My husband is really big on birthdays.  The first birthday we ever spent together was my 19th birthday (!!!  19!?  I was just a kid!).  His gifts to me were so perfectly planned -so sentimental.  He gave me “Hidalgo,” the movie we saw on our first date.  He gave me “Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World” because I had RAVED about it and to make matters better… he gave me the soundtrack!  He gave me a pink fleece blanket, a carton of cotton candy (pink, which he ate), picture frames to fill our soon-to-be-ours apartment, and he also gave me a brand new pair of RED shoes because he knew how much I loved the red shoes I wore nearly every day.  When he saw a new shiny pair, he thought of me and he bought them.

It was so darn sweet, I could hardly stand it.  Every year -RIGHT when I wake up, he has a birthday gift wrapped and waiting for me.

WELL, this year I got one of the best gifts EVER!  He sent me to a three-day retreat with my Mom in Utah.  Kid free!  Amazing classes!  New haircut and color!  And I couldn’t be more grateful… but the retreat was August 1-3rd… and my birthday is the 16th.  That meant I woke up on the 16th with no present.  Which was fine.  I knew I had already gotten my rather expensive gift (we saved for a year), and I was fine.

The night of the 15th, my husband asked “What are your plans tomorrow?”
I told him the truth, “I have to go through all of our clothes and get rid of what we don’t need. I’m donating them to the clothing exchange going on this week.”
“Oh,” he said, “Cool.”
And then we went to bed.

The next morning, after a birthday kiss, he went to work. I set to washing all of the kids’ clothes. All day long I was under a pile of laundry. I received facebook birthday messages and answered them all right back because -let’s face it -I was sitting on the couch under a literal mountain of laundry.

But it was okay. I mean, really. Is laundry what I wanted to do on my birthday? Not really, but it wasn’t bad. I streamed chick flicks and I enjoyed reading all of my sweet facebook messages.
As the day went on, my daughter’s behavior got progressively worse.
She broke one of my Willow Tree figurines -the one given to me by an Aunt as a graduation gift.
Worse: she lied about it -tried to blame her brother.
She’s also in a correcting phase. As in: every time I do something wrong, she lets me know.
“You’re not wearing your seat belt.”
“We don’t do that Mom.”
I listened to her correction all day long and tried to SMILE about it. Because it was my BIRTHDAY and we’re SUPPOSED to be HAPPY ABOUT IT. After her brother went down for a nap, she asked me for some ice cream.
I dished her out some, putting a spoonful of ice cream in my mouth as I did.
“Mom, where did we get the ice cream?” She asked as I was forking it into my mouth.
“Hannah,” I replied, my mouth full.
“Mom, we don’t talk with our mouths full,” she chimed.
I gritted down on that ice cream and replied, “That’s right. We don’t.”

After a thorough lecture from her father last night about sneaking food into her room, she snuck a pile of chocolate animal crackers into her room, spilled them, stepped on them and then LAUGHED in my face when I spanked her. And when I got after her for laughing, she laughed at me again. Three times.

But I shook it off. My husband would be coming home soon. My sister had offered to take the kids for a while that night… it would all be okay.
Then I got a text from my husband telling me he might not be able to make it home in time to go out.

At that point, I threw caution to the wind and busted out the bag of cookie dough I had frozen a few weeks earlier. I sat on top of my clean laundry and ATE cookie dough. And I liked it.

I had tentatively planned a creative date. I always plan creatively when we don’t have much cash, you know. We’re at the end of our pay period, and I thought it might be fun to hit up Red Box, buy a few snacks, and take my lap top out somewhere and watch a movie… create our own little drive in, so to speak. Just the thought made me sing, “Stranded at the Drive-in” without stopping for, oh… four hours. give or take.

Word came at 7:30 that my husband was on his way home. He would make it home a little late but JUST in time for us to go out. I was emotionally drained. I was tired of laundry. BUT IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY and I WAS HAPPY. I got ready. I teased my hair and sprayed perfume on and applied lip stick. I fed my kids (I wasn’t hungry on account of the cookie dough) and when my husband got home, I had the car fully loaded and I WAS READY TO GET THE FRACK OUTTA THERE!

After dropping the kids off, I remarked, “I’m so tired. Let’s just go rent a movie, grab some take out and go home to watch the movie.”
“Um,” he started with some trepidation, “I have to be to work early, so if we’re going to watch a movie we need to do it now.”
And that’s what did it.
I didn’t want to try and be happy anymore. I didn’t care if it was my birthday anymore. I didn’t want to watch a movie if we were going to be rushed. I didn’t want to grab take out or sit down because I wasn’t hungry.
You know what I wanted at that point?
My bed.

We drove into town to rent a movie. By then, my husband had figured out that I wasn’t exactly hyped up for a party. He asked me to please smile.
But I thought it would be cool to cry instead.
“Please can we just go home?” I pleaded, “It’s late. I don’t want to leave the kids forever. I don’t want food. Let’s just go home.”
“Okay,” he said, wrapping his arm around me.
We drove home, tears filled my eyes… it wouldn’t have been a huge problem except I was driving. We neared an exit, and my husband said, “Get off here. Turn around.”
“Please,” my heart sunk, “Please let’s just go home.”
“Pull off,” he said, gently, “I’ll drive now. Let’s go back into town for a few snacks and then I promise we’ll just go home.”
“Okay,” I nodded, the promise of HOME ringing in my heart.

As we pulled into the parking lot, he turned the car off.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
“I’m coming with you,” I replied.
There was a reason for it, you know. There was a reason I braved the late night crowd at Safeway with tear-stained eyes. I knew that if I left my husband alone he would buy me flowers.
I didn’t want flowers.
Feel free to judge me for what I’m about to say. I judge me.
Growing up, my Dad always ordered flowers for my mother. I used to sit and stare at them on the kitchen table. They were the most wonderful arrangements I’d ever seen, and they were a symbol… I just knew -every time I looked at those arrangements -that my Dad really, truly loved my mother. My husband has always been a stickler for flowers. He makes sure I have them for every possible occasion that you SHOULD have flowers. Valentines, Mother’s Day, anniversaries, birthdays…
He’s sentimental and sweet, really. An amazing man!
That’s why I never had the heart to tell him that what I really wanted… was those expensive arrangements in custom vases with cards sticking out of them.
Can you blame me for not wanting to tell him?! I HATED myself for it! I blame my father! He SPOILED the whole idea for me! (I jest, Papa. I jest.)
Danny has always been so sweet about getting me flowers. Always roses.
I finally had the courage to tell him that I don’t care for roses, and it pained me to the core. How many women out there would kill to have a husband like mine that brought them roses whenever occasion permitted? I know this! That’s why I felt like I jerk telling him the truth. Ever since then, he’s brought me beautiful bouquets of daisies, sunflowers (my favorite), lilies… he’s wonderful.
But last night, I didn’t want a Safeway bouquet. I wanted to cry and I wanted my bed and I knew that if I went with him into the store, he wouldn’t buy me any flowers.
Don’t I sound like the worst person on earth right now? Yes, I do. I know I do. I despise myself.
“Pick out some ice cream,” he said to me in the freezer section, “And I’ll be right back.”
“No,” I said softly, grabbing his arm, “Just stay.”
“No,” he said, less softly and pulled away, “I’ll be right back.”
“Danny, don’t get me flowers.”
“I wanted to get them earlier! I’m promise -I just didn’t have the time and I -”
“I don’t want them,” I admitted, quietly.
“But I always get them,” his shoulders dropped.
“I know,” I nodded, wanting to slap myself for what I was about to say, “I just don’t want them unless they’re… ordered.”
“Did I spoil you with your Valentine’s bouquet?” He smiled (for the first time in our married life, he ordered me a bouquet for Valentine’s Day -a dozen beautiful red roses, and despite the fact that roses aren’t my favorite, I was over the moon. Swoonin’. Smitten. Done for. Absolutely done for.
“I’ve actually always been this way,” I said, carefully.
“Always?” The poor beautiful man looked like I had just taken a mallet to his heart.
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, honestly wanting to know.
“Because you’ve always been the sweetest man in the world,” I wrapped my arms around him in the middle of the freezer section, “And I didn’t want to admit to myself let alone to you that I’m a high maintenance jerk.”
Much to my relief, he laughed.
And we went home without flowers.

We picked out Ben & Jerry’s ice cream for each other, and then we snagged some IBC cream soda and brownies.
Seven years ago, we took some IBC cream soda and Little Debbie Brownies out by a baseball field at night, we parked the car, watched a wildfire burn on a nearby mountain, drank our cream soda and ate our brownies… and in all actuality we FELL ASLEEP. But we didn’t stay there all night.
The cops woke us up.

In memorandum, we bought our cream soda and brownies (I thought we had bought IBC root beer that night, but Danny reminded me it was really IBC cream soda. See what I mean? The man is GOLD). And then my husband took the wheel.

He drove us out to my family’s land west of town. He unloaded our car which hasn’t exactly been completely cleaned up from our camping trip, he put the seats down:

Within a matter of minutes, we had our own mini drive in. (Check out that “Rango” preview!)

The movie didn’t work all that well on account of it’s being scratched all to heck, but it didn’t matter.
I shifted in my seat and suddenly music started playing.
From under my seat.
One of Lacy’s toys had fallen behind the seat -a Disney Princess “CD” player. It sang and sang and sang… and we laughed harder with every song.
I tried my hardest not to move, but it was impossible. If I didn’t move, I couldn’t have any brownies! I also couldn’t resist singing “Grease.”

I secretly wanted to say, “Meant something to you! You think I’m going to stay here with you in this? this sin wagon? You can take this piece of tin!” and throw my ring at him while I bailed out of the car and ran through Grandpa’s field.
I hoped he would yell, “You can’t just walk out of a drive in!” after me, but I was child locked in my own car.
So I just sat there instead. like a normal person.

In the end, after I had a brownie and a cream soda and a few bites of rich ice cream and a few laughs over “Dinner with Shmucks” I was right as rain.

My husband is a miracle worker -a magical man. A wizard.

As packed up and drove off, my husband hummed “Little Mermaid” songs, thanks to my daughter’s toy.
We picked the kids up two hours after we dropped them off, and I tried to get a good picture of them.

I failed.

And please tell me I’m not the only one who gets excited to see their birth date on stuff. And yes, I still get a rush when I see my birth date on the milk jug. right under “exp.”

We went for two months without eating out.  We had one paycheck that was short, and we issued the challenge to ourselves: no eating out this paycheck.

I say “challenge” because it sounds more adventurous than “rule.”
We stuck by it, man. I cooked this and whipped up that. I was amazed at how much food we really did have in our cupboards. It isn’t like we eat out all the time. We tend to order pizza about once every two weeks. During a particularly hairy time, we might average one take-out meal every 10 days. But because we did so well NOT eating out, we extended the challenge to the next paycheck and the next and the next.
Before I knew it, we had gone TWO MONTHS without eating out (except for the one time the kids and I ate hot dogs at the food court in Sam’s Club, but I don’t really count that since there was no way around it. Also it cost me all of $5.)

Last week on Thursday, I had HAD it. I was tired and the kids were tired. I was hungry and the kids were hungry. I’d had a hankering for cheese sticks and I didn’t have any appropriate cheese on hand to make any, so I asked my husband if we could eat out. He was fine with the idea, so we decided to eat at Denny’s. I felt terrible about it, really. All this time, I’d saved and saved and saved and cooked and cooked and cooked, only to be overthrown by a hasty decision essentially made by my stomach.
I tried to shake it off, but I couldn’t.
Even when my plate of cheese sticks was placed in front of me and a voice inside was crying out, “YOU DESERVE THIS!” I still couldn’t shake it.
The next day, we went shopping. It’s been a while since my husband went shopping with us, and he really hates watching prices go up. By the time we were done checking out, he, ahem, wasn’t the happiest camper in the world. So I took a slight detour on the way home. That is to say: instead of depositing our car on the highway and heading home, I deposited our car at Sonic and ordered up some greasy grub. Food always makes my husband happy.
After we’d eaten (for only $8! Can you beat that?! If you’re not Sam’s Club, I mean…) we drove home. The next morning, we woke up, packed up, and headed to Thatcher.
My sister was graduating, and after her ceremony we… ate out. As a family.
I didn’t even come CLOSE to finishing my three creamy chicken enchiladas. Something just tasted… off.

And something WAS off. I tossed and turned all that night, falling in and out of sleep as my stomach would allow. The next day, I woke up and the family and I made our way to Denny’s again -this time with the rest of the family. We had one more family meal (breakfast) before we all split up and headed our different directions. I ordered one Grand Slam for me and the kids.
The kids ate more than I did. I mean… the kids ate more than I COULD.
I tried all day to shake the ache in my stomach. We stayed with my good friend, Stephanie, and I felt like the biggest jerk ever -plastered to her couch sipping on Sprite and cursing Casa Manana and their chicken enchiladas.

We finally made it back to our own house around 10:30 at night. My poor husband took the wheel for the long ride home, and I sat passenger, clutching my trusty Sprite and a pillow.
I collapsed on the couch when we got home and woke up a few times in the night with a roaring stomach ache. I’m not exactly proficient at.. purging (shall I say?) so the stomach ache simply stayed with me with no way to really work it’s way out.
I did make it to church, but only barely.

But I will tell you this much: the challenge is BACK ON.
No eating out! NO EATING OUT!!

In other news: here’s the only picture I took this weekend. I only took one picture for three reasons: my camera is dead and I can’t find the charger, my phone camera’s zooming function quit working, and I was plastered to poor Stephanie’s couch.

It’s a nice, relaxing picture though. Isn’t it? The kids were enjoying an afternoon splashing away in a kiddie pool. I enjoyed the sunshine and the green grass and the mountains in the distance.

As for yesterday, I snapped a couple of pictures with my zoom-less camera phone. My grandmother has a merry-go-round in her backyard. She’s had it for as long as I can remember.

When it comes to company, the merry-go-round has never been found wanting.

(no, I didn’t let them ride around like that. But I did have to get a picture before telling them to dismount.)

I left the kids to their playing and made my way into the house where I was greeted by THIS:

A necklace my aunt had made that I admired. I’m not big on jewelry, but my aunt’s taste is FANTASTIC!
Mira:

Am I planning today’s hairstyle, make-up and outfit around this necklace?
Of course I am.

Just before heading to bed, I snapped this picture of two of my favorite people sharing a late night snack while they watched the game highlights on ESPN.com:

That, readers, is my weekend report.
Today will consist of wearing my necklace (priority!), cleaning the house to get it ready for a day of fun with my nieces, taking the kids to the cemetery to clean-up, taking the kids swimming for an hour, and then heading to a friend’s birthday BBQ.

Days like today should always begin with a necklace like mine.
Please excuse me, the boy is drinking from the toilet.

Mother’s Day is Sunday.  I hope I’m not the only one out there who has to give my husband warnings.

“Mother’s Day is in two weeks.”
“Mother’s Day is happening during this pay period.”
“This is your one week Mother’s Day warning.”

He never gets upset about the reminding. He only thanks me profusely. I’m excited for Mother’s Day this year. Every year, I cook a Mother’s Day dinner for my grandma and mom. This year we’ll be having BBQ ribs (made with Dr. Pepper), homemade potato salad, leaf salad, and cinnamon rolls for dessert. I can’t wait for the meal to come together! I can’t wait for our families to come together! Did I mention that I was excited to give my mom her Mother’s Day gift? I AM! It was put into my hands on Sunday, and I’m absolutely hopping excited to hand it over to my mom. I even took pictures of it! But I can’t share them yet. Because I signed my mom up for email feeds from my blog, so she HAS to read my crap.

Anyway.
My husband got asked to speak in church on Mother’s Day. AND so did my Dad. Excitement! Yes I’ll attend an extra hour of church just to hear my dad speak. Don’t you think I won’t!

Last night, I started feeling the Mother’s Day love. After the kids got out of their bath, they came to me on the couch for lotion and PJs. My son has the cutest hooded towel, and I was surprised when he crawled up on the couch and nestled himself down for the biggest, most snuggly hug in the whole world.

Can you see his little towel-clad arms wrapped around me?
It was the sweetest thing.

And there he stayed until he’d gotten his fill. Then he moved and let his sister get her lotion and PJs. After I got her dressed, I sat on the floor.
“You might brush my hair,” my daughter said.
“Yeah,” I nodded, “sit right here…” I motioned to a spot on the floor in the front of me between my legs.
“No,” she shook her head, “You might put your legs like…” She pushed my legs together and then laid herself on top of them. It took my by completely surprise! Have you ever balanced a four-year old on your legs before? It might have been hard had she not been a perfect fit.

(see the wreath off to the right side? Remind me to tell you about THAT later.)
I looked down at our feet and it made me so happy.

We said our prayers and then told the kids to hop in bed, but they didn’t. Lacy wanted her hair brushed some more, and Trenton wanted to play with his Dad some more.
So I went on brushing completely unaware that my husband took this picture.

He bought a Droid (Thunderbolt) last month and he’s been using the heck out of it. He went a little picture happy. And he went a little effects happy too. Why is the above picture blue? I asked him.
Because it can be! He answered.

Ahhhhhh… freshly bathed babies. Nothing in the world smells as sweet.

I only wonder where my son went when all of this picture taking was going down…

And now. I’m going to tell you about the wreath. I started it on Friday night. I saw a tutorial on a website for it. The woman talked about how easy it was to make. How she saw one at a boutique for $40 and then went home and made one for $2. I was really excited about the idea of making one. I sat curled up on the floor Friday night and watched television with my husband as I cut swirls out of pages torn from a book and made little roses and glued them to a wreath.
I giggled with every new rose made and paraded the wreath in front of my husband’s face.
“Isn’t it looking good?” I squealed.
And then came Saturday. And Sunday. And Monday. And that blasted thing STILL isn’t done! I’ve been working on it for days and hours and hours! I’ve streamed just about every classic Netflix movie that looks even remotely interesting! My husband came home from work last night and found me curled up in front of my poor page-ripped book.
“Still at it?” He asked. I aimed the glue gun at my wreath and pretended to shoot it.
He laughed at me.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You were so excited about it and now you hate it,” he laughed, “It’s cute.”

Want to know what to get me for Mother’s Day darling?
Some good sense to not start silly projects like this!
Also… dear, can you make paper roses? I need about 40 more.