Gone fishin

Ok, so I'm not going fishing, but I am going on vacation starting Saturday. I had intended on posting this week...maybe catching up on some of your posts, but I'm just not going to be able too. The girls are on spring break, which means they have nine zillion things to say, even more things to do and well...neither of them are old enough to ignore yet. Really, it's kinda fun to hang out with them. My kids are neat little peoples. Oh, and the boy, he crawls. Did I tell you that? Like full on crawling. Dude is fast too; he is now into everything. Plus, hai, vacation for nearly two weeks, which means clothes need to be bought (god forbid anyone fits into their spring clothes from last year), items packed (holy crap I have to pack a ton of stuff to leave the kids for 10 days....and yes, we are leaving Harrison. Sob.) and a zillion other little things that add up.

Basically, I am taking a vacation. I may be on Twitter or The Facebook every now and then, but I won't be posting and I'm planning on ignoring my reader until I get back. I have lined up some amazing people as guest posters. Those won't start until next week though. Until then, well I hope you'll all forgive me for disappearing for a few weeks. I'll be back April 17th, just in time for my birthday, which is the 20th. I hope you all have a great few weeks. Please come by in the next few weeks and say hi to my guest posters. They are pretty awesome and I'm thrilled that they all agreed. Who knows what will happen while I'm gone. Hopefully this place is still standing.

Back soon peeps, don't forget me okay? :)

A question for the class

I find myself in the weird position of needing to use some face moisturizer; for the first time in my life. Don't ask me how I made it to almost 29 years old without ever using (or owning) one, because I just don't know. I think it's the fact that I have never used make-up. Like at all. Also probably because I've until recently had oily skin and I lived in Los Angeles. Now I live in the driest state in the world and I need help.

So Internets, can you help a girl out? What do you use? How often do you use it? Does it make your face oily?

Ok, so it might have snowed a bit

You may have heard that Denver is having a bit of a snow storm right now. I mean, it may have been on the news. Since you know, the airport, the highway and all of the schools are closed. Basically today everything was closed. Everything, like the schools. Can I say that again, they closed school. You know what that means right? That the kids were home all day long.

I was laughing when hey closed school, because we haven't had much snow in months and it was barely snowing this morning. The snow wasn't even sticking when they announced the closures. I thought it was the dumbest thing I'd heard. Canceling school in case something happens? WHo does that? What kind of place did I move too?

Yeah, I was wrong. By 1pm we had a foot of snow. We are expected to have two by morning. Lovely weather people, I apologize for laughing at you. I have learned my lesson. Next time you say feet and snow in the same sentence, I will makes sure to buy wine right away.

I thought I'd show you the difference between Sunday and today. So you can have a nice visual.

SUNDAY:




TODAY:


Mind you, these pictures were taken at 2pm. We have a ton more snow now. Send help if you don't hear from me by Monday, okay?

Six months

Harrison,

Six months, in the span of a life time isn't really that long. You'll know this one day. Today however, you have been here for six months. And that, my tiny friend, is a lifetime; your life time. It's funny, but the memories of my life, of our families life before you, don't seem quite real. I mean, I remember them (I may be crazy, but I'm not senile), but it seems unreal that I lived this long without you in my life. Six months and I can't imagine life without you.

You've done a lot in the last six months: you've learned to sit up, eat with a spoon, to roll around, to bat your eyes at me when you want something. You babble all day long. I fear that when you start talking, you will out talk your sisters, which is going to be a hard feat. You sing, which is one of the most beautiful sounds I've ever heard in my life.

I'll tell you a secret, you sleep. Don't tell anyone, because a sleeping infant is not something to brag about, but you have slept through the night since you were about six weeks old. I'd feel slightly bad about this, except your sister Bailey didn't sleep for the first, oh two years of her life. So I feel even. Like somehow you sleeping is a gift that the greater forces of the world gave me. Between you and me, I'm glad you love to sleep. I'm getting a bit old for the non-sleeping gig.

Last week during an unfortunate incident with sweet potatoes (dude, I'm sorry, truly), you cried and cried and cried. I realized something that day; it had been weeks since I'd heard you cry. Weeks, seriously. You are not a crier. You get fussy when you are tired or hungry, but you don't really cry. It broke my heart to listen to you that day. Even when you rolled under the dog yesterday and she stepped on your hand and you cried for a second, it hurt me. Although, dude, you did roll right under her. Note to you, when you are three and having a fit, it won't break my heart when you cry. But right now, it still does.

You are fascinated by music of any kind. You think the coolest thing in the world is the firetrucks that pass the house. You adore your sisters; you light up when they enter the world. You think the dog is awesome, you love it when she licks your face. You believe your daddy is the greatest toy in the entire world. But I am still your favorite.

Son, you light up my life. I can't imagine how you could be any more awesome than you are. One thing though? The backwards crawling thing you keep trying to do? I've told you a dozen times at least that crawling is not for tiny six month old babies. It's a house rule. Crawling is not to be attempted until eight months at least. You are too tiny to your mom and you would be good to remember the crawling rule. Because I'm about to start docking your future allowance if you keep breaking this rule. Don't laugh at me, I will do it, I will. Stop batting those big brown eyes at me, it's not going to work.

Ok, fine. Crawl. Whatever. Happy six months.

Love you, mama

We have a winner

I have a tagline now....drumroll anyone?

Ok, never mind. I realize it's early on Sunday. The winner is Maura who came up with "Where The Crazy Comes in the Convenient Family-Size Pack" which made me shoot coffee out of my nose. There you have it, we have a winner and I have a tagline. Thanks to all of you who played. You know, all five of you. Cough. Ahem.

Now, I just have to figure out how to put it up on my site. Might become my bio on here and Twitter if I can't figure it out.

Uncle Marky

Don't give him anything, she said to me. Who, I asked? That dirty man out there. He's here all the time, begging. I tell everyone not to give him any money, he's just going to spend it on drugs.

Hard to tell on his age. If I had to guess, I'd say he was around 55-60 years old. Vietnam Vet, his sign said. Hungry, please help. God bless. I gave him $20 and told him he'd better find a new corner store to hang out near. That woman inside is telling people not to help you out. Well, you did it anyway, he said. You are a good person. There are other good people around here. I'm okay, despite what she says. Ok, well take care of yourself, I told him. You too darlin, you too.

I managed to make it to my car, before I started sobbing.

Every time I saw my Uncle Mark, I always said that to him, take care of yourself; and that was his exact reply.

My uncle had a hard life. When he was seventeen years old, he drove his car over Mulholland in Los Angeles. There weren't seat belts in cars back then and he and his buddy were thrown threw the windshield. His friend died instantly, but my uncle survived. However, his car rolled over his head. He spent months in the hospital, but all they could really do was wire his jaw back together and wait for him to heal. His hearing was shot to hell, but they thought he made a full recovery.

He didn't. Close head injuries cause so many more problems. Especially back then, when they knew nothing about the brain. I mean we're talking 1968 at the latest here. After awhile, my dad and his other siblings just started calling Mark, eccentric. Because he was. He did and said strange things that no one understood. But he built himself a successful business and they just figured he'd be fine. He was 24 years old when he had a psychotic break. He put air plane fuel in his motorcycle and drove out of LA. At some point the cops started chasing him, but they couldn't even begin to catch up. We laugh about it now, but his bike engine melted right outside of a mental hospital. The cops took him to jail. My dad and mom bailed him out the next morning. He sat in the floor of their car, in the backseat, with a blanket over his head, talking about the little people coming to get him. My mom suggested they take him back up to the Psych hospital.

He made it there six weeks, before he checked himself out. He was highly intelligent and could charm anybody. He wouldn't shower (the soap was poising him), or take the meds (they were stealing his soul) and he was competent enough to prove to them that he wasn't a danger to himself. His diagnosis was acute schizophrenia due to head injury.

From that day forward he lived on the street. No one knows what happened to his business. One day he had it, the next there was no record of it. All we know is that when he applied to Disability, they were shocked at the amount he'd get every month. (Nnot that it was much towards the end of his life, when my dad was supporting him, but as a 25 year old, it took good care of him.) It's based on how much you put in when you work and he'd put in a lot in 8 years of working.

He lived under a freeway on ramp for the 405. For my entire childhood, he lived under freeway on ramps. He liked that life. He felt safe in that life. Brought inside for a family function, he stayed in a corner with his back to the wall and shouted at people across the room. He brought me presents at Christmas and never forgot my birthday.

At my dad and step-mom's wedding, my other uncle and my grandpa held him down to shower him. He asked them too, because he didn't want to miss the wedding and he knew that was the requirement. At the ceremony, which was on a boat in the marina, he stood outside and took pictures of the sunset. But he was there. He loved his family.

My uncle was a bum until I was 15 years old. He wasn't one with a sign, but that's because he got a check each month. He didn't drink, nor do drugs; he never smoked or caused any trouble. He was mentally ill.

Contrary to popular belief, the majority of people on the street are not druggies. They are the mentally ill. There is nothing in this county for the mentally ill, unless you have money. Most of them are just ignored. We pretend they don't exhist. There is no place for them; Ronald Regan did away with those places in the early 80's. Before then, there were places where they could go. State funded places. Yes a lot of them do drugs and drink, but that doesn't negate the fact that they are mentally ill. Drinking keeps them warm in the winter, it helps them survive.

Mark lived in an apartment that he took over after my Grandfather died in 2003. Before then he'd lived in my grandmother's backyard since 1995, because he kept getting run out of his favorite spots by younger bums. He still didn't shower, nor take meds. He collected toilet paper rolls, which he kept in his clothes for warmth. He had seven toothbrushes, one for each day. He didn't eat right and he only washed his clothes, because the cat told him too. He had seven couches in his one bedroom apartment. Because the people needed a place to sit. The people, were the people in his head. He lived there, until his death in January of this year. He died from heart failure, a product of the diabetes that he wouldn't take care of.

But he was my uncle. He wasn't harmful. He never hurt a soul. He was just a guy with a mental illness. A bum, who preferred the open air, to a closed in space. He was my uncle Marky.

I have always given to bums and I always will. Money, clothes, food. Even if I have nothing, I will smile and be kind. Because each and every one of them, is a human being. Each one of them, could be someones Uncle Mark.

When I need comic relief, I text him...

Yesterday, 6:20am:

My bro: Happy St. Patrick's Day, my sistah. Time to get to drinking.

Me: Dude, it's 6am. If you want to live to drink, leave me alone.


6:20pm:

My bro: Now it's beer time.

Me: Enjoy! Have one for me. Or maybe two.

My bro: Or 4?

Me: Just remember where you live and you will be good.

My bro: I will. Plus, I have to work at 6am.


8:20pm:

My bro: What r u up tooo irish woman?

Me: Dude, we ain't Irish. We're Polish, remember?

My bro: On dad's side yes we are. We have to be. I have a red beard yo.

Me: Good point.

My bro: We're both ginger daywalkers (WTF? Seriously, no clue.) how can we not b irish?

My bro: Plus I love whiskey. hehe

Me: Whiskey isn't green beer.

My bro: It's irish whiskey. It's all good as long as you think green thoughts while yoo drink.

Me: Allrighty then. Have fun. BE SAFE.


10:10pm:

Me: How many fingers am I holding up, sir?

My bro: 12. at least.

Me: Yep, you are correct.

My bro: Thanks ossifer. U have a good afternunn.

Me: No driving, K?

My bro: Am home. Bar is block from my hommme. Walked home. Only hit one car.

Me: Cool. Night then.

My bro: Night to you two.

I joined The Facebook

Yes, I always call it The Facebook in my head. I am not sure what I think of it, nor am I sure I needed one more thing to try and keep up with. But either way, I am now on it. If I know you and you want to find me, my uh...name is Issa Road. The darn thing wouldn't let me use Crazy or World as my last name, so I looked around, saw my book club book on the table (Revolutionary Road....which sady might be the only thing it will prove to be good for) and decided Road was as good a name as any. Do me a favor though, if you send me a friend request and I'd have no idea who you were by your name, send me an email and let me know, okay? Because I am very interested in staying private, I'm not willing to friend every single spammy person who happens to ask. Truly, I've already had two of those today. Unless they are one of you and I couldn't place you.

Besides that, I am just kinda here today. Not here as in online, but here as in here. I'm having a little trouble with my asthma today and spent a while in Urgent Care this afternoon. I'm all right, I'm just feeling like I got hit by a mack truck. Also, I've now started steroids, which I'd managed to avoid for oh a whole six weeks. Eh, life, what can you do? The alternative isn't so lovely, so I do this.

And now Blogger is being an asshat. I'm going to save this, before it deletes itself. There is still time to give me a tagline. Come on now, you know you've got one.

Contest: Give Issa a tagline

I've been wanting to have a tagline for my blog, since I started it. I had one before, but I can't for the life of me remember it. It probably wasn't worth remembering.

I thought I'd do a little contest. (Because if I go with what my husband says it should be, I'll get way to many weird google hits.) With a real prize. Not that the joy of having your tagline be on my blog and Twitter account isn't prize enough. Hahahahaha, I make myself laugh. No, I've got a shiny new $25 gift card to iTunes for the winner.

I'm going to say this will be open for a week. Until Friday, noonish next week.

So, give it your best shot.

Random thoughts, the Issa needs some sleep edition

-Seriously I do. Need sleep. Like four days worth of sleep. I haven't slept well in at least a week. Well, being my normal, not a good sleeper well. But it's bad right now. I have been going to bed late, laying there for hours and then being woken up early, by the most chewable baby in the world. He is forgiven for his early waking time schedule, because honestly he sleeps so well that I can't complain. Also, see the chewable thing above.

-Last night was the first Insta-Mom book club meeting. We read Revolutionary Road. You know the one they just made a movie out of? With Leo and Kate? As I was told last night, they weren't on a sinking boat. There were no icebergs. Which I would have known, had I read more than 25 pages of the book. I've never been a part of a real book club, but this one rocks. There is room for more of you, anyone can join. I am pretty sure the most we talked about books, in the two and a half hour chat, was when we were suggesting books for next time. My vote of the Ya-Ya's was shot down. Which makes sense, seeing how I only suggested it because I had already read the book and seen the movie. Like I said, anyone can join in...reading the book isn't mandatory.

-I won an award. See, isn't it pretty?

Kari at I left my Heart at Preschool gave it too me. Last week maybe? I am bad at memes, I rarely do them. But for Kari, I will. It's the honest scrap award. The word scrap is probably more applicable these days than honest, but I'll give it a go. I'm supposed to list ten honest things about me and then pass it on.

1. I only eat bananas if they are still green at the top. Any brown spot makes me gag. I throw away more bananas than is right.
2. I despise the words, popular bloggers. Even more than that, I despise the meaning behind it. A blogger is still a blogger, still a person, no matter how many followers they have.
3. I don't like drinks without ice in them. Water, anything really, either needs to be ice cold or served with ice. I am that asshat that the french hate.
4. I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. But I am thinking I will figure it out one of these days.
5. I go through almost a full pack of gum a day. I chew it for about five minutes and then throw it out. The thought of my breath smelling, freaks me out.
6. I have a very, very great sense of smell. Other peoples breath freaks me out.
7. I have toooooo many people in my Google reader. I can not keep up. I can't delete people, because it hurts me to do that, so a lot of times, I read every third post of someones. I feel bad about this, but it's the best I can do.
8. I am very clumsy. I hit walls, kick chairs and slam my hand in doors ever single day. Luckily, I don't bruise easily or people would wonder about my husband.
9. Coming back to blogging was the best decision I could have made.
10. Sometimes I take pictures of my kids, because I really like the outfit they have on.

I'm not so good at the passing it on part of memes. Just know, I think you all are awesome. But I'm giving this one to Stacey at Anymommy, partly because she is an honest writer, but mostly because I want to be just like her when I grow up.

Not the mother I thought I'd be....

Eight years ago, Logan and I decided to stop using birth control and see what happened. We had grand ideas about being parents. We'd been married two years, we were both on our second to last year of college, we owned a condo and we were ready. Ready to be parents. Ready to change our lives forever and make a family. Really if you think about it, or well, if we think about it, it was an excuse to have lots of unprotected sex. Lots.

More than that though, I always knew I wanted to be a mother. From a very young age, I knew I wanted kids. We argued about how many we'd have, but we both knew we wanted kids.

I'm not exactly sure we thought it would happen so soon; the getting pregnant part. They say a year at the very least when you've been on the pill for a while. "They" are morons, whoever they are. I was pregnant within a month.

We planned and organized as we got ready for our baby. Our baby girl who we were so thrilled to be pregnant with. We painted our second bedroom, bought little onesies and sockies, baby proofed our entire condo and went through a name book, name by name. We dreamed big dreams. For her and for us. For our family, the little family we were creating. Huge dreams about what she'd be like. I don't think this is so out there, I bet there are tons of first time mothers who dream about what their children will be like. We hope for the best and pray for the amazing. We envision perfect lives for them. Lives without fear, hatred, uncertainty or loss. Lives that are full of sunshine and flowers.

I had an idea about what kind of a mom I'd be. That, I'd be spontaneous, fun and never impatient. I didn't believe being a parent would be all sunshine and roses, but I had a bit of a skewed idea of motherhood. I wouldn't be big on bedtimes, schedules could be made up as we went along and I'd never force my kid to eat when they didn't want too. If the food of choice was hot dogs, I'd go with it. The things Logan and I would do with said child, danced in my head. We wanted to travel the world, take our baby with us. Travel the US, see everything and anything. Just get in the car and go. I had great plans for the way my child would be, as well.

Then I was handed this teeny baby. And she was teeny, having been born a month early. She was also nothing like what we'd imagined. Not at all. Don't get me wrong, she was ours and she was perfect in our eyes. Our beautiful baby girl. God we adored her from the second she came into the world.

She was also great birth control, for tons of other people. Morgan is the kid that makes people go, maybe we'll start with a fish. She was a screamer, from pretty much birth on. She had colic so bad that we literally had to massage her stomach after every time she ate. She wouldn't breast feed, so I gave up within a week. It was okay, because I was open to whatever, but also because I needed to be able to give her to other people to feed. She had to be held at all times, non-stop. But only a certain way, which changed often. She wanted her way, all the time, from a very young age. She was a good sleeper at night, I will give her that. She started sleeping though the night at six weeks. She wasn't a good napper. She was not an easy baby, nor an easy toddler. In fact, nothing about her was or is easy.

My grandiose plans went right out the window. Our ideas of traveling the world with her as a baby, were dashed by the second day of her life. Morgan, even now at, seven and a half years old, is a child that needs a strict schedule. Bedtimes are a must, meals need to be at the same times, changes from the schedule must be explained over and over, for it to go off okay. Even then, it doesn't always work out for her. She has trouble with transitions, change, deviations from the way she knows it to be. Or wants it to be. We talk about what will happen in her day tomorrow at dinner every night. Over the past few years it has shrunk to: this is the basic plan type of a thing. It used to include great detail: you will wake up, you will eat breakfast, you will get dressed; a full timeline of her day. It wasn't for us, it was for her. We did it because she needed it.

This is just how my daughter is. It's a part of her, a part of her that frustrates me to no end some days. I also love it about her. She has changed my views of the world. She has shaped the mother I became. If Bailey had been born first, or even Harrison; I'd be a different mother than I am today. I might be that mother that I thought I'd become. The care free mom.

I am not that mother. I am not the mother I thought I'd be. I am a better mother than I would have been. I know this to be true. I have the rest of my life to travel the world, to see the sites, to live moment to moment. I may not be the mother that I wanted to be. However, I am the mother they need me to be. A mother with rules, who enforces bedtimes, a mother who makes them read half an hour out loud a night, one who makes them eat vegetables and brush their teeth. I don't make up elaborate art projects, nor do I cook from scratch. But I've found people who will do that stuff with them. I am not as patient as I thought I'd be....but I'm more patient than my mom was with us, so that's an improvement.

I can be spontaneous; the fun mom, who can let rules go for a night. I can run around and play at the park with them, pretending to be a fairy princess; build complex mazes out of pillows on my floor, to avoid the hot lava monster. I can let them go wild in a candy store every now and again. But the next day, I become mom again. Their mom. Morgan, Bailey and Harrison's mom.

I may not be the mom I thought I'd be, but I'd not give up the mom I am to them in a heart beat. It's the thing I'm most proud of in this world.

I want my hour back

I want to know who took it and when I'm going to get it back. Because I miss it and want it back. Like now.

I should have known today was going to be sucky when I couldn't sleep last night. As I watched the clock hit 1am, I really should have known. I am not good at time changes.

This morning, bright and early at 5:30am my son decided he'd had enough sleep. Because you see, 5 month old babies could care less about daylight savings time. In fact they could care less about anything that doesn't concern them. They are kind of selfish that way. When said son was deposited into my bed, by my lovely husband on his way to work, I said to him: my lovely son, it's still dark outside, that means it's night night time. Then he laughed at me.

Waking up the girls was an absolute joy today as well. While in the middle of a screaming crying tantrum, Morgan accused me of doing this to her on purpose. Yes, my lovely child, I did this. I came up with time changes just to screw with you. I have that much power.

After the promise of a crack filled donut and a shot of coffee in her chocolate milk, she did finally stop screaming and get dressed. Of course as we neared the school we saw one of those big bank signs, you know, the ones with the time on it. Which of course hadn't been changed and said 7:18am, instead of 8:18am and the screaming started again. See mom, we are going to be early. I could be sleeping right now. You are so mean.

Then I threw her dropped them off at school and headed for the nearest Starbucks.

Did I mention how much I hate time changes? Please someone, tell me how sucky your time change day is. Lets bask in the suckyness.

No, actually you're not

Bailey: (Singing) I'm sittin in the car on the inside, Waitin for my ride on the outside, She broke my heart, in the trailer park, So I grabbed her skunk and runned away, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah (pause) nah, nah, nah, I grabbed her skunk and runned away.

Me: Noodle, what in the world are you singing?

Bailey: You know, the song daddy likes, the nah, nah, nah song.

Me: Morgan, please translate.

Morgan: Mom, she's singing The Bartender song.

Me: No. No, she's not.

Morgan: Oh, no, she is. Just um, not the right words. Actually her song is funnier. Grabbed her skunk and runned away...hahahahaha

Have you guys heard the Bartender song? Morgan isn't lying, Logan is addicted to it. However, Baileys version? So much funnier.

Dang it, I wanted to put it on here, but YouTube won't let me. You can see/hear it HERE if you so choose.

I am done justifying it

DONE. I am done justifying what I spend my money on to people. I have had no less that four people (one online and three at the school) say to me, in the last three days no less, you go to Starbucks every day? Why yes, I do. And what the hell does it matter? That just seems like a waste of money, they've all said. Think of the things you could buy with that money. It adds up. Have you ever thought about that?

I'm sure it does add up. But I don't care. And I really want to know why anyone would care? You want to know what I spend a week at Starbucks? $20 freaking dollars. Add that to the $20 my husband spends a week and you've got $40 dollars. Holy crap. $40. Breaking the bank there I guess.

Could I make my coffee at home? I'm sure I could. I am certainly capable, in fact I own an espresso machine.

What I want to know is, why the fuck is it anyone else business where I spend my money? I don't buy expensive purses. I have one Coach purse that I use every single day, but I've had it for over four years. I don't buy expensive shoes. In fact, I don't really buy shoes for myself. I prefer the same pair of shoes that I've had for two years. Whenever I can, I wear flip-flops. I don't buy expensive clothes. I do buy new clothes for my ever growing children, but hey, they can't exactly walk around nekkid. Also, I live right near a great outlet mall.

Logan and I live within our means. We always have. We are smart about our money. We started out buying a condo, then we sold it and bought a house. We have savings, that we add money too every month. All three of our kids have a college fund. We have a house, two paid off cars (which we bought used) and absolutly no debt. If I can't pay for something, or I know I won't be able to pay it off at the end of the month, I don't buy it. Plain and simple. Yes, we've been lucky. But I've been working my ass off since I was fourteen years old and I've always been good with money. Am I rich, hell no. I will most likely never be. But I can afford my freaking Venti Non-Fat Mocha with whip cream from Starbucks. Every day, forever, if I want too.

This irritates me. People judging me, telling me how I should live my life, irritates the fuck out of me. I don't judge others for what they spend. I happen to know that one of the people who said what she said to me, drives a freaking top of the line huge ass SUV when she only has two kids. Another goes out to night clubs every weekend and drinks long island iced teas like they are water. That can't be cheap. Either way, I don't care, so why the heck do they?

10 years ago today

It doesn't seem like 10 years could have gone by since Logan and I said, I do. Don't get me wrong, some days it seems like it's been a million years, but mostly it's gone by pretty fast. Three kids does that to you. You can't blink, because you'll miss it all.

My husband is not the man I married 10 years ago. I am not the woman I was back then. We have changed, grown, become different people. (Which hopefully happens when you marry at 19 years old.) We're lucky in the sense that the people we grew into, grew in the same direction and still get along. At least most days.

Yesterday was not one of those days. Yesterday was hard people. Just plain hard. But see, no one ever said marriage was easy. It isn't; it's a constantly challenging thing. Totally worth it, but not easy. As my mom says, if you don't have the horrible days, you'd never really appreciate the good ones. I've never aired my dirty laundry on this blog, not where it concerns my husband. I don't intend to start now, but lets just say, yesterday wasn't fun. It doesn't really matter today, because it was yesterday and now it's over.

However, yesterday we didn't act like people who have been married 10 years. We didn't act like people who love each other. Hell, we didn't even act like adults. (As Morgan says, we weren't acting our age or IQ. She loves to say this too the dog, although I'm not sure dogs care one bit.) I am not proud of it, but I'm not upset about it either. Life moves on, love is bigger than irritation and frustration. I have never been good at staying angry. It's too much dam work.

This morning, I woke up, turned over and was happy to see him. Him, the beautiful man I married. The man who was such a butt munch yesterday. Every morning, I look at him and I love him. No matter how pissed I might be, when he looks at me, I know I will always forgive him. Eventually. Because I love him. I love him more than everything in this world. I know that no matter what happens, he is here for me, and I for him. I'd move the moon for him if he asked.

10 years people. 10 years. I was going to be all sweet and sappy today, but I'm just not in the mood. Mostly because I am too freaking tired to form two thoughts that make sense. Instead I give you this:

Me: Babe, we've been married for ten freaking years. Don't you think it's about time you started actually hanging up your wet towels?

Logan: Iss, we've been married for ten years. Don't YOU think it's about time you gave up on me hanging up my towels?

And that my friends is what ten years of marriage looks like.

The difference between growing up in LA and Denver:

Why does your cousin leave her garage door open all of the time, I asked Logan yesterday. "She likes people to walk in that way. I'm not even sure she remembers that she has a front door, was his response.

When I asked her why, she basically said the same thing. She also said half the time she doesn't close it at night. She doesn't lock her doors either.

Later on in the afternoon, as we got home, Logan started laughing. When I asked him what he was laughing at, he said me. Not only did I close the garage door before I even turned off the car, but I locked the car after I got the baby out.

I am a city girl, what can I say? It's who I am. I was trained from a little girl too be street smart. Now I live in one of the safest neighborhoods in the mid-west. But I'm still a city girl.