So there’s this guy…

To the outside observer Cody and I are like oil and vinegar.

While I am peppy! outgoing! dramatic! and always with the talky talky!

Cody is shy. reserved. stoic.

I am an exclamation point. Cody is a period.

Both of my parents have never understood us.

We first saw each other in August of 2000. Our first date was mid November 2000. We were secretly engaged in early December, official by New Year’s and I had a big shiny ring on my finger January 16th, 2001. We were husband and wife less than six months later, two months after my 18th birthday.

Needless to say I would “pad” our time spent dating to a lot of people. I usually added about a year when strangers asked and a few extra months when people I knew asked.

I can’t stand newlyweds. Can’t stand people (celebrities mostly) who go on TV and GUSH about how in love they are. They give interviews claiming they have met the love of their life and they are ready to settle down and start a family, they claim marriage “fits” them. (And really when I say “they” I mean Britney Spears. Mostly.)

I was always cautious about admitting how in love with my husband I was. From the moment I met him. I knew people were watching us, waiting for us to fail. As the years passed by I still never proclaimed my love for him openly. When in reality I would squee internally every time his truck pulled up. Or every night when he would reach over to pull me close to him as we fell asleep.

I guess I never wanted to jinx it.

A neighbor of mine said to me a month ago that I never seem happy when Cody comes home. I don’t go to the door and greet him with a hug, a kiss and a “how was your day?” She was completely right, but even though I may not show it on my face, my stomach still does little flutters when I hear his key in the door.

Besides, If I were to run to the door and suddenly greet him he’d wonder what I had broken or how much I had spent.

We’re coming up on being together for eight years. I think it’s safe to finally admit something.

I am so disgustingly in love with my husband I could put any newlywed to shame.

I love the way he smells. I love the way my head rests perfectly on his chest when we hug. I love that his hands are always warm and they have the perfect texture, rough but not nasty. I love that he works so hard. I love how much he loves his family. I love how he looks when he comes home from work, sleeves rolled up, tie undone.

He knows me so well. I can’t hide from him. And yet neither of us completely depend on each other. I am okay with who I am without him by my side, but I know I wouldn’t be who I am if he had never stood there in the first place.

I love him.

I always have.

From that moment I opened my front door and saw him standing there on my porch with white socks, sandals and jeans.

We are supposed to be together. With all of our flaws, quirks, annoyances and faults.

I realize that eight years isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things. Bad things could happen. I could still be considered naïve to a lot of the world.

Cody wrote me the second love letter of our career last week. The whole letter was magical and spewing rainbow love kisses of glittery butterflies, but most of it is none of your business. This however stood out to me:

“I often find myself thinking about what kind of jackass I am for not telling you everyday how I feel about you. I made the perfect decision when I decided to marry you. We may have rough patches at times, but with each month since we have been here in Indiana, I have felt like we have grown closer and closer together. Maybe Indiana is our lucky state; and that just does not sound right.”

I no longer hate Indiana. It is our lucky state. Because whether we leave or stay, I have fallen more in love with him over the past two years than I had in the previous six. Funny how easy it is to love someone more when you share a strong mutual dislike for the state you live in something.

We are good.

We are in love with each other.

It may be the best feeling I’ve ever felt.

Now enough with the mushy mushy. As you were.

Let this be your good deed.

In my last post I asked you to vote for me to win a tech makeover. (And you did, thank you!)

But I take it back. I live a blessed life and so what if I have the screen resolution of a game boy?

This father was a firefighter who was injured 10 years ago and is now a quad just like my Aunt Cheryl.

My Aunt Cheryl made me who I am today.

Please vote for him, for his family. He’ll need at least 1,000 votes to get noticed. Can you help him out?

Tweet, blog, email. Whatever. It’s far more important for him and his family to win this than anything I could every use it for.

Thanks.

P.S.Need some crazy irony to help you vote? His wife’s name (who wrote the submission) is Cheryl too.

P.P.S. My aunt has the same wheelchair, and the new model hurts a lot less when she rolls over your toes. Just sayin’.

Humming to extinction.

I don’t do well at keeping things alive. Giving me a live plant or a seed in dirt is only giving that innocent shrub a death sentence. I thought at first I just wasn’t trying hard enough. I was given some paperwhites and told “It’s impossible to kill paperwhites.”

I never did kill them.

Never got the chance, never even got them to grow in the first place.

I wish I had taken photos of my herb garden FAIL! my front yard perennial FAIL! and all the seeds that the moosh has brought home from preschool. FAIL! FAIL! FAIL!

I’m pretty sure the only reason the moosh is thriving is that she has a very shrill warning system if I forget to feed or water her.

I decided to take on a new hobby this summer, birdfeeders. And I was doing really well, until I noticed how much bird food birds actually eat and I realized we’re not on the type of budget that will allow our backyard to be an all you can eat buffet for gluttonous birds.

It was fun while it lasted.

And a little scary when the food stopped coming and the birds perched on my fence and patio set giving me the stink eye.

I did however keep up with the hummingbird feeder. Hummingbird food is cheap, and guess what? Hummingbirds don’t eat a whole lot. Shocking, I know.

I had my little feeder suction cupped to my kitchen window and I watched as all the local hummingbirds started telling all of their friends about the local hummingbird cantina. Soon I had a whole flock of hummingbirds. (This is where I add in the part that I was the only one in the house who thought they were cool. It came to a point where I would tell the moosh to come! look at the hummingbirds! and she’d roll her eyes and if she knew the term “LAME-O” she would have been using it.)

It started to get a little chillier. The stink eye birds stopped hanging around. Everyone seemed to have gone South.

Except the hummingbirds.

I started to get all nervous. Here I was selfishly feeding these little nuggets of birds out of a completely unnautural feeder in the middle of nowhere (for a hummingbird at least, let’s just say my backyard is a last chance fuel station on the hummingbird Highway 66.)

Should I take the feeder down? Where do hummingbirds go in the winter? Do they fly South? Wouldn’t they tucker out awful quick on a diet of hummingbird Kool-Aid? Should I make them a house, become a hummingbird halfway house? Keep the feeder stocked and rig up some sort of heater?

I was seriously worried about what I had done to those little birds. They had brought so many friends…I didn’t want to be the one to lead to their downfall. (Srsly, there were at least a dozen different birds. Shut up, I don’t have many friends. And I’m in my kitchen a lot.)

Before I had time to worry the bitty birds split. Who knows where they ended up. Wherever they are it’s not my fault anymore.

Needless to say birdfeeding is not the best hobby for me.

********

P.S. Can you go to this site and click “Like it?” for me? No regestering, no nothing. Just click the “Like it?” button and help mama get a computer with better screen resolution than a game boy. I mean, assuming you like it. Or that you like me. Okay. um. thanks!

love love love. happy happy happy.

I want to tell you about the drug store employee that pulled a power trip on me.

I want to tell you how I almost caused the population of Hoosier hummingbirds to go extinct.

I want to tell you about Nigel Barker in a wetsuit asking if you’re ready to get wet.

I want to tell you about the love letter my husband wrote me.

I want to tell you about our family trip to Disneyworld in two weeks.

I want to tell you that I thought I was pregnant. And then I thought I wasn’t. And then I thought I was.

I want to tell you that I really wanted to be pregnant. But not really. But maybe, just not now.

Meh.

Anyway. It’s been a long time since I’ve asked you guys what the best thing was that happened to you in the last week. Anything. Naps, shiny hair, baby laughs, pregnancies, return of a favorite show? Lay it on me. And let me know if you want to know more about any of that other stuff up there.

It’s one of my favorite things about my blog. What makes you happy.

moosh in spanx.

I’m flying pretty high on the self esteem machine tonight.

Why?

Because I tried on my first pair of Spanx today and they didn’t do a darn thing for me. (Why am I 26 trying on super support panties? Because I read “an ode to Spanx” in the dentist’s waiting room and I figured why the heck not?)

Apparently my figure is already Spanxed.

I asked two different store employees if they could tell if I was or was not wearing the Spanx. They both guessed wrong both times.

Sweet.

Speaking of the dentist. I went for the first time in five years today (freaking no insurance.) One cavity. That brings my lifetime cavity count to one.

While I’m at it, my hair is so healthy from my recent cut and color that I can’t do a darn thing with it. It just sits on my head and shimmers. I’m considering letting Cody study by the golden glow my hair puts off.

Tell me, what parts of you have been behaving lately?

That chair.

When the moosh was tiny I spent hours in my glider with her, praying for her to just fall asleep already. There were so many things I wanted to do or could do if she would just. fall. asleep. I had my first good cry over motherhood in that chair. I’ve cured fevers and nightmares in that chair. I have laughed from that chair, played from that chair, screamed from that chair and have probably read over a thousand stories and sang well over a thousand songs in that chair.

It was over a year ago that she last fell asleep in my arms in that chair.

I have tried to trick her multiple times into falling asleep in my arms in that chair. Just so I can hold her warm little sleeping body, snuzzle my nose into her curls and listen to her breathe.

Like I used to.

Tonight I finally tricked her. I was ready to spend the entire night rocking in that chair holding onto my baby, sniffing her freshly washed curls.

She woke up after five minutes and asked to be put in bed.

I’m pretty sure she couldn’t have sank my heart faster with an anchor and lead weight.

You put them to bed as babies.

the moosh.

And they wake you up (what seems like) the next morning as little kids.

sproing.

It’s going too fast.

Comfortably broken.

Earlier in the summer when the temperatures started creeping into the 90′s my air contioning went fritzy.

“Mrs. moosh, it looks like your A/C fixed with parts and labor will be $1,300.”

DO IT.”

I didn’t think it through, I didn’t even consider getting a second opinion. Had it been something like brakes? Eh, negotiable. But A/C?

Fix it and fix it now.

That brings me to my camera.

It had been acting a little fritzy itself and I took it into a camera store just to make sure it wasn’t me.

“Mrs. moosh, your camera doesn’t focus. It needs to be fixed.”

“Focus? Pshaw. It still kind of works, right? I can make do…I don’t want to part with it.”

“Mrs. moosh? You’re an idiot, your camera doesn’t focus. Not a negotiable feature.”

“Fine. Fix it and fix it now.”

Then I learned that “fix it and fix it now” doesn’t apply to SLR cameras. It’s more like “we’ll fix it eventually and it should be back in 4 to 6 weeks.”

WEEKS PEOPLE. WEEKS.

I’m twitching without it. My right index finger is growing weak and becoming depressed from shutter withdrawl.

Colors are brighter and magical fairies riding tiny little unicorns appear in flowery meadows on a daily basis, only you’re going to have to just believe me because I don’t have a camera to prove it. A photographer was even the Higglytown Hero today.

The Disney Channel is mocking my pain.

I realize I live a blessed life, and that my camera is just a thing (I’m sorry camera, I don’t mean it! I LOVE YOU!) But there are just a few comforts and luxuries I don’t love going without in life.

A/C and my Camera.

You?

The hits kept on coming.

Foster parenting. Adoption. Scams. Miscarriage.

Chances are a good majority of humans can relate to one of these. For many of you, one of them may have been a defining moment in your life.

Now imagine having all four happen to you, one happen twice, and it all happening within five months.

Now imagine it happening to your best friend and being a thousand miles away from being able to make anything hurt less.

Some of you were around when I wrote a snarky post about my best friend being pregnant. Yes, it hurt. And yes, I went about it wrong. Now imagine my shame finding out that my best friend had a horrible miscarriage days later. One that landed her in the ER, the day after she took a difficult foster child into her home. She was almost seventeen weeks. Had it happened any later she would have had to labor to, well, you know.

My best friend was in Utah, I was in Indiana. I had no words to say to her, there are no words for situations like this. When I did get ahold of her, I could hear the pain in her voice. She wasn’t herself. Her writing was not the girl I had known for seven years. My heart ached for her, and short of constant prayers for her I was helpless. Helpless until I told my husband I was hopping on a plane to go to Utah to hug her. As much as you’d like to believe my very presence on her doorstep with lasagna in hand healed her instantly, it did not. I knew she had a long road ahead of her and no one could heal her. I saw a glimpse of what God must feel for all of us, wanting to take all of the hurt and pain away but knowing that’s not how it works.

A few weeks later a birth mom contacted Kim, telling her she was pregnant and due in June and that she wanted to place her baby with Kim’s family. Those who knew Kim were over the moon. Kim began to sound like herself again.

And then crap hit the fan again.

The birth mom was never actually pregnant. She was seeking attention, and she got it. But she couldn’t have picked a worse girl to mess with. Kim and her family had been warned about these “scammers” and yet were too overwhelmed with what had already happened to notice the warning signs right away.  Chelsia, if you’re out there? I hope you have a thousand tiny slivers in your butt cheeks and all you have to sit on are lemons.

The situation with the foster child continued, given her circumstances and emotional state she fell in love with that little boy and loved him as her own. There were rumors of adoption with him and his baby sister but they have both since gone to stay with their birth mother.

Lastly, the most recent development was that another birth mom picked Kim’s family to place her baby with. This one was really pregnant. And really sure Kim was the one. Kim was ready. If I can say one thing about that girl, she is adaptable. She spread the news of the upcoming adoption, feeling it was safe this time.

Safe?
BAH!

Things went a little wonky with the birth mother, the situation changed and this time Kim backed out for the emotional benefit not only for herself but for her family. She has been picked by two other birth mothers in the past but both decided after birth to parent their children, which is fantastic for the family that gets to stay together, but difficult for the family whose arms are left empty.

Through all of this Kim trained for a half marathon, and totally finished it.

Why do I write this? Because her story needs to be told. Kim is an amazing mother, wife, photographer and friend. Never in my entire life did I see her getting hit with this much garbage in a matter of months. Had she been your friend and you told me her story I wouldn’t have believed you.

No one is immune from pain, suffering or sorrow. But it’s how we deal with it that makes us stand out. And Kim is dealing with it like a superstar, despite her feelings of inadequacy.

Her baby Peanut would have been born two weeks ago. Had the original birth mom actually been pregnant she’d have a four month old baby to care for. Had the foster situation gone through she would have had two more children to love. Had this final adoption gone through? She would have had five additions to her family within five months.

Kim was born to be a mother, a wife, a photographer, a sister, a friend and selfishly, an answer to my prayers.

My Best Friend

To come that close to five children. And be left with none.

Can you imagine?