Mommy Ever After » honest tea

crazy love.

mommyeverafter — Mon, 21 Mar 2011 22:02:01 +0000

Earlier today, as I drove home, listening to Elvis Costello’s “Brutal Youth,
I got nauseas.
You see, this tape (and yes, I listen to an audio cassette tape version of this album.) was my drive-time staple during the summer that I was pregnant.
I’d shout “Sulky Girl” at the top of my lungs, as my body succumbed to the terrible waves of morning sickness induced nausea.
And so, as I drove today, not at all pregnant, thank you very much,
I realized why these tunes were making my stomach flip and flop. It’s because I’m crazy.
Remember?
I’m a nut.
Like the time I thought I’d poisoned my nearly-fully-cooked fetus with some expired iced tea?
How about the myriad of other times that I’ve written about, my “crazy flag” waving high?
It’s OK. You can admit it. I won’t be offended.
I, generally, embrace my cray-cray.
It’s just who I am.
And today, as I heaved through “Thirteen Steps Lead Down”, I decided that it was about time for my crazy to be absolved of it’s bum rap.
Because guess what?
Even though some crazy is
well,
cray-zee,
other crazy can make life a little fun.
And, I hope that I’m always the kind of gal,
and the kind of mom who,
when my daughter asks me to eat ice cream for dinner, as a special treat,
or to dress up as a Princess, just to walk around the neighborhood,
or to dance around outside during a sudden rainstorm,
or to paint our nails all different colors,
or to stay up late, whispering secrets under the covers, even on the night before a big test,
that my answer is, forever, a resounding yes.
I know a mom kind of like that.
A mom who, when her 6 year old daughter got TWIN GIRL Magic Nursery Babies, was more excited than the little girl herself,
who let her children “earn back their privileges” with good behavior,
who thought that “Girled Cheese” was an appropriate meal 3 times a day,
who wants to be re-proposed to in the Zooballoon,
who is the kindest, most loving, giving, beautiful mother there is.
Yeah, I know her kind of well.
And her kind of crazy is fine by me.
And really, my friends.
What in the world is better than love love love love crazy love ?
I’ll tell you.
Nothing is better.
Nothing at all.

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Wanna hear something crazy?

mommyeverafter — Tue, 30 Nov 2010 01:12:21 +0000

My baby,
my tiny little girl,
is now mobile.
While she’s not quite crawling, she’s able to really get her move on. She rolls, she drags herself, she pulls herself and can sit up on her own.
She can, quite speedily, maneuver herself from one end of the living room to the other end of the living room, and back again.
But no, that’s not the crazy part.
This evening, my little cruiser decided to roll around on the floor with her doggy brother and sister, as my husband looked after her.
She rolled to the armchair where she sat up and looked around,
and then to the TV stand where she made faces in the reflection of the glass,
and then to the coffee table, where she banged her pretty little head.
She wailed, and wined and fussed.
She fussed for a little too long.
And then she threw up. It may have been a normal spit up, but I couldn’t help but to worry. And then she wobbled a bit, as she pulled herself up to sitting. And then I couldn’t help but to worry a little more. And so, I called the doctor, just to check in.
The nurse on call told me that it was “better to be safe than sorry” and that I should take her to the Emergency Room.
But no, that’s not the crazy part.
When we arrived at the ER and checked in, the woman at the welcome desk told us that my daughter was not in the system.
She had been born at the affiliated hospital.
We knew her Social security number.
Yet, no record of her name.
After a bit of research on the part of the receptionist, she determined that my daughter’s information, including our address, phone number and her DOB, had all been entered into the system under the wrong name. Not a wrong spelling. Not a close match. The wrong name. Yes, it had the same initials, but it was not really even close.
How crazy is that? But no, that’s not the crazy part.
When they brought us back to the exam room,
my daughter was able to demonstrate her newest new trick to the nurse.
You see, on Thanksgiving, the baby learned how to lean in and “give kisses”. Just today, she learned how to imitate the lips-puckered-kissing sound. The fact that she was able to learn and perform a trick on command made me feel a bit better.
But you know. I’m a little crazy sometimes. I needed to hear the doctor say she was OK.
And no, I’m not the crazy part.
As we waiting in the hospital room,
a small piece of fuzz floated into my view as it fell to the ground.
Aww man. I thought to myself. I wish it had been a feather.
I could use a feather right about now.
My thought was interrupted by the sweet, young nurse, who scurried into the room to tell us that the baby was looking great, and that despite her tiny bump she’d be just fine.
As she leaned in and stretched out her hand to squeeze the baby’s arm,
I couldn’t help but to gasp.
There, on her wrist was a big, shiny bracelet,
made out of a feather.
A feather.
What are the odds?
And that, my friends. is the crazy part.

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giving credit where credit is due

mommyeverafter — Tue, 28 Sep 2010 01:54:16 +0000

Today, my husband managed to surprise me.
I know that I have mentioned before that I am notorious for predicting my husband’s surprises, and therefore foiling any attempts to give me a shock.
There is this cosmic connection we share,
a keen ability that we have to read one another,
that makes any surprises, large or small, nearly impossible.
For instance, for my 24th birthday, my husband told me that we were going to be doing something special, and that I should get up and get in the car.
My first thought?
Color Me Mine, to paint pottery.
And I was right.
And we had never, ever discussed a painting studio, let alone visited one, before.
Something just spoke to me.
It’s weird, right?
This lack of surprise-ability has been a running joke in our marriage.
And, I’ve got to give the boy credit, he keeps on trying.
And, sometime he succeeds.
Like, today.
When I got home from work,
there were two packages laid out on our bed.
Before I could examine them, he stopped me.
“I wanted to get two tiny treats for my two special girls,”
he began.
“First, this is for the baby. I thought this would be perfect for when she does ballet.”
“And then here, this is for you. I saw you looking online last night at cozy lounge-wear, and now that it’s really getting Fall-ish out, I wanted you to have something cozy to cuddle up in.”
Obviously, I put it on immediately. It is the epitome of Fall yumminess.
He went on to tell me that he pictured us cuddling up, on a chilly, Fall day, with hot chocolate and a movie, with me wearing this.
I mean, seriously.
Does it get better?
This surprise meant the world to me.
It was something small,
but something so thoughtful,
and special,
and genuine.
I feel blessed to have a husband who noticed my late-night, online PJ browsing, and decided to pick out a little treat for me.
I feel blessed to have a husband who knows that I’d always prefer a cozy, flannel night shirt to a lacy little slip.
I feel blessed to have a husband who thinks that’s A-OK.
I feel blessed to have a husband who, after he surprises me with these little treats, heads downstairs, and says, “I’ll get you an iced tea, light on the tea, with ice and a straw.” Because he knows that’s exactly how I prefer my favorite drink.
I feel blessed to have a husband who picks out a leotard and tutu for our 5 month old daughter to someday wear to ballet class.
I feel blessed to have a husband who has ballet class on his radar.
So, even though I’m always ragging on him for being predictable, and for not being able to give me a shock,
when I really think about it,
he manages to surprise me, every single day,
with small, thoughtful gestures,
with an unexpected hug,
with a tall glass of iced tea, just the way I like it,
and, of course,
with a pretty pink tutu,
for our ballerina to be.
It may not be shocking, but it is sincere.
So husb,
thanks for the jammies.
Thanks for the tea.
And, most of all, thanks for being you,
surprises, no surprises, tutus and all.

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