You're Gonna Miss This

The weekly trip to Wal-Mart is always interesting with a one and two year old. My kids aren't really fit-throwers (most of the time) at the store, so I don't really dread it, I just never know what to expect. The two year old is beginning to assert her independence. She wants to help with everything. Do everything "all by mah-self" even when she doens't have the coordination to do so.

Yesterday was a particular day in which she felt independent.

"I'm gonna walk myself," she proclaimed, as she stomped toward the automatic doors in her sparkly boots. She'd been in a good mood, and seemed to be moving quickly. My list was short. I decided to let her win.

"Ok, you can walk, but you have to stay right beside me, and don't touch anything unless I ask you to, ok?" I laid out the rules.

"O KAY!" She skipped, gallopped, trotted, tip-toed, wandered, did everything BUT walk, but she stayed with me. It wasn't long before she decided SHE would be getting the groceries. She tried a gallon-size jug of fruit punch. "WOW! It's pretty heavy!" she exclaimed, stooping over as she pulled it off the bottom shelf.

I had to thwart a few attempts at her sneaking in some extra items. She's young enough that she doesn't choose things she'd like (such as cookies or candies), but rather things that are light and easy to toss in the cart without me noticing.

We were almost finished shopping when we stopped in front of the Ritz crackers. The shelf was fully stocked, which caught her eye.

"PEANUT BUTTER CWACK-UHS!" she exclaimed. "OH goody, goody!" The Ritz were on my list, and they were on the bottom shelf, so I told her it was ok to pick out one box. Just as she began pulling the VERY bottom box from the stack, another lady started down the aisle.

As if timed, the whole shelf of Ritz fell like a Jenga tower, blocking the entire aisle and stopping the lady in her tracks. She politely waited while I helped stack the crackers back on the shelf. I was glad she was understanding, as I was becoming a little frustrated with holding up the traffic.

We got the boxes put back, and Kailyn took her place next to the cart and began galloping away saying, "Yee haw!" As the lady passed us, she stopped. She was smiling, but had tears welling in her eyes.

"I miss those days SO MUCH," she said sadly, but with a smile.

I watched her go about her business, and I saw myself as her in a few years. I could see me, looking at a tired, frustrated mother of three and seeing the blessing she couldn't see. Seeing the innocence and joy she takes for granted every day. It made me really look at things differently.

They say all the time "You'll miss this one day," but you never fully understand that until it's too late. I'm glad I had a glimpse of the future, so I can enjoy the present a little more :)

Our First Anniversary

Happy Anniversary to the Mister and me! What I wrote on our wedding day basically sums up our relationship, and though it has grown and changed over the past year, I feel like that post is "us" and always will be. There's not much I can say about him or us that I haven't said already.

What I can say, is what a journey this year has been. I had come to see marriage as merely a "legal technicality" in a way. We had lived together 16 months before we wed. I didn't think that our commitment was changing or that marriage was going to be any different from what we already had.

I was wrong.

I can honestly say that "piece of paper" makes a huge difference in a relationship. It provides security, yes. And it also takes away independence. There were times that this year I truly understood the whole "the first year is the worst" statement, even though I thought our first year living together should've counted (and it was far from difficult!).

But that first year of marriage IS different. Suddenly there's no 'escape clause.' You don't have the freedom of thinking that you can draw a line and walk away if it gets difficult. Suddenly you have to weigh every disagreement and disappointment against the consequences of leaving, which is now a legal step.

Suddenly you feel a little more secure knowing your partner also has to weigh those consequences.

You fight a little less fair. You test each other a little more. You push the boundaries a little harder.

This year wasn't always easy. It certainly wasn't perfect. It was equally rewarding and difficult.

But at the end of our first year together, I can honestly say we are closer. We love each other more, and in new ways. We've learned about each other the things we may have never known had we not been married. We've grown and changed individually and as a couple. As a family. More than anything, we walked through the good times and the bad and we are happy.

I look SO forward to many more years together, full of love and hope. The best thing is knowing we can get through the tough times. Knowing no matter how rough things get, we are in this together, we love each other, and we value our relationship and our family enough to MAKE it work even when the world seems to be against us. Having that one person by your side who knows you, loves you, irritates you, pushes you, holds you, helps you, and lives FOR you.

I'm blessed. I'm happy. And for the first time in my life I truly understand marriage. It is a LOT of work, but the rewards far outweigh the effort put into it.

Happy Anniversary Mister. I love you.

The Tickle Monster IS Scary.

Let me just preface this with a little tid-bit about me. I HATE BEING TICKLED. Hate it. It enrages me. I don't laugh. Ever. I kick, hit, yell, grit my teeth, whatever, to make it stop. In addition, I have a very personal bubble of space and with the exception of some close friends and family, I don't like for it to be invaded.

My mini-me is the same way, which is why I can relate to her so much in the following circumstance....

A few days back Chloe got off the bus at the tire shop. A tire shop is no easy place for a little girl (or a big one, ha!) It's full of men, and one thing men love to do is give little girls a hard time. She is used to being teased lovingly from time-to-time, and there are certain guys she sees every day who give her a high-five or ask her about school.

But the other day there was a guy in here who chased her a little bit, teasing that he was going to tickle her. We were about to leave, anyway, and she managed to dodge him. But I could tell she was uncomfortable. When we left, she told me that she didn't like that guy "boddering" her. I told her I didn't blame her, and that she NEVER has to let ANYONE "bodder" her if it makes her uncomfortable.

The mama bear was coming out in me. It's not that I think this guy is a bad guy or has bad intentions AT ALL, but the best of intentions doesn't excuse the behavior. If a child feels uncomfortable, you give her space. I don't understand why people think because a person is small it makes it ok to grab them, hug them, or pick them up.

The next day he was at it again, and this time she ran from him, screaming, and hid. And I just stood there, torn. I was NOT going to coax her and tell her it was fine, or tell her not to run away. I think that reaction is good, and she needs that in case she is ever in a situation when I am not there. The guys all looked at me, kinda like I needed to control her, but I just walked away. He assured her that he would NEVER hurt her, not to be scared, but that he LOVES to tickle little kids. He has nieces and nephews he tickles ALL the time. While that would make some feel more at ease, I think it made him even scarier to Chlo.

That night we talked about what was appropriate. Anything that makes her uncomfortable: inappropriate. Any time a grown man (who isn't a close family member) wants to touch or tickle or grab at her, even if she ISN'T uncomfortable: inappropriate.

The next day came, and I figured by this time he would have got the hint. But when she got off the bus, there he was, threatening to catch her and tickle her. This time she ran, screaming, across the parking lot out to my father-in-law's car, where she tried to get in the back seat to no avail.

I called her over, and shielded her as I took her into the office, where she hid under my desk until he left.

And I finally realized this is a problem.

But what do I do?

This isn't the big city. I can't say something like, "No offense, but my daughter feels uncomfortable when you theraten to tickle her, and I'd appreciate it if you could respect her personal space enough to not do that." He's a customer. A good acquaintance of the Mister's family. Nothing I say is going to sound anything short of calling him a child-molester to this small-minded community.

But I also feel compelled to speak up and protect my daughter, even though she's doing a great job on her own. And if it doesn't stop soon, I'll end up snapping, and what comes out may be far worse and more damaging than the PC statement above.

But if I keep failing to SHOW her I will end it, maybe she won't trust me to handle things in the future (God forbid there ever BE a situation). What if she thinks, "Well I handled the Tickle Monster with no help from Mom, so maybe I should just try to handle Mr. Molester myself." It's sickening to even think about, but as the mother of a little girl, it's something I ALWAYS have in the back of my mind.

Being a mom is tough.

Marks of Love

"Mom, why can't I have macaroni and cheese every day?" Chloe asked me the other evening.

"Well, it's not very good for you," I explained. "It's just a lot of fat and fillers. It's ok now and then, but you don't want to eat it a lot," I told her. She pondered what I had said.

"You don't want me to be chubby like Suzie, do ya?" she concluded.

Stop. I had to stop and contemplate what I would say to her. This was a prime time to discuss body image, and I didn't want to give her the wrong idea. How did I tell her that no, I don't WANT her to be "chubby," as she put it, but that if she IS chubby, she should love herself anyway and not be obsessed with skinny. I have a hard time embracing my own body, how can I teach HER to do it?

"I want you to be healthy, but I don't care what you look like as long as you are healthy," I told her.

"Ahhh!" she said, as if having had a EUREKA moment. "I see. So you let me have mac and cheese SOMETIMES even 'doh it has fat, because I need to grow my curves."

"Huh?"

"Girls shouldn't be straight like a boy. Day need ta grow dere curves so dey will be pretty like a lady," she told me. I smiled.

She was right. I find myself struggling so often with weight and body image, and from the mouth of a five year-old comes a nugget of wisdom. Here I was trying to teach HER a lesson, and she was teaching me one.

But the kicker came just a few nights ago.

Every night after we have both taken a bath, we sit together and put on our lotion. She struggles with eczema, so I have to keep her hydrated, and it's no secret she loves getting her back and belly rubbed every night. She, in turn, likes to put my belly balm on my belly, being sure to get IN my belly button so that the baby can have some, too ;)

As she was putting it on the other night, she asked me why I just put it on my belly.

"To keep it from getting too dry," I replied. "When my skin is dry, it gets really tight, and with the baby growing and pulling my skin, it will stretch easier if it's not so dry," I went on to explain.

"Did you use it wif me?" she asked? I told her I did. She put some more on her little finger and rubbed it just below my belly button.

"Here. Let me put some on your stretch marks. I was a big girl, wasn't I? To make dose."

I was quiet. There are one or two things I'm super-sensitive about, and those scars of motherhood are definitely one of them. "I don't want to talk about those," I told her quietly.

"Why? Dere so beautiful," she said with a smile.

I know she picked up on my tone and my mood. I know she knew it bothered me and was just trying to make me feel better.

"I don't think so," I said.

"Day are. Day make your skin look like it's got pretty lace on it. Like your weddin' dress. See my belly? My skin is just (scrunchy face) all plain and boring. You have a lacey belly. I hope when I have a baby I get a lacey belly," She said with a smile.

And while I KNOW they're not pretty and they DON'T look like lace, the fact that she went to such great lenghts to try and CHANGE my perception amazes me. Now every time I see them, instead of ugly scars, I see wedding lace. And I feel love. And now it's more than just the mark of becoming a mother. It's a mark of love.

The biggest thing I learned? Teaching her about body image may not be as important as SHOWING her how to love your body. A lesson that SHE taught ME.

"There Goes My Life"

"There goes my life;

There goes my future,

My everything;

I love you, baby,

Goodbye..."

Today I entrust my baby girl to this big old world. I'm fighting tears and a knot in my throat as I even type it. Not so much because I am sad to see her go, but moreso because I know what a big cruel world it can be. I know she's no longer sheltered under our roof with only our love and words of encouragement. Starting today she learns what it's like to be disappointed. To get into trouble. To be left-out. To be teased. To be heart-broken.

I have to hold on to the good things, though. I have to remember she'll learn to make friends. To be kind to others. To read and learn and grow. Experience puppy love. To make her own choices. To become independent.

Today I let my baby girl, who I've nurtured and taken care of for more than five years now, go out into the world all by herself, pink backpack in tow, and I trust that the world will be good to her more often than not. And even if it's not, I'm still going to be there when she gets home to love her, encourage her, and help her through it all....and to kick some butt if I need to :)

"...there goes my life..."

Wet Flarp

Yesterday was "one of those days." You know the ones. Where Murphy's Andrea's Law is in full swing? I was in "one of those moods" to begin with, so I guess I never really had a chance anyway.

It started like a normal Sunday. Cinnamon rolls. Getting ready. Getting in hubby's truck not sure what we are going to do, but determined we're going to spend time together since I've barely seen him all week. We bounced around the hay fields helping (by helping I mean he worked and I sat in the truck trying not to complain about the heat he was working in) Spaps fix tractors, move tractors, etc.

We finally got home and decided it would be a good time to finish putting Chloe's swingset together. Nevermind it was 3pm and that heat I was *not* complaining about earlier had increased greatly. The sun beat down. The directions were more confusing than ever, and the playset that looked so great when I ordered it wasn't living up to my expectations at all.

We finished it, a few curse words, sweaty t-shirts, and laughs later. I couldn't wait to get inside and get out of the heat. We got in just in time for me to watch a movie I've been missing all week. I plopped down on the couch and began cooling off.

"When's dinner?" Hubby asked a little too soon. I hoisted myself off the couch and got the chicken started. I served my family dinner, then finished watching my movie. I took my dishes in the kitchen and got all the pans rinsed. I played outside with Chloe. Then I came in, ready to relax.

"I want some dessert!" Chloe demanded.

"Me too. Ice cream, please," Hubby asked.

And I snapped.

"LOOK AT THIS LIVING ROOM!" I raised my voice. "If you two picked up everything in here that is yours I wouldn't have a thing to pick up tonight," I tried making my point, but no one really seemed too worried about it. "I'm not getting anything for anyone until everyone has picked up after themselves," I concluded.

And they picked up.

Amid the frantic pick-up, Chloe gathered all her dirty clothes and took them to the laundry room.

"Mom, I put my clothes in the washer," she told me. "Dat way all you have to do is pour the soap in the morning," she said smiling.

"Thank you," I replied sweetly.

I served them ice cream and we all went to bed.

This morning I got up, and was grateful that she had done the leg-work of her own laundry. I turned on the washer and went about my other business. I came down a little later to switch loads and I saw it.

The lid to her Flarp.

Remember Gak? Same thing. It's sticky, slimy, putty-type goo. I had taken it away from her because it was too messy, but somehow it got in with her dirty clothes, I guess.

And I washed it.

Every single item of summer clothing she owns has some remnant of pink goo on it.

I tried heat.

I tried ice.

I tried scraping.

I spent two hours picking it off, tiny piece by tiny piece.

To no avail.

I'm hoping that if the clothes sit out a while the Flarp will dry up and I can pick it off, but that's my last resort. Guess that's what I get for trying to do anything the easy way =/

Just another day...

Father's Day has always been bitter-sweet for me. Growing up, it was always a Sunday morning in church with my mom, honoring all the men of the church. It was always a preacher talking about dads who lead their families, love their children, and honor their wives. It was always a stark reminder of what I didn't have.

Let me be clear. My dad's still living. He didn't beat us or abuse us in any way. He didn't ever ground me or punish me. He didn't move across the country or go to jail or go to rehab. He is a nice man who works hard and has a good sense of humor. He's tall and handsome, and I rather like him most of the time. He's not a psycho or a drug-addict or a killer. He left us and proceeded to live a very normal life. He took up a live-in girlfriend and her two daughters and moved to a picturesque home outside of town.

Minutes away.

Yet I rarely saw him.

There were holidays, sure. There was the Sunday here and there when Mom was working and he would take us on the boat or out for pizza. And then we'd go home, full of hope that we'd do it all again next weekend and full of promises that we'd see him more "from now on." But next weekend rarely ever came, and "from now on" always proved to be the same inconsistent Sunday-here-and-there we'd always known.

Jealousy quickly invaded my heart in many ways.

I had a friend who HATED the fact that her dad MADE her mom obey the divorce decree and took her all weekend twice a month. "Sometimes I wish my dad HAD to take us," I confided to her one day, expressing my jealousy over her dad's desire to see her. But my dad didn't have to take us. He didn't require any specific visitation at all.

Sometimes when I was feeling empty or angry I wished he'd moved across the country. I guess I thought it wouldn't hurt so much to not see him if I knew I couldn't.

The hardest thing for me was hearing his girlfriend's daughter talk about him at school. She knew him in a way I never really had. They did things as a family. We didn't. We never had. They had a complete, happy little family. Even as a teenager it was hard for me to understand him leaving our family for another family. I lived in a very modest home and had a few nice things (mostly because of my grandma and aunt). Those girls lived in a beautiful two-story home, had nice cars, and shopped at stores I'd never set foot in.

So sitting there in church on Sunday morning, thinking about the dad I wished I had, and knowing he was just a few miles away, choosing to be that for someone else really hurt me.

It made me very calloused, and with time, I became apathetic to it. I grew accustomed to a life without an active dad. I made the decision to take it for what it was. To never get my hopes up for normalcy or more involvement. I decided to be fully content with a dad who was more like extended family than anything.

So today, while everyone else is celebraing being "daddy's girl" or a chip of the ol' block, it is really just another day for me. It's a day I feel accomplished for how far I've come emotionally. A day that doesn't bring tears to my eyes anymore. A day that passes much like any other Sunday, because  now it's just another day.

"You will always be my baby..."

It was a Thursday afternoon in 2006 when I started to notice tight knots in my belly. I had been out of school for two full weeks, and it was a good thing. I was huge. I couldn't even hoist myself up off the couch. It was hot. I was miserable. I was beyond ready for my baby to enter the world. I had been walking (more than I needed to be) trying to spur her. And finally those first little contractions started.

Being a little over an hour from the hospital, my doctor had told me to come in at the first signs of labor. She promised she wouldn't send me home, and gave me the indication she might induce if I was close enough. I'd been dilated for over a week, and at my appointment the day before I was already at a 2.

I made my way to the hospital, and by then I was contracting more. I wasn't in agony by any means, but I was in the first stages of labor. The nurse was afraid my water would break at any time. She said it was "tight as a drum," and I was 3cm. They called my doctor to see if she'd break my water.

It was her anniversary, so she said she'd do it first thing in the morning. They gave me a sedative so I could get some good sleep, and monitored me all night.

The next morning my doctor was in bright and early. She broke my water at 8am and started pitocin. I was 4cm by that time, so she was sure it wouldn't be long.

She was right.

I had to wait for the anesthesiologist to get out of surgery, and even though I had some iv meds that made me super loopy for a while, the pain was overriding the meds by noon. Finally he got me my epidural, and I turned on Days of Our Lives. Before I knew it, it was go time!

At 1:58 pm Chloe Mae was born. She was a whopper, weighing 8lbs 9oz and 21" long.

There were complications.

I held her only for a moment, then was wisked away to the OR. Losing consciuosness [and large amounts of blood] quickly, I directed the nurses not to let anyone hold her until I got back. I'd waited so long for her, and I was already protective and jealous. I couldn't stand the thought of anyone else touching her when I couldn't.

I made it back finally, and I didn't care about anything but getting a hold of that baby girl. Her skin was softer than anything I'd ever felt, and she smelled so sweet and good. Her eyes were big and bright, and she was the most alert newborn I've ever seen.

I let go of her to let my mom and brother hold her, but not for long. I couldn't put her down. She was my everything.

Her dad left that evening to go home and rest (because he had SUCH a hard day?) and it was extremely quiet. I felt sad when everyone left, and then I looked into her little crib and realized I wasn't alone. The love of my life was with me.

I put her in bed with me and did what I'd been dying to do all day. I unwrapped her, stripped her to her diaper, and examined every part of her. Her tiny toes. Her every wrinkle. I studied her. I photographed her. I held her. I fed her.

I realized as I was watching Roseanne on Nick at Night that I hadn't eaten all day. I buzzed the nurse, and she brought me some pop tarts and juice. We cuddled in to get some sleep and I looked her in the eye. "It's just you and me, baby girl," I said to her.

For the past five years, that has never changed. We've always had family and friends, don't get me wrong, but I've always felt like it was the two of us taking on the world together. We're more than a mom and her daughter. We're tied at our souls. I only hope it stays this way and our bond continues to grow and deepen.

I can't believe my little girl is five today. She's no longer a baby. Not a toddler. Not even a pre-schooler. She is a full-blown KID.

And what a beautiful, amazing girl she is growing into.

Here's a look at all *six* of her birthdays...



She's just moments old in this one. On June 2nd, 2006 at 1:58 pm my life changed forever...for the better!



When she turned one I stuck out my lip and told everyone she wasn't a baby anymore. Looking back, she was still SUCH a little baby!

I think two was my favorite age. It was far from terrible. Her voice was so cute, she was super chatty, but said so many funny little variations of words.

When she turned three she was all about the Disney Princesses, and nothing has changed there!

Her fourth birthday was her first one with the Mister. Another Ariel cake ;) This is when I really noticed she didn't have a baby face anymore.

Five years old now, but she'll always be my baby!

Weighing Love

Despite my stony facade or what others' perception (and unnecessary judgments) of my life, I struggle every day with the decisions I make. I'm constantly wondering how everything I say or do is going to affect my daughter. What's going to be that ONE thing she remembers word-for-word that I wish I hadn't said? What "mean" thing did I do that she will torment me over when she's twenty five?  I try to do the right things, and apologize when I know I did or said something to hurt her in any way. I weigh big decisions especially carefully, hoping the positive side always prevails.

So when I went through a separation nearly three years ago, and started the long, painful path to divorce, I struggled daily. I waved back and forth like a thin blade of grass in the wind, unsure which direction would not only benefit ME the most, but what would be good for Chloe as well. It was very hard, and anyone who thinks I did it flippantly or without caution doesn't know me at all.

I put a lot of pressure on myself at that time, and tried to think through all possible scenarios. Would it hurt her more for us to fight it out another five years and rip her apart when she was older? Would I be able to live with myself if I "played pretend" for the better years of my life? Could we live two separate lives but continue to play "happy family" for her sake? How long could she buy it if we did? And even then, would she blame me? Would she be more wounded than ever?

It was awful and difficult. In my heart I knew what was right FOR ME, but I had another person to consider.

Even though I am truly confident I found the person for me and know I am happy and will have a beautiful life with him, there are times I still worry about her. So when she sparks a conversation like this one, it really helps reassure me that even if all my decsions haven't been perfect, I'm doing something right.

"So I'm goin' ta my Dad's this weekend?" she asked from the back seat of the car.

"Yep. You haven't been in TWO WEEKS! I bet he misses ya." I said cheerfully. I try not to press my feelings onto her.

"Ya probably," she said. "I hope we do somethin' fun," she added. She was quiet for a few minutes, something I relish when we're in the car, because I rarely even hear the radio, much less listen to a whole song. Eventually she broke the silence again.

"Ya know, dads are good, but sometimes step-dads are even better!" she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"Oh yeah?" I asked, encouraging her to elaborate.

"Yeah, 'cuz, like my step-dad, he does a lot more stuff for me and does fun stuff, too," she said, bobbing her head as she used her explanatory voice.

I'm not sure what she'd been thinking about, it could've been anything, but it made me feel good. Then she went on.

"You know, even doh Mister hasn't been a dad before, he's a real good dad," she said. "I fink he is anyway. He doesn't even have any children, but he is a good dad," she confirmed.

My heart smiled. I'm glad that she is lucky enough to have a dad who didn't drop off the face of her Earth, and I'm even more glad that she has such a great guy to fill in all the spaces in between and be there for her, even when he doesn't realize that's what he's doing.

A Note of Love

It's no secret that I'm crazy in love. This guy, my Mister as you know him, came along about two years ago and changed my whole life. I was in the midst of a nasty divorce, and was at the least opportune time in my life to take on a new relationship, but when he came into my life, it was an unstoppable force.

I thought at first that we'd just "talk" and save the dating and the falling in love for later when I was more stable, more secure, less crazy, but sometimes life doesn't let you decide how it's gonna happen. We started talking and we immediately bonded. We were best friends. We could talk about anything, and we did. Every time I was happy or sad, he was the one I needed.

Before our first kiss, he knew more about me than most of my friends. In my mind I didn't see how we meshed. He's younger than I am. He's never been married or had kids. He's a farmer. If you've read my blog The Plan you can easily see how our lives were once very different, and the changes I made to my material life in order to make a life with him.

But I've found that all that exterior stuff doesn't matter. Age doesn't matter. Footwear doesn't matter ;) All that matters is that we work.

I'm an emotional person. I'm driven by my feelings and my reactions to the things of life. I've had a LOT of life experience in a short amount of time. I'm jaded and cynical. I have BAD days. "Headache" days where I can't seem to do much more than make it through the day. I'm insecure, I'm moody, and I'm inconstant. I'm a lot to handle sometimes, and I know it. At that time I was coming out of a very troubled two years, and was no less than a big ol' mess.

But this guy? He's strong. He is in touch with his emotions, but emotionally in control. He's rational. He's steady and constant. And you know what I'd say is the ONE thing that he does that has always kept us close? He refuses to let me run.

When things get to be too complicated, or I start to feel too much, I sometimes back away emotionally. Like a little turtle, I retreat to my shell (SHELL TIME!) and close it up tight. I like that feeling of protection and security. But he's taught me that I can still have that in the outside world. He's proven to me that he's NOT going to leave. He's NOT going to change his feelings about me based on my past, or my baggage, or my bad days.

He's seen me at my worst and loves me anyway. He doesn't "tolerate" my bad days. He works to make them better. He's the only one who truly gets me. He knows when I'm retreating, and he knows how to pull me back in. He talks to me about everything, and he cares about how I feel. He says he's sorry when he's wrong, and sometimes he says it when he isn't ;)

On top of all that, he provides for us. He takes care of my baby girl as if she were his very own. He likes to spend time with us, and most days we're joined at the hip.

I'm not saying we're perfect. We have our little fusses. I get my feelings hurt. Sometimes he's a TOTAL GUY and irritates me to no end. Sometimes he messes with me one too many times and I declare him "SUCH an a-hole!" then storm off rolling my eyes and sighing. He leaves his clothes on the living room floor. Every. Day. But at the end of the day, when the house is quiet and the lights are out, we always find that crazy love again. We know how to let go of the worries of the day, how to talk out our problems and our issues, and how to get back to that place where we are the only thing each other can see.

He's my best friend, and the love of my life. He's everything I'm not, and I love that about him. He makes me want to be a better person, and he's the only person who knows how to help me BE the best me. And today, after all this time and all the things he's seen me through, he's going to marry me. He's going to pledge his life to me, and to my little girl.

 And for the first time, I believe in someone.

When we say our vows today, I know he means it. It's not just words. It's a promise. A promise we'll both keep. Today I become his wife, and there is nothing in this world that would make me happier. Today we become husband and wife, making our bond even stronger and our hearts even closer. So here's to true love.

As a final note, I told Chloe last night, "Chlo, tomorrow it will be official. We will be a REAL family!" She looked at me with a smile and said, "Whaddaya mean we'll be a real family? We already ARE a real family, silly!" And she's right. This just makes us stronger.

Why I love him...

I have a million of my own reasons for loving my mister, but these are three of the best...


...like snuggling when [they think] I'm not looking...




...or taking a day off work to take her to the circus...




...or spending his Sunday fishing --- with her...



I. Am. Blessed.  =]

You Say Goodbye, I Say Hello

Facebook, despite its sometimes bad-rap, can be an amazing tool. I have family and friends around the country, around the world, even, that I do not get to see. It's been a great way to re-connect and stay connected with people who are special to me.

Recently, I got in touch with my one of my cousins and her kids (because my mom was the youngest child, my cousins are HER age, and their kids are the ones I grew up with). It has been so nice to be able to see their pictures and communicate with them on a more regular basis, since I haven't seen most of the kids in fifteen years or more.

A few weeks ago I found out that one of my cousins is going to be deployed to Afghanistan next month. Through the pictures and updates, I knew that his family in Texas had said their goodbyes and did not plan to see him again until he returns.

I began seeing information for his deployment ceremony in Northern Missouri on a Monday, and couldn't get it off my mind. I was pretty sure his immediate family wouldn't be able to be there, and though he has some family here in Missouri, I worried no one would be there for his deployment.

Even though I haven't seen him in years, I couldn't get it off my mind. I finally talked to his sister, and she confirmed what I suspected. No one had plans to be there. I told her I would go. It's a bit of a drive, but I am at least in the same state, and having the luxury of being at home through the week, I felt like I just needed to do this.

I made up my mind and even got directions. I was set. I told my mom what I was doing, and she thought that was so nice of me. I told her to tell her sister, his grandma, because I had a feeling if she knew I was going anyway, she might like to go. I was right.

By the end of the week, there were four of us adults decided to go, and Chloe of course.

He called me last night, and I have had the chance to communicate with him via text and he seemed so excited. It made me feel good that my one little decision and commitment to go see him sparked more family to jump in, and now, in two weeks, we will all travel north together.

I will get to see a cousin who is one of three who are so special to me. I will go to say goodbye, but look most forward to saying hello again. Hopefully we will make some memories and get some pictures and video to send to his family who couldn't be there. Doesn't it feel good when things fall into place and God lets you be part of something a little bigger than yourself? I sure think so :)