Happy anniversary

It was a year ago today that I told my new boss "take this job and shove it." I would like to say thank you to them for being making what would have been a difficult decision with the old boss a piece of cake.

What have I learned in a year? I learned how to slow down. I learned how to watch a child play and let them play at their own pace. I learned who my baby was. For the past 8 months of her life, she had been cared for full time by the day care. The last time I had spent so much time with her, she was three months old and all she did was sleep and stare at her toes. So I learned how to take care of a 14 month old--when she needed to eat(5 times a day, or else), what she liked to eat(dogfood) what she liked to do (get dirty), when she needed to nap(whenever the hell she pleased), how to keep her from electrocuting herself (Uncle Dale's method works the best-- telling her the plugs will bite her) etc.

I learned that drinking whole milk and eating eggs for breakfast can make you gain 10 pounds. I also learned that I am a really good cook. I didn't know that before, because Hyphen did all of the cooking, but I am a damn good cook, which also contributes to the 10 lbs.

I am good at making new friends. I am good at keeping the old ones. One is silver and the other gold.

What I already knew--if I were married to a normal person they would think I was a kick-a housewife, however being married to hyphen is like "Sleeping with the Enemy," but without the violence.

I wish I could say I learned something about my marriage, but I already knew that I am married to an incredibly generous and kind person (despite his hyphen-ess ) who is a wonderful father and works very hard for our family, and although he may notice the dust bunnies in life more than most people, he notices the real ones too.

All in all, a pretty good year.

La Primavera

It has been a long glorious winter. We had snow, actually it was Fall when it snowed, but once it snows, dates are mere technicalities. We had 5 days of temperatures in the 20s in January. It took out my foxtail ferns and pentas, but I enjoyed every minute of it. There was never a day that our heater didn't kick on and to celebrate we made meatloaf, and potpie and roast and had hot chocolate and cookies. I felt like God was rewarding us for enduring the terrible summer.

I never wanted it to end.

And then this week I went home. I drove past the green, rolling hills of Columbus and passed a muddy white pick up on I-10. It had farm tags and two men inside that were wearing cowboy hats. We saw cows, and "baby cows". We saw hawks and vultures and all kinds of other birds dancing around in the sky that was bright blue but at the same time full of thunderclouds. And then I saw them... bluebonnets. I felt like I was coming home.

Now, I am no Leon Hale. I can't drive to the southern most tip of Texas trying to find the first bit of spring, raising hell and carousing along the way, partly because my dirt-kicking companion is 2 and she falls asleep 20 minutes into the drive. But I felt it, nonetheless--La Primavera.

late night chats

I went to see my nieces yesterday. My nieces. That sounds so weird. Notice, I am already dropping sister from the equation. But she was there too, and she was tired out of her mind. They have two very distinct personalities. One, reminds me of Annabelle, a totally easy peaceful baby. The other one? Wants to be held all the time and can't function with a dirty diaper. Literally. She will stop eating and wait until she is changed. She is smart as a whip, she puts her arms where they need to go when she is being swaddled. Now the easy one may be smart too, but we will never know, because so much attention is spent on making Lilly comfortable that Sam is almost completely ignored. Except last night. The guest room is by the nursery and I am a light sleeper. I could hear one of them making some little noises. It was three o'clock so I waited to make sure the baby was really fussing before I checked on her. To my surprise, it was Sam. I picked her up and sat on the rocker. It was all quiet in the house. Just me and Sam. And I found myself missing those quiet, middle of the night, moments that I had with Annabelle, when we would chat a bit. I would tell her all the good stories, like about the first time I met Hyphen, or the time we danced on the parking garage, or the one my father-in-law always tells, about the night Hyphen was born. So here I was with my little niece and I found myself saying "Her is purdy. Her is a purdy girl. That's what an old lady I knew would say to you Sam, if she were here right now. And then she would say "is her hungry? yes her is." That is what she would say Sam. And she would be thrilled to death to hold you right now. Well, let's go find your mama. She is the one with the chi-chis."

Some how, it doesn't seem fair that these babies didn't get to be held in those soft, warm, arms-- whose hands that always glistened with lotion--and hear those sweet words. But such is life.