ten years.

On this very day, January 17th, back in 2002, the tall, cute boy who I was completely head over heels for asked me to be his girlfriend. The next day he borrowed his dad's car and took me to a park down the street from my parents' house to watch some local bands play. I remember how nervous he was and how I spent the entire night hoping he wouldn't notice how nervous I was.

The next ten years were filled with learners permits, driver's licenses, prom, high school graduations, moving away from home, college graduations, engagements, buying our first home, a wedding, a pregnancy, a baby boy who is the light of our lives and, oh, a few other things along the way that I've likely overlooked.

Those years were also filled with people turning up their noses and saying that high school sweethearts don't last, that you can't possibly have a successful relationship with the same person you were with when you were 15 years old.

I like proving people wrong.

...Tonight, ten years later, we did just that. Tonight, we celebrated a decade together.

Happy ten year anniversary to the greatest husband and father that I could ever imagine. I can't wait for the next ten years; for more magic and memories than I ever thought possible. Ethan and I both love you so very much!

a semi-successful surprise and the mosquito bites to show for it

Today was my husband's first day of work at a new job. Ethan and I had been working diligently on a surprise to ease his nerves and cheer him up on his commute because, let's face it, first day jitters are no fun at all. We picked this card out the other day.

I helped Ethan fill it out.

He did a great job.

Our next stop was picking out New Found Glory's new CD. New Found Glory are from our hometown so they're that local band that you'll be a fan of forever, not to mention they're just a huge part of all of our adolescent memories! The release date on this album made for perfect timing. We were smooth sailing.

...Until I realized I had no idea how I was going to get the card and CD into his car. See, that was my idea: have the card and CD sitting on the driver's seat for him to find when he gets in his car to leave for work. It wasn't a very easy plan to execute. At 9 o'clock last night, he decided he needed shoe polish. Cue in my whole song and dance about how much I wanted to just run to CVS and pick some up for him. Because, you know, there's no place I'd rather be at 9 o'clock at night. Fine.

I soon realized there was no way I was getting his keys and somehow sneaking off to his car without him realizing it. I needed an excuse to be outside. At ten o'clock at night. No big deal. Taking note of the Halloween decorations in our living room, I told him I wanted to decorate the outside of our house. It worked. After he kept coming out into the garage to look for odds and ends and I faked a bathroom trip to grab his keys off of the key rack, I somehow managed to get the CD into his car. He doesn't make these things easy.

And so there I was, CD in the car and now having to decorate our house at 10:00 at night. It was pitch black and I couldn't see a thing, which was scarily evident when I saw the aftermath of my decorating this morning. Our cotton spiderwebs are clumped up on our palm trees only as high as I can reach and that's, well, probably the least offensive part of it all. I'm surprised I didn't receive a knock on the door from our HOA today asking if there was any reason in particular we had clumps of cotton stuck in our trees.

Aesthetics aside, standing in bushes to decorate in the middle of the night in South Florida is less than ideal. After I was completely covered in bites from mysterious nighttime insects, I called it quits and headed back inside. I woke up this morning to red bumps all the way up my ankles to my thighs and a couple of itchy ones on my wrists. And a few on the bottom of my feet. And, yes, you guessed it, I spent my day lathering myself in Calamine lotion and spritzing my limbs with no-itch spray.

But he was surprised.

So bug bites and decorations in major need of an overhaul aside, our super-stealthy mission was kind of a success!

come find me on a beach and there will be no moon

Communion Cups & Someone's Coat - Iron & Wine
After the sweet long weekend, the time came for my husband to return back to work this morning. These days are not only hard on Ethan and I but hard on my husband as well, which is made obvious by the way he lays down to play with Ethan in the mornings inevitably resulting in a mad dash out the door at eight o'clock.

I fell in love with my husband a long time ago but when I see the way he stares at Ethan in complete amazement and overcome with wonder and love, I fall in love with him a little bit more. Ethan gazes back at his daddy with the same look of wonder and amazement painted on his little face and I feel infinitely lucky to have both of them as a part of my world.

To soften the blow of the ending of a taunting long weekend, Ethan and I sneaked a surprise into his daddy's lunch in the form of an Almond Joy bar. We plant these surprises into his lunch bag on days when leaving the house are particularly torturous and they're often accompanied by some silly little note to the tune of "a special treat for a special daddy." Today's surprise was attached to a more simply stated "thank you for spending such a fun weekend with me" and signed, of course, from Ethan. We received a text message at lunch time saying that Ethan is awfully good at hiding his lunchtime surprises in the house. He'll never give up his hiding spot!


Nothing felt particularly laborious about our Labor Day weekend. The hot, sticky summer days were spent seeking shelter inside and spending valuable family time together. We ventured out on Labor Day to the outlet stores where we left with a bag full of clothes for Ethan and the fulfillment that comes with getting out and getting some exercise without trudging along drenched in sweat and basking in the threat of sunstroke.

When Husbands Go Back To Work: A Horror Story

My husband is quite the multi-tasker, as you can see. He kind of rules at being Ethan's daddy and a wonder-husband and an efficient human being. (I'm of the procrastinating, lollygagging, it-can-get-done-later variety. I can admit it.) He has been the biggest help since Ethan was born (hello, understatement of the year), especially considering the first two weeks of Ethan's life I was in and out of consciousness and he was responsible for his sole care-taking.

I know that I'm extremely fortunate to have had a husband with 6 weeks paid paternity leave. That's an awfully long time, and I can appreciate that. My husband hasn't been to work since he left the office for the day on June 22nd, the night Ethan ended up surprising us with his arrival. Still, I was dreading him going back to work for a few reasons. We'd gotten ourselves into such a great little routine that just worked so well. It was also nice to have someone to watch the baby while I cooked dinner or ran my needed errands without having to be rushed or flustered. We made a good team together in tackling those supposed exhausting newborn days and, really, we managed to beat sleep deprivation thanks to our great teamwork. I was also dreading his return back to work because, well, it was nice getting to just be a little family for the first time and spend our days in awe over Ethan, reading him books, snuggling on the couch and listening to music, et cetera. Having that time together was nice.

Mostly, though, I've been dreading my husband going back to work because as my down-and-out luck would have it, his first day back to work was disguised as a week long business trip. He left this evening for a mandatory work trip that begins bright and early tomorrow morning in Orlando. The fact he's only three hours away is both good and bad. Good, because he can be home quickly in case of an emergency. Bad, because it's almost kind of taunting that he's so close yet so far. Not only will I have to do the first-time mom worry-fest when my husband walks out the door for a day of work, but it'll have to spill over into the night hours...and then on and on until the week finally ends and he comes home again. (And I worry a lot.)

It's also kind of sad in that "end of an era" way. It was sad to watch my husband look pathetically miserable as he said goodbye to Ethan and had to leave him behind for the week. I admittedly cried, probably not makings things much easier. Ethan and I did sneakily make his daddy a card on which we traced Ethan's hand and footprints and sneaked it into his suitcase. He sent us a text message once he arrived saying it was his favorite gift ever.

I'm trying to pump myself up that I can do this! I can, I can, I can! I'm a little nervous but what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger.

...Right?

Babymoon!

My husband and I went on a "babymoon" this weekend. I really like using the term "babymoon" so I've been saying it an obnoxious amount of times. I guess it's like a honeymoon part two or a pre-baby getaway. I wasn't comfortable going too far from my doctors so we went an hour away and stayed from Saturday-Monday (today) at the beautiful Jupiter Beach Resort.

Fun Fact: We initially looked at the Jupiter Beach Resort as a wedding venue but my husband hated the beach and didn't want to get married anywhere near a beach!



I've been with my husband since we were 15. I've been in a pool with him twice and one of those times was when he lost a bet in high school. He wasn't shy about his disgust for the beach and spent trips to the Bahamas and everywhere else over the years locked in the hotel room or pouting on the shore. It wasn't until this very trip that he declared he actually did like the beach all of the sudden. I was torn between utter joy (it's hard to live in South Florida and not go to the beach, you see) and wanting to strangle him a little bit for ten years of agony!

The weather was gorgeous every single day. Our days were full of yummy food, beautiful weather and days on Jupiter Beach, the resort pool (with non-alcoholic pina coladas!) and the Intracoastal at Coral Cove Park. It was the perfect little weekend getaway and while I'm sad it ended, I sure am happy that it happened and we were able to get away for a little bit!

After dealing with being the wife of an accountant during busy season (and my poor husband actually having to work those horrific hours), it was nice to just get away and do a whole lot of relaxing (and eating really, really delicious food -- did I mention that part?).



I love babymoons! It's official! If only all weekends could be this wonderful.

Since We're Being Honest...

Even through my sickest days -- those hellish ones where I lay in bed reeking of my own vomit and too dizzy or sore to even move -- I've enjoyed being pregnant. Every overly-neurotic ER trip or stretchmark has been an adventure in, you know, housing a child inside of me for the first time. Every flutter or kick, especially the ones so strong you can watch your belly bounce, have been nothing short of magical. I've been completely overjoyed "getting to know" the little boy inside my belly -- oh, and buying him things. Lots of things. So many things that his room is already packed to the brim with things.

But, since we're being honest, I've found myself awfully sad a lot.

And the reason for that sadness is because I really, really miss my husband.


Image by Debra Weisheit Photography
No, he hasn't been assigned on some far away business trip somewhere. He's quite simply just an accountant and it's simply this time of the year.

My husband hasn't had a single day off of work for five weeks straight and, out of all of those work days, he's only been home before one or two in the morning a handful of times. Most of the time I'm asleep when he gets home and still asleep when he leaves. I eat dinner by myself, read Ethan stories by myself and spend my evenings putting the TV on in the living room just to make it seem like I'm a little less by myself.

Not to be all woe-is-me, but then there are all of the "pregnancy firsts" that I had to tell him about via e-mail, like the first time I felt the baby move or a picture of the outfit someone sent us. I'd already been feeling the baby kick from the outside for a couple of weeks before my husband was able to feel it for the first time.

And then there are all of the overwhelming things that simply are no fun to do while pregnant without assistance, such as unloading the groceries from the car (which now takes at least five trips) or figuring out how to clean up the cat puke from underneath the kitchen table.

All in all, after the holidays, I started feeling sad a great deal of the time which, frankly, is no fun at all. He may live under the same roof as me, but sometimes it can be days before I so much as even catch a glimpse of my husband...and I miss him! I miss him and the annoying "ding!" of his BlackBerry while I'm trying to sleep and the way he refuses to get ready for anything until ten minutes before we're supposed to leave.

It's a confusing and frustrating thing to have the happiest time of your life also be one in which you're sad a lot of the time, but I'm trying to deal. (I say this as halfway through my composing this entry, I receive an e-mail from my husband saying he's running later than anticipated.)

Since we're being honest, it felt kind of good to get that out in the open. I feel guilty keeping the sad feelings locked up inside, like somehow they become a burden on Ethan...and he already makes me nothing but happy, no matter how hard the kicks in the bladder become and how many pairs of panties I've peed in as a result.

How I Met Your Father

Otis Redding - Everclear

Dear Baby,

There's nothing that I love more than listening to my parents tell me stories about when they were younger or how they met -- even if it's a story I've heard so many times before that I have it memorized. I think these stories as a whole are important because they help those who weren't there (me) put together so many of the pieces of how life as we know it came to be.

On that note, I want you to know that I fell in love with your father on August 27th, 2001. I remember that day not only because it was the first day of school during my 10th grade year (your dad's 11th grade year) but because it was the first time that I ever saw his face. I was standing in front of Building 7 waiting for the bell to ring for my first period class (it was typing class). Five minutes before the bell, your father walked past me to get to his class (it was guitar class). He was wearing his school football jersey with khaki shorts, argyle socks to his knees (yes, really) and puffy black Vans. My friend, Meghan, knew his name because he had done a project last year with her brother. Back in those days, we didn't have Facebook or an easy way to e-stalk people (I can admit it! I was a creeper!). Instead, we had AOL profiles. I somehow found his and swooned with every Operation Ivy, Rancid and Bouncing Souls quote that lined his profile. I also found out that he played bass guitar in a local band. Your uncle Mike had a local record label at the time. It seemed only natural that I beg Mike to send an instant message to Aaron and ask if he could have one of their demo CDs. Your uncle Mike went to a different school, so he made it "coincidentally" work out that his cousin (that'd be me!) would pick up the CD for him before school one morning. I'm not usually a go-getter by any means but, Baby, I declared after the very first day of school that year that I had found the person that I was going to marry. You can imagine the reaction that got because I was only 15 years old at the time and everyone was quick to tell me that I didn't know what love meant and he certainly wouldn't be the person I would marry.

I'm not trying to deprive you of any details, but there really weren't any. For months I pined over your father while convinced he didn't have any feelings back for me. Thanks to your uncle Mike and his nifty record label trick, your father and I became friends. We'd talk before school and after school and, a lot of times, online or on the phone until the wee hours of the morning. For Christmas 2001, he gave me an Ataris CD and, let me tell you, Baby, I went to sleep listening to that CD for months until it was so worn out.

This is a photograph of us taken that Christmas after we exchanged gifts (I had gotten him a Volcom t-shirt):


On January 17th, 2002, Punxter36 (that's your dad! Yes, really!) sent KissMeImEmo12 (that'd be me!) and instant message with five simple words that'd change the course of life as I knew it: will you be my girlfriend? Baby, before you smack your dad for asking me out online, let me tell you that it was one of the biggest joys I'd ever experienced. Our first date was to see Stretching FM play at a local park. He was so nervous to even hold my hand and barely spoke two words the entire evening. It didn't matter, though, because I had confirmed everything that I already knew: he would be the person I would marry.

This is a photograph of your dad when he came to pick me up on our first date:


Baby, I got the most wonderful gift in the world: the chance to grow up alongside your father, the love of my life. I had the chance to experience sweet sixteens and driving tests and master's degrees and first mortgages with him. And, Baby, ever since we were kids together, he and I always wanted you.

When your dad had to go away to college (I was still a senior in high school), we went to this new park in Boca Raton that wasn't done being built yet. It was late in the evening and we laid down a blanket and watched the stars. "Tell me about your dreams," your dad had begged. I was admittedly a wreck those few months as talk of colleges and shipping off and long distance came to the front of my mind. We talked about our dreams for hours and, Baby, it all came down to one thing: you. After the selection of colleges, the courses signed up for, the silly details...we shared one common dream: having a family. There were sacrifices we were both willing to make and, Baby, I moved right up there with your dad as soon as I could -- despite the fact that Orlando and I share nothing in common at all other than a mutual hatred for one another. Each bad day that I had, I knew at the end of the day that we were making these sacrifices to bring ourselves closer to having you. Your father and I were never apart, we were never not together, starting nine years ago today. We never didn't love one another and, Baby, we never didn't love you.

On the 9 year anniversary that your dad and I have been together, I want you to know how much we always loved you. I want you to know how I met your father and what he will always mean to me. I want you to know the love that you were brought into and the love that will always surround you.

Puke and other delightful things.

My husband and I have been together since I was 15 and he was 16. After nearly a decade together, we're pretty comfortable with one another. I think this is a good thing, personally, but it's also funny. I say 'funny' because my husband works some pretty crazy hours. Especially lately, our time together has been very scarce (i.e. we only saw one another last night because he came home from work past midnight as I was up urinating for the five hundredth time). Our conversations thus look a lot like this lately: HIM: "How are you feeling?" ME: "I think I've peed five times in the last hour." As my first trimester continues on and on with it's queasy, sickly glory, our conversations have also evolved: "I vomited so much this morning, it was sick." "I didn't vomit today, but I had some wicked diarrhea."

I mean, right, it only makes sense that the few minutes we get to talk lately should be consumed with talk about bodily functions and how many times I went to (and what I did in) the bathroom. And I think that's "funny." But in a "isn't life funny?!" kind of way. I remember when I was 15 and he came over for the first time, I hid the toilet paper in my bathroom because I didn't want him to know that I peed at all (because apparently urination is SOOOO embarrassing!). Now I'm just waiting for him to call so I can tell him how I just vomited my lunch all over my mom's bathroom.


--

Not that anyone really wants to discuss food after my beautiful post about vomit and excrement, but I think I'm keeping this place in business lately with my must-have pregnancy cravings:



I should have known something was up pregnancy-wise when I started craving tacos in the middle of the night. I blamed it on PMS. But, man, those cravings were fierce. I kid you not -- last night, I was literally up from 1-2 in the morning because my desire to consume tacos was so fierce that it kept me up all night. Today, my mom ran me by Lime to pick up my tacos which were delicious and hit the spot -- until my afternoon-sickness kicked in and I promptly vomited them in her bathroom. But, oh man, were they good going down. They didn't feel so good coming up, though.