this kind of glamour

Two days ago, we went for a morning walk as a family.

I had the baby in her baby carrier and she clutched the fingers of my left hand oh so tight.

In my right hand was the hand of my lover.

As we walked along,

drinking in the warmth of the sunshine,

I got teary behind my sunglasses because I realized that

I have a life to be envied.

I'm not meaning to sound snooty

I just suppose that a life that looks like mine didn't always seem appealing or glamorous to me.

We are not rich.

I do not have any Broadway credits.

We don't go to fancy parties.

The Mister works incredibly hard but won't be retiring at age 35.

Most days I get showered, put on my makeup, do my hair, get dressed and never see anyone but the Mister and baby.

He is losing his hair

and at this current moment...so am I.

For 20+ years, I had a very sure idea of what I believed a glamorous life included.

I don't have any of the things I thought made glamour

and yet I am extremely content without them.

I have a husband that holds my hand

and tells me that I'm beautiful.

I have a daughter who grins a gummy grin,

claps for every stranger she meets,

and tries to sing along with every song.

I cook three meals a day, seven days a week.

We live on a small budget.

But we have 

everything.

Because we are not rich, we have learned to love what we do have.

The most excited and responsive audience I've ever performed for is my eight month old sitting in her high chair. I seriously doubt that a broadway audience was ever as enthusiastic as Celine is.

Instead of going to fancy parties every day, we get to sit down around the table together for at least one meal a day...and sometimes more.

The Mister comes home from work with the most interesting stories to tell

and I look forward to learning new things from him every night.

We look different than we did when we first met, but when I look at the Mister I don't see a receding hairline and somehow he doesn't see the dark circles and the extra ten pounds I'm carrying around. 

I have found a deep happiness by realizing what a grand life I lead despite missing 

the stage,

my figure,

and getting dressed up in a dress and high heels.

Perhaps, in my naivety, I would have dreamed of going out last night to the opera

or a dinner party

but instead I sat by watching Celine as she watched her Papi as he read to her. 

And my heart swelled up

and I said a grateful prayer

for this kind of glamour.

Dear Moms,

I just want you to know that you are good.

You are good if you had an epidural.

You are good if you went all natural.

You looked super great at the hospital having your baby

and you looked super great having your baby at home.

You are pretty fabulous if you gave birth yourself
and you are just as fabulous if you stood by waiting for a sweet child to be placed in your arms by way of adoption.

You are great if you use disposable diapers

and you are great if you have made the choice to use cloth diapers.

You are super grand when you make your own baby food

and you are super grand when you buy it pre-made at the grocery store.

I think you are inspiring if you post one hundred pictures of your kids to instagram every day

and I think you are just as inspiring if you choose to keep those memories for yourself.

I am amazed by families that enroll their children in loads of extracurricular activities

and I am just as amazed at those that don't.

I am equally impressed with mothers that live by a strict schedule

and those that follow the impulses of their children.

I am really excited for those that are have 20 children 

and those that find that 1 is enough.

I am happy for you that your child slept 9 hours through the night

and I'm happy for you if he/she only slept 9 minutes because that means you got to have snuggles all night long.

What I'm trying to say here

 is that I think that the fact that you are even attempting this whole 

motherhood/fatherhood/parenthood

thing is pretty fantastic

and I think that you should feel pretty great about all the choices you make for your family.

Because, remember, they are YOUR family.

So, stop reading the 

blogs,

posts,

statuses

that make you feel that what you are doing isn't 

good enough,

cool enough,

or in the best interest of your child.

You will do what is best for your child

and that lady at the end of that other blog that you read is going to do what is best for their child.

So own it

and stop comparing yourself.

And if you are one of those people that like to tell people what is best for everyone...

knock it off.

La-La-Love!!!

I think I've finally figured out what love is.

This questions nearly drives me crazy.

What is love? 

("Baby don't hurt me...don't hurt me...no more")

(That song is now in all of our heads.  Sorry.)

Give it a go.

Try to define...with words...what love is.

Let me know what you come up with.

(No seriously, leave your definition in a comment, please.  I'd really like to know.)

It's love month.

A single day of love is not nearly long enough, so we celebrate love month.

We did some special things yesterday 

and reminisced about how I broke up with the Mister on Valentines day three years ago.

(Nearly the biggest mistake of my life)

(Luckily for me, the Mister is the most forgiving person in the world...and has continued to prove that 3 1/2 years later.)

(I wonder how many sets of parenthesis I'll use this post...guesses?)

(Maybe ten.)

Let me explain why I made the eager decision to dump my honey.

I didn't believe in changing what I imagined the world should be like.

I was 24 and knew exactly what I expected from a husband.

(Note to 24-year-old self...you NEVER know exactly what to expect from a significant other.  Never.)

When my then boyfriend asked me a question about an event I was performing at

and I answered with

"No.  You don't need to be there.  It's not a big deal."

HE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THAT WHAT I MEANT WAS

"If you miss this event, I will tear out your heart and break it in two."

That was back when I believed that men could read women's minds.

We were broken up for five days.

All five of which I saw him somewhere around town

(and every time I saw him, my heart felt like someone was beating it with a hammer)

On the fifth day, I was sitting in the parking lot of my apartment in my purple Honda Civic

when I called my dad to explain the whole situation to him.

He listened carefully and then said the very opposite thing that I wanted him to.

"You owe that man an apology.

Whether you get back together or not, you owe him an apology."

Dang it, Dad.

So I did

And it was super hard

And humiliating

And I pretty much haven't stopped apologizing since then.

Because, let me tell you something

Love is choosing to stand by the same person through change after change after change.

That's what love is for me, anyway.

The Mister chose to stick with me even after that first time that he saw that I have major weaknesses.

And he, miraculously, chooses to stay next to me when

I leave all the lights on in the house.

I am screaming like a lunatic while in labor.

I act super crazy and blame it on no sleep.

I act like a drama-queen.

I get mad because his socks are on the floor and not in the laundry hamper.

When I throw out my back because I'm too stubborn to let anyone help me do anything.

And when I am still the worst Spanish speaker in the land even though I've been trying for years to learn.

And I choose to stay standing next to the Mister

when his job takes us away from family so we move

and then we move again

and again

and again.

When he never puts his dirty socks in the laundry hamper.

When we have $9 dollars in the bank account and still ten days until pay day.

When we start businesses that fail.

When we have dreams that pass by without becoming reality.

And our love will continue because we are not who we used to be

and we love each other anyway.

I know that we will continue to be become even less of our 24 and 25 year old selves

and times will get even harder

but we've chosen to stick it out

and enjoy it.

That's what love means around these parts.

And these:

(thanks to our friend Zack at EasterCloset.com for introducing us to this video.  It's fairly life changing.)

Happy Birthday to this gal

Grandma Elaine would have been 82 today.

I am her name sake and I couldn't be prouder.

I've never met Grandma,

but I know her...

really well.

There have been too many times to count where I have felt her strength,

or seen her in my own mother,

or listened to people talk about how much more fun things would be if she were still around.

From the time I got my drivers license, to the time I moved away from Utah,

I spent countless hours sitting at her grave.

Being there brought me immense peace.

I used to sit on the grass (during the warm months) or in my car (during the cold ones)

and talk to her.

She would always get quite the earful.

I always knew she was listening.

The day Celine was born I felt her there.

I like to imagine Celine, up in Heaven, with her three great-grandmas 

as they prepared her to pay us a visit.

I like to imagine that Grandma Elaine was reassuring Celine that although she was coming to two rather incompetent parents, that she would watch out for her and help her out.

Growing up, I often heard my mother say

how much Grandma would love to be present at this event, that game, or that recital.

I also remember her saying how proud Grandma would be of where all of her grandkids ended up.

I hope it's true.

But most of all,

on this birthday,

the people on my mind are her children.

Grandma had to go at the tender age of 48

leaving behind five children ranging in age from 13-28

and I just don't know how you ever recover from that.

But they have, and they have done it well.

Grandma was a grand lady.

On the go constantly,

and heavily involved in the community.

But her greatest tribute is her children.

I know they miss her,

but they've made fabulous people out of themselves

despite the absence of their mother.

And I guess for your 82nd birthday,

there couldn't be any better gift than that.

I just know that she's proud...

and probably drinking a Coke and playing cards.

Love you, Gram.

Happy Birthday.

The names we call them

I am by no means a parenting expert,

but I did nanny for nine years,

and I learned my fair share of techniques that are being used and ousted and perfected with a baby of my own.

Not to mention, I was parented by two of the most perfect parents on the planet 

and that's got to be good for something, I suppose.

I would like to share the greatest lesson that I have learned by observing my parents and throughout my first  decade of caring for children.

Be careful of the names you call them.

In the nannying of one family,

this lesson hit me square between the eyes.

I observed the children with their parents and let me say...

BRATS.

with a capital B.

I started an experiment.

I told them on a daily basis what good children they are.

I reminded them of how special they are and how happy they make me.

I called them sweet and kind

and I never called them brats, annoying, spoiled, etc.

An amazing thing happened.

I had well behaved children.

We never even had a single temper tantrum.

Not one.

Until Mom or Dad would walk in the door and 

BAM!

the floodgates of terror would open and Satan's spawn would return.

Tantrums.

Biting.

Screaming.

Yelling.

Fighting.

Throwing.

Punching.

And Mom and Dad would say 

"You are such a little brat"

"Don't be annoying"

"What an attitude"

"You are a stinker"

Here's my philosophy:

What children are TOLD they are...

THEY BECOME.

I was told that I was bad at math.

So I am.

I never tried to be good at it because I was told I wasn't.

If our children are told they are brats,

why would they try to be anything else?

So when I see sweet babies and little ones called 

Divas

Terrors

Beastly

Brats

Naughty

Stinkers

and

Annoying

I wonder if they will ever try to become anything else.

Why would they?

If my potential is capping off at "being a brat" 

I may as well live up to that potential, right?

So anyway,

don't be alarmed when your children become what you frequently refer to them as.

And don't say you weren't warned.

Wisdom from the 8 year old

We have visitors.

The Mister's older brother, his wife, and their four children are enjoying the Arizona sunshine with us this week.

This morning, I was sitting around with the three oldest children, playing the
"what's your favorite _____"
game when our conversation went like this:

M (5 year old boy):

 "Ask us what our favorite thing is in the whole world!"

Me: 

"Ok.  What's your favorite thing in the whole world?"

M: 

"My bb gun....and my parents."

A (3 year old girl): 

"the bb gun and my dolly"

The Mister:

"My iPhone....I'm kidding!  I'm kidding!"

B (8 year old boy): 

"Well, I'm just really happy about 

electricity and friendship."

I think we have a winner.