is the case, is this really the website for you?

(It is not.)

But for everyone else, HI! THIS IS A REALLY BIG DAY FOR ME! One of my essays got published on Mamalode, and I’m super proud of myself — but also cringing a little on the inside. If you read it, you’ll see why.

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Some people have asked me, “Why are you writing such personal things?” Well … I really don’t know. I have a deep well of stories that just need to come out. I don’t really put a lot of thought into the why, I just know what I must do, and what I must do is write. I have so many things to tell. So, so many.

Just wait.

(Want to read my essay? Click here to check it out!)

This Holiday.

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Since none of the retailers seem to be selling self-respect, sanity, or nannies who are both legal and willing work for free, I’m just going to sit this Cyber Monday out.

While the rest of you frantically put up holiday decorations over the weekend, I was trapped in an enclosed space with four other humans who can’t control their gasses. When we finally got home, I declared Thanksgiving officially over and switched out the wreaths on our front door.

10458214_10155116112855508_734467617946772132_nThis Christmas, I REFUSE to try to make everyone happy. That is an impossible task that is rarely accomplished by anyone, and even if you somehow manage to make it happen and all the people are happy … then you probably aren’t.

I don’t care to make anyone happy except for the people who live in my house. Their happiness is my top priority, and I won’t apologize for it. I hope that doesn’t hurt your feelings, but if it does, you should turn to the people in your own house for comfort.

There will be tacky decorations. There will be hot cocoa. There will be beverages containing alcohol. We will listen for reindeer. We will bake cookies. I will probably yell and then feel bad about it.

The likelihood of me sending out Christmas cards is very, very low. I probably could pull it off if I really put my mind to it and acted like a crazy person for the next few days, but it’s not worth it to me. I just spent the past week of my life acting crazy. I think it’s time to put a stop to that.

There will be no last-minute rush to the store for gifts for so-and-so because we just found out they’re coming over. Nope. No adults will get a gift from us this year, not only because we don’t have the money for it, but because I also do not have the wherewithal to Pinterest some handmade bullshit to wrap up and give away to everyone. I just don’t. I’m not sorry. If you’re expecting a gift, don’t come over.

If you do come over, here’s what you can expect: a very low-key holiday experience full of laughter and the occasional high-pitched screech. There will also be crying, because my kids are small and someone is always crying. You may also get a whiff of a poop or pee smell. I’m sorry about that. The good news is that, overall, my house will smell nice because my mother-in-law gave me some awesome Yankee candles that are “Autumn Leaf” scented and they mask the poop odor like a boss.

It will be cozy here. The floor will be strewn with toys. Something will be baking. The cups will be plastic and the plates will be paper. No one will be camera-ready except for me, because I have a deep, irrational need to look nice when people come over. It’s the one remaining thing I have control over, so don’t hate on the fact that I spent an hour on my hair. I did it because no one in my life is predictable … except for my curling iron.

We have dance parties here. You can join in if you like.

This year, I’m TAKING BACK MY JOY. Starting now. Happy December 1!