Just a random thought...

I was sending The Hubster a return text tonight, telling him to have a good evening at work. As I was ending the text with our standard, "I love you", I inadvertently typed "live", rather than love. I corrected it and sent it on it's merry way; yet, hours later, I find myself thinking about it still.

You see, I do "live" him. What else would you call it? Our individual lives are melded into one. I oftentimes pick up after him, much like one of our children. I care for him when he's sick. I listen to him when he needs to vent over a current frustration. I prepare his meals, clean his dirty laundry, and make sure he wakes up with his alarm. Raise and care for his children. I trip over his shoes on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night, and grumble about the washing machine full of loose change that I always find when he tries to help me by doing some of his own laundry.

Along the same lines, when something is upsetting me, he is the one I turn to. I always know that he will be even more upset than me; my very own Champion of Justice. He tolerates my incessant desire to decorate our home - even jumping right in up to his armpits and helping when I'm sure he'd much rather be golfing. He takes the time to go grocery shopping with me, telling me that it's not fair for me to have to do it by myself and that there's nowhere else he'd rather be. When I'm having a girly, "fat", day he pulls me in his arms, kisses my head, and tells me that he thinks I'm beautiful. Even when I'm wearing his baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt three sizes too large. He tries, in his own manly way, to care for me when I don't feel well...and takes it on the chin when I whine because the cheeseburger he brought me is not my idea of a cure for the flu.

You see, way back when...almost two decades ago...we were "in love". I still love him, but it's transcended now. Now I'm in LIFE with him...and from where I stand it just doesn't get much better.

Sometimes a gal just has to give in to the evil...

Case in point, tonight in our little cottage. I've had a muscle cramp under my shoulder blade for three days that is PAINFUL. Thinking I'd soak it out I ran a hot bath, turned on my favorite Pandora station and relaxed. A little while later The Hubster poked his head in the bathroom to ask me a question ('cause, you know, taking a bath alone when you're the sole female of a household does NOT happen. Ever.), and mentioned that he liked the song that was playing.

I should have resisted, I know.

Good girls just don't DO bad things like this.

I knew how mean it was.

In the end; however, I couldn't hold myself back. Without missing a beat I got a confused look on my face and said, "Honey? Umm...what song? There's no music playing."

Did I mention that The Hubster has a tendency to get spooked easily when it comes to the paranormal. His eyes got saucer-sized, and that head popped back out of the bathroom as quickly as it had appeared. Of course, no before he heard my raucous laughter and realized that I'd made a monkey out of him.

Oh, and in case you were wondering? The song that caused the moment of panic is below. Enjoy!

Yesterday

Today The Hubster celebrates his 41st birthday. To commemorate the occasion I wrote him a little story centered around our first meeting on Facebook and tagged him in it. You can see it below.

I posted this video along with it. 

That song perfectly sums up our relationship. I'd marry him yesterday, today, and tomorrow. No hesitation, no doubts. Now we sound like newlyweds, huh? Nah. We've been together for just shy of 17 years now. Pretty much conjoined twins from our first date to the present. Has it always been easy? Umm....NO! I can't tell you the number of times that it would have been easier to throw in the towel and call it quits, rather than fix what was broken. The Hubster and I don't think like that, though. We're fixers. We got married determined to grow old and gray together. It'd be kind of stupid to throw all of that away just because you're both too stubborn to work on yourselves.

ANYWHO....I'm off track here. Writing that little story for him has made me wax poetic about the passage of time in our lives. Whether we're on this earth for a second or a century it's still just a blink of the eye. You see, to me, it feels like just yesterday that he barked out the order for my phone number. When I look at his face, now starting to show the lines of aging, I can still see the smooth skin, crooked grin, and dimples that are forever stamped on my heart from our first meeting. I still feel like the young girl who repainted her nails 4 times the day of our first date, because I couldn't decide on which color I wanted.

Just yesterday I was wrapping our youngest son up in his hooded towel after his bath, heading to his room to get him diapered and dressed. We had a ritual, you see. As he was getting lotioned and powdered we'd sing "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes". Then, as soon as he was dressed, we'd sing "Ten Little Indians" on his itty-bitty fingers. A quick brushing of his sweet smelling hair and it was off to the recliner to read Please Try To Remember the First of Octember, which was always sure to get a giggle. 

That sweet little baby will officially be a teenager in 2 short months. He's spent his day evenly divided between playing PS3 and taking care of me, as I'm down for the count with a bad cold that's trying its best to turn into bronchitis. He made me a bagel and bacon for breakfast. He's brought me glass after glass of ice water. Heated up some leftover chili for my lunch. It seems so unbelievable that he's already almost grown, that our time as parents is almost over.

See what I mean? Yesterday is just chock full of things that just happened...even if the reality is that they happened almost two decades ago. That's how fast it passes. You blink and it's over. I guess I could allow myself to feel maudlin about it. I'd rather feel anticipatory, though. I'd rather look forward to the next blink...the next breath...the next yesterday, because I have a feeling they're going to be just as special as today's yesterday is!

Let It Be

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about why we, as adults, can't just let it be a little more. Specifically when it comes to our children. Why do we feel the need to push them to be more, be better? Are they not perfect just as they are? The sad truth is yes, they are, but we feel the desire for them to be superstars, to be perfect in everything that they do.

I'm no exception. My youngest has a horrible time making decisions. To the point that, if it's something that really matters to him, he has a mild panic attack. Almost always this ends with me forcing the issue, telling him he has until the count of 10 to make a decision, and whatever decision he makes at that point is the final one. As I sit here now, reflecting on past actions, I wonder if it would all turn out differently if I would just talk with him, asking him to point out to me what is making him unable to make up his mind. If I took more of a practical approach, teaching him to work through the blind panic that he suffers from his fear of making the wrong choice. Perhaps a list would work for him - pros on one side, cons on the other. The point is that I need to let him be. I need to not force him to make a decision, but teach him that he can make one while still being true to himself. He's fine the way he is, and his lack of decision-making ability is part of that "fine".

Growing up my parents told me constantly that I needed to "toughen up". That wearing my heart on my sleeve would just get it broken. While I know that my parents loved me hearing this constant drone of what was wrong with me has haunted me every day. It led to a lot of questioning myself, not knowing who I was, and feeling like no matter who I was I just wasn't good enough. It's taken the better part of 15 years for me to work through this, to realize that I am the best that I can be, and that even if I am a little soft, even if I do let my emotions shine through, that it doesn't make me a bad person. It doesn't make me unworthy. Do I get my heart broken more than most? More than likely. Could I benefit from being a little tougher? I figure so. Does that diminish my ability to love, or my deservedness to be loved in return? Not in the slightest.

I guess the moral of this little blog entry is simple. If you find yourself picking at your child's character and the behavior that they're exhibiting is not destructive to them or others maybe you should just let it be. Let them become the best that they can be without the constant self-doubt that is going to plague them otherwise.