moosh in indy.

“Is Daddy having a party? A birthday party? Can I make his birthday party? We need balloons, lots of balloons. Who’s going to come to his party? Only daddies can come to his party. I can come, because I’m a little girl, but friends can’t come and mommies can’t come because daddy’s a daddy and only daddies come to daddy parties.”

“Can mom come to his birthday party?”

“Um, yeah, you can come, you can bring him his cake. WITH THE FIRE! And we’ll SING! We need to get candlesticks for his cake. Is he having chocolate cake? Or chocolate cake? With frosting? I love frosting! Can I lick the spoon? Is daddy going to have a princess cake? NO! Just kidding. He’s going to have a football cake. A big brown football cake. A chocolate football. Can I help you make it? I’m going to need to lick the spoon. Let’s get balloons! Pirate balloons and Spiderman Balloons and Football balloons! Daddy’s a boy so he has to have a boy party. A Spiderman, football, pirate party, ARGH! Can I open his presents?”

“We have to wait until daddy gets home before you can ask if you can open his presents.”

“Oh. Can I have cake please?”

“We have to wait until after dinner for cake.”

“Let’s eat dinner!”

“We have to wait for daddy to get home.”

“Can I have cake while I wait for daddy? He won’t mind, he shares his cake with me.”

(Enter Cody)

“DADDY! Can I open your presents for you? (commences to tear them open and chuck each gift at him as she moves on to the next) ALL DONE! Time for CAKE! Daddy! I made you a football cake! With daddy beans in a heart! Happy birthday daddy. What’s your number? I’m going to be four, mom’s going to make me a princess cake, a Cinderella cake. She’ll sing, she’ll sing so beautiful. Is it time for cake yet?”

“the moosh, we have to wait until after dinner, if you ask one more time you won’t be having cake because I will have taped your mouth closed.”

“Oh, hee hee, sorry mom. I’ll ask daddy. Daddy? Can I have cake? Pleeease?”

*****

Birthdays are way more fun when someone’s around who actually thinks turning another year older is awesome.

If you’re not to hip to the gushy love garbage that us married folk can dish out now and again CLICK! AWAY! I warn you! Because I’m about to get ten kinds of mushy towards the man I call husband.

Yep, there he is. Pretty sad that the only picture I have of just him is from last year. Someone commented awhile ago that I should post more pictures of him, or even GASP! a family picture. Brilliant idea I say but he’s just not around enough to accomplish such a task. The sheer absence of Cody from my blog should be enough proof that the man really is gone that much.

But oh! He’s gone working his tail off for us. For our family and our future and for the chance that one day the moosh will be able to go to school and not have to worry about all of these stifling graduate student loans. His work ethic used to annoy me when we first got married. He would never (NEVER!) take a day off. The only time (seriously, only time) he ever called in sick was after his second trip to the ER in a week for an abscessed throat and three doctors ordered him to take the night off.

Now his work ethic has him accomplishing every goal he set for himself in law school. I don’t have to worry about him dropping out, or finishing school and deciding “Huh, this really isn’t for me, I think I’ll give long haul trucking a try.” Despite the fact that he annoys the daylights out of the moosh and me any chance he gets, we know we are the center of his universe and he’d do anything for us.

Have you seen the hot Australian on American Idol? All scruffy and hot singing his hot hot songs? Yeah, I saw him too. And then I saw him again, only this time I though “Huh. He’s alright.” And then I saw him again. The spark was gone. Alli explained it perfectly on her Marriage Hacks site. “Research has proven that when we are in love we look at members of the opposite sex as less attractive.” Hence the reason the hot sweaty Australian lost points in my lusty love book.

That brings me to the whole theory surrounding the seven year itch. Well I’m at seven years and the only itch I feel is his tie tack when I loosen it at the end of the day. (Men dressed in slacks with their sleeves rolled up, collars unbuttoned and ties loose? Oh, mama.) I’m in love with this man who sings the Tigger song to the moosh at night, who saves me cupcakes from law school functions and who lets me have one night a week where I can walk out the door and be by myself as soon as he walks in it. Actually, I love him more now that I ever have in the past seven years. The only difference is we show our love now through constant annoyance and relentless teasing.

Sweet sweet love.

So there you have it. I’m smitten kitten in love with the man who also happens to be the father of my child, my husband for time and all eternity, the biggest pain in the arse I know and who also happens to be a year older today.

Happy birthday you hunk of delicious man meat.

I’d like to introduce you to my bed.

Upon further inspection you’ll notice the pillow to spouse ratio is a little off.

1. Hidden body pillow.

2. Accent pillows.

3. My woobie pillow.
4. My woobie blanket.

5. Cody’s regular pillow

6. Cody’s body pillow

7. My regular pillow.

Unfortunately our *ahem* problem has been passed down a generation.

Allow me to explain.

1. Collection of Princesses and Fairy Godmothers.

2. Princess pillow.

3. Quilt made by me (more or less)

3a. Green blanket.

3b. Red blanket.

3c. Pink blanket.

4. The all important purple woobie. (also made by me.)

Needless to say the moosh never sleeps in our bed because of our, well, stuff.

Cody and I can barely stay in the same bed.

It starts out something like this:

Civil enough right? And when we get all hot and I get sick of chest hair tickling my nose we split into something like this:

Around the middle of the night we’ve adjusted slightly.

We find each other again in the early hours. Though by now we’re a lot more potent with sleep smell:

By morning it’s every man for himself.

Except Saturday and Sunday mornings when the moosh and her woobies take over join us.

Needless to say we don’t sleep in much on the weekends.