The Intruder(s)

    In just a few weeks I will be turning 34, thirty...four. Remember when you were a kid and you couldn't wait to be older? Remember when 34 seemed forever away. Remember when the idea of wrinkles seemed impossible. Remember when your kids couldn't talk, and couldn't point out all the things wrong with your face, "what are those lines around your mouth" or "wow, you have rows on your forehead...  " Oh children, I wish I could punish you for your honesty, but I  can"t, so I simply smile, taking note of  their stupidly, perfect skin, pat them on the head and try not to smack 'em on the way out.
 The uninvited guest who made a nice little home on my face has made me go form the  girl who spent every waking minute in the sun, to the woman at the pool wearing giant sun glasses, a giant hat, and 75 SPF. No, I'm not trying to look glamorous, just young. It seems like once I hit 30, it all just started going down hill and thus began my obsession with my "life lines". I'm always looking at face creams and trying to find the next insanely, ridiculously huge hat.   
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With that being said, my husband found me the other day looking at all my wrinkles that have crept up over the years. "Whatcha doing?"
"Just trying to figure out where all these wrinkles came from. Why didn't you tell me I'd gotten so old?"
  "Old? I think you mean womanly."He said with a crooked smile "I love your life lines."
"Really? Why?"
"They make you look like a woman, no longer the young lady I married, plus I have been there to see most of them come about---I think they're sexy."

Hmm. Sexy huh? Felling dumb and somewhat vain, I turned and looked back at my newly found "sexy" life lines. They really did tell a story of my life.
     I could see all the worry on my forehead from  every time I let one of my kids out of my sight for more than an hour, their late night fevers, and not knowing what the future held for my family when we lost everything .  My eyes told stories of sunrises, all night newborn feedings, diaper changes and  late nights with friends. But the parenthesis around my mouth were the deepest of them all. I can look at them and clearly see all the joy my life has brought me. They remind me of all the thousands of laughs I have shared with family and friends, my wedding day, the birth of my children, and the one special smile which comes only when I catch my husband watching me from across the room.
  So maybe I should embrace my wrinkles and all the many ones to come, after all, they have helped to mark me as the 'woman' I am today.
   
   

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Shame, Shame, Mr. Bunny!

       What is it about Easter that makes people so nuts? Of all the holidays it should be one of the easier ones to deal with. All you should have to do is color some eggs, hide them in a yard. If don't find all of them, don't worry, you will smell it in a day or two.  But somewhere along the way, this simple game/tradition began to change. It all got complicated. Now we have plastic eggs, filled with everything you can think of, from mini Darth Vader's to Lego's. On top of that, you feel obligated to make your kids sit in the lap of a giant homicidal bunny, even though the kids themselves are terrified..

    When did it all turn to madness ?  When did it become so much about 'stuff'? Has it always been so crazy? Is it  normal  that I fought for a holiday ham with a lady three times my age today? I know the answer and will call like it is, yes... I am...a holiday whore. Where every tiny, little, thing has to be just right or my kids won't be happy. This is how my head works, simply ridiculous.      
    I wasn't brought up this way. Some of my best memories growing up are of Easter. We got ready for church and immediately went to my grandmother's house afterwards where all of her children and grandchildren would come and stay for the rest of the day. Cousins and Aunts and Uncles I hadn't seen since Christmas were all around me once again. A huge feast was set out, quickly devoured, and then it was time to play. Easter was a celebration. Not about candy or eggs, all that was cool, but really it was about being together. All the kids would play in the warmth of the sun only to be scolded later for tearing our tights or getting our 'Sunday best' filthy. It was great.
     I hope for all of you,the Easter's today aren't all that different from mine growing up.  You should be with your family and eat until you can't any more.  Maybe my grown up mom vision is getting  in the way of seeing the simple pleasures being played out right in front of me. The good news is,I found a support group and  I'm taking the first steps to recovery. My kids will get over the fact their baskets didn't come with soccer balls or new Lego sets, or that they each got one small chocolate bunny and some jelly beans. I know they will be satisfied for now, for as we all know, another glitz filled holiday, is right around the corner.

It's the me or the couch

      He is a very hard worker don't get me wrong. He is a fireman and on his days off my husband picks up as many shifts working as a paramedic as he can. By the time the poor guy comes home, his brain is perfectly mushed, his eyes are glazed and blood shot enough to fool any zombie into thinking he is one of them. So I encourage him to sit around and do nothing for the day  and my kids and I wouldn't have it any other way! And that is fine. But for whatever reason, at night,  he never wants to come to bed and fall asleep with me, or at least that is how I interpret it.I always find him on the couch and have to retrieve him. I know he loves me and wants to be with me , blah, blah, blah. But on these nights, I feel like I have to compete with the couch.I mean, what guy willingly wants to sleep on the couch? Isn't the couch reserved for when your in "the doghouse"?  I don't know why, but it makes me crazy.     
    So here I am,2 in the morning, having some awesome dream about me being the first female spider man,er...woman,and of course I'm trying to do my duty to protect this world, when my brain notices the spot next to me in the bed is cold and empty. I'm awake. Where is he? This is his chance to sleep in a warm bed with his amazingly wonderful and super gorgeous wife.  Wait! Was it all the garlic I had in my dinner? Is it the flannel nightgown my great grandmother gave me to wear?  (So what if she has on just like it, she just has good taste. It's sexy in its own old fashion sort of way) And don't even act like you didn't know I was lactose intolerant, we have been married for 12 years. My eyes slowly crack open as I'm drawn to the sound an old Star Trek reruns blaring from the other room.
     Really??? That is why he's not in bed with me? To watch an all night marathon of Star Trek. C'mon Mr.  Spock,  talk some logic into this guy. He's been awake for 2 days! I instantly find myself insulted and mad as hell as  I walk down the hall to find my husband who is still MIA. I looked to the left and was  greeted by Captain Kirk himself wooing a fellow shipmate when I spot my  husband passed out on the couch. The couch, my arch nemesis. Oh how many nights have you stolen him from me. Well not tonight buddy...HE"S MINE! But then I see him lying there, my best friend, the love of my life,fast asleep, curled up in a ball and trying to fight the cold,( reminding me to check on our children  to see if they need anymore re tucking on the way back to our bed). How can anyone be mad at this man?(who is obviously in denial about his age, thinking he can stay up all hours of the night. Bless his heart.).
    A few hard shakes later and he is on his feet headed down the hall, looking like a toddler taking his first wobbly steps. We make it to our bed, I  get his shoes off and cover him up. I  make my way back to my side of the bed hoping to find the warm spot I left still waiting for me. Nope. I'm freezing. My toes are ice. I cram them, er...I mean , snuggle them up to my human heater husband. He jolts awake long enough to  kiss my forehead and seconds later he is out. I feel content having him there next to me, knowing he is safe and sound.
   I close my eyes only  to be awoken a second later by the sound of a thousand trees being sawed down all at the same time. I try shaking him and calling his name. No don't start snoring. I'm not asleep yet. I lay awake, cringing at every breath. I know by now  there is no end, yet I continue to wait  for another 30 minutes praying for the snoring to stop. No use. I know I have no other choice but to retreat. I grab my pillow and an extra blanket and  head down the hall into the piece and quiet. It's nearly 3a.m. I look into my sons' room for some solace. I decide I'm not that desperate and continue walking on into the den. I roll my  eyes at what is there waiting for me with its stupid, big, overstuffed, super comfy, extra cushioned arms waiting to embrace me. If it had a face I would have punched it.  I wrapped the blanket around me and my unflattering,ankle length, grandma-ish flannel nightgown and  no sooner does my head hit the pillow, I find myself fast asleep on  what else, but the couch.