Who said he could turn 6 on me?

Who said he could go and turn 6 on me? I have a few discrete words for that soul! 

He is my baby, and he loathes it when I say that! He is my boy, my boy who lives up to every definition of that term! He loves being outside, he loves getting himself to high places, he loves being with the water, he loves being with his family, he loves turning ANYTHING in to a weapon, he loves adventure and he loves making incessant noise (especially if it sounds like flatulence)! He is a serious-goofball-philosopher who entertains any crazy awesome idea, even if no one else can see the value.

Here are a few pieces of photographic evidence, from our recent family vacation, that support the thoughts above. Each picture truly captures a distinct part of this sweetheart boy of mine! 

Note the evident personality differences between these two. #mercymercymercy

His birthday wish was to go camping with Grandma and Grandpa. #nailedit

Sleeping bag birthday gift, received just before their 12:00 bedtime! Lord where has our parenting decision making gone? We are lost souls that have been paying the price ever since! Sweet Jesus, please take this cup from us!

My heart may in fact burst!

He is My Person and I Know Him and I Love Him

It has been ten years, 3.650 days of marriage to my very own Ricky Ricardo. Listen, I took that quiz and the results are final my TV husband is clearly Ricky Ricardo! So just get over it, man! 

10 years though, seems so LONG, and yet so not. In 10 years things are both comfortable and exciting, familiar and unknown, but goodness, things are still magic!

In this past decade we have studied one another and learned each other and found that we still like each other! I know the sound of his ankles cracking with every step in the morning, I know he will drink straight from the faucet EVERY.TIME, I know he will not call a bowl of ice cream finished until he has curled his little finger around the entire inner circumference only to lick up the minuscule remnants in some sort of grand finale. 

I know that EVERYDAY he will finagle his schedule to optimize time with his family. I know the amount of creamer to put in his coffee and he knows mine, I know that mayonnaise is to be used in sparse amounts, and that ham is considered superior to turkey. 

He pain-painstakingly taught me how to cook. This is not a joke, I was a dismal mess in this department, the kitchen was my kryptonite!  Now he knows that pigs shall fly before I let him close to my new grill, well outside of assembling it for me... But let us be true to ourselves... I could have assembled it myself, for I build robots, but he just really likes to be helpful, so I let him... #sacrifices

I know he needs to say words and lots of them, he knows I have few words and like it that way. He knows that during his daily unloading of words (some may call them conversations) that I will only hear 60% and only remember 30% of what he says. 

This sort of word intentionality training clearly needs more than 10 years. 

He has taught me that jam is better than jelly, that homemade is the only way to go and that pies trump cake most every-time. He has brought me to the dark side of spicy foods and back again. I have taught him that all Little Debby snack cakes are not from the pits of Hades, that a nutty bar or a raspberry zinger every once in awhile are good for the soul and not the demise of society as a whole.

I have learned that he is incapable of passing roadside trash without scoping out the possibilities. I know which things will be in my garage as I pass them first on my way to work knowing that when he passes them He. Will. Stop.

I knew then and I know now that I married the exact right man for me. He is my person and I know him and love him!

PS: This baby girl has begged and begged me for a LONG time to get my wedding dress out and try it on. I surprised her other day and let her try it on. This was both fun and scary. She looks FAR TOO GROWN UP! But at the same time I can not stop looking at these pictures. Ladies you should try this, your girl will LOVE it and thank you for the chance to look as pretty as you!

Self, You Done Well

It's Sunday afternoon, and I just woke up from one of those most glorious of naps. The ones where you start to wake up before you open your eyes, and you notice every position that your extremities are in, for they have not moved in hours. The ones where, as you begin to uncurl yourself, the bedsheets leave their last imprints on your body and face. The ones where, as you slowly sit up, you say to yourself: "Self, you done well."
Now these kinds of naps don't come all the time. No, you have to earn this type of nap. These naps are born out of exhaustion, stress, and afternoon Sunday sunshine.

Today is no ordinary Sunday. Today is Mother's Day. And do you know what I was thinking as I pulled my drool-faced self out of the bowels of the bedsheets? Being a mom is much like sheet-imprint-napping. Being a mom is my most best-est, favorite life's work. My two babies are the funniest, funnest, sweetest of sweethearts. I look at them and have to convince myself that I am, in fact, awake, that this is no dream and I better keep my eyes open because it is goin' FAST! They make me proud to be their Mama, thankful to be their Mama, and heartburstingly-big-feelingly-butterflies-and-unicorns giddy to be their Mama!

This type of Mama-ing is the type that is earned. This type of Mama-ing is born out of exhaustion and stress. This type of Mama-ing leads to those lasting imprints on your body and face that only fools would refer to as wrinkles! This type of Mama-ing comes after an hour-long splinter removal, or when lessons in mass are learned through a shovel-meets-toes experiment, or when they are jumping and swinging on vines that you later learn are likely poison ivy. (Which all may, or may not have occurred only this week... and that was only with one child!)

But then that sweet afternoon Sunday sunshine filters through the dirt and grime of your bedroom window (thankfully, or that sun would be WAY too bright, and I ain't tryna live that life!) and lulls you into one of those most Narnial naps... You wake up just blurry-eyed enough to say "Self, you done well."

A bit more... ALL THE THINGS!

I said, "Hey pretty lady, can you step outside so that I can snap a couple pictures of you, to capture what SEVEN looks like on you?" She obliged. Though I am not sure I knew what I was asking for, because 7 seems to come with a bit more sass, a bit more accessorizing, a bit more 'I think this looks good in my head, but Mom's face is saying stop looking like that,' a few more opinions on EVERYTHING, and a bit more trying to be a lady more than a little girl.

Oh, HEAVENS!

However, there was still plenty of little-girl-silliness to keep me from losing my mind!

Sweetheart Girl Magics

I'm sitting in my most favorite spot in the house (which in itself is a feat, for this house and its inhabitants have not stopped doing all the things for months... EWWW) watching my girl frolicking in the back yard. Sure, Dad is there and her brother is around somewhere, but she is deep into an imaginary place where no one else was invited. I sit here thinking, once again, how I wish I could be like her when I grow up! I know I have said this before, but she is pretty near the coolest being in all the lands! Though, to agree with this statement, you would have to be a lover of quirky little people. I will set more of the current scene for you: the guys are outside with the tractor and burnable things attempting to make the fire-of-all-fires and she is prancing. Prancing around the fire pit, prancing around the tractor and trees... and air. She has adorned herself in a rainbow striped dress with a butterfly printed jacket, cowgirl boots, self-straightened hair (sidenote: oh ma' people, this is a giant NO-FACTOR that I can. not. get her to understand! I do not want to crush her spirit, and I am willing to let her out in just about anything, but self-straightened hair... EWWWW!), a red ribbon tied on the top of her head with a yellow-striped headband, and what-for-my-wondering-eyes-should-appear!? but a purple and silver beaded amulet for flare! (World... you are so very welcome!)

As she is doing her awkward, yet signature, skip-gallop-jump movement while singing what is likely a narration of the goings-on in her mind, the only flash back to reality is the occasional passerby in the park that must be greeted with full introductions. Likely there was a not-so-subtle mention of a recent birthday, where Little Miss may have turned seven... Yay! SEVEN!

I am not dealing! Not. doing. any. dealing. with this situation. She is about to leave me and I know it. It is happening. Hold me!

I know that birthdays are meant to be joyously happy occasions, and I get that. I am happy watching her be OVER-THE-WHOLE-MOON that it is her birthday. But there is a rather loud, and likely verging on obnoxious part of me that is not jumping for joy each time I have to acknowledge that my baby is not a baby anymore!

This year's celebration was a bit different, because I happened to be up in Chicago driving a robot with a bunch of high schoolers. However, seeing as MAK believes herself to be a part of the robot team, she was just as thrilled to spend her special day with a bunch of high school teenagers in an arena of racing robots. My family surprised her and met us in The Big City for an overnight stay in a hotel and dinner at the Rainforest Cafe.

Fear not, she was one of the 46,000 other birthday's being celebrated that night with a VAAAAAALCANOOOO cake!!

The blurriness corrects itself after a little minute...

The "experience" birthday celebration was a smashing success that ran late into the night (our spawn cannot sleep in the same bed without giggling for hours until finally a parent has to separate the slap-happy-over-tired little people for the betterment of the whole). Don't worry, they were up by 6:15 and ready for waffles!

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart girl of mine! I love you infinity!