Mushy stuff

Here, take my heart. dididago.org

Here, take my heart.
dididago.org

I am sitting with my husband, watching him fall asleep-still in his chair-at the dinner table.

He works so hard every day, and comes home late every night. His time is not his own, a slave to his pager.

He chose to practice medicine, and he is dedicated. Careful. Methodical. Brilliant.

So as I watch his eyes flutter over the cup of tea he probably can’t even taste right now, I tell him I love him.

Because I do.

It wouldn’t matter what he chose to do for a living, what matters is the way he commits himself to everything he does.

His job. Me. Our kids. Our life together.

I am grateful that we found each other. So thankful to have this time with him.

My favorite times lately are the evenings when he gets home while the kids are still awake. They hear the garage door open, and run around looking for a place to hide.

Daddy comes in the door, asking me where the kids are.

I tell him I left them at Costco, or maybe at the park…

“Oh no! I need to find them!”

They can hear us, and start to laugh as he pretends to look all over for them. They will either get too excited, and run to jump all over him, or he will rip off the blanket they are hiding under…. eventually they all end up laughing and tickling each other.

He thanks me for letting them stay up to see him.

And I find myself loving him even more.

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Love Day

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Valentine’s day is coming up. The day to express our depth of sentiment with chocolate hearts, roses, pretty pink fluffy things.

I asked at Sammy’s school if he could pass out his valentine’s tomorrow, and was told the school doesn’t celebrate holidays, so the teacher had to ask first.

I thought about it all during the day yesterday, what if they say he can’t?? I already promised we would get valentine’s for his friends, we debated on writing just his name on the back vs writing the name of the friend and then also his name. What kind of candy or treat will we choose? Both of us giddy to have something fun to prepare for sharing with the class.

I remember Valentine’s day in school. We prepared an old shoe box with colored paper, heart cut outs, glitter and tape, turning it into a container to hold our cards. We all got up and passed out our cards and candy to our friends, then walked home eating goodies from school.

I remember the drama when one well intentioned boy wrote “I love you” on all of his cards, probably under direction of his mother…..and the class erupted in giggles and shrieks. Some of us were secretly pleased to have a real admirer, before we realized everyone got the same message.

No more valentine’s in school?

I felt bad for Sammy, and wondered how I’m going to break it to him?? I want him to have that experience, that bit of fun and feeling special. Already planning on what we can do instead of class valentine’s if he really isn’t allowed. And why are we seriously not allowed to celebrate anything anymore??

I hate that some people get offended about everything, causing schools to stop celebrating at all.

Chill out people. Go have some Dove chocolate.

All for naught…. I was later emailed that he is allowed to bring valentines.

I will save up my pre-formulated arguments for another time. Instead, we are headed to the drugstore after school today, to debate the finer points of sponge bob over teenage mutant ninja turtles and their respective messages of love.

Date Night

txktoday.com

txktoday.com

Shhhhhhh, don’t tell him, but this weekend…. I’m taking the hubby on a date.

We don’t usually do this, hardly ever. I can count on one hand how many time we have gone anywhere alone in years.

Sometimes though, the stars align….

I thought about it today, a friend we wanted to take out for her birthday has other plans. I already thought about getting a sitter so we could spend time and enjoy her company, actually focus on her instead of the kids.

She’s busy. Ok, fine, some other time.

But wait…. WE could still go out. Alone!

I know the perfect place. We just talked about it this past week. It’s not a fancy place, it’s not even an especially good place. But we went there early in our dating history, and we both remember one night in particular when I got lost trying to walk out the door, ended up in the downstairs bar while he waited behind for me to realize where I was, and watched as I tried to figure out how I got there. Silly thing, but he laughed at me and I felt kind of embarrassed. It became somehow cute to him, that I could lose my way so easily.

Probably now it’s not that funny to him, but at least back then it was endearing.

So I’m taking him there. And we can sit at the table, and we’ll hold hands and tell each other how much we love each other, and he’ll tease me about how lucky I am to have him, I’ll tell him how lucky HE is to have me. Then he’ll get serious and say I’m right, he IS the lucky one. And he’ll thank me for loving him, and for our beautiful children.

I know this because he does this all the time, we always have this little exchange, but it never gets old.

And then we can go home, and stay up late with the little ones, watching movies and eating popcorn.

At the end of the night, daddy and Sammy will be snoring together on his Cars couch, I’ll be on this computer, and all will be right with the world.

A taste of my life

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I love food.

I think about it a lot, and recently realized that so many of my important memories and “great moments” have been cemented in my head partly because of their association with my digestive system.

Not just those stolen moments with a bag of little chocolate donuts… of which there are many…..

but really significant and special moments.

Like being 4 years old. Kneeling on a chair in the kitchen as Grandma rolls out the dough to make noodles for her chicken soup. I can smell the flour, feel it spread over the cheesecloth she had covering the table; cool, smooth, whispery between my fingers, the dough soft and eggy. Grandma in her housedress, one of thousands it seemed. I can hear her voice talking to me, I can close my eyes and I am THERE. God, I miss her. And her soup.

My first trip to France, what else to do but literally eat my way through Paris?? We found the best gelato. Amazing. And it became necessary to stop and get more at that same gelato stand each day until we went home. I still pine for it, both the chocolate and the mango. It was too good for me to even try another flavor. Refreshing, yet somehow complex, like all things should be in Paris. We walked everywhere there, ate crepe’s from a street vendor (of course!), took a very long walk to the Sacre Coeur, and found a delightful candy shop along the way. Finished our walk eating from a bag of bulk candy and ended with an amazing view and black licorice breath.

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Oh, there are the bad associations of course. Who could ever forget the flavor of mom’s steak teriyaki after tasting it at dinner…..and then repeatedly during the night as the entire family shared a delightful gastroenteritis. I won’t. I won’t ever forget that taste. And I will never eat it again. We always remember what that last meal was before our GI tract shifts into a hard reverse….

No photo necessary.

I think it must be true that when we really experience a moment using all of our senses, including taste,  that moment stays with us. Forever I hope… at least the good moments.