If communication is key to a happy marriage?

We’re in trouble. 

Him:  while pausing the latest episode of Cougar Town. What’d that girl play on?

Her:  looks up from the laptop. Oh, um…. Ahhh… 

Him:  She looks really familiar.

Her:  Yeah, uh… Oh! She was in that show, the funny one, on CBS, Monday nights…. You know… the one with the guy with the beard and the other guy is from the American Pie movie and they’re lawyers. They live in New York and always go to some diner. And that girl is dating the American Pie guy and she is roommates with that girl that’s in that movie with the chick from Sex and the City and now she’s on another funny show too. 

Him:  stares blankly.

Her:  huffs and consults Google.  See… Mad Love… remember?  Shows him a picture of the cast and reads the description. 

That’s exactly what I said.  

Him:  Oh my God. That was nothing like what you said. You gave the worst description ever. 

Her:  Whatever.

Is there something in the Bible that says, “thou shall pawn your children off on grandparents and go be husband and wife once in a while.”? 

No?

Well there should be!

A few weeks into Craig’s football season, we realized it would likely end without an extended season due to playoffs.  So we started talking about a weekend away, visiting his cousin who coaches college football and spending some time with their family.  At first, taking the kids was the plan.  But then I worked up the courage to say, “Um… honey. I don’t really want them to go.” 

A few days of discussions and “but I never get to see them during the season,” from him and a few “but it’s HARD to travel with them and what if they won’t sleep in a hotel” from me, I convinced him just shy of  having to pull out the “if they go, I don’t go!” ultimatum.

So away we went. And home Chessa and Cole stayed. 

(thank you, thank you, thank you to my parents and in-laws.)

On the opposite side of the state for 48 hours, we were able to go out to a late dinner, drink as much as we wanted, eat our food while it was still hot, talk to other adults (and each other) without spelling words or talking toddler talk, not chase a child around a football stadium and not carry goldfish in our pockets.  And we got to sleep in.  Ahhh…  sleeping in past 7AM. I sort of forgot what that felt like. 

Yes, we missed them.  Yes, when I saw other moms at the game with cute little kiddos, I felt a little bit bad for thinking that I couldn’t have brought them to the game.  Yes, their older cousin missed them and was a little annoyed that we didn’t bring them.  Yes, I called and texted often.  Really often. 

But. 

Getting away from the jobs, the stress, the kids and even (and especially) this town was exactly what we needed.

The house was a mess. The floor a dumping ground for Legos, stuffed animals and six or seven Elmos.  The kids were disheveled and I was past the point where I cared. They were happy. They were content for a few minutes. And I was taking a much needed breath.

Craig was in the middle of it all. He was home for a short time to visit with us between meetings or film sessions, popping in for “hellos” and cuddles and kisses.  And I was more than happy to hand the parenting duties over to him for those moments.

As the kids reached for him and clung in his arms and on his leg, he looked at me.

“I know you’re tired by the end of the day,” he said. “But you have to appreciate that you get all this time with them.”

I do. Oh, how I do. And oh, how tired I am sometimes. 

How much I hate that I can stare at a basket of laundry for three days before I finally give in and fold it. Or how much I dread the sound of blocks crashing onto the floor knowing that in approximately 5.4 seconds they will be all over the bottom half of our house and I’ll be picking them up when the kids go to bed.  How I try hard to watch a couple of DVR’d sitcoms and only make it to the first commercial before I fall asleep on the couch. 

But?

But I know he misses more. 

He misses the hugs, the laughter, the goofy faces and the celebrations for milestones such as potty training for the girl and sitting up and becoming even more mobile for the boy. (OK, fine. I didn’t celebrate his mobile-ness as much as I choked back tears at the thought of two kids going in two different directions.)  He misses dinner (even if it is hotdogs and french fries – again!) more than I dread having to spoon feed the baby and bargain with a toddler while trying to eat my own dinner while it’s still sort of hot. 

I was terrified of this year’s football season. Sure that by week four I would be batshit crazy with two kids. 

But actually? (And I’m whispering this part because there are still a couple of weeks left to the season.)  It hasn’t been THAT bad. The kids and I found a groove. Craig found a way to be here more than either of us probably expected. He’s getting lots of time with Chessa, often hanging out with her while I put Cole to bed.  And if Cole doesn’t soon stop reaching for Craig instead of me, I’m going to develop a complex. 

I lowered my expectations for sure. Baths are only given every other night. Dinner isn’t freshly made as often as I would like. I’m not spending my weekends cooking and baking.  My house isn’t always company ready. 

I knew when to call for help. Whether from my in-laws next door, my parents, close friends or two favorite babysitters, I didn’t hesitate to call in reinforcements when the going started to get tough.  That’s so not like me. 

But we survived. 

Cole greets him with fast and furious baby kicks. And Chessa runs across the room, feet pounding floorboards, yelling “DADDY!DADDY!DADDY!DADDY! when she hears the door open.  When he’s not here for bedtime kisses, he’s sneaking in their rooms for whispered good nights as they sleep.   

And I? Well I’m in desperate need for a date night and I’ve rewarded myself with a wee bit of retail therapy (just to match the new bag a certain someone got me for my birthday) but, I made it. 

So, yes. I do know how lucky I am to be in these moments every single day.

And also, I’m still counting down to the final game.   

Linking up with Shell!

Two days after our “I do”s, we hopped a plane and headed to Mexico for our honeymoon.  The Riveria Maya was beautiful. White sand, blue water. Free food and drinks all the live long day. 

I am sure this is what Heaven looks like. 

Aren’t the drinks pretty??

Because everyone needs a picture with a monkey on their shoulder.

We spent six glorious days sleeping in the sun, walking on the beach, going to breakfast and eating late dinners. Every day, we looked at the brochure and talked about parasailing or doing some kind of “adventure”.  And every day we decided to wait.

And then, on our second to last night there, we had drinks and went to dinner, like every night before.  Only this time, we both woke up around midnight and spent the next 12 hours passing each other on our way to the bathroom. 

“Sick” doesn’t even begin to describe it. I cannot eloquently talk about “The Sick” so let’s just leave it at that, shall we? 

When evening came, since we were planning to leave the next day, we called the hotel doctor.  He came to our room, pronounced us dehydrated and rode with us to the local hospital. 

Yes, we went to a hospital in Mexico. No, neither of us speak Spanish. 

Oh, wait. “Cervaza” is Spanish for “beer”, right? We had that one down. 

At the hospital we were separated on opposite sides of the room, I could hear Craig, but not see him.  Blood was drawn, samples were taken, fluid was given and I think I presented my insurance card wondering how in the world the payment stuff was going to work.  Craig started to feel a little better, I did not.  The doctors started talking about keeping us in the hospital over night. Craig told them are flight left the next morning and we’d be leaving soon thankyouverymuch. The word “quarantine” was mentioned.

I sat up and decided it was time to feel better and stop running for the bathroom.  Maybe “quarantine” means something different in Mexico?

Sometime late that night, we got back to the hotel and slept a few hours.  When the alarm went off, I called the front desk to find out if we could, in fact, stay an extra day. The short answer was, “No, get the hell out.”  Two hours later, I was sipping ginger ale on an airplane bound for Baltimore, praying that I wouldn’t toss my cookies.  (I didn’t. Thank GOD!)

And that was how we ended our honeymoon. 

Remind me someday to tell you about our trip to Punta Cana when we were dating.  The spoiler is that after sun posioning there and (suspected) food posioning in Mexico, I’ll be good if I never travel again.

Linking up with Natalie!

Last week, I sat on a golf cart and watched Craig coach football.  Much like when we met all those years ago, I sat with my legs stretched out in front of me, my hair pulled up in a ponytail.  Just like when he was coaching the all star game and I was working the event, I grinned as I heard him call out instructions, commands and encouragment.   

It was so much the same, the feeling so familiar, the smack of a ball being caught against chest pads and the crunch of lineman versus lineman.  I could have gotten lost in the memory of how he started to win my heart in 2002, except…

Next to me was a little girl in pigtails. 

“Go see MIE-EE MIE-EE HUSKIES?!” she asked the minute I walked in the door after work. 

I laughed and told her no, that we were not going to see the mighty, mighty huskies.  We had too much to do, baths needed to be taken, dinner needed to be fed and we could go another day.  And then, just as we were sitting down to eat, Cole with his rice cereal and Chessa and I with our plates of pork and potatoes, my phone rang. 

“Can Chessa come to practice?” Craig asked. 

I laughed and grinned at the toddler.  “Yes, but she needs to eat first.” 

Twenty mintues later we were sitting on the golf cart on the sideline watching practice while Chessa narrarated for me. 

DADDY COACH! PAP PAP COACH!

CHESSA COACH TOO. 

Craig stopped once in a while to come talk to us. Asking Chessa about her day, what she was going to do tomorrow.  And inevitably, while he was talking, he would see a missed tackle or a ball dance off the fingertips of a player who just didn’t quite get there fast enough and his attention would be diverted and he would yell. 

“Get to the ball!”

And then she would yell “GET DO DA BALL!!” 

Yes, babe.  Chessa coach too.

I forget who suggested the dance lessons.  Whether it was me who wanted to show off a bit in front of our wedding guests or him, perhaps with a fear of dancing in front of 250 of our closest and dearest.  But for weeks we practiced to Natalie and Nat King Cole’s “When I fall in Love”.  Him, the more graceful of us both.  I fumbled the steps, forgot them from week to week and felt awkard on the stage at the high school.  In contrast, he moved easily and held my hand firmly.  And didn’t gloat at my misteps. 

Eventually we nailed it.  And it felt right.  I was sure we would kick ass at the reception. 

Imagine my surprise when I realized that dancing in shorts and heels was a wee bit different than dancing in a wedding gown with a big poofy skirt!  First we looked at each other with big eyes.  Then he talked me through the steps as we both tried our best not to step on my dress. 

And then? We just laughed.

I am linking up this post with Natalie from Mommy of a Monster who asked for favorite wedding pictures.  As soos as I saw her post, I knew I had to play along too and show this one! 

check it out! & share yours too.  

Ten years ago this week, I met my husband.  He’ll tell you we met a few months earlier and that I paid no attention to him.  And, well, he’s not wrong.  He’s not right, but he’s not wrong. 

Fresh out of college, I was working my first job at a tourism promotion agency. With a passion for media and special events, the all star football game that we were planning was right up my alley.  The game was my chance to shine. To show that I could do this professional girl in heels thing.  In April we held a news conference for local media and invited all of that year’s coaches to attend.

Craig was a coach. 

His side of the story is that he tried to talk to me at the news conference and I blew him off.  To that I say, “whatever, dude. I was busy.” 

Next up was a practice in early May, followed by dinner with the team at a local restaurant.  At the table, I was charmed and entertained by an older, retired coach who told jokes and made us giggle through the meal.  Again, I didn’t talk to Craig much, but I did in fact notice him. 

A few phone calls between May and the week of the game asking him to “please for the love of all things Holy, send in your paperwork.”  And then noticing that his emergency contact was his mother (check one – not married) but that he wasn’t living with her (check two – not still living at home).  By the time the last week of June rolled around, I was… intrigued. 

At the first practice, I tried to flirt a little.  (Maybe not the most professional thing to do, so let’s just say I was being friendly.)  He was cold in return. 

Fine then. 

The next day, he was a little more chipper and maybe, just maybe, flirted back a tad.  At the end of the day, the coaches asked if we could get tickets to the local minor league baseball game.  I agreed and asked how many tickets they needed.  Enough for all five coaches. 

I got seven tickets.  Five for the coaches, one for a co-worker of mine and one for me.  We agreed to meet them at their hotel in a couple of hours and we would all go to the game together. 

This was it.  I was going to charm him over beers and baseball.  I went home, put on a cute American Eagle skirt and tank top, curled my hair and dabbed on lip gloss.  My heart was pounding and I was on pins and needles with excitement. 

We got stopped at the red light just outside the hotel.  I checked my hair in the mirror, giggled to my friend that maybe someday I’d remember this game as a BIG IMPORTANT MOMENT and looked up to see a white Jeep Wrangler approaching the intersection. 

“Hey that looks like Craig’s Jeep,”  she said. 

“It is.  Oh, someone is with him.  It must be Coach Sam.”

And then as he crossed the intersection we noticed that no, it wasn’t Coach Sam.  It was Coach Craig. 

And a date. 

I spent the first few innings of the game shooting daggers at the back of Craig’s head while sipping my beer.  When he went for a refill and asked if I wanted one, I mumbled a disgruntled no, even though mine was empty and I did, in fact, want another beer.  When he left because it started to rain and the top was off his Jeep, he left a note on my car for the rest of us to meet him at the bar.  I very maturely threw the note away. 

I was crushed.  With absolutely no right to be, I was crushed.  And pissed.  And maybe a little young. 

The week continued, I gave him the cold shoulder for a few days and players and coaches started laughing and joking about the “cousin” he brought to the game.  A few pointed interrogations of him and less than obvious (so I thought) questioning of the players on the team, I found out that the girl was a friend/date.  But not a girlfriend. 

Okay then. 

A few days later, mid-week, when he asked me if I wanted to go out sometime, I coyly answered, “maybe.”  Oh yes, people.  I was SO very good at playing hard to get. 

The night of the game, after getting admonished by a coworker about being unprofessional (pssh, whatever), all bets were off.  We were no longer working on a project together and we were free to date. 

So we did.

Sorry this is terrible quality, I had to scan it.  10 years ago, we were still using cameras with film and prints.  Weird.   But LOOK at how blonde I am. 

I hear her stirring in the morning.  With a peek at the video monitor, I see she’s awake.  I hear the shower still running, so I look down at Cole snuggled in my arms and say, “let’s go get your sister!” 

I lay him on the bed and walk to her room. 

The door screeches a bit as I turn the knob and I hear her jumping up, excited that someone is coming.  As I walk into the room, I see her grinning.  One paci in her mouth, another in her hand and Elmo tucked into her elbow. 

When she sees that it’s me coming in for her, she yells, “No! Daddy!” 

- – - -

It’s warm on a Saturday afternoon.  I’ve spent most of it indoors with Cole, so when Chessa wakes up, Craig offers to stay inside with the boy while I take Chessa outside to swim in the pool. 

I start getting her lathered with lotion and slip on her swimsuit. “Do you want to go swimming with Mommy?”

“NO!”

“What?!?” I tickle her toes.  “Mommy wants to take you swimming.”

“NONONO!  Mommy swim, no.  Daddy” 

- – - -

I walk in the door after a long day at work.  I kick off my heels and lean over to kiss Cole on the forehead.  Chessa is sitting on Craig’s lap and as I lean in for a kiss, she whines, “Mommy, no!” as she reaches out to scratch and claw at my face. 

 - – - -

In light of all that..

Dear Chessa at age 15. 

What’s that? Daddy won’t let you date?  

Sorry about your luck.   

Love,

Momma

A while back, maybe six or seven years ago, Craig and I were spending our usual Fourth of July week at the beach with his family.  It was mid-week and Craig was being a wee bit pesty. 

If he wasn’t picking on his mom, reminiscing about the day she dropped him off at college football camp or the family photos she made him take, he was giving me a hard time for being at the beach but sitting under an umbrella, my affection for country music or the fact that I’m a little bit challenged by my rights and lefts.  Nothing was off limits for his comments or teasing. 

All. Day. Long.

By late afternoon, he was tap dancing on my last nerve and I was contemplating whether I could ask him to go for ice cream and “forget” to bring him back to the condo. 

At just about that time, something caught our eye.  An older woman and her daughter were working their way across the hot sand towards the stairs that lead to the parking lot.  Even in sandals, with each step the scalding afternoon sand was burning their feet.  The daughter was trying to hold up her mother, while having her own feet burned.  After a few steps, it was too much.  The older woman fell and the daughter struggled to lift her. 

Before she could drop her umbrella and beach bags, Craig was on his feet running across the sand to help.  His feet were now being burned by the sand, but still, he took his time and gently lifted this stranger to her feet and led her to the parking lot. 

His mother and I looked at each other, both smiling after watching the scene unfold.  She was proud of the son she raised and I was sure that he was a guy worth dating.  With a laugh, I said “he can be such a shit all day long and then he goes and does something like that.” 

Now, all these years later, his daughter is the exact same way.

We spend days being challenged by her.  Trying to minimize the whining, sidestep the tantrums and most recently, enforce the “no hitting” rule. 

Then just when I think I’m at the end of my rope.  Just when I think bedtime can’t come soon enough.  Just when I start wondering if it’s appropriate to drink wine out of a pint glass, she asks to sit next to her brother as I read her a book.  I warn her that she has to be nice when she sits by him and hold my breath waiting for her to jump or roll into his tiny body. 

Then, moments later, I look away from the book and see my girl gently holding hands with her little brother.   

With a  warm heart and a chuckle, I think to myself, ‘you can be such a stinker all day long and then you go and do something like that.”