My Drew

She's named after my Great-Nana, Jane Drew.   We call her DrewP (droopy?) because of her name and last initial.  All her friends and her teacher call her DrewDrew.  She's 8 years old, she's all about asking for forgiveness rather than permission, she's got dance moves to rival her dad's, she's a lover of reading and a hater of math, and she was the first one to call me mom.

Drew is my traveling companion.  She has come to Boston with me for the last 3 years and will be joining me again this year.  She's very even tempered and is unlike her siblings in that her mood is not dependent upon sleep or food so she makes an awesome traveler.  She can be stubborn but she knows right from wrong, most often makes good choices, and is quite mature for her age.  Kind of an old soul.  Like I was.  Or still am.  I was told that forever and I've been told that about Drew, too.

As she gets a little older I see much more of myself in her.  She's strong-willed.  She's loving.  She adores animals and babies.  She vies for position of The Boss in some situations and is just learning that that is not always important. I hope it doesn't take her 37 years to come to that full conclusion. 

I think she's beautiful.  She's got a tiny mole on the tip of her nose that appeared when she was about a year old.  She also has one in between her toes.  Just like I have.  Her skin browns nicely in the summer and her hair becomes nearly translucent.  She's tall and carries herself well.  

I am proud of her and I am proud to see that she is being compared to me as she matures.  It's good for my ego 'cause I think she's pretty awesome. 

Me, 1983.  Drew, 2013. 

30 years apart

  

Are you a good wife?

Are you a good wife? 

What does that even mean in your family or to your husband?

Dinner made when he gets home?  Well-behaved children?  Beds made every morning?  Sex 3 times a week?  All of his family's birthdays are remembered and acknowledged?  You make the most bomb banana bread from scratch for Sunday morning breakfasts?

I know what being a good wife means to Chris and it is something I strive for.  That's not a submissive thing, I think it's honorable.  I want to make him happy.  That doesn't mean that he doesn't have to try and meet my needs and make me happy, I'm talking about me.  I enjoy trying to be a good wife.  The definition and the role changes off and on and I can read that pretty well at this point.  It's a constant work in progress kind of thing.  My desire isn't Bible based and I don't walk around kissing the ground he walks on.  I just want to treat him the way I'd like to be treated and to create a loving home.  Plus I loooooooove him.  It comes naturally. 

I also hope to teach my girls what it means to always keep trying to be a good wife.  I hope they look back when they are married, or even when they are considering marriage, and recognize how I loved their dad endlessly.  It's ok to put him in his place, snatch him back into reality, soothe his ego, make his meals, tell him to put his God damned socks in the laundry basket, and laugh together a lot.  It also means compromise which can sometimes be the hardest to do.  Especially if you are a 5'11" blonde stubborn chick.   

No matter what being a good wife means to you and your husband my guess is that it starts with respect and ends with laughing together.  All the middle stuff is up to you and you can choose to work on it as much as you want. 

Should we discuss what makes a good husband next?  Blogger may not have enough room...

Respect,

 

laugh,

 

 have fun,

 

 

and keep working hard to compromise.

 

 

 

 

The ultimate in LAZY

I love new products that make my life simpler, easier, better.  Who doesn't?  This is kind of the ultimate in lazy, though.  But I'm ok with that. It eliminates the need to have to lean down and get the squirt bottle from underneath the sink.  And it eliminates the task of having to lift open the tab on the wipes and then making sure it's closed properly so that they don't dry out.

It's this.  And it's awesome.

If you haven't bought it yet, you must.  You think you don't need it, but you do.  Trust me on this.

See?  She didn't expend more than 6 calories in that entire clean up process.  You need this.

You're welcome.

What the what?

I'll be 38 this year.  I've had long hair for, oh, 35 years.  I've worn bobby pins off and on for probably 34 years.  And today, TODAY, I discovered that I've been wearing them incorrectly this whole time. 

Did you know you're supposed to wear them with the flat side UP? 

Please tell me I'm not the only one who didn't know that.  Have people been smirking at the back of my hair for 34 years?  How embarrassing.

Flat side UP, bumpy side DOWN. 

This is the beginning of a new chapter in my life.

Take a seat & make a friend

So sweet.  I hope I come upon a ballpit in the middle of a sidewalk some day.  I'd totally get in.

BS

Oooh, snarky.  My mood today has been super snarky.  No apparent reason.  Maybe 'cause I woke up with a little throat/chest thing?  That always puts me into semi-panic mode because as all moms know, getting sick is a nightmare.  I don't know.  Anyway, snarky.

When I feel snarky I feel like I am a bit more preceptive than normal.  This makes me want to call bullshit on a few things and I figured instead of talking Chris's ear off on the phone while he's at the firehouse, I'd do it here.  Plus, you can't just pretend to listen to me here like he would do there.

Bullshit:

• People whose facebook statuses are rainbows and unicorns and cotton candy every single day.  I have a damn good life and shit still goes down.  C'mon, keep it real.
• The salad I love at Chipotle is $9.  Really?  Lettuce, black beans, corn, pico, and avocado?  Really?  But, it's good, it's clean, and my kitchen stays untouched so it's worth it.  Damn them.
• Luggage fees.  Drew, Chris, and I are traveling to Boston this summer and we're bound to have to pay for at least one bag.  For weight?  If an airplane can carry the space shuttle, it can carry my blow dryer and flat iron. 
• Extra leg room on a flight.  I'm just shy of 6 feet.  Chris is 6'5".  We either have to fold in half for 6 hours or pay $45 more for room for our legs.  We help YOU in the grocery store reaching things on the shelves everyday, just give us the seats with more leg room without such a fee.
• When the kids wake up at 6:30am on Saturday and Sunday and then on Monday morning I have to wake the beasts at 7:10am while I hustle and scream at them to get out the door by 7:45am. 
• The biggest washing machine on the market still doesn't fit my machine washable Cal King comforter which I then have to pay $60 to have dry cleaned.

Oh, I could go on and on but I won't.  Tomorrow I'll wake with much less snark, read this post, and see how perceptive I can be.  And by perceptive, I mean bitchy.

 

Damnit. Fantastic.

I know that some of the country seems to be buried in snow right now but here in the Central Valley, we're experiencing this faux Spring that happens every year about this time.  Every year it confuses the birds and the trees and the flowers.  And every year it makes me take a step back and examine exactly how much I yell at my kids and for my kids.   Why now, during the faux Spring, you may ask?

Because.

This means it's open-your-windows-and-let-the-nice-breeze-come-in weather.  It's also the now-the-neighbors-can-hear-what-a-crazy-bitchy-yelling-mom-you-are weather.

Damnit.  Fantastic. 

I hate faux Spring.