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Category Archives: love

One. Day.

I wake up cold. I roll over and hit my phone, because it’s beeping. Incessantly. That doesn’t stop it, so I sit halfway up in the bed and fiddle around with it until it stops making that horrible noise.

I look at the time and mumble, “Five more minutes.”

I roll over to shake my husband awake and my hand lands on the cold bed. He’s not there. I sit up, yell out his name before I realize that he doesn’t live here anymore. In my near-sleep state, I’d forgotten. Again.

The shock hits me anew, like it does almost every morning. My body shakes and I fight back the urge to scream and throw something.

No, not because we’re getting a divorce, because we aren’t.

Rather, I feel cheated.

Absolutely cheated.

I miss my husband so much that it hurts. I want to talk to him every second of every day. I have heard my entire life that the whole “obsessive” crazy thing wears off after the first two years of marriage, after the first kid is born, after the first time you walk in on the other using the bathroom, after you gain weight. All of these lines have been crossed, sometimes by accident, but they’ve been crossed.

We’ve been married almost 7 years and I want nothing more than to crawl in to bed next to him, tangle myself in his blanket and snuggle up next to him.

I want nothing more than his kids to be able to jump on him in the morning, giggling with glee at waking their daddy up.

I want nothing more than our lives to, for once, be normal and completely and totally in sync with one another.

For some reason, whether it’s Fate or God or just us being stupid, this doesn’t seem to happen for us. Being married isn’t easy for us.

It’s hard work.

To try to keep up the smiles, the happiness in the face of overwhelming sadness and depression, and to keep up the “normal” feeling of having a happy “home” in the same state.

I feel like I can’t tell him any of this, and it’s driving me insane.

I know, I know, there are many wives out there that have to live with the fear of having someone tell them their husband passed away during war. I lived with this fear for a while, although he hasn’t deployed since we’ve been worried, the possibility was always in the back of my mind, and I thank God every day that he decided to get out of the Army and think of his family.

I know, I know, there are many things worse than only seeing him for one week a month.

I get told this everyday by people that are just trying to make me see the glass as half full.

But, once, I’d just like for someone to see it as half empty with me, because although I have empathy for all the bad things that happen to other people, sometimes? I just want to feel bad for me. For my kids. For my husband. For my family.

So, yeah, I get it, things suck for everyone. But today? I just want to focus on how much things suck for me. Just for today, ok?

I just need that one day.


Halloween Costumes & Presents

We finally tried on the costumes. By “we” — I mean “the kids” tried on their costumes, cuz Mama don’t dress up.

As you can see, the costumes are adorable.

And the costumes seem to fit well.

Now to the “presents” part of my title. My birthday is next month and it’s kind of a big one (25) — so my wonderful, adorable, great husband has decided that buying me presents now is a good idea, as well as buying me presents then.

Do I mind this? Hell to the no. I do not mind.

This is what I got yesterday:

Isn’t it PRETTY? You know what it is? It’s a model of the solar system. In the form of a bracelet.

I’m a geek, and I embrace it.

Apparently, so does my husband.


Where I thank Ree for me seeing a movie McHusband suggested years ago….

The other day (maybe it was yesterday) Ree over at The Pioneer Woman (seriously, if you’ve never been to her blog, run DO NOT WALK, right now over to it, it’s amazing, you will love her, and not in a weird way, in a nice, sweet way) had this whole post about the movie When Harry met Sally and all the things she loved about the movie (specifically, it was this post). I’d never seen this movie. (Shut up! I am so a girl!)

Mostly because I grew up in the ’90s and we had people like Leonardo DiCaprio to obsess over.

”]Plus, in the ’90s — Billy Crystal was Mitch Robbins from City Slickers and everyone (me) was fine with that.

So, when my husband first mentioned the movie (he made a reference to the high maintenance woman who thinks they are low maintenance [I should probably check to make sure he didn’t mean me]) and asked me, almost incredulously, “You haven’t seen When Harry met Sally? REALLY?!?!”

I should have known then it was the movie for me, but no, just like I’ve turned away from other movies McHusband has suggested for me (I have good reason to, this man suggested I would lurve Lonesome Dove and almost every character dies in that movie, AND he made me watch the movie where John Wayne[‘s character] dies, I can’t remember what it’s called), I snubbed my nose when he suggested we watch When Harry met Sally one night before Thing 1 was born.

Oh, dear readers, how I wish I’d had taken him up on that offer.

Tonight, I watched it and I have to say, McHusband was right (don’t tell him I said that) this is one of the best romantic comedies I’ve seen in a while. It was wonderful, it was funny, it was dark and sarcastic, and perfect.

I mean, absolute perfection.

Although Ree, in the post above, does a great job of listing the best lines from the movie (what? you haven’t read her post yet? what are you WAITING for?) — she forgot a scene that will forever be my favorite.

It’s the scene where Sally calls Harry in tears to come over because her ex is getting remarried, and this exchange happens after he gets to her house:

Sally: No, no, no, I drove him away. AND, I’m gonna be forty.
Harry: When?
Sally: Someday.
Harry: In eight years.
Sally: But it’s there. It’s just sitting there, like some big dead end. And it’s not the same for men. Charlie Chaplin had kids when he was 73.
Harry: Yeah, but he was too old to pick them up.

I had to pause the movie, rewind it five million times, just to re-watch that scene over and over, it was absolutely hilarious.

So, thank you, Ree, for writing a post on When Harry Met Sally, which convinced me to see it.

(No, it’s not weird that I’m thanking someone I’ve never met and doesn’t know me from Adam, this is the internets, y’all.)

Growth spurts

Today, I took a few pants from Thing 1s closet to cut off at the knees. A lot of moms that I’ve known throughout the year always fuss about the seasons and changing clothes out. Although I sympathize, it isn’t something we do in WY. Mostly because we have a week of summer. Mostly because even the term “summer” is relative. ( As someone who grew up in Fl, I can promise you that summer up here is very, very mild.)

This could be a pro or a con, I’m not sure which yet.

Anyways, as I was taking pants that were way too short, but were still a little loose in the waist, Thing 1 stood next to me. I then realized the his head was up to my chest.

I’m not a short woman. I’m 5’8″, according to my drivers license (me? I say I’m 5’7.5″ only because I’m tired of being so dang tall). He, at five-almost-six (in September) years old, is already up to my chest.

This both scares me and makes me happy. I know that he probably won’t be bullied much. In third and fourth grade, I was the tallest student (not girl, student) in the entire school. This meant that the odds of my being bullied by any one person went down significantly based on how much taller I was. So, there was one boy that bullied me once until I stomped him into the ground.

The downside is, he’s so tall and skinny, it’s hard to find clothes for him. It is hard to think to myself, He’s only five, when he looks like he is at least seven.

I also have to deal with the Nosy Nessies out there thay challenge me when I say he’s only five. (I think I remember when I gave birth to my son, nosy. Also, if I forget, I have this handy dandy thing called a Birth Certificate that I can check). But that’s not a big deal.

I can’t believe they are growing up so fast. As much as my brain is happy about this, my heart aches.

And so does my uterus.


I’m in love with the “new town” — as the kids so fondly call it. I mean, in LURVE. I love it so much I would marry it, ya know, if I wasn’t already married. And if it were legal to marry a town.

Which I’m kind of glad it isn’t.

But, since I’m fairly exhausted (moving is hard, y’all) and I’m ready to go to bed, here are some random things that have been said since we’ve moved to the “new town”:

Thing 1: Mommy, is there a potty in this house?
Me: No, you have to use the outside.
Thing 1: Oh. Okay.
Thing 2: I don’t know ’bout that.
[SN: Rest assured, dear readers, there is a potty in this house]


Thing 1: We can stay in this town, Daddy. I saw the Wal-Mart today, so we’re okay.


Me: I love Albertson’s so much that I want to have it’s babies.
Husband: You just want to have babies with pretty much anything, don’t you?
Me: If you gave me bread, milk and a basketful of groceries for $30 — I’d have your babies too.
Husband: ….[blank stare]…..
Me: Oh, wait, scratch that.


Me: I don’t want to take a class where they tell me stupid things.
College Adviser: We don’t have classes like that here, dear, this is a college. We teach smart things here.
Me: Oh, that’s not what I meant. I meant things that….nevermind.
College Adviser: I’m not sure where you were going with that … so let’s move on…shall we?
[SN: Have I ever told y’all how incredibly stupid I am when I get little sleep? No. Shining example right there.]


Husband: (on phone, to me) Where are you?
Me: (driving on interstate, towards him) On the thing. With the … gray…. yellow stripes?
Husband: Interstate?
Me: Yep.


Me: Thing 1, where are your socks?
Thing 1: I don’t want to wear socks.
Me: That’s not what I asked.
Thing 1: I gave up socks. [shrugging shoulders]
Me: I’m not sure what you mean.
Thing 1: Socks are bad, like the debbil, so I stopped talking to them.


Me: Thing 2, which room do you want?
Things 2: Which one does [Thing 1] want?
Me: I don’t know, he’s not here yet.
Thing 2: Can we call him?
Me: No. Why?
[later….when Thing 1 & The Husband get home……]
Thing 1: I want this room [pointing at room].
Thing 2: You can’t have it, that’s MY room, [pointing at other room] that’s also my room.
Thing 1: I have to have a room!
Thing 2: Mommy told me I could have yours cuz you weren’t here yet.
Me: [beating head on wall]


The Husband: Hey baby, tomorrow I might have to go out on a job.
Me: Ok. When will you be back?
The Husband: I dunno.
Me: Did you ask about your benefits package?
The Husband: No. I forgot.
Me: Did you ask about a schedule?
The Husband: No. I forgot.
Me: Did you ask any important questions?
The Husband: I asked what my pay was, that’s important, right?
Me: [beating head against wall]

Yes, we’re crazy, but we’re also crazy.



I finished a book this morning that made the case for Anti-Feminism. Basically, almost reverting back to the 50’s. Which makes most women absolutely cringe.

It makes me cringe, but not because I’m all “I am woman – hear me roar!” but because my husband works a job where he is gone for a week or two at a time, only getting six days off when he is home, and then leaving again. It’s the nature of living in Wyoming. That’s how it is.

That sucks. I mean, absolutely, completely, sucks. 

Because I’m always the bad guy. I never get to greet my husband at 6 PM, smiling, ready to get a few minutes to sit in the corner with a cosmo while the children jump all over my darling husband.

No, instead, I’m the one that’s flipping my shiznit when my husband walks into the house after two weeks, with a bag full of laundry and dirty boots. I’m the one that is clawing at the door the next day, ready to get some me time without a kid following me to the bathroom and asking about pooping, for the hundred millionth time that day. I’m the one that is jumping in to the car and jet-setting an hour away to the nearest Starbucks so that I can just sip a coffee drink that I didn’t have to make myself or smell-test the milk of, because I haven’t made it to the grocery store yet. (And this is only with two kids, what the hell-o is wrong with me that I’d want at least two more?!?! Oh right, baby smell. That’s totally not the only reason. Although, it may be. I’m still unsure.)

So, in order for us to be able to afford my husband finding a job where he not only gets to come home to his darling wonderful superwoman wife, I have to get a job. It’s not because I “want” to (although I must admit, seeing other grownups consistently would be nice, but then I remember that I’m majoring in EDUCATION, to like, teach and stuff. What is wrong with me?) it’s because I have to, so The Husband can come home every night. 

I mean, he is missing out on his children. I have to tell him what’s going on when I talk to him at night, after the children are in bed.

Back to the book. I agree with the basic sentiment of the book. Women are happier when they take care of their own children. I don’t agree with everything the public school system teaches children, so it makes me nervous to even think about sending my kiddos there. Etc, etc, etc.

I don’t agree that children are irreparably harmed by going to day care, even from a young age. I don’t believe that children are harmed emotionally or any other way by having their mothers work outside the home.

I’ll be honest, my children have been to daycare twice, for only three-four month spans. So, a total of about 8 months, and they are five and four.

I’m moving on to the big, bad University in August, where I will be finishing out my BA in Secondary Education. (I’m bragging, ahem, sorry). I have mentioned before that I plan on having more children. Mostly because my womb is begging me, pleading with me, crying into my pillow every night, “Have more children, dang it! I’m DYING here!” Uh, ahem, moving on.

I am already feeling guilt.

I can’t stop going to school for four years again. It took me 3 years to get an AA — I can’t do that with my BA. I have to get a job in the next few years, or my children are going to miss out on their dad, and their dad is going to miss out on them, which they already are. That sucks.

But, then, I have friends that tell me that by going to school, I’m being selfish. By planning on working, I’m being selfish.

I think of adorable, tiny babies crying when I leave them at daycare (I know, it hasn’t even happened yet) and I already feel the guilt begin to settle.

And it’s overwhelming. 

The guilt of me not being able to take care of my own children because I married someone almost twice my age that wasn’t prepared for children.

The guilt of having my children when I was 18 & 19 years old because I couldn’t wait any longer, and setting up my future children to have to be away from their mommy.

The guilt of not doing more than I have to prepare. To think ahead.

I thought I was over wanting more children.

I thought I was happy with my small family, the way it is.

Then, last year, it hit me that I wanted more, that I wished for more.

I feel guilt from that too, that I’m not happy with just two. I need more.

Today, I feel guilty.

And I’m not sure what to do about it.

Because I’m not facing any of the problems that I’m feeling guilty over, yet. I’m not even there, yet. And still, there’s the guilt.

Raring it’s ugly head and staring it’s beady little red piercing eyes in to my soul and whispering in to my ear, You aren’t good enough for them. What are you thinking? You are a horrible, horrible mother. You are setting your children up for failure. 

Of course, I went to daycare as a young child (technically, more of a “family member” type daycare, I still call the daycare provider “Mama”) and I turned out swell. What? I totally did.

Ok, maybe not.

No, I’m sure I did.

My husband? Is totally crazy.

I’m baby crazy. Seriously. To begin with, I probably have 1000 diapers right this second, packed away in a box, waiting to be used. I also have over 20 packages of wipes. My husband has gotten pretty used to me asking for a baby something or another if I find something on sale. Today I found these:

For a whole $1.74 (Amazon price: $3.99) at Smiths. There were only four left (bummer) because I *LOVE* these little packages. They have smaller-than-travel sized baby stuff in it, which I throw in the diaper bag so that I have all of it on hand.

In any event, our conversations on baby stuff goes this way:

Me: Oh! Oh! Oh! *insert girly squeal* I really, really want to get this. Can I get this? Please?
Husband: What is it?
Me: *insert some baby something here*
Husband: But, do we need it?
Me: It’s on sale! Look — $500000000* off! What a steal!
Husband: Well. Ok, grab it.
Me: You know, we’re not even pregnant.
Husband: Yeah, I know.
Me: You are so awesome.
Husband: Yeah, I know.

He may be crazy awesome. But me? I’m just crazy.


*I have never found ANYTHING for  $500000000 off retail price. Yet.