the princesses and the pea

on halloween

Most of my Halloweens have been spent in dark back rooms with shades pulled, vaguely lit by the blue glow of the TV. We didn't trick-or-treat and we didn't hand out candy. We didn't celebrate Halloween. We hid, basically.

There was one year, however, when we were allowed to dress up. I don't know why. Kids don't question these things. I was a barbie. I had a mask with holes for eyes, nose and a tiny tease of a slit at the mouth, just big enough to stick your tongue through but not big enough to get it back out again. I remember having to choose between seeing or breathing because the one-size-fits-no-one mask was too big. I think it also came with a plastic apron "dress". My sister tells me we fought over my mask that day, I think because the painted plastic hair was better somehow. I'm not sure why I won that fight. I probably cried. But I'm sure she will comment to this.

Last night I went to Target to get candy to give to the trick-or-treaters in our neighborhood. Warning: there are indeed brightly colored Christmas ornaments displayed next to the ceramic pumpkins in the seasonal section. Just so you know. I happened to remember just before I left that the baby needs a toothbrush for his 6 teeth. So I bought 4 bags of candy and 2 toothbrushes. I thought it was funny and mentioned it to the cashier. She didn't laugh. I also shopped for some earrings to wear to a wedding this weekend. I found the perfect ones and almost bought them...until I realized they were cuff links. Oh, well.

So yeah...we won't be hiding out in the back room tonight. Its a good thing, since we don't really have a back room. I think giving out candy will be a great way to continue to connect with some of our neighbors. And you know what Halloween means? It means tomorrow is November and I can officially listen to Christmas music.

I know, I'm worse than Target.

our trip to the mountains

I am not a traveling person these days. I think I was at one time. On personality tests I always end up sounding a lot more spontaneous about things like than I really am. I think I just remember how I was at 19 and answer the questions accordingly. Back then, the idea of jumping in the car or on a plane and going somewhere fun was exhilarating. Not that I really ever did that. But I liked the idea of it. These days, the idea of it just gives me a headache. I think it is the having-three-kids thing.

With this in mind, we took a day trip to the mountains over the weekend. In a day. With three kids. There and back. In a day. To the mountains. Did I mention the three kids? Little ones?

For a lot of people like us who only live a few hours drive from the mountains, the trip is really no big deal. Even with kids. But for me, non-spontaneous-trip girl....it was kind of a deal. It wasn't even technically spontaneous. We have talked about doing it for a while, but didn't plan to do it for sure until a few days ahead. A few days. In my book, that qualifies as spontaneous.

I have to say, I am so glad we went. There were loose plans involving lunch at a place where The Man knows the owner, driving along the parkway, seeing the pretty leaves, playing at the park in Blowing Rock, getting ice cream and driving home. Turns out we got hungry on the way up so we ate at KFC instead. Not exactly quaint. But for the most part, our day was a delight. Beautiful weather, content kids (most of the time), really hot husband.

I enjoyed admiring him from across the park as he followed the baby around and I hung with the girls. I remember driving to the mountains with him the first month we started dating. With just the two of us, it hardly qualified as a trip...I remember wishing the drive was longer so I could just be with him.

Not so on this trip. Not that I didn't enjoy being with him, but I certainly wasn't wishing for the drive to be longer. A lot of change 8 years brings. The company may be different, but the scenery was the same. What a gift to be able to share with our kids their first autumn in the mountains.

you got all that from a bumper sticker?

Ever feel like your attempts at something new are threatened by the fact that so many other people are not only already doing it, but they are doing it better? I was behind a car today with a bumper sticker that read "I run 26.2 miles." Putting aside my initial confusion (Run? You run 26.2 miles? Like, as in right now? Present tense? Really?), my thoughts after reading this were as follows:

Wow. 26.2 miles. I wonder how far that is? If I started running right now, where would I stop and it be 26.2 miles? I could run a marathon. If I trained. How would you train for that? Where would I begin? How long would it take? Think of all the people who have already run marathons and who are (according to the bumper sticker) in the process of running marathons and how far behind am I already in being able to run a marathon so what's the point?

And then the light turned green and I forgot about it.

I have no desire to run a marathon, let me assure you. But it has made me think. How many things in the world have not been done because people are afraid to start? What are we afraid of? That we won't win the marathon? That we won't be the best dancer ever? Write the best book ever? Be the best cook ever?

Or worse...maybe I'll look stupid.

Or worse worse...maybe it isn't that so many other people are doing it better, maybe it's that no other people are doing it at all. And the idea of being the first is just too...much.

It's easy for me to get stuck there...to forget that success does not necessarily lie in the outcome of the attempt. And I won't even say it is found in the mere fact that I attempted it...because maybe my reasons for doing so were wrong in the first place. But the Lord, He has plans for me. Plans to prosper, to give hope and a future. Will I allow my fear of attempting something to hinder or delay those plans?

Here's a newsflash worthy of remembering: I don't have to be the best. And it's ok to be the first. Because life isn't about how I compare with you or them or myself, for that matter. And when its not about me, the fear seems to lose its power and life becomes a lot more fun.

to have her peach and eat it, too

She was in a really bad mood. And in the midst of it, she realized she wanted a peach. Just a peach. She would have much preferred to be capable of cutting it and serving it for herself. But she is 3, so she could not. All she had to do was say "Mommy, may I please have a peach?" That's it. Seven words.

But she would not.

She tried every other possible tactic. "Mommy, gimme some peach! I want it right now! I want a peach! I WILL have a peach. Give! It! To! Me!"

But I would not.

I repeated to her the requirement for receiving in this situation: "All you have to do is ask 'Mommy, may I please have a peach?' " In other words, you must ask. You may not demand it. This won't happen on your terms. After all, if she could get it on her own, all she gets is a peach. Ultimately, I want more for her.

Why does the Lord want me to ask Him for things? He already knows what I need, why can't He simply give it? There are, in fact, so many things He generously gives without my asking, things I wouldn't even think for which to ask. But I take and enjoy them anyway, many times not realizing they came from His hand. So I get the "thing", but often times I miss the blessing. Sometimes I think He wants me to ask so that when I receive, there is no doubt about who gave it. It is a lesson in dependence...a reminder that there is Another upon which I am called to rest. He is the Giver.

I wanted to give her the peach.

But not just that...I wanted her to recognize that I wanted to give her the peach. But I also wanted her to have the blessing of asking, then receiving. And I wanted her to understand, ultimately, that all I have is hers...and she is loved.

After many tears, much screaming and a bit of encouragement, she conceded. Though muffled and soft, her request was spoken and granted. She got the peach...but I think the a hug and the high five meant a lot more.

Because afterwards, though she tried to hide it, she was smiling.

long days, short years

I spoke with a mother of teenagers on the phone tonight. It was nearly 6pm and she apologized for interrupting our dinner. I assured her our dinner had ended long ago and we were on our way to bath time. She seemed to pause on the phone, and then sigh with a mix of memory and longing. "I wish we had a reason to eat early at our house. I miss those days." And I knew what she meant.

Though her children still live at home, they can drive now and they have grown. They eat with their friends, at odd hours, on the run, or not at all. They have places to be, things to do, day timers of their own. They have deadlines to keep, relationships to pursue, tests to ace, things to prove. They are eager for life to begin. And their mother...well, she is watching and waiting and available. And she is preparing for the day when her babies leave the house and are on their own for real.

I don't always enjoy the life stage that I am in. But tonight, I can't get enough of it. I am breathing in his downy scent in a desperate attempt to hold on. I am watching the girls play make-believe with barbie dolls and baby bears. Their faces so soft, doughy, flawless. I am praying for their spouses, for the mothers of their spouses..women who are just like me somewhere in the world, taking care of these little ones during days that seem to go on forever.

But you know, they won't. So tonight, after a full day of play and poop, I am thankful.

geriatrics, here i come

I'm getting old.

Let me put this into context. I spent almost 3 hours at the coliseum last night with a group of girls who are slightly (ok, a lot) younger than me. All still single, except one. There were strobe lights. There was really loud music. There was lots of dancing. Yes, I paid real money for a ticket to see So You Think You Can Dance on tour.

And it was awesome.

But I'm getting old. My initial clue to this inevitable fact surfaced during the opening number when my first thought was they could turn the music down a little. Followed by those flashing strobes are blinding and slightly panic inducing. Then, of course, I perused the room for the closest exit, just in case. Finally, I began to wonder what time I'd be able to get to bed. Not to mention the exaggerated yet involuntary flinching my body experienced every time one of the dancers danced too close to the edge of the stage. Then this morning, when I woke up, I noticed that my lower back was tight and sore. Those darn uncomfortable coliseum seats...

And that's when it hit me. Weaved in between my enjoyment of the paso dobles, pirouettes and krumping were the thoughts of an old woman. They came naturally, without effort. Wasn't there a time when I could stay out really late and listen to really loud music and watch strobe lights without needing medication?

It was tons of fun, don't get me wrong. I'll just have to stick to 3 year old dance recitals if I want to feel as though I'm in my element.

making evil out of nothing at all

Dear lady in front of me in line at Target,

I'm sorry I stuck my tongue out at you behind your back. It's just that when my child was screaming Mommy, I want that big hairband! over and over at the top of her lungs and you glanced down at her with a blank expression, I interpreted it as a hey- loud- and-obnoxious- little-girl-stop-screaming-and-acting-so-spoiled-and-let-me-shop-in -peace-and-why-can't-you-get-her-under-control-you-bad-mom-you glance.

But then when we walked out of the store and you stopped me in the parking lot and told me how beautiful my kids were and gently said to my daughter "Your mommy is doing the best she can" well, I started to feel bad. Really bad.

So, I'm sorry for turning your innocent glance into an evil one. Next time I will be careful not to project thoughts onto others that are, in fact, my own. Thank you for offering your support to a stranger in the Target parking lot. And for not turning around when I was leaning aggressively toward you with my tongue aimed at the back of your head.

Sincerely,
Emily

blame it on asthma.

We ran out of apple juice about 2 days ago. I am blaming my baby's asthma for my failure to go to the store (and for being late to bible study and for not finishing the laundry and for not returning phone calls and for...) It's amazing how many things I have found to blame on asthma. It's been great. Not the asthma, but the blaming. People are lenient on a mom who has a baby with asthma. Between you and me, it's not been that bad...initially its a bit scary, but once he saw the doctor and got his medicine, he still plays like normal and eats like normal and sleeps like normal. I guess our days have been pretty normal in the midst of the asthma. Except for the 10 minutes 3 times a day that I have to sit with him and give him his breathing treatment with the nebulizer, our routine hasn't actually changed at all. But its been a great excuse to be lazy without feeling guilty.

Nebulizer? My spell check doesn't recognize this word. (and I just spelled 'spell check' wrong, by the way). Neb-u-li-zer. Right? Ok, now I'm laughing. Did I make the word up? Could it really be called a nebulizer? I hear a deep, slow and dramatic voice echoing in my head "I will use my galactic nebulizer to penetrate the deflector shield..."

Oh my. Needless to say, tonight I finally made it to the grocery store and have replenished our apple juice supply. They are happy to not have to drink only water anymore. (The nerve of a mom to offer her kids cold, clean, abundant water. You would think I had said "you can either have milk or pee" by their reaction). Now they can finally have their watered-down apple juice.

And, more importantly, the baby is beginning to breathe much better. Guess I'm going to have to find another scapegoat.

my addiction

I told myself I wasn't going to do this. So they're having a neighborhood yard sale...I thought. I'll go down, hang out, be with my parents and sister, shop a little. Be easy. I just had a yard sale in July. I don't need to sell anything else. I'll donate it.

Then I thought, well, maybe I'll just sell a few things. And before I know it, I'm searching my house for things to add to my plastic bins full of junk. I no longer see the items in my home as useful. They are turning into quarters before my very eyes. Could I get 50 cents out of that? Yea, maybe. My heartbeat quickens as I picture them coming by the car fulls, rummaging through my valuable crap. As I price my items, I imagine the buyer trying to talk me down from a dollar to 50 cents and I hear myself saying "Not yet. It's too early." Ha. I dare them to try to get 50 cents out of me, those cheapskates.

And I become a woman crazed. What happened to being easy? Going down to hang out? Its just. Not. Possible. Because its a neighborhood yardsale. They will come in droves with their fanny packs full of quarters and ones. And I just can't help myself.

Must sell. Must sell. Must. Sell.....

starting young

It's from Emmy night, the stars on the red carpet. (If you click on it, you can see it better). I like to look at all the pretty dresses (who cares about the Emmys?) On of my girls wanted to look at my "mazagine" too...I asked her which dress was her favorite. She picks the 3 on the right and then says, "Look at alllll theeeese Barbies!"

I hadn't thought of it, but it's true. They do all look like Barbies (or as she would say, 'bobbies'). Except if you look closely, Eva Longoria's head looks freakishly big in comparison to Katherine Heigl's. That's because real women AREN'T ALL THE SAME HEIGHT. There's got to be at least a foot difference between them. But you certainly wouldn't know it from the magazine.

there were never such devoted sisters.

My girls have been fighting a lot lately. Like, A LOT. I guess I kind of get it...for three and a half years they have done everything together. It all started when they were conceived at the same time. Kind of crazy if you let yourself think about it. Two eggs? Both fertilized? Are you kidding me?

Then when they came out, they had to share us and the attention. No sooner would I be gazing into one pair of dark eyes than the other one would need something.
They still take baths together. Here's a shot from before they could even sit up on their own. Glad those days are over.
They shared a crib when they first came home from the hospital...until they started rolling over. It didn't matter how far apart we placed them, they always seemed to find each other by the morning.They still have never spent one night apart. And they are getting on each others nerves. And that gets on my nerves.

It also makes me think of my own sister. She is almost four years older than I am. Funny how back then, those almost-four-years meant I thought braces were cool and I was a tag-a-long and she got to do everything and she basically hung the moon.

Yeah. She's the one with the cool braces. I'm the...other one.

I just saw her last weekend. Seeing her reminded me to remember to miss her. And missing her I am. I don't like my town as much without her in it. And it makes me think about my girls and how they are together almost too much...but how when they grow up, they won't be.

Our almost-four-year age difference is pretty insignificant now. I know better than to think braces are cool and we do things together now rather than me tagging along. One thing hasn't changed, though...I pretty much still think she hung the moon.
You didn't seriously think I could end with that last picture, did you?

plotlines in my life

Tonight our oldest twin tearfully refused a bath for fear that her "fingernails might come off". They were freshly painted yesterday by her Nanny...I knew what she meant. You have to pick your battles. These days, it seems I'm losing the ones I pick but whatever. She's asleep now...dirty hair; fingernails intact.

Now that they are all sleeping (husband included), I thought I'd take a moment and offer a few updates.

I talked with the bride. Turns out she's a really gracious and forgiving person. Good thing. I guess I already knew that, but it's still a relief to have talked with her and offer my appropriate apologies for my lack of...well, just for my lack. I'd post a photo from her wedding here, but I wasn't there. So this is me. Moving on. Starting now.

The movie we were waiting for? Well, it came. They were scared of the Beast, but held out hope until he turned nice. And we had a real movie night (or day, really). It is so refreshing to watch something other than Dora. I was pleased to discover I remembered so many of the songs after 15 years or so. Two girls weren't so pleased. I think "Shhhh, Mommy. We can't hear" was the exact phrase. At least it's in English.

And then there is my daily struggle with Good Mom. If only she would disappear into the archives like that blog post did. But she doesn't. Instead she hovers, lingering in my days the same way the smell of a dirty diaper lingers in the room after it has been taken to the trashcan outside. She weaves her way into my thoughts and leaves me feeling helpless to ever becoming more like her. Turns out Good Mom may be a good mom, but she isn't a very good friend.

I remember the words the Lord speaks to me, gentle and true. He brings life and hope and clarity.

And He doesn't hover. I like that.

returning to thursday nights

Coming home from school was always a part of the day I looked forward to when I was a kid. I remember sitting in my first grade classroom at the end of the day and hearing the big orange-yellow buses pull up in front of the school...lining up in predictable order to take us home. There seemed to be at least a small bit of excitement about going home every afternoon. There was sure to be Mom who would always have some type of snack for us. There was also another aspect to the after school routine at our house...TBS.

Every afternoon at 4:05, reruns of The Brady Bunch aired on TBS. (Remember when TBS did everything on the five?) Except I'm not sure if I knew at the time that they were reruns. Thus began my association of comfort and safety with a TV show. Shameful, I know.

It wasn't until years later that I became so hooked on another show. Not that I didn't watch TV during all those years...but I don't remember another show I really attached memories to like I did The Brady Bunch. Until the spring of 2002 when The Man and I began to watch the end of season 4 of Survivor with my sister and brother-in-law. It wasn't so much the show itself at that time. It was the fact that my sister and I now lived in the same town (which hadn't been true since I was in high school). And now we had a night, Thursday nights. That was our night...to hang out, eat dinner together, play with our nephews, and after they were tucked in, to turn on CBS and watch random people outwit, outplay, outlast.

We watched several seasons on Thursday nights together, until one particular Thursday afternoon I took a pregnancy test that turned out to be positive and 9 months (or so) later, we had twins. Evening outings became a thing of the past and our Thursday nights with my sister became Thursday nights at home. Watching Survivor, just the 2 of us...well, it wasn't the same. And so we stopped.

Thanks be to a certain female contestant on Survivor China premiering tonight for resurrecting our desire to watch. She happens to be a co-worker and friend of my parents. So I'm making a chocolate chip pie and inviting friends over to watch not-so-random people outwit, outplay, outlast.

It won't be the same as it once was...the glory days of the early seasons with my family. But it will be fun to have someone to cheer for.

quotable quotes

I realize that, of all the people in the world (more specifically those who read this blog), I am the one who most enjoys the things my kids say. I try to be sensitive to that, kind of the same way I try to avoid telling my labor and delivery stories in the midst of other moms. What is it with that anyway? All it takes is one pregnant woman in line at a children's consignment sale, and all of a sudden, 3 women are telling their labor stories simultaneously, not responding to one another except as an excuse to launch into their "Well, my water also broke at 3am and then we..." Drives me nuts. True story, by the way.

So, even though I realize I am the one who gets the most kicks over what comes out of the mouths of my babes, I thought the following snapshots into our days were worthy to share with the masses (all 10 of you). The following are things they've said in the past week, with a bonus quote from a fellow mom at the end:

• In the car, on the way to preschool, each twin has a doll. Their conversation, word for word:

AG: My mommy's home but my daddy's not...he died.
S: Oh. Maybe God can bring him back
AG: But you can't see him cuz He's all around.
S: I see Him under my bed.
AG: How 'bout you be God.
S: Ok. Hi. I'm God.
AG: Hey, how 'bout you be Mary.
S: Ok. I'm Mary. (singing) Mary had a little lamb, little lamb...

• Said in a loud whine, "Mommy, I really want to get in my mouth..."

• To my mom in the midst of crying while pointing to the air beside her, "Look! There's other me. See her? She's right there." (should I be worried?)

• Walking past a restaurant, one twin sweetly declares, "I smell a beeaaauutiful hot dog."

• And one more quote, not from my kids, but from a mom at a birthday party last weekend (also my personal favorite):

kid at party: Mommy, can I have another piece of cake?
Mom: No honey, I want you to have something healthy first. Here's a chicken nugget.

hurry up and be patient

When my parents first got their dog, Delly, I thought they had gone mad. My mom doesn't like dogs, at least thats what I thought. But they were living in Austin and we were all on the east coast and they were lonely. So they got a dog. I remember when she was a puppy and they would take her out to do her business, they would say the phrase "Hurry up, delly...hurry up!" real fast and sing-songy...they said it was her trigger to go ahead and pee or...whatever.

Sometimes I hear myself telling my girls to hurry up...but then I can't figure out why. There are those days when we are late to preschool or an appointment and I simply don't have time to wait for them to buckle their own car seat belt. But a lot of the time, we are going to the park or Target or someplace where time isn't a factor. Still, I hear those words come from my mouth...."Come on girls...hurry up. Put your shoes on, hurry up. Let's go to the car. Close the door. Come on! Hurry up!" Why do I do that?

I read something in the booklet that their Sunday school teacher sends home each week, and it said instead of telling your child to hurry up, give yourself a chance to slow down! Let your child set the pace.

Oh. I'd never thought of that. A chance to slow down. Now there's a novel idea.

great expectations

The girls have been with Nanny and Poppy for a few days. They come home today. I have missed them, but it has been a nice break. It has been hard not to overplan my time without them...you know, deciding all these undone projects will get done in the 2 days they are gone. Impossible as I still have one whole child around to take care of, as well as the usual daily life things. Besides, why can't I just "plan" to relax, enjoy, sit and be? Afterall, that is just as important...maybe even more. If I had more "sit and be" time, maybe I wouldn't, oh I don't know, forget to go to weddings and things like that.

there goes the bride

So its been a good weekend. Saturday especially. Time with friends with donuts and coffee. Took kids to the park. Pulled some weeds in the yard. Enjoyed a girls night out. Ate good food. Watched a chick flick. Today was a good day too. Church was good. Kids were happy. Husband was happy. Lunch out. Time at home. Baby napped. Girls played.

I sat down to clip coupons. I was content...proud that this day that has such potential to be hectic was turning out so nicely. Until I lifted up the coupons from my desk. And there, at the bottom of a small pile of papers, was an invitation. To a wedding. Of my friend. For yesterday.

As I held it in my hand, I could feel the blood rush out of my face, that creamy card stock mocking me with its swirly silver writing...silently accusing me with the words Saturday the eighth of September. My first instinct was to think of someone else to blame. Anyone but my own lack of organization for failing to transfer the wedding date from the card to my calendar. Surely they should have called the guests to remind us to come? But it was in vain. All I could think of was that while I was stuffing my stupid face with chicken florentine pizza and crying because Jane let Tom Lefroy go, my friend was living the most important day of her life. And I missed it. Because I forgot.

So here I am. Regretful, yes. Embarrassed, you better believe it. Sad for two reasons: because I know I disappointed her by not being there and also, because I'm disappointed myself. I wanted to be there. To meet her husband. To take photos for fun. To be a good friend.

I feel like a failure, an idiotic airhead. But I can't let myself stay there. I guess there just comes a point when I have to realize that I've made a mistake and, as much as I'd like to, I can't take it back. And so I wait...for my feelings to settle and for the color to return to my face.

And I go out and buy her a card to contain my well wishes and sincere apology, a wedding gift, and a box of chocolates.

still good, even though...

I am not the one to write about loss. I have friends who could write books on the topic. But not me. Still, there has been a loss. And today marks 10 years. So I feel compelled to write. And so I do.

The spring of 1993 was the spring I turned 16, got my braces off, made the varsity cheer leading squad, went to my first prom and had my first legitimate boyfriend. His best friends' name was Chris, and Chris was dating my best friend, Heather. Needless to say, the four of us became pretty close.

Chris was not the kind of guy with whom I would have naturally been friends. He could be kind of a jerk, actually. He was really funny, but often times at other peoples' expense (it was high school, after all). He always said I had a big nose but thought it was ok to say because he had a big nose too. He was talented and popular...captain and keeper on the varsity soccer team, voted most outspoken in the senior superlatives. He liked to party. After a while, we saw a softer side of him. I was there when he was baptized. He was charming and, if you could get past being the brunt of his jokes, he was pretty easy to like. Over that year, he became one of my closest friends at a time in life when friends were everything.

Eventually, we all went off to college and lived separate lives. A year or so after I had last seen him, I was watching the news along with the rest of the world as we learned of the death of princess Diana. A short time later, Mother Teresa died as well. And I watched loss and grief on TV. But I was far removed, disconnected, aware but unaffected.

Little did I know that during that same time, on a small college campus in Tennessee, there was a motorcycle accident. And so while the world was mourning the loss of a princess and a saint, those who knew this funny, witty, talented, sarcastic college guy...well, we were mourning too.

Now its been 10 years. So what's my point? I guess just that he should be here. Somewhere in the world, he should be laughing and loving a wife and having kids and living. And I'm not naive enough to think that he and I would still be in touch because we probably wouldn't. But I should be able to google his name on a curious Saturday afternoon and find a blip of an article from a random newspaper about when his baby daughter was born or his name listed in an online college graduation bulletin or maybe even his stats in a bio about the US Olympic soccer team or his run on Survivor or...something.

I guess that's the nature of death. There is a place in the world where it seems like they are supposed to be but they aren't. I don't even care where that place is. Just somewhere. But then, who am I to say what is supposed to be or not be? And so I sit and remember, reflecting on his life and who he was to me and those who knew him...and I trust that, even though it doesn't make it feel any less of a loss, I trust that the Lord knows. And He sees. And He is still good.

a glimpse of him

This is a picture of the books on his bedside table. Usually they are stacked higher than this. Most of the time there is at least one commentary in the mix. The one on the bottom is his journal. And in the morning when I make the bed after he has gone to work, I typically put some of them away, back on the shelf to minimize the clutter.

But not today. Today, I noticed them. Consequently, I noticed him.

He likes stories...stories about Jesus, stories about people he knows in real life. But put a fiction book in front of him and he breaks into a cold sweat. He would much rather read a text book than a novel. My dad is like that, too. I so don't get that. But I have kind of grown to really love that about him. I'm not sure why.

So this is me, remembering just one of the many reasons why I fell in love with him.

Happy birthday, my love.