My husband hacked off his facial hair for family pictures. I’ve enjoyed seeing his gorgeous face for a few days, never mind that he’s already in the process of growing his beard back.

Our family picture adventure was a success! My brother was the chief photographer (working hard while his wife shot pictures at a wedding), and he did an amazing job! I never doubted him for a moment because I’ve known him long enough to know that whenever he does a job, he does it perfectly -no matter what it is. He’s the very best! And he’s sooooo handsome.

See? What a looker! But really:

I lub him.

We lived across the hall from each other for years, and I can’t count how many times I’ve wanted to just slip back in time -just for a few hours -to sit on the couch in his room. Those were some good days. Those were some emotional roller-coaster ride days as well. Ah, high school.

Anyway, Mike did an amazing job, and my kids love him. We took the pictures just west of town on my grandpa’s land. There were corrals and cornfields and sunflowers everywhere (obviously). We all got et up by mosquitoes (poor Mike was such a champ) but it was WORTH it! Stay tuned for more pictures!

Months and months ago, I set a date to have family pictures taken by Brushfire Photography.

That day, lords and ladies, is today. I’m excited, but I’m not one of those awesome moms that shows at at photo shoots with adorable props, coordinating outfits, and super original pose ideas. To quote my daughter, I’m just regoo-ler.
And that’s okay. Honestly, if I did hang family pictures on our wall of us in coordinating clothes and cute poses, everyone would say “Why do you have a big picture of strangers on your wall?” And I’d have to go through the painstaking process of explaining that the perfectly posed and coordinated people on my wall were actually US. And then I’d have to endure their stifled laughter.

So it’s really better this way. My husband picked out some clothes for us that sort of match, and we’re taking along a change of clothes for more relaxed and funzy pictures.
But really.
I wish yesterday could have gone a little better.

As I’m scheming and thinking of picture ideas, my children were terrible and awful. They haven’t been THIS terrible and awful since I don’t know when. All I know is that I was frantically texting my husband, who had to stay late at work, and letting him know that Mama was on the verge of bursting into tears.

The kids fought ALL day long. She stole his toys repeatedly and then she chased him around the house for the sole purpose of hearing him scream. And scream he did. He’d scream all the way to my side, and by the fifth time it had happened, I hurled him back into the game and commanded that he GET HER BACK and NOT PUT UP WITH BEING CHASED. So he did. And a few seconds later, a screaming girl was at my side, claiming “he HIT me!” to which I replied, “Well it’s about time!”
And that’s when I knew something was up. Mothers should never condone bad behavior. Frazzled mothers often do, though, on account of the frazzledness.
I got a lot done yesterday -never mind the little dears -and that felt pretty good. I made homemade laundry soap, four loaves of zucchini bread (the little darlings sabotaged an entire loaf while it cooled, but never mind that as well), made and canned salsa, did the dishes, folded the laundry, made phone calls, and I even got to BATHE.
As I went to put away some laundry I had folded, I came across this (please note that “picked up the hallway” was NOT on my list of things I accomplished yesterday):

My son taught himself how to use scissors. How maddeningly proud I am. I love it when my kids teach themselves how to do something. I puff up my chest, but only so long as it takes me to get the vacuum… and I didn’t even get that chance. Because as I took that picture, my son came and told me that the girl done pooped.
On.
A.
Tree.
In.
My.
Front.
Yard.

And that was it. I cashed in my sanity card and the texts to my husband became nearly hostile.
I reported the pooper and got no sympathy at all. He thought it was funny, but it wasn’t. So help me, it was NOT!
Stop laughing!

By the end of the night, I guzzled a brownie, washed it down with milk and then went straight to bed.
Today we’re going to take family pictures.
Today we’re going to like each other, even if we have to FAKE it.
Today we’re going to make memories that we’ll look at in 15 years and say “awwww…”
But most of all, we’re going to steer clear of trees…

My husband and I have always had a special sort of dynamic to our relationship. I don’t know how to describe it exactly, so I’ll illustrate instead.
As noted in my previous post, my motivation and creativity have been debunked. This means I’ve spent the last two days under a blanket reading “The Help” emerging only to tend to necessities. I bathed, fed the children, did a few dishes, made a few meals, bottled the blasted peppers, got the mail, and powdered my nose on occasion.
Other than that? I read a book. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve sat down and read a book of fiction, cover-to-cover? I don’t. Needless to say: it’s been a long time. I think the last time I was able to was when I was in the hospital with an infection a few days after I birthed the boy.
In any case, it felt bloody wonderful.

But my husband, though he wouldn’t say, wouldn’t agree.
Do you know what he did last night? He cleaned. He vacuumed. He completely mucked out the laundry room (on account of it’s flooding while HE did laundry).
You might think: Wow, Alicia is a lazy BUM and doesn’t deserve a husband like that. To which I would say: bollocks. I’m just busted, is all. Out of motivation, energy, and spunk.
My husband is the good sort that picks up where I leave off -partly because he loves me, but mostly because he can’t stand clutter.

This has happened before (don’t pretend to be surprised). The house has gotten away from me, and my husband has managed it while I did something else less amazing. And I’d be et up with guilt the entire time he huffed around the house, broom in hand. I’d berate myself for my lack of… pretty much everything.
If I was really a good wife, I would have had all of this done.
I bet he regrets shacking up with me.
He could have anyone.
I should change my name to Millstone.

But last night, I didn’t. Last night, I was just grateful for him.
I’m grateful for him even though he would have RATHER been resting or reading or playing Stupid Zombies (thanks to Kourtney Butler for that)… he cleaned. Was he happy about it? Not at all. Did he voice it? Not even once.

Though my mind be completely void of anything really and truly fun or inspiring, it is stuffed full of gratitude.

I’m grateful for my husband -the willing man who sticks by my side even when my best foot is rather less than forward and even sometimes in my mouth.
I’m grateful for my kids who show their love through giving me flowers.

And telling me they want to be just like me.

(I wear those stylin’ gloves when I chop up peppers, something I must learn to teach my little sister, apparently)
I’m grateful that in the middle of my slump, I opened my mail box to find THREE packages.

I’m grateful for Loretta in so many ways it would absolutely bore you to nausea to hear about it.
And now I’m grateful I have her zucchini bread recipe.
I’m grateful my mail order vitamins were found and remailed. Is that word: remailed?

They’ve brought strength into my fingernails the likes of which haven’t been seen since I was 17.

Before I get to the last package, I just have to say: I’m grateful my kids aren’t in school yet. I’m grateful I can tote them around with me and I’m grateful they BOTH fit in the front seat of the little electronic rocking trains in Wal-Mart. They’re at the best age, and I’m savoring (almost) every minute with them.

Finally: I’m grateful for my brother:

He surprised me with a book RIGHT when I needed it -and how could he have known? I guess because he always does. He always knows what I need to hear when I need to hear it. He’ll always be my Dear Abby.
And because I turned the very last page of that book last last night while my husband mopped, I can get back on my feet today.
Reinspired.
Is that a word: reinspired?

Anyway, every sister should have a brother -at least one.

Someone who will share guns and apples and eventually books and life’s joys (and grievances).

I’m falling short and grateful for everyone who has tuned in to pick up my slack.
And I’ll also be grateful if someone can tell me the movie the title is from.
“I’m grateful for the Moon, I’m grateful for the earth…”