Weekend

Saturday sucked. From the moment we rose from the bed to the evening we just couldn't get it right. I snapped at Brian about the dog and we argued off and on about a series of things that were so unimportant that I've since forgotten what they were. We tried our best to forge through the day, each saying we'd start the day over around noon but we couldn't shake the weird unfamiliar fog between us.

I felt so consumed by bitterness, it ate my stomach and behind my eyes. We just couldn't get it right. I know I apologized a million times and him the same. We went to bed anxious for a new day to begin.

Sunday was different. A do-over. A relief. I kept the kids home with me while Brian went to church since Leah was still recovering from Hand, Foot and Mouth, and we ran errands and visited an old friend and then got ready for a special date night that we had planned weeks before. The sitter came to watch the kids and we ran off in our fancy clothes for dinner at Kirby's.

We got to spend a few hours talking and stuffing our faces with our favorite foods. We talked about the future, about our dreams, and about happiness. It was my favorite everything. We both ordered non-steak dinners at an expensive steak restaurant and we laughed at the irony.

I admired my man in his blue sweater and khaki's for the amazing partner he is, and despite all of the ways that I fail him, he still loves me. He puts up with me, all of me, which is a lot to handle. And he makes me feel beautiful, absolutely beautiful. He tells me so every. single. day.

Yep, he's a keeper.

We left the restaurant with just enough room in our bellies for dessert and stopped by the Cheesecake Factory for a take-out sugar fix. (Chocolate, and it was AH-MAZING.)

Then we got home and sat ourselves in on the couch in our date night clothes after kissing the babies goodnight and watched the last bit of the Olympics while sharing a fork. I love my husband because he always gives me the last bite.

Saturday was good.

But there are no pictures because we kept our phones put away and captured the evening in memories focused on each other. And I remember it just as it was, perfect.

Magic Swimsuit

Do you ever feel like you’re a magnet for embarrassment? No? Just me. Good to know. I feel like there must be a special realm of reality outside of actual reality and the reality of the certifiably insane, where absurdity wrecks havoc and that is where I must exist.

My oldest is taking swim lessons at the rec center which in itself is awesome. Nothing makes me prouder than seeing my children learn new things. It was the coolest thing in the world to watch him grin when his teacher glided him through the water. My heart has never been more proud of him for trying something new, something that even terrifies grown adults.

Yesterday I rushed from my office in my work clothes to pick up the kids from preschool to be ready for swim lessons right at six o’clock. ON. THE. DOT. My fear of being late is amplified ten times whenever I have the kids with me.

I carried my oversized purse, a gym bag, two towels, and my daughter in one arm while I held my son’s hand through the parking lot. We made it in well before 6pm and I sighed a big giant sight of relief.

I changed out of my trousers and button up shirt and stepped out of the high heels I had stupidly worn that day. The only swimsuit I could find that morning was one from college, you know, before kids and when I was about thirty pounds heavier. To my amazement (or maybe sadness?) it fit great. I mean God is pretty unforgiving in the looks department after pregnancy but that could just be me. This suit was a two-piece tankini from the junior’s department at Target. The size on the tag is pretty far down in the alphabet, if you know what I’m saying. But, alas, I couldn’t find other suits anywhere.

Not to brag, but damn, I looked good. Sure the bottoms were granny style and hiked up to my belly button and the top plunged almost to my navel, but daaaaaaaaaaang, it just kinda worked. That bathing suit must be magic. It sucked my fat in the right places and held “things” ahem, perky. Daaaaaaaang.

I admired myself in the mirror for what was probably longer than is socially acceptable before I got redressed when swim lessons were over. By then it was pushing seven o’clock and tummies were getting hungry so I hurried us along as quickly as I could and threw my bags back over my shoulders with my wet towels and what I thought was both pieces of my newly discovered magic swim suit. Being the genius that I am I try to finangle my keys out of my bag while holding said towels, swim suit, and squirmy toddler while walking, because setting things down is for pussies.

We make it almost to the parking lot when I get the sinking feeling that something isn’t right and that knowing panic set in my stomach. I shook the pile of towels and ONE single piece of my swim suit, which of course is not the granny-panty-style-one-size-too-big-almost-a-decade-old-magic swim bottoms. I look around and they aren’t around.

Now I stop for one second, mortified already, and weighed whether it was worth going back to look for them or if I just scrap it. But I’m cheap, and like I said before, daaaaaaaaaang, that swim suit is b-a-n-a-n-a-s and there’s no way in hell I’m going to give up that magic instant hot-body look.

So, I pushed my sun glasses up higher on my face and turned around to collect the magic bottoms wherever they may have landed. First I scour the ground with my eyes looking for a ball of black material somewhere but at first I don’t see them. Then it dawns on me that maybe someone has already picked up my magic whale-size bottoms and the horror sets in.

I glance closer to the door and I see them crumpled by the door…. Three feet from what has to be Zac Efron’s cousin only taller/darker and (if you can believe it) better looking. AND HE’S BENDING DOWN TO PICK UP MY SWIM BOTTOMS THAT ARE AS WIDE AS THE MOON…. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

But it was too late. He sort of scooped them with his pointer finger and I swear, he did that lip curl disgust look like he had just thrown up a little bit in his mouth.

And then I really did throw up in my mouth.

I politely smiled and snatched them out of his hand and said, “thank you.” I didn’t look back.

I hope Zac Efron trips on a treadmill.

Saying goodbye

Change is inevitable. The world keeps turning, time keeps ticking, and life, general, well it goes on.

We all face life choices, those crossroad opportunities that we know deep down mean that one path must end so that the journey can continue. Sometimes we stand before those two paths for a long time, letting our minds wonder into the what if’s, envisioning ourselves in a reality that might or might not exist.

I stared down that fork in the road for months of wondering, praying, and sitting idle until the uncertainty settled and the moment felt right to shift my weight forward.

It wasn’t an easy decision. Life was comfortable. But I think I knew it was right when things at work and at home were tied up neatly like stacks of Christmas packages complete with red ribbon bows.  No more projects lingering, deadlines looming, and overflowing inboxes.

I will be leaving the University of North Texas effective May 18.

The incredible support system I had in place through my work at UNT and at ACUI helped me grow. I feel like I owe so much of who I am today to the experiences I gained through ACUI. My passion for touching lives was ignited at conferences, my want to be a part of something bigger than myself expanded at IPDS, and my drive for excellence was inspired by each and every one of you.

I see so much potential in my colleagues that it brings me great sadness to know that I won’t get to watch them develop further in their careers. I will miss them truly and deeply. I will miss hearing their voices on conference calls and late nights working with the regional leadership team and the conference planning teams. I will miss bear hugs and belly laughs over brews catching up with old friends in a new city.

I will miss my ACUI family. “How lucky I am to know someone who is so hard to say goodbye to.”- Annie, the movie.

It's just plastic

Our little house has been overrun with toys and trinkets for the tiny humans. Their closet has been filled to the brim with boxes of matchbox cars, squeeky soft baby teethers, an unopened walker still in its box, and a sea of Legos and Little People dotted with Cars memorabilia. I had long ago snapped the lid on that bin of baby bibs and burp clothes when a pair of tiny red shoes fell on my head as I pulled it from the top shelf. (She had only worn those once.)

I fought back the desire to purge the house of the extra, the fluff, the excess that we keep tucked away, out of sight, out of mind. I want to hold onto to every little thing that those tiny fingers touched and hide away the memories of their little years away in my heart. I want them to stay small, to stay mine, for time to stay still.

But time does not listen and little ones grow up. My, they grow up so fast!

It's just stuff, I say to myself as tears fill up my eyes. It's just plastic and the memories are mine.

I think I'm struggling with getting rid of their things because it means that our baby years are behind us. My head says it's right but my heart just can't commit to moving forward. It means accepting that moments are fleeting, and unfair as it seems, time keeps going on.

My babies will grow up. We're edging closer to F-O-U-R and T-W-O. And what we have to look forward to!

So, yes, the most epic yard sale in the history of parenthood takes place THIS SATURDAY at the Ritz house. Please ignore the cry-face lady in advance. K? Thanks.

P.S. I'm keeping those red shoes. 

bicycle

Last year my husband bought me a bike for birthday. At the time I was on this crazy fitness kick, somehow thinking that if I peddled around my neighborhood a few times a week that my body would magically morph into Mila Kunis.

Turns out, that is not so.

Biking is hard, dude. While it maybe true that you never forget how to ride a bike, it doesn't mean you won't always be an awkward mess that resembles a drunken school kid trying to ride in a straight line.

But nonetheless I would ride my bike up and down the streets of Timberland Estates. In order to limit the humilitation of being seen in public I started riding my bike after dark. But I rode that bike that it was my job.

As you can probably guess I fell off of the bike bandwagon pretty quick once winter came around and my precious cruiser sat in the garage tucked to the side. Sometimes she would catch my eye and I'd mutter something about needed to get back on that, but the weather was cold, or I was tired, of the kids needed to eat dinner and it was quickly forgotten.

I've been a total slacker about exercising lately. Totally eating like there won't be any consequences. Cake, brownies, hamburgers, french fries, name it and I've scarfed it down with a large diet coke. Well yesterday we had some extra time in the evening right after the kids' bedtime so I opened the garage door and pulled out the old girl for a spin.

Just as I was about to jump on my neighbor drives up to her house. Instead of going about my business like a sane person, I decide to push the bike down the street a little further to avoid any awkwardness.... Because looking like some shady weirdo bicycle theif running away is NOT awkward at all. I'm a smarty, I tell ya.

So I finally get to a place out of sight and hop on. I notice that it's a little harder to pedal than I remembered, but chalk it up to one too many chicken nuggets on the couch in front of an episode of Toddlers and Tiaras. I continue to push through down my street further and further, but man am I really breaking a sweat now and my legs are burning. My fat ass is sliding off the seat and it's pushing into my babymaking parts (and not even in a good way).

This shit is starting to hurt!

At this point I'm clenching my teeth and practically having a heart attack in the middle of the intersection when I look down and notice that the stupid effing wheels have no air. What a #*%&#$@)!#* idiot I am.

Now I have run a half marathon, I have hiked up and down mountians, I have birthed two babies, but that bike ride was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I would have called my husband to have him come pick me up but I left my phone at home. I would have left that stupid bike on the road but I'm too cheap to do that.

I hate that bike.

In a blink...

Dang, it's been forever since I've written something. It's not that I haven't *wanted* to write, because, I totally have wanted to but my life is a little nuts right now. But it's totally a great story that I can't wait to share once we're on the other side of this thing, which should be in about 10 days.

Gallbladders! Panic attacks! Medicated... and then UN-medicated! 60 hour work weeks! Rejection! Overcoming adversity! Destroying a brand new dress in less than 2 hours! Travel! Romance (well, BRO-mance.) It's the stuff that movies are made of, promise!

All is fine.

And apologies to the two readers (hey mom!) who keep up with me.

xoxo, love you bunches.

sick-y

I have a sick-y baby.

A fever spiking between 104 and 105, coughing fits shaking her tiny body, a struggle to breathe through congestion, angry cries from achy bones. Poor thing just wants to feel better.

I laid with her across my lap between the hours of one and four am. Wrapping my arms around her waist and neck, snuggling her in the curve of my elbow listening to the rattle of air pass in and out of her body. A pool of warm sweat beads collected on the bed sheets and onto my shirt. Her hair matted from the sticky heat radiating from her forehead. She looked so small compared to me.

I moved us closer to the humidifier, letting the cool air cover her cheeks as I sat up against the wall of my bedroom in the complete dark. My phone sat across the room from me plugged into the wall. I couldn't reach the light on my nightstand and I didn't want to risk waking her from the slumber she finally had found. She shifted slightly and I bounced her back to sleep quickly singing her soft lullabies, hugging her tightly while glancing at the glow of the alarm clock counting the minutes until dawn.

While the rest of the house was quiet I sat alone with my girl. My mind wandered deeper, but I redirected myself off that path. My energy couldn't be spent on THOSE thoughts. I have to use all of myself that I can to make my darling angel better.

I can deal with those feelings later. The wondering if I'll ever be a good enough mother. Wondering if I'm doing all of this wrong. Wondering if I'm hurting my kids by having this career. And MY. GOSH. the guilt. Trying to have both a successful work life and balance the perfect family life. The voice that tells me I'm failing. Trying to keep the peace. Oh, the guilt.

But that's for later. When baby girl is better.

Mommy can get better.